The trip was
surreal. I had traveled to Budapest before, but this trip was different. I had visited
my grandmother (as well as the rest of my mother’s family who still lived
there) many times during her lifetime. I had also been back several years ago
to “invite” my father, z”l, to the chasana of his grandson (his namesake).
With my father and maternal grandmother, as well as many other relatives buried
in Hungary, I was going this time for kever
avos. The trip turned out to be more
meaningful than ever. In truth, every trip to Budapest – walking the land of my
Avos – is its own incredible
experience. What made this one even more so was not the what-once-was factor
but the what-there-is-now! In order to appreciate this fact, permit me to share
some family history with you.
Both my parents
are Hungarian. My father was born 15 years before the War in a small town
called Derecske, which is in close proximity to a well known and larger one by
the name of Debrecen. My mother was born in Budapest at the tail end of the
war. Their lives were as different as day and night. My father, the youngest of
13 children, was raised in the shtetl
with the mesora of Oberland and had
the distinct yichus of being a grandchild
of the Dayan of Erlau, R’ Yoel Margaretten, as well as of R’ Chaim Kitzeh, who
wrote sefarim. Going back even
further, he was a descendant of the Levush, R’ Mordechai Yoffe, as well as of both
the Haflah, R’ Pinchas Horowitz, and his brother R’ Shmuelke of Nikolsburg, whose
children married each other.
His mother, after whom
I am named, was what we would call a very pious woman. An almana, twice, Bobba Yehudis supported her family by selling liquor
to the non-Jews of the town. She raised her children single-handedly while
staying on top of the chinuch of the
ones who were still at home. In fact, she would go to the melamed when they didn’t know their “stuff” and demand why that was
the case! She collected tzedaka for
those poorer than herself, and her shem tov
extended all the way to Keresztir, where she once went and R’ Shayala stood
up for her. (Many years later, my cousin, one of her grandsons, had a hand in rebuilding
the Jewish community’s buildings in Keresztir and revitalizing Jewish life in its
environs.)
The Germans took
over Hungary on March 19, 1944, and when Adolf Eichmann, y”sh, came to Budapest, he began the liquidation of the Jews by
first clearing out the countryside. My father along with his mother and
siblings were taken to Auschwitz. That is the last time he saw his precious
mother, as well as his brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews. Having met
Mengele, the “Angel of Death,” whom my father referred to as the devil, twice, my father endured many
unbelievable events in what is referred to as “hell on earth.” He gave up his
ration of bread to put on tefillin,
and was known to be makpid on mayim acharonim. He was liberated on yud tes Iyar, along with Rav Tzvi Hirsch Meisels, the Veitzner Rav, zt”l, and his son R’ Zalman Leib
Meisels, ybl”c. who was my father’s chaver and the zaidy of Rebbetzin
Eichenstein. Out of all the siblings who didn’t succumb to illness, only five
brothers survived the Holocaust.
Fast forward many
years later: When my daughter traveled to Auschwitz with her seminary program,
she was able to proclaim the bracha
of “She’asa li nes,” as well as daven
for the two aunts for whom she is named, who died there al kiddush Hashem.
* * *
My mother, ybl”c, was born at the very end of the
war in Budapest. This big city was the Nazis’ last stop in Hungary. My Nagypapa
(Hungarian for grandfather), Dr. Vilmos (Eliezer) Arvai, a”h, was taken by the Nazis to munka
tabor, the forced labor battalions, and never met his daughter, his only
child. He was later killed, Hy”d, in
Born, Yugoslavia, during one of the infamous marches the Nazis imposed on the
Jewish prisoners while moving them from country to country as the Allies closed
in on them toward the end of the War.
