The last letter from my great-grandparents to my grandfather, before they were sent to die in the concentration camps, on April 20th, 1944, exactly 75 years ago today:
Bela, his father, my great-grandfather, begins: My dearest son, with the minimum necessities we are all packed, as are all the Jews of the town, to be shipped, in accordance with the order of the Hungarian government, to an unknown destination for an unknown purpose.
The Jews from the countryside were brought into a ghetto, set up in the local brick factory and housed in kilns, some 10,000 souls, including grandmother, aunt Malvin, and her entire family, etc.
For a number of days the Jews of the town fed them, but now that we too are ready to be shipped, there will be nobody to care for them. Probably our fate will be the same.
Bertha, his mother, my great-grandmother, continues: We are already a week condemned. Unfortunately, we have no hope. We are permitted only two dresses and underwear, one on our body and one packed. It seems that we will have no need for the clothes for long.
I am strong and I have closed the book of my life. You are an adult and can take care of yourself. I only feel sorry for your sister, Aviva. She is now 12 years old. I only wish that she shouldn't have to suffer. I don't believe in God any more.
It is possible that this will not be our last letter [it was].
Bela, his father, continues: Once this is all over, if we are not alive any more, publish my book which is in print now, if there is anybody left to publish for. Of course, there will be some need for a postscript to explain these events.
This is the book describing my trip to Palestine and the prospect of a Jewish homeland in the future [my great-grandfather was a personal associate of Ze'ev Jabotinsky -- a reminder that history really is "one single catastrophe, which unceasingly piles rubble on top of rubble"].
Thereafter, live an honorable life sanctifying our memory. Do not turn away from our national ideals, be a thoughtful and sincere fighter for our national rights [as I said, the rubble pile rises and rises].
Do not forget, however, that England and the US, the big democracies, are responsible for our lives and for the lives of FIVE TO SIX MILLION of our brethren. If this ever ends, hold them to account for this tragedy.
Do not despair. Do not be sad. Do not mourn. Perhaps we will survive. But should we perish, remember that nobody lives forever. We have to die at some point. It just happened sooner this way. Try to get along the best you can.
We will write from wherever we will be, if we are alive.
Aviva, my grandfather's little sister, continues: Dear Joshua, unfortunately, we will not have it as good as we had it any more. I think that you are the more fortunate one. Perhaps this is the last time I am writing to you.
My braids are cut. Probably tomorrow, Saturday, we will be sent to the deportation camp. You are lucky because you will live, but we will die. Thousand kisses with love, your pitiable sister, Aviva.
My uncle read this letter at Passover in memory of their lives, and with hope for all refugees in the world today, Syrian, Sudanese, and Palestinians among them. To all the climate refugees to come, as well, we pray for safe passage.
Bertha and Aviva were immediately gassed on arrival at Auschwitz. Bela was then transferred to Mauthausen, where he survived until April 1945. He was beaten to death by guards just weeks before the camp was liberated.
If you want to read their story in fuller detail, including the story of this letter, my cousin (a @nytimes travel writer) wrote a book about their experience, which is unfortunately now available only as an ebook: amazon.com/Luck-Jews-Incr…
