Life Reclaimed: Rural Transylvania, Nazi Camps, and the American Dream

by Paul N. Frenkel

Overview

In April of 1944, during the last year of World War II and two months before the D-day landings at Normandy, Paul N. Frenkel was a fourteen-year-old living happily with his family in the rural Transylvanian town of Hadad, Hungary. Suddenly, without explanation or justification, the family was rounded up with other Hungarian Jews, confined in a factory yard, and then herded into cattle cars and shipped off to Auschwitz.

In Life Reclaimed, Frenkel narrates the story of his life-his prewar idyllic childhood in the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains, his survival in four Nazi camps as a young teenager, the loss of his parents and most of his relatives in Nazi hell, his daring escape from the death march out of Berga-Elster Camp, and his ultimate success as an entrepreneurial business executive and devoted family man in America.

A story of endurance, courage, and hope, Life Reclaimed represents Frenkel's determined ongoing efforts to come to grips with his Word War II experience-why his family and the other Hungarian Jews failed to realize their dire peril from the Nazis; why their Transylvanian neighbors and friends actively collaborated with the Nazis or passively abandoned their Jewish colleagues to arrest, enslavement, and death; and why this dark past continues to haunt his life and burden his thoughts.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781475980271
Publisher:	iUniverse, Incorporated
Publication date:	03/25/2013
Pages:	182
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.39(d)

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LIFE RECLAIMED

Rural Transylvania, Nazi Camps, and the American Dream

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By Paul N. Frenkel

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2013 Paul N. Frenkel
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-8027-1

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Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Pastoral Hadad

Looking back today, I cannot imagine a happier childhood than growing up in our small agricultural community in remote northern Transylvania. I lived there until age fourteen with my parents Morice and Ida Frenkel and my brother, Gabriel. Hadad was a farming town of approximately two thousand people located in the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains. To most Americans, Transylvania conjures up gothic Hollywood tales of Count Dracula and vampires. To me, it provided the familiar comforts and endless fascination of rural farm life—horse-drawn carts, ancient dirt roads, Protestant church choirs, colorful Gypsy fiddlers, Tuesday produce markets, open-sleigh rides, and the weekly town crier.

Transylvania is the Latin word for the region, meaning "land beyond the forest"—those great forests that cover the Carpathian Mountains. The CarpathiansprovideTransylvania'shugenaturalborderonthenorth,east,and south, leaving it open on the west to the Great Hungarian Plain. Transylvania consists of rolling hills, river valleys, and fertile plains, interrupted only by the Bihar Mountains near its center, just west of its historic capital city, Kolozsvar (now called Cluj-Napoca). Hadad lies near the very northern tip of Transylvania on a virtual straight line between the border city of Szatmar (Satu Mare), about twenty-five miles to the north, and the capital city of Kolozsvar, about fifty miles to the south (see Map 2).

Called "Hodod" by the Romanians and "Kriegsdorf" by the Germans, Hadad, as the Hungarians called it, was settled in the latter half of the eighteenth century by a Hungarian (or Magyar) nobleman named Wesselenyi, along with Lutherans from southern Germany. Wesselenyi's descendant, Count Banfi, owned a magnificent castle situated on the western side of town at the highest point in Hadad, about half a mile above the valley below. Count Banfi also owned most of the land in our part of Transylvania, and everything on it. This included all the animals (pigs, cattle, sheep, chickens, and horses), all the crops (fields of grains, fruit orchards, and a vineyard), all the forests, and the flour mill. What did not belong to Count Banfi belonged to Count Degenfeld, an absentee German landlord. Degenfeld Castle, located at the southern end of town, lay relatively dormant and largely unoccupied, except for the estate manager plus the caretaker and his family.

Hadad covered a mile-wide stretch atop a gentle east-west hill and extended south about two miles down into a small valley with sprawling fields. The weather was ever-changing, and everyone's daily preoccupation. In summer, the weather was generally pleasant, especially for a youngster like me. But in winter, a brisk Siberian wind blew across the Carpathians into Transylvania, bringing biting cold winds and heavy snowfalls that drove everyone indoors. We huddled before the fireplace, well supplied with stacked wood, which was freely available and easy pickings in the nearby forests—at least before the first blizzard arrived. Rarely did people venture out in deep snow, except to feed the barn animals or to purchase flour and cooking oil from the mill.