My Nagymama
(Hungarian for grandmother), Daisy Arvai (née Veres), gave birth to my mother
all alone with no money to pay for the hospital. The hospital kicked them out,
and shortly afterwards, the Hungarian Nazi party, the Arrow Cross, or Nyila Keresztes, came and cruelly killed
all the Jewish patients and doctors and nurses who remained. After that
miracle, the nissim and nifla’os (miracles) continued. My grandmother
procured shutzpasses for herself and her
baby (my mother) with the help of a wealthy aunt. This was a document
proclaiming their Swedish citizenship, signed by Raoul Wallenberg, the
ambassador of Sweden (who, I learned, was educated in the University of
Detroit!). They lived out the remainder of the war in one of the Swedish safe houses
in Budapest that flew the Swedish flag.
Shortly after the
War, my grandmother remarried, to a man who had lost his wife and children
during the War, and my mother, together with her new father and baby brother,
were raised in the cosmopolitan culture of Budapest, which was soon to be taken
over by the Communists. They subsequently lost all their wealth, including
their automobile (!), and my step-grandfather relinquished his carpet factory
due to the very high taxes the new government demanded. This period of upheaval
was followed by more chaos with the Revolution of 1956. Around this time, my
father, now an American citizen, returned to rescue his brother R’ Nosson, z”l, who like many Hungarians had
returned there after the war.
* * *
After liberation, my
father, with the help of his brothers already in America, sailed to New York on
the Lusitania. There, he was meshamesh
the Klausenberger Rebbe and learned in his yeshiva. He even attended the Rebbe’s
wedding! My father moved to Baltimore, where his brother, R’ Moishe Margaretten,
lived. Some of you reading this may well remember R’ Moishe Margaretten, z”l, who ran the kitchen in Ner Yisrael
and was quite close with Rav Ruderman,
zt”l. You may also recall my uncle for supplying kosher chickens, which
back then came with a plumba (metal
tag)!
My Tante Hindu, a”h, was known for her warm hachnasas orchim, and their home was the
local address for many meshulachim
and others visiting from the alter heim
(the Old Country). They were very involved in the early building, in the 1950s,
of what is now our bustling and large Jewish community. They were also involved
with the chevra kadisha. Additionally,
they brought in Rav Sternhill, zt”l,
to start a heimishe kehilla,
Machzikei Torah, which was also the precursor to the establishment of Shearis
Hapleita, Yeshivas Kochav Yitzchok, now known as Torah Institute, with the help
of yet another brother, R’ Yossi Margaretten, z”l , who later moved to New York. (See Rabbi Yechiel Spero’s book,
A Star from Sanz.)
Before coming to
Yeshivas Ner Yisrael, my father and other surviving bachurim were greeted in New York by a delegation of rabbonim, including Rabbi Herman
Neuberger, zt”l, Rabbi Kronglass, zt”l, and Rabbi Kulefsky, zt”l. At some point, my father relocated
to Stamford, Connecticut, where yet another brother, R’ Yoel Margaretten, z”l, lived.
After the War, my
parents valiantly went on to build their
lives – my father in America and my mother in Budapest. Then, in 1973, my
father went back to Budapest on a three-day visa and, in an outstanding manifestation
of hashgacha pratis, visited the
Jewish museum, where my mother’s neighbor “just happened to be” the curator. The
rest, as they say, is history!
* * *
As you can see,
Hungary really is the land of my Fathers on both sides, and over the years, it
has been a journey for me to traverse the vastly different chapters of my
family’s history. However the emunah peshuta
(genuine faith) that was displayed on both sides of the family is a yichus I am quite proud of, and it is
this mesorah that I try to instill in
my own family while forging another link in the chain of strength and survival.
Ki heim chayeinu v’orech yameinu.
Recently, I had an
urge to go back, and this time I invited my second cousin from my mother’s side
to join me. Living in Israel, only two hours away, Rebecca Veres Zarczynski – we
learned that Veres was the Hungarian version of Wenger – was very excited to
join me and immediately shouted “yes!” What I did not realize was that she had
been waiting almost her whole life to make such a trip and to learn more about
her roots from the European side of her family.
