The anti-Semitic and rude behavior the official representatives of the Hungarian administration demonstrated and rumors about new anti-Jewish legislation caused grave anguish within the Jewish community. The future looked grim and threatening. More and more people began studying foreign languages and sought ways to emigrate. The quasi-liberal daily newspaper Magyar Nemzet, the favorite of the Jewish population, began publishing columns of language courses. Some readers preferred English, others chose Spanish lessons.

Rumors circulated about new possibilities of emigration to Palestine, organized by Beitar, a right-wing Zionist movement. Like a refreshing breeze, they raised a spark of hope in the somber atmosphere. Many people, mostly young men who did not want to serve in the Hungarian army, but also women, rushed to register for Aliya to Eretz Yisrael, emigration to Palestine. Some activists compiled lists of those who were anxious to get away from the ever more threatening regime. The journey figured to be costly, and people scratched together their modest savings to participate in the beckoning escape from tyranny.

On one of these stormy days a small delegation of notables came to see my father. They introduced themselves as leading representatives of the Beitar organization and had come to tell him that they wanted me to teach colloquial Hebrew (Ivrit) to their members, since I was the only one in town who could handle modern Hebrew. Orthodox Jews in general were opposed to Zionism since its foundation. Their general belief was (and still is) that the redemption of the Jewish people, the establishment of a Jewish state in Eretz Yisrael, was the main task of a God-sent Messiah, the long awaited Savior, and that no human action should push it or interfere with Providence. Accordingly, my father answered that he believed in the salvation and rebuilding he Holy Land only by the Messiah, and that he did not like the secular atmosphere then prevailing there. Defining the ideology of Beitar, the head of the delegation explained that their “New Zionist Organization” had seceded from the general Zionist Organization, and that its leader, Zeev Jabotinski, had sworn an oath that he would fight to build the Land and establish the State according to the spirit and the laws of the Torah. As a bonus, he added, I would be included in one of the next Aliya groups, in addition to the salary I was going to earn. The story about the “oath” and my chance to gain the “free” Aliya ticket did the trick. Since we could by no means afford the price for the journey demanded from others, Father finally gave his consent, although his attitude towards the Holy Land remained ambivalent. Zealously he guarded a booklet in ornate binding, “Flowers of Eretz Yisrael”, a souvenir made in Palestine, holding hundreds of dried flowers with their botanical and Hebrew names, which he must have obtained during his bachelor years in Vienna at the beginning of the century. He also used to tell us inspiring stories about various sacred places in the Bible Lands and the meaning of their names.

I was called and informed of the great news that I would become the teacher of scores of adults who already knew how to read Hebrew, while my former teacher Rezső Heller, would be teaching the beginners. I still remember the mixed feeling of elation and dread as I stood for the first time in front of a crowd of people, much older than I, on the same podium, in the same classroom where I used to see my respected teachers only a few years earlier from a little pupil’s angle. Although I was still under 18, every adult in that class anxiously awaited my approval or disapproval. It took some time to overcome this awe, but I gradually grew used to my new situation and my new status.

Our Hebrew lessons did not start right away; we first had formal duties. The Beitar movement was very rigid in this respect. The whole crowd had to stand at attention and sing two anthems–the one of the general Zionist Organization, the Hatikva (“The Hope”, as expression of the Jewish people’s yearning, during nearly two thousand years of Diaspora, dispersal and persecution, to return to its ancient, historic homeland; it is now the official Israeli anthem), and then, that of our movement. We repeated the same ritual was repeated after each lesson. This ceremonial formality became more and more irritating.

People who chose to learn English were afforded the opportunity of private lessons when a family of refugees arrived from Vienna. The father was born in Nagymegyer and had been my father’s school pal. Because he was from Nagymegyer, the authorities left the family alone and did not bother the refugees in their hideout. The mother was Viennese. They had a son who was about my age and a younger daughter. The son tried to make his living by teaching English and became known as “The Teacher.” I did not even know his real name for quite a while. He was popular, partly because of his fractured Hungarian and the fact that he was a bit different from the local youngsters, and perhaps partly due to his Viennese manners and handsome appearance. He also played the piano, but this was not a skill that was in demand in Nagymegyer at that time.

Among my students was a small group of educated young people who, like myself, grew tired of the militaristic stance and the ideological lectures of Beitar; we were convinced that one could learn modern Hebrew without all this hollow ritual, and sought something more liberal, meaningful and acceptable. My brothers, who possessed an outlook diametrically opposed to that of Beitar, wanted me to sever my ties with this right-wing organization. Our group decided to leave and to align ourselves with a more liberal, relaxed and flexible Zionist youth movement, Hashomer Hatzair (The Young Guardian). Some activists from the neighboring towns, Dunaszerdahely and Komárom, came to our aid. They described the difference between the two movements and helped us contact the other movement’s own headquarters in Budapest, from which we received printed instructions to start a local group. Since Hashomer Hatzair, like all Zionist activity, was illegal at that time, it operated under the cover name of Hanoar Haivri (The Hebrew Youth).

“The Teacher” mentioned above also found his place in our new group. His real name was Kurt and we called him Kurti (and later, Moshe). He taught us many Hebrew songs that were sung in Eretz Yisrael, which he found in music booklets we got from Budapest. It was my task to translate the text and explain it to the members of the group, the Haverim, while Kurti taught us the melody. Thus started our friendship. Kurt became one of the activists of our group and my closest friend.

There is no need to tell how angry the Beitarim became; they could not forgive our desertion, as we had, without immodesty, been considered the elite of their pompous group. My brothers were overjoyed with our decision, especially Ernő, who was by then an active member of our movement in Slovakia, and had decided to use only his Hebrew name, Yehuda.

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