In 1938 the "Munich Agreement" between the European democratic powers and Nazi Germany sealed the fate of Czechoslovakia. Its continuation was the "Vienna Agreement", an international meeting during which Hitler cajoled Hungary into joining the Rome-Berlin-Tokyo Axis. The price, or bait was the enlargement of Hungary through the return of several territories that its neighbors had annexed in 1919 after World War I and the Peace Treaty of Trianon. These land areas comprised Délvidék (the Southlands) from Yugoslavia, Erdély (Transylvania) from Romania, and Felvidék (the Highlands) from Slovakia, which included Vel'ký Meder, renamed Nagymegyer, of course.

My return home was great surprise, since I had left after the autumn holydays only a few weeks earlier. I was unable announce that I was returning home, because I had to leave Sered in such a hurry and there were no means of communication during the chaotic state of government realignments.

Beyond the spontaneous joy of my unexpected homecoming, the unavoidable question of what was next arose? Where was I going to continue my Talmudic studies? Father had some alternative Yeshivot in mind, since we were still at the beginning of the semester, but my mind was already made up: "I have finished with Yeshivot! We will find a way to do some daily Talmud study, at home, together, as we did in my childhood. I want to either finish high school or find a job, so I can help with household expenses, or learn a useful trade to prepare for my future." (To plan for academic studies would have been pointless in view of Hungary's anti-Semitic Numerus Clausus law that restricted the number of Jews admitted to universities.)

I had opportunity to meet the representatives of the new regime in the form of tough-looking gendarmes wearing black hats with strange rooster plumes. Early one morning, three or four grim-faced, uniformed young men broke into our house and, without so much as "Good Morning", spread out furiously all over the house to search every nook and cranny. After these fruitless preliminaries, they gathered in my younger sisters' room to "check" their textbooks and hurl them out jeeringly into the courtyard. One of them raised a book and brandished it about triumphantly. It was a simple primer from the former Czechoslovak school system, as there were no instructions yet about the Hungarian books for the coming year. "You keep this as a precious souvenir?" The heroic official tore it up and threw it after the other books. He rummaged on feverishly, looking for concrete evidence of unpatriotic behavior on our part. Then the brave gang left disappointedly, rattling their spurs furiously.

This violent and humiliating event remained deeply engraved in my memory. Our whole family stood there bewildered and downcast after his unprecedented, rude, and until then unusual anti-Semitic behavior of government representatives. I was overcome by a threatening, foreboding feeling: "Is this the treatment we can expect from now on?"

Before we could decide about my future, my Uncle Samuel (Samu-bácsi) invited me to come and help them out. In addition to his soap factory, he owned a vineyard and a winery. It was the vintage's high season, and they were short of manpower, so I joined his vintage team. Thus the problem of what to do after Sered was solved temporarily. While working with soap and toothpaste manufacturing, I learned the ropes of the industry, and my experience in the wine cellar taught me the secrets of producing superb wines.

However, the most important and precious thing I inherited from Uncle Samu, something that I cherish dearly, was his extraordinary sense of humor. While he himself remained serious, he missed no opportunity to utter a pun or a remark evoking a laughing fit in moments of high tension.

Uncle Samu and aunt Helen had no children—the greatest tragedy of their lives, I am the only family member left to write about them and to remember them—always smiling.

Erna, an orphaned niece of my mother, arrived unexpectedly with her Aunt Julia Pollak. Both had escaped from Austria after the Nazi occupation and were seeking refuge. We warmly welcomed them and accommodated them, although we knew that hiding refugees was considered a serious crime, for which participants could be sent to concentration camps. When we heard rumors about a house search going on in the town, we hid them in the cellar beneath the anteroom of our dairy store. The staircase was concealed by a horizontal door, flush with the floor, which was covered by an old rug with two heavy flower pots on top of it. The searching, sniffing "feather hats" ran over this door time and again before finally leaving the house, empty-handed and swearing, to look for other victims in the next Jewish home. Our frightened guests crawled up, still shivering, from their dark and dank hideout.

Poor Erna and her Aunt Julia experienced several such life-threatening searches; but their hideout proved perfect and after a few weeks they departed for Budapest. Shortly after their departure, however, Aunt Paula (Blum née Rosenberger), mother's youngest sister, arrived—likewise as an émigré from Austria. She was a lovely person, good-tempered and amiable, always smiling despite the hardships she had suffered since the infamous Anschluss, the annexation of Austria by Germany. We managed to hide her several times from the local "bloodhounds," but unfortunately we failed once. She was found and arrested, along with Mother. During her interrogation, Mother declared that she would never abandon her sister. Uncle Samu and some brave people used their personal connections to bring her safely home, but Aunt Paula was exiled and banished from Nagymegyer "forever".

Looking back to the first phase of our changeover to a Hungarian administration, I recall another unpleasant experience. Coming home from work at evening, a gang of 8-10 hoodlums surrounded me, shouting triumphantly: "We got you now, Jew-boy!" and started to close in on me. I did not wait for them to surround me completely, but knocked over one of my would-be captors, broke out of the circle and ran for my life. I had always been a champion sprinter in elementary school gymnastics and thus, left my attackers far behind. Unfortunately, I must have stumbled on uneven ground and fell, full length, face down. Although I had escaped this confrontation, I ended up with my face smashed and some teeth broken as a result of their violent encounter with Mother Earth. I didn't know how to show myself at home with such frightening countenance.

These are some of the lovely memories I preserve from the early months of our so-called "liberation."

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