We met at the
Hannah, a restaurant in Budapest since 1920, that had functioned as a soup
kitchen during the War and later moved to the Kazincy section (the former
ghetto), where it is now. This restaurant has seen its share of miracles and now
feeds many people from all strata of Jewish life who come for kever avos. In the courtyard where the shul is located, the restaurant
faces an outdoor, wrought iron chuppa
that everyone got married under. In fact, a couple in the restaurant was looking
at a photo of a chasana that was
hanging on the wall. The woman pointed out her grandparents who were the chassan and kallah!
The following days
were a whirlwind; we packed a week’s worth of itinerary into two days, which
combined some emotional moments with lighthearted fun. Visiting ancient cemeteries
and learning of our family’s tragic past during the Holocaust – stories that
included hiding and fleeing, losing precious family members, and more – was
very difficult to hear and so heavy on the heart. It is so important, however,
to know and to remember, zechor v’al
tishkach, and to perpetuate the memory and spirit of those lost. With many
tears and tefillos, we balanced this
by enjoying some of the six (!) restaurants in the city and doing plenty of tourist
shopping!
Our second day was
spent touring the Buda section where my mother grew up and where, unbeknownst
to us, there exists a rich Jewish history as well. I encourage you on your next
trip to book a tour with JewishVisitorsService.com. You will learn so much
about your roots; we certainly did!
* * *
Budapest is really two cities; Buda and Pest,
which are divided by the Danube River. It is a river tragically filled with the
blood of our people, whose deaths were perpetrated by the Nazis and the Arrow
Cross, yemach shemam. One side of the river is dominated by the Castle in Buda,
and the other side by the Parliament in Pest. Buda is filled with hills and
historic architecture, while Pest is flat and more urban. Pest is where the
ghetto was, and today it is filled with several restaurants and stunningly
restored shuls. There is a very active Chabad presence under the leadership of
Rabbi Baruch Oberlander, also the av beis
din, who has facilitated all this modern Jewish life. In fact, many Jews visit
Hungary because kosher food and other frum
necessities are easily and readily available. We met many Israelis coming not just
for kever avos but for a fun vacation destination that is close by. The
driver reported that there are six cheap flights daily from Tel Aviv to the
Fehergy airport in Hungary.
On our tour of
Buda, we learned that the Jewish presence has existed since the first century,
after the Galus (exile) of the Bayis Sheni (second Temple)! Jewish life
flourished from 1541 to 1699, when Hungary was ruled by the Ottoman Turks. Appreciating
their business acumen and contributions to society, the Turks were benevolent
to the Jews and allowed them religious liberty. The door to one of the two
shuls in the Var (castle) area has a beautiful iron design that, when closed,
forms the shape of a menorah! This shul has been revitalized and is used today
by Chabad. Inside, we saw newsletters. I brought these back for my mother, and
she experienced the same sense of disbelief when reading of the latest Jewish
happenings in Hungary.
Continuing on, we
saw the marble hazkarah (memorial) that
mentions the story of the hospital where my mother gave birth, with the tragic ending
that she, b”H, escaped. In fact a
line from kapitel 140 from Tehillim is
inscribed on it. We recited the psalm with much emotion while marveling at how
apropos this kapitel was for this
memorial: “Hashem…free me…guard me from violence from the man who is wicked…
from the man who devises evil schemes… from wars….” Years later, a home for the
elderly was built by a generous Jewish philanthropist promising all survivors a
place to rest in their old age as a reassurance that they would never be
forgotten.
We proceeded to
the Raul Wallenberg memorial and experienced profound hakaras hatov to this shaliach of Hashem, who rescued 35,000
(!) Jews, including my mother and grandmother! This was followed by a stop at the
villa of Eichmann, y”sh, in the Buda
hills, in a neighborhood filled with estates and grand homes. Rebecca was
emotionally not able to get out of the car, but I needed to. I placed one of
the rocks that Rebecca had brought from Eretz Yisrael for us to leave at the kevarim that we visited the day before
and said my own earnest am Yisrael chai
tefilla at the gates where this engineer of evil once lived.