The dramatic seasonal changes in Transylvanian weather captivated me. In fall, the leaves formed such a thick ground cushion that I could painlessly slide or roll down the long, steep embankments on the Banfi estate. When the weather turned cold, my leather shoes froze, clicked, and squeaked—clear signals to get indoors before my feet became frostbitten. The winter snowfall was often so heavy that the roads were impassable even for horse-drawn sleighs. When severe weather forced me inside, I played chess, arranged my stamp collection, and peered through Father's medical books to read about various diseases.

Throughout most of the winter, Hadad was perfect for sledding. My friends and I whisked down the main road through the town center and then turned down one of the two side streets, speeding toward the valley below. We were unconcerned about traffic, since there were no automobiles and few sleighs. Trees posed the only real danger. Careening through orchard trees, some of my friends lost teeth on impact with the ubiquitous tree trunks. My sledding injury occurred near the entrance to my elementary school. To make it all the way to the school entrance, I had to lie flat on the sled in order to pass under a railing in front of the school. One time I forgot to duck and hit the railing so hard I was knocked unconscious. To this day, I still bear a slight dent on the top of my head.

From spring through fall, we had almost daily rain showers, which turned the town's unpaved streets to mud. Walking in the slippery mud was treacherous, since the roads were uneven, strewn with rocks, and lined on either side by shallow ditches. If the weather suddenly turned cold, animal footprints froze in the mud, which made the roads more uneven and dangerous. Most people went around town on foot, so shoes became mud-caked from the moment they hit the ground. Removing that mud before walking into your house was a necessary ritual. My practice was to scrape my shoes using a small pocketknife, and then to clean the knife with wood shavings.

Hadad's main road (then as now) enters town from the northwest near Banfi Castle at the top of the hill. It descends south to Degenfeld Castle, turns east through the town center, and continues east out of town about seven miles to Szilagy Cseh (Cehu Silvaniei), which has the nearest train station. As you head east along the main road from Banfi Castle toward the town center, you pass the synagogue, the pharmacy, the market square, Degenfeld Castle, four general stores, one of Hadad's two taverns, the blacksmith shop, the town hall, the post office, two schools, and the Protestant Reformed (Calvinist) Church (see Map 3). Two smaller roads head south off the main road and down into the valley below the town. At the west end of the main road (back toward Banfi Castle) are the flour mill and the monument to unknown soldiers who died in World War I. Most of these places factor prominently in my story.

The Hadad I remember seemed to exist in a time warp, cut off from the rest of the world and unchanged for hundreds of years. There was no electricity, no indoor plumbing or running water, no telephone, and no newspaper. I cannot recall ever seeing a new house being built or hearing of anyone moving into or out of town. People went everywhere on foot, crossing paths daily with other townsfolk—in the fields, orchards, and streets; inside the stores, schools, barns, and churches; at the two farmers' markets and the post office; and less often at funerals. As they passed by, people greeted one another with "Buna ziua" or "Jo napot" ("Good day" in Romanian and Hungarian, respectively). Gossip exchanged during chance meetings was—other than the town crier—the major source of information.

Even in the best of weather, Hadad's roads had little traffic. People walked or drove horse- or cattle-drawn carts to the mill, the market, or the fields. On a rare day, you might see a stray dog searching for food. Casual strollers were the exception; everyone walked with a purpose, heading somewhere. Sundays and holidays, however, were special. On these days, young girls went arm-in-arm dressed in colorful Hungarian costumes, and peasants emerged in native attire all headed to the town square. There they danced to a Gypsy band composed of violins, flutes, clarinets, and solo accordion. The merriment was uplifting.

The only traffic congestion occurred at sunset during spring and summer when herds of cattle, sheep, and pigs returned home from pasture right through the center of the town. At the edge of town, using a special signal understood only by his dogs, the shepherd ordered his dogs away from the front of the pack. This triggered a stampede down the main street through the town center, forcing pedestrians to leap aside to safety. Each animal let out a sound as it scrambled for an unobstructed path. The pigs ran frantically ahead of the outnumbered, plodding cattle, each bent on securing its place at the awaiting trough of food. Caught in this organized chaos, pedestrians hugged the roadside until the last animal had passed.

