Budapest, Hungary
Dear Mother and Father Mendel,
The thing we have long feared has finally happened. The Nazis have come for us.
They surrounded our ghetto shortly before dawn, hundreds of soldiers with guns and dogs. They awakened us with gunfire and loudspeakers, shouting, “All out! All out! Anyone who does not come out will be shot.” They gave us only moments to pack a few of our things before herding us outside into the street. Mama and Fredeleh and I quickly did as we were told. We had been sound asleep only moments before, so we could barely think, let alone decide what we might need or what we should take with us.
When we got outside we heard screaming and gunshots and weeping as the Nazis went from house to house, searching. They shot anyone who tried to hide. All of the elderly people and those who were too sick to get out of bed were killed on the spot.
We stood huddled in the courtyard while all of this went on, shivering with fear. As the sky slowly grew light, I could hardly bear to look into our neighbors’ faces. We all knew what was coming next. We have all heard enough stories by now to suspect that the rumors are true.
When everyone in the ghetto had been evacuated or killed, the Nazis marched us through the streets as fast as we could go, shouting at us to hurry, hurry! They didn’t take us to Budapest’s train station, but to the freight yard on the edge of town. There we saw a long line of empty boxcars standing with their doors open. The soldiers pointed guns at us and herded us inside the freight cars like animals.
All I could think of was that I should have done what Avi said. I should have saved Fredeleh a long time ago while I still had the chance. I couldn’t stop weeping, from regret as much as from fear, as I prayed to Hashem and pleaded with Him for help.
Hundreds of us were stuffed into a single train car – the few men who were left and all the women together with no privacy. There was not even enough room for everyone to sit down. We were given one bucket with drinking water and another empty bucket for necessity. When there were so many of us jammed inside that we could barely breathe, they rolled the door closed and locked it. All around me, people were weeping, cursing, praying. Some lost their minds with fear. I huddled close to Mama, clutching Fredeleh in my arms, praying for a miracle – and for forgiveness. How could Avraham ever forgive me for not taking Fredeleh to safety at the Christian orphanage?
Mama did her best to soothe me, trying to keep me calm for Fredeleh’s sake. “I love you, Sarah Rivkah,” she said as she held me close. “You have been a wonderful daughter to me. I want you to know, no matter what happens, how much I love you and Fredeleh.”
“Please don’t talk like that, Mama. We’ll be okay. They’re just taking us to a work camp.”
“I know. I know.”
But we both knew the truth.
The train stood on the side rail with the doors sealed shut for a very long time. The summer sun grew hot, the boxcar stifling. The train still had not begun to move when we heard a commotion outside. The people who were close to the door and were able to see between the wooden slats told us that a big black car had pulled up outside. It was the kind that important officials drove and had blue and yellow flags flying from it. Swedish flags, someone said.
While the German authorities spoke to the man in the car, a group of men began moving along the tracks behind the line of railcars, stuffing papers between the wooden slats to those of us inside. My mother managed to grab one of them. We stared at it, not sure what it was, before deciding that it was some sort of identification paper. It bore the blue and yellow colors of the Swedish flag, and an insignia with three crowns on it, along with a lot of important-looking stamps and seals.
“The German soldiers are coming back to the railcars,” those nearest the door informed us. We could hear the doors to the other boxcars up the line from ours sliding open. A few minutes later, our door rolled open, too. Fresh air and blinding sunlight poured inside.
One of the soldiers called out to us: “If there are any Swedish nationals on board, come out and show your papers.” People began pushing toward the open door, jumping down from the cars, waving the papers that had just been passed to us. But we had only one paper for the three of us. Mama pushed it into my hands.
“Take it, Sarah Rivkah. You and Fredeleh, go! Hurry!”
“No. I won’t leave you, Mama.”
“You need to save yourself and Fredeleh. Go!” I clung to my mother, unwilling to leave her behind, but Mama shoved me as hard as she could toward the door. Fredeleh clung to me, screaming in all the confusion.
I wanted to save my daughter. I would do anything for her. And I knew that Mama wanted the same thing for me. But how could I leave my mother behind in a car meant for animals – to go who knows where?
I felt hands pushing me. I looked over my shoulder, but Mama wasn’t there. She had disappeared in the overcrowded car, shrinking back among the others so I could no longer see her. I knew she wanted to make it easier for me, and also that she didn’t want to watch Fredeleh and me leave. The other people in the car continued to push me forward, saying, “Hurry, girl! Go! You have a paper.”
Just as I was about to step off the train with Fredeleh, a young mother pushed her way to the open door and shoved her baby toward me. Terror filled her eyes. “Take him, please,” she begged. “Have mercy and take my child so he will live!” I saw her desperation and her love. “His name is Yankel Weisner. He is four months old. I am Dina Weisner, his mother.”
The baby and his mother were both crying. I was, too. I shifted Fredeleh to my hip and propped the baby against my shoulder. His mother gave him one last kiss.
My legs felt so weak I could barely walk as I stepped off the train. I went forward, clutching the two children, and showed the German soldier my paper. My heart pounded with fear. Would he believe me?
He looked over the document for a very long time, glancing up at the two children and me. At last he handed it back to me. “You may go.”
We were free. Fredeleh and I and baby Yankel were all free.
I set Fredeleh down and we hurried toward the black car with the Swedish flags on it. A group of people from the trains had gathered around it, and they beckoned to the others and me, calling us to come, to follow them. When everyone who had Swedish papers had gotten off the trains, the soldiers turned back to the boxcars, walking down the line, closing the doors again and sealing them shut. The sound of those doors slamming and locking shivered through me. I couldn’t watch.
I turned and followed the black car as it drove slowly away from the freight yard, clutching Fredeleh’s hand in mine, holding the baby tightly against my chest. Some of the Swedish men walked with us, leading the way back into Budapest. No one spoke a word. I felt as though I were sleepwalking.
When we had walked about a quarter of a mile, the shriek of a train whistle sounded in the distance behind us. Then iron wheels began rumbling along the tracks as the long line of freight cars moved away from us, leaving Budapest. The whistle shrieked again. I will hear the sound of that train for as long as I live.