My mother returned to Hungary in April of 1945. She did find my father and a few remaining family members and friends. About 95% of her and my father's families perished in the Holocaust.

They started to rebuild their lives and lost everything again when the Communists nationalized their country store in 1949. This forced them to move to Budapest, the capital, where they lived in the Stalinist Hell till the revolution of 1956 and the Goulash Communism which followed. During these years my mother had three heart attacks, yet she carried on at full speed, making sure they could raise me under the best circumstances possible.

Her reward was the times she could come to visit my new family in America, especially her two grandchildren. My father died in 1975; she passed away in 1990, right after her 70th birthday.


Thank you, mother. May you rest in peace forever. If anyone, you deserve it.

The Memorial at Yad Vashem, Israel

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