We finished on a
high note by stopping off at a magnificently restored shul that was built in
1821 by the Jewish community and that one of the Hungarian kings proudly showed
off to visiting noblemen and statesmen. When we entered the shul, I could not
believe what I was seeing as there was a shiur
being given by one of the Chabad rabbanim,
with his wife and six-month-old little boy in attendance. They are both
American, and as “Jewish geography” would have it, I know the Rabbi’s cousin! It
was then time to do some more shopping in the castle district and purchase all
kinds of handiwork, including the intricate floral embroidery, called kezimunka, which that is native to
Hungary. After this full day of Magyar (Hungarian) drama of legend and lore it
was definitely time to eat.
We were starving,
not to mention freezing! Hungary is quite cold in the winter! We crossed the
bridge back to the Pest side and stopped off at a place Rebecca had found:
Brooklyn Bagel. I was in shock. In the over four decades of my traveling to
this Eastern European country, shlepping all sorts of food items, being moser nefesh for chalav Yisrael milk that was fresh from the farm and required
home-pasteurization, I was now about to eat at a Brooklyn Bagel in Budapest! We
stepped into a restaurant that could have been in any major Jewish city in
America or Israel and enjoyed a typical, what-we-all-take-for-granted lunch,
including American-style pizza bagel, hot cocoa, and cheesecake for dessert. With
the strains of Ishai Ribo and Avraham Fried music playing in the background, we
warmed ourselves from the cold and internalized the intense pieces of history
we learned and all that chavayot
(experiences) of the past two days.
While Rebecca
checked on her family at home – her kids were home from school and my kids were
just beginning their day! – I did a little exploring in the attached building
next door. It was another Chabad shul! This one, however, was newly built, with
a preschool attached and plans for a mikveh! I took the opportunity to daven
Mincha, again marveling at all there is now and so grateful for this whole
experience. That morning, before beginning the day’s adventure, I was able to
daven Shacharis in a small beis midrash connected
to the Kazincy shul, one of Budapest’s main pre-War shuls, which has also been
beautifully restored. On a past trip, my family and I had toured the shul and
seen for ourselves the double balconies, the stunning hand- painted ceilings
with its many chandeliers, as well as the imposing marble aron kodesh. There was a
special built-in marble chair for the Rav, Rabbi Jacob Koppel Reich, a talmid of the Chasam Sofer. He was the
Rav there for over 50 years. When the Nazis stormed this grand beis hakenesses,
they came looking for the sifrei Torah, but in vain. Someone had hidden
them in the elevator shaft. The Nazis ended up converting the shul, as was done
to many of the other shuls, into a horse stable.
As I davened Shemoneh Esrei, the words “May our eyes
behold Your return to Zion in compassion” reverberated loudly in my heart as I
envisioned the Yidden throughout the years davening this tefillah in this shul, especially during war time. And here I was,
praying in both shuls with a history so different yet really all the same.
Don’t we all yearn to be together, speaking the same language in the voice of kol Yaakov, waiting, as the Navi
Yeshayahu says, for “Tzion b’mishpat tipadeh…– Zion will be
redeemed through judgment… ”?
We concluded our
grand trip with an evening walk along the Danube, lit up by the many
architecturally beautiful bridges spanning her waters. Across the street, stood
the looming Parliament building – modeled on the grandiose style of the British
parliament. In front of the parliament, the Hungarian filmmaker Can Togay envisioned
his now famous Shoe Memorial, commemorating those butchered on the banks of the
Danube. Life-size, old-fashioned shoes of men, women, and children, made of
iron, are strewn along the water’s edge, in silent testimony to these martyrs. The
parliament, which sets the laws for the country, is the same parliament that
turned a blind eye to its citizens meeting their death a mere few feet away. Rebecca
and I walked quietly beside the flowers and candles that were scattered next to
and even inside the metal shoes. We were lost in our thoughts, remembering our
past, treasuring the present, and oh so hopeful for the future. Netzach Yisrael lo yishaker.
