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My mother, Hedy Frenkel, her sister Vera and their parents lived in a town in Hungary called Bekeschaba. My grandmother’s parents had a general store in the nearby town of Sarvash where my grandmother ran a perfumery. They lived very comfortably. When the war broke out in Hungary in 1944 my mother was six years old and Vera was two. The family was able to escape to Budapest as they had connections with Raoul Wallenberg, a Swedish architect who helped Jews escape out of Hungary during the war by providing papers for them to help them pass as gentiles.
My grandmother was beautiful and blond and it was not hard to believe that she was a gentile. My
grandfather and his brothers were also able to get papers and lived as gentiles but most other Jews in
Budapest were not as fortunate and lived in poverty and fear in the ghetto. My grandfather and his brothers took advantage of their privileged status and secretly did underground work forging papers for fellow Jews to help them escape while also providing them with food. As the situation became more dire, it was unsafe for them to continue living as they were and my grandfather with my grandmother and aunt went into hiding in a basement apartment. Unfortunately, this arrangement did not last long as the owner of the apartment suspected my grandmother was hiding a Jew, was resentful of her, and reported her, though still not realizing that my grandmother was a Jew herself.
The Nilosh, as the Hungarian Nazis were called, were known to storm into apartments, taking what they wanted and beating up the residents there. When they arrived they beat up my grandmother and took my grandfather away. We were told that he and other Jews were shot and killed at the Danube just a day before liberation. My grandmother and my grandfather’s brothers had no choice but to go into hiding in another Budapest location. They survived the war by staying in hiding and moving from location to location, always trying to keep one step ahead of the Nazis, miraculously avoiding being discovered and shot, until it was safe to emerge.
Meanwhile my grandmother’s two sisters had been taken into a concentration camp. There they too were lucky, as a Jewish man assigned to kitchen duty took a liking to one of my grandmother’s sisters and gave them both enough food to survive. After the war this great aunt married this man. They and their children still live in Hungary. We have visited them and have tried to convince them to move to the United States for a better life. They do know that they are Jewish but refused our offer and remain in Europe, much to our dismay. My mother’s other sister moved to Israel after the war and has a beautiful family. One of her sons helped establish the city of Shiloh.
My grandmother’s uncle, Mr. Rapaport, owned an apartment in Budapest. After the war my grandmother, mother and aunt went to live there before planning to leave to build a better life in America. They meant to stay just a brief time but Communism came into power and they were stuck living in only two rooms in the apartment with many other families for nearly six years. My grandmother strived to leave Hungary and worked several jobs to make some sort of living. Because of her mother’s background she was able to work in perfumeries. My mother and her sister went to a Jewish Federation camp one summer but the conditions were terrible and my aunt got very sick so they were pulled out.
When they were finally able to leave Hungary the three of them were brought to a DP camp in Vienna and remained there for a year and a half. Although my grandfather’s brother, who had made it to America, wanted to sponsor my grandmother and her daughters and bring them to the United States, the quota was filled. They therefore headed to Canada and spent seven years in Montreal. Finally, in 1956, after years of hiding and being dislocated, the three made it to New York and were reunited with several relatives who had also miraculously survived the Holocaust.
In 1958 my mother married my father Moshe Samet who was a survivor from Hode Besermein. They met when an old friend introduced them. They were blessed with two children and created a loving and secure life for us stressing education and yiddishkeit. Growing up my parents never spoke about the war and the trials they had been through. However, when their grandchildren started learning about the Holocaust in school they slowly began to open up and share their painful histories. My parents’ mission in life was to raise their children and have them remain frum, kind and respectful to others.
My mother passed away one year ago after suffering from cancer. She and my father spent their years
focused on their family, on supporting Jewish causes and on giving Tzedaka. My brother and I try to emulate their courage, strength and determination. They are a constant inspiration to us.
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