In the 1940s, Hadad's ethnic and religious makeup was typical of small towns in northern Transylvania. It was predominantly Hungarian, with many Romanians, some Germans or Swabians (those Germans who populated the area during the eighteenth century), and still fewer Jews and Gypsies. Hadad had a variety of religions to match: Calvinist, Unitarian, Roman Catholic, Lutheran, and Jewish. Of Hadad's two thousand or so residents, fewer than a hundred were Jews. On Friday evenings, Saturday mornings, and holy days, the rabbi—wearing his usual long black coat and large fur hat and accompanied by his family—led a solemn procession from his home down the length of the main street to the synagogue, where he held services. Heading west through town, the procession passed directly in front of our home.

The local population consisted mostly of peasants who lived in small houses throughout town. Many peasants owned tiny plots of land, and a few had some cows and pigs, several chickens, possibly some geese, and in rare cases a horse. Almost everyone worked for the Banfi estate and depended on the land for his livelihood. Farm life was strenuous. Every job was manual, since farmers had no heavy equipment and used horses and cattle for plowing and hauling. I remember one man who developed a bad back and became a cripple from repeatedly loading and unloading heavy bags of grain. Those who did not work the land were tradesmen whose businesses depended on the peasants. Many of Hadad's tradesmen were Jewish.

Townspeople spent most of their time working in the fields or in their shops. Otherwise they remained at home. There was not much else to do. Department-store shopping and public entertainment, as we know them today, were nonexistent. And there were few social functions besides church on Sundays and holy days and synagogue on Friday evenings and Saturdays. Hadad had no theater, bookstore, or library—we borrowed our books from neighbors or friends. Even the schools and churches had very few textbooks and religious books. We had to read books hurriedly on the premises if we were going to read them at all. Some people frequented one of the two taverns in town, which served wine from wooden barrels and offered Gypsy music. The patrons sipped wine to the sound of violins, basses, cymbals, and the dulcimer (cimbalom in Hungarian). An open-air bowling alley located behind the main tavern featured competitive bowling on market days in summer. Despite its limited amenities, however, Hadad was seldom boring to me—never in good weather.

Today, Transylvania is part of Romania and has been throughout most of the twentieth century (see Map 1). Since the Middle Ages, however, Transylvania has generally been part of Hungary, and its long checkered history deserves a brief retelling because it affected life even in remote Hadad. Transylvania's history really begins in the year 987, when the Hungarian army under its commander Kolozs conquered the area and established Kolozsvar (the "Fort of Kolozs") as its capital. From the tenth to the sixteenth centuries, Transylvania was part of the Hungarian Kingdom, serving as its eastern frontier against the Ottoman Turks. In 1526, the Ottomans defeated the Hungarians and took control of Transylvania for the next 150 years. In the 1690s, the Ottomans ceded Transylvania to the Austro-Hungarian Empire, which oversaw Transylvania for the next 200 years. In 1867, Transylvania became reunited with Hungary, and they both remained part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire until the end of World War I. Then Transylvanian history becomes even more confusing.

Hungary and Austria picked the wrong side in World War I, whereas Romania switched sides to the Allies in 1916, in exchange for postwar rights to Transylvania. The victorious Allies honored this agreement in the 1920 Treaty of Trianon, awarding Transylvania to Romania. Part of the justification for this award was the 1910 census, which indicated that Romanians constituted the majority of the Transylvanian population. Northern Transylvania, however, including Kolozsvar and the area above it (where Hadad is located), was primarily Hungarian. After Trianon, the Romanian government introduced discriminatory policies against Hungarians, banning the use of Hungarian place and street names and requiring that schools teach only in Romanian. Consequently, in 1920, Kolozsvar was renamed Cluj, and Hadad became Hodod. This anti-Hungarian discrimination lasted for two decades until the beginning of World War II and caused a latent animosity toward Romanians among the majority Hungarian population in Hadad.

In 1940, in appreciation for Hungary's military support, the Third Reich awarded northern Transylvania to Hungary, leaving southern Transylvania (below Cluj) with Romania (see Map 2). Consequently, in 1940, Cluj reverted to Kolozsvar and Hodod to Hadad, their original Hungarian names, and the official language in northern Transylvania changed back to Hungarian. Since most Hadad residents were Hungarian and virtually everyone spoke Hungarian, the language change had little practical impact on most people, including my family. My parents considered themselves of Hungarian origin; it was their native tongue and culture.

