During the winter months of 1943, Aunt Bella became ill. She was no longer able to sit in her chair because of an infection on her thighs caused by remaining seated for approximately forty years. She was bedridden and the infection soon spread, which caused her other severe problems. My father’s first cousin Dr. Emil Davidovits, a well-known doctor in Kassa, drove down twice a week to attend to her, but he was very clear that she would not be cured. In May she fell into a coma, dying one week later at home.
I was sad to see her laid out and covered with a sheet in our grandparents’ quarters. This was the first member of my family whose death I had experienced. The ladies’ burial society came to wash her and put her in a shroud. My grandfather, my father, and my uncle made a simple casket of lumber and the body was laid into it. The casket was loaded onto a horse-drawn cart and taken to the cemetery, followed by a procession of family and friends. But for some reason unknown to me, children were not allowed to attend. Bella’s death left a huge hole in our lives, and my brothers and I felt a tremendous loss with her passing. I missed sitting on her lap and hearing the stories she read to us, which she had done for so many years. In retrospect, I’m relieved she was spared the events still to come.
As we grappled with Aunt Bella’s death, it became obvious that my mother was approximately five months pregnant. At first I had mixed feelings, because there would be such a large gap in age between the baby and me. I was also concerned about how we would take care of another addition to our family without Anna to help. I was never home during the week, and my father had rejoined the labour battalions. We were stretched to our limits, but I had no say in this matter.
On June 28, 1943, my mother went into labour, and I was told to get the midwife then go to the doctor and inform him that he was going to be needed. I saw my grandmother and Aunt Irene heating water in pots and bringing linen into my mother’s bedroom to prepare for the delivery. The labour and birth were difficult, but some hours later we were told that we could go in and see the new baby. She was a beautiful girl with brown hair and dark eyes, and her name was Judit. Although the family was happy, it was a time of tremendous turmoil for us and our community. It was not a good time for a Jewish mother to give birth or a Jewish child to be born.
In December 1943, we celebrated Chanukah, the festival of lights. My father managed to come home to celebrate with us in a year when we had lost our dear Bella and welcomed our little sister, Judit. Little did we know that this would be the final Chanukah we would mark together in our home.