Ted Sears Memoir, part 3

The single remaining arch of Weingut I at the Nazi Mühldorf labor camp. Construction of this underground bunker factory, using slave labor, began in 1944 and was abandoned at the end of WWII. In the foreground is a collapsed arch, with iron rebar protruding from its surface. The ruins are located in the Upper Bavarian district of Mühldorf. Via Wikimedia Commons.

Introduction

We have already posted two excepts from the Holocaust memoir of our cousin, Ted Sears, who was born Tibor Schwartz, in Debrecen, Hungary in 1927. This excerpt is a part of a chapter Ted wrote on life in Debrecen, Hungary, before the war and before his family was sent to Auschwitz. This short excerpt recounts the family's Chanukah celebrations in the mid 1930s.

Debrecen 1935, by Ted Sears

I was about eight years old, my brother Mickey was nine, and sister Gyongyike was three. My mother was thirty-two and my father was thirty-eight years old. Grandmother Hermina, my maternal grandmother lived with us. I don't know how old she was. All I can remember is that she was old. At my age then, anyone over sixty was a relic and that was probably her age, a little over sixty. I loved her very much and I always felt that our family was blessed to have grandmother living with us. We were showered with so much extra love from her. The grandchildren were her pride and joy.

"Nobody is going to hurt the children" I heard her say all the time.

Both of my grandfathers (my father's father and mother's father) died before I was born. I heard my parents talk about them a lot, but as a little child, I didn't pay much attention to what was said. The only thing that I still remember is when my father was talking about his father, he always talked about how creative and talented he was, and he wanted me to grow up to be just like grandfather. I never asked Father just exactly what Grandfather did but I knew that the mold my father used to make dreidls for Chanukah was made by his father.

I remember how fascinated I was as I watched Father making the dreidls (a spinning toy used by children to play with on Chanukah). The mold consisted of four rectangular blocks. Each piece looked like a miniature construction brick, made of black carbon or graphite. Father took a piece of rope and tied the four blocks tightly together. I sat down on the floor and watched him closely as he carefully melted a piece of lead and poured it inside the mold. It only took a couple of minutes for the lead to melt and then another couple of minutes for the molten lead to harden, but I could hardly wait those few minutes. I was so excited.

I wanted to help Dad to make the dreidls but he would not let me. While he always encouraged us to participate in everything he did, "the sky is the limit" he used to say but the melting of the hot lead was a no-no. He often reminded us that molten lead is too hot for little kids to handle. It looked so easy to me and I was too young to understand the danger involved.

Ever since I can remember, whenever I saw anybody doing anything, I always felt that I could do it too, no matter how difficult the job was. I never had any fear of trying anything new and there was no limit to what I thought I could do, thus I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t help.

When Father finally opened the mold, I was always astonished to see the four shiny dreidls he had just created, with all the Hebrew letters beautifully engraved in each one. They looked like that they were made out of pure silver, and the way that they glistened made everything look so very festive.

Almost every night of Chanukah, right after dinner, the whole family would sit down at the table to play dreidl. Everybody took turns spinning it. Mickey and I, without any effort at all, made the dreidls twirl for a long time, but Grandma always had difficulty making it spin – her spin barely spun a few turns then wobbled around a bit until it fell on its side. During the game, Father would show us children a couple of card-tricks and tell a couple of jokes.

The scent of the freshly baked latkes filled the entire house and the whole family would be having a good time. Everybody looked very happy. Both Mickey and I enjoyed it immensely. It was a lot of fun and I wished that we could play the game all night long. Even the Menorah seemed to smile as it flickered in the window. It looked as if it wanted to glow forever. At times, when all the wax from the candle was consumed already and the flame was about to expire, it would suddenly lift its head and resume the full glow again, repeating this process several times before it finally went out. It left a little trail of smoke as it finally gave up, as if to signal that it too had a very enjoyable evening.

It would get late and it was time for me to go to bed. I would fall asleep very content and when I woke up the next morning, I would always remember a very pleasant dream I’d had that night.

It was such a good and warm feeling - a feeling that I yearn for whenever I think about my youthful and carefree days. I felt like part of a family then - safe and secure. I could actually feel my mind and body growing. Even today, when things don't go as well as I would like it, I just think of those happy moments and all my problems disappear.

Memorial to Raoul Wallenberg (1912-1947), Swedish diplomat who worked in Budapest, during World War II to rescue Jews from the Holocaust. The inauguration of the original monument carved by Mr. Pál Pátzay was scheduled April 9, 1949 by the Wallenberg Committee but the communist regime removed it during the previous night. The pedestal was destroyed. The sculpture was erected later in Debrecen but its origin was kept secret. Finally it was restored in Budapest on the 50th anniversary of its demolition.Photo via Wikimedia Commons.