By Bela “Bill” Suhayda
“Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it.”
My mom (Irene) grew up on a train station in Borgond, a rural town in Hungary during the Second World War. She and my grandparents lived on the second floor above the station. My grandfather managed the depot. My mom’s family were witnesses to boxcars of Jews trafficked from Italy to somewhere in Germany, and or, Poland in the early 1940s. The only thing known concerning the movement of these people, at this time, was that they were being shipped to help rebuild bombed out cities somewhere in Europe. The horrific conditions and eventual murder of these people was not yet known by most in Europe.
My mom revealed to me details of several horrific stories how their railroad station had been bombed and strafed by Allied Forces. She told me this story below which I will always remember.
Box cars crammed full of people pulled into the station. They were packed so tightly there was no room to sit. There was one young woman who managed to find a place to sit in the doorway of the box car. Her feet dangled a couple of feet from the rocks next to the tracks.
In her arms was her little girl, not much more than two years old. She was a beautiful child, with dark, curly, hair, and dark, sad, eyes. The mother gestured to my Mom by bringing her hand to her mouth. She understood immediately what the young woman was attempting to communicate, but didn’t think she had enough time to get upstairs to her parent’s kitchen for food before the train pulled out of the station.
She quickly went to an elderly lady nearby and asked if she might have something to eat. The elderly woman reached into her satchel and apologetically offered a small, red, apple. It was all she had. Irene took the small morsel of food to the young woman and her child. The young woman thanked Irene as she gave the apple to her little girl.
There were tears in her eyes as her child took her first bite. Incredibly, some in the box car reached for the apple in the little girl’s hands. The mother fended off the starving hands to allow her child the nourishment she desperately needed.
A German S.S. officer came running and pointed his rifle at Irene, berating her in German for what she was doing. Irene answered back in perfect German (her first language) reprimanding him for how these people were being treated. The Nazi soldier, surprised to hear this young woman speaking perfect German, calmed himself, answering back “These are not people, they are Jews!” To which Irene replied:
“To me they are people!” The soldier, now angered, threatened to throw both Irene and the old lady into the box car. But before he could act, the train lunged forward and started to pull out of the station. The soldier retreated and jumped back on to the train.
Of all the sad stories my mom related to me about her experiences during World War ll, this story haunts me the most. Hope can save us from thinking the worst, but it is difficult to remain hopeful about what the eventual fate was for this mother and child, knowing what we know of the Holocaust. The Holocaust was real! My mother was a witness!