My life as a slave began in 1944 at Auschwitz-II/Birkenau, where seldom could one meet someone from the previous life. Never was sure if I had a bad dream or if Mommy would say, “Wake up, get ready for school.”
In about July 1944, in Lager C, running to the latrine, I met my parents’ best friend’s daughter, Iboly, a beautiful young girl. I was joyous to see her, I pinched my arms—that pretty girl was really Iboly. She looked miserable, pale in a torn dress, with a rag around her neck. I asked, “Iboly, why do you have that rag on your neck?” She said, “My throat hurts, the rag keeps it warm.” Iboly was the best-dressed girl in our city, pretty and chic; her brother Alex, a textile salesman who traveled, bought rare materials for his sister; their mother made elegant garments for Iboly.
In the 1930s, Iboly’s father was a carpenter in the United States, who saved money and then returned to his family. He bought a modest house and continued to work as a carpenter. In the ghetto, Hungarian soldiers presumed that he hid valuables; he was tortured and died of his wounds.
Next morning, I wished to find Iboly again, but could not. In Lager C the barracks had 30,000 detainees. Twice daily we had roll calls that lasted a few hours; four blocks of detainees had a half hour to use the latrine and washroom. It was very crowded.
On daily morning roll calls, Dr. Mengele selected the sick and the blondes. Iboly had a sore throat and was blonde. I asked where they were taken. An adult said, “Do not worry, the sick get medical help and the blondes get a special task.” Mommy always said, “Respect and believe the elders.”
As I think of Iboly and others who faced the same fate, it naturally comes to my mind to ask how the catastrophe on Jews had been invented by the most civilized people on our Earth. How was it possible that with advanced science, they murdered millions? The world was silent.
In August of 1945, I returned home and met Iboly’s brother, Alex. He asked, “Elly, do you know where my sister is? Did you meet Iboly?” I began to cry for Iboly, for my parents, my brother, relatives, friends, and everyone who disappeared from my life. I had no home where I could go; for days I could not talk and walked about like a zombie.
Alex survived hell alone and left the country. At the border he was killed; the family had no other survivors. The question comes to me again why a young, beautiful girl, for a sore throat, disappeared forever.
Thank you for the welcome in your lovely home, as I was greeted by you.
My life was shadowed by heavy storms, which I remember with tears in my eyes.
My life was rough and tough, even though I have been my father’s single sunshine, my mother’s only child, whom she dressed in pink or blue with a bow in my blonde hair.
Neglected by my friends, I felt lonely.
I was ten, when a miracle happened and I got a handsome little brother, with red cheeks, black eyes and hair; I loved him a lot.
Cruelty of life took away all of them.
No one called me “my dear sunshine,” or said, “my dear girl, come inside, a storm will soon arrive and you could catch a cold.”
The little brother with open arms—and with a smile on his face—did not walk again toward me to grab my arms.
With sorrow I miss them as long as I live.
With tears, I ask why I lost my loved ones.
Almost at the sundown of my life, I found a lovely cousin, who took me in her arms and home, like the sister who I never had.
In my childhood, Gentiles called me “Stinky dirty Jew, go to Palestine.”
I often washed my white skin, but for Gentiles I remained dirty.
When I complained, Mommy said,
“You, my child, must learn not to complain, but take it as it is.”
While being a slave, I remembered not to complain of daily miseries.
Seven miracles came on my way to surviving the massacre of European Jews.
Miracle eight didn’t come on my way; one of my parents should have survived, as a lonely child I alone survived.
In memory of my parents, I plant flowers every year and remember
Mommy’s small garden where flowers bloomed and filled the air with fragrances.
Most broken objects could be glued, but my broken heart never healed.
With sorrow I remember the bitter past that took away so many innocent lives.
And I ask, Why did it happen?
In our civilized world, why did men in blind hatred turn to evil?
And why was the world silent?
On top of a tall tree, a bird family has a nest.
There are Papa, Mama, Sue, and Bob Bird. One day, Papa was called with many others to report to the bird center.
As many others birds, Papa Bird never returned.
Soon every bird was summoned; Mama, Sue, and Bob Bird with all the other birds arrived at the center. It was very crowded.
Sue Bird got lost, Mama and Bob Bird disappeared.
Desperately Sue looked for Mama and Bob Bird, but could not find them.
Suddenly the sky got dark and a heavy storm came that destroyed every bird nest. Fallen trees were everywhere.
Sue Bird never found Papa, Mama, and Bob Bird.
With open wounds and torn feathers she flew from tree to tree looking for her family.
Sue Bird called: “Papa, Mama, Bob, where are you?
“How can I find you?” But she never found them.
While Sue was flying from tree to tree, she found a lonely bird with many wounds and torn feathers.
The two hurt birds built a nest on top of a tall tree, which stood in spite of heavy rain and wind.
The two birds with open wounds and torn feathers managed to raise two little birds,
And now on top of the tall tree, there again are four birds.
They remember those birds lost in the heavy storm and they are happy that even with their torn feathers and many wounds, they raised two new little flying birds.