Transylvania remained divided between north and south from 1940 until late 1944, when the Russian army entered northern Transylvania. The Russians arrived several months after the Nazis had removed all of the Jewish people from the north, including my family. Toward the end of World War II, Romania again switched sides to the Allies and attacked Hungary. In reward for Romania's second wartime about-face, Russia returned northern Transylvania to Romania in 1945. The postwar Paris Peace Treaty of 1947 sanctioned this return, and ever since, Transylvania has remained part of Romania.

The 1920 and 1940 transitions to and from Romanian sovereignty, respectively, proved difficult for the citizens of Hadad. With each regime change, the mayor's nationality also changed, first to Romanian and then back to Hungarian, and the residents of that governing nationality reaped the benefits in political patronage. The 1940 power shift to the Hungarians spawned economic and political vendettas and score-settling among neighbors for actions taken during the prior two decades under Romanian rule. The historic animosity between the Hungarians and Romanians divided practically everyone in town. Though barely eleven years old in August 1940, I could feel the tension in Hadad when northern Transylvania transitioned back to Hungarian rule, even though I did not fully understand the politics.

The minority Germans, Jews, and Gypsies remained mostly spectators to this ethnic strife, but they could not wholly escape the fallout since they lived in its midst. The Germans, who constituted about 30 percent of the population, tended to live in the lower southern part of Hadad near the Lutheran Church. The Jews concentrated in the upper eastern part along the main street not far from the synagogue. The Gypsies lived in tents on the southern edge of town. The Hungarians and Romanians felt superior to both the Jews and Gypsies because the latter two had neither a separate country or homeland nor any obvious political or institutional defenders. The Jews posed no threat to participants in the running ethnic feud, however, since they were mostly tradesmen—shoemakers, tailors, tavern keepers, shopkeepers, and teachers—with limited incomes and no political aspirations.

Growing up in Hadad, I saw no great differences or distinctions among the Hungarians, Romanians, Germans, Jews, and Gypsies, and my religion never seemed to affect my relationships with any of them. Yet even as a child,Irecognizedtheenormousclassdistinctionbetweenthevastmajority of townspeople and the two local counts. With their impressive castles and vast inherited wealth, the counts enjoyed a unique social status. They lived in royal isolation, never venturing into town, and they traveled to and from Hadad by private carriage, which added to their mystique. No one in town ever expected to attain their status or wealth. At the opposite end of the social hierarchy were the peasants. Everyone else—professionals, clerics, and tradesmen—fell somewhere in between ... everyone, that is, except the Gypsies. They were generally considered outsiders.

Despite the ethnic and religious diversity of its population, Hadad itself had a remarkably similar look throughout, especially in its housing. Each house had at most two rooms: a kitchen and an adjoining sleeping-living room. The inside floors were mud and not level, undulating throughout the house with slight dips and rises. Inside the kitchen was a large mud-brick stove with an iron top, fed constantly with wood. The stove functioned not only for cooking but also for heating the entire house. Some houses also had a tall terra-cotta stove used solely for heating. On the top of the kitchen stove lay the wet clothes spread out to dry and the house cat fast asleep. Wood gathered from the forest served as the sole fuel for heating and cooking. Every season, my family bought logs from a farmer and hired an itinerant wood cutter to chop them into smaller pieces and stack them near the house. During winter, we carried armfuls inside daily to burn in the oven.
(Continues...)

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Table of Contents

Contents

Acknowledgments....................     xi     

Prologue: Remembrance of Things Past....................     1     

PART I: THE SETTING....................     7     

1. Pastoral Hadad....................     9     

2. Family Matters....................     21     

3. Young and Innocent....................     37     

PART II: THE TERROR....................     51     

4. Driven from Home....................     53     

5. Herded To Hell....................     63     

6. Working to Survive....................     73     

7. Approaching the End....................     81     

8. Head of the Line....................     87     

PART III: THE ODYSSEY....................     115     

9. Rebuilding in Romania....................     117     

10. A New Beginning....................     133     

11. Trying to Recover the Past....................     143     

Epilogue: Historical Perspectives and Personal Reflections.................     155     

References....................     167