Outcasts

by Susan M. Papp

  When we left the town after a few hours of looking around, my husband joked bitterly, "Well, darling, I hope you agree we've been here twice - the first and the last time."

  AFTER THAT VISIT, I tried to shut the place out of my mind and could never have imagined writing this story until I met Chaviva Hosek's uncle, Sandor Weisz. He had also been born there and, through his eyes, I learned once again to appreciate the incredibly interesting lives and relationships that had unfolded there.

  In March 1944, the Germans occupied Hungary and Adolf Eichmann himself moved to Budapest to supervise the "Final Solution." By April, the ten thousand Jews of Ugocsa County had been placed in a ghetto in Nagyszollos. Between May and June, some 100,000 Karpataljan Jews were deported to the death camps in Auschwitz-Birkenau. Sandor Weisz, his sisters, and his father were among them. Most never returned.

  Sandor Weisz went to Palestine after being liberated from Mauthausen in the spring of 1945, determined to leave the damn continent of Europe behind him forever. He denied his Hungarian past, refusing to utter a single word in Hungarian for over thirty years. It was too painful. His family were Hungarian Jews, immersed in the Hungarian language and culture, who had been living in Hungary since the 1700s. He became a Zionist and changed his name to Yitzhak Livnat.

  But, in the mid-1970s, Yitzhak Livnat grew tired of denial, tired of rejecting his past, his mother tongue, the culture, and the world he was raised in. Today, Yitzhak Livnat, known by his childhood nickname of Suti, spends his time scouring the village records and archives of the towns where his ancestors once lived, pulling together the fragments of his own and his family's past, documenting their lives and coming to terms with what happened to them over sixty years ago.

  While I had heard and read much about the Holocaust, hearing about and experiencing the story of this one family changed my outlook forever. The saga of their suffering is overwhelming.

  I also found out, bit by bit, the details of a mysterious love affair between a Christian man, Tibor Schroeder, and a Jewish girl, Hedy Weisz, who fell in love at a time when such a relationship was against the law, defined as a "defamation of race." This love affair and the time in which it occurred are the core of this book.

  The Schroeder-Aykler residence on the hill overlooking Nagyszollos.

  Since delving into their history, I have come to appreciate how unusual this story is and what an enormous amount of courage it took for Tibor to try to save Hedy. The story, I think, is unprecedented.

  While many stories have been told about how individuals survived the Holocaust, this story is very different. It is the story of the human interconnectedness of two individuals from very different backgrounds, their love for each other, and their vow to stay true to one another despite what human conventions or historical situations demanded of them. It is the story of tremendous courage and passion, the enduring nature of hope, and belief in the goodness of the human heart.

  All the events are true.

  Tibor passed away in January 1982 but left detailed documentation, letters, and diaries of his life. I am indebted to my now-deceased mother-in-law, Karola Aykler - Tibor, Bela, and Picke's mother - who wrote extensive diaries of her early life in Nagyszollos, where this story begins.

  This book is their story, a tribute and a legacy to them.

  chapter 1 | 1928

  AS THE HORSE-DRAWN carriage pulled up to the construction site that would soon be their new family home, Karola realized she had never felt such happiness, such pure contentment, before in her life. Karola's first marriage had disintegrated, leaving her alone with two sons, but she was recently remarried and pregnant again. This house symbolized a new beginning, a fresh start for all of them. She stepped out of the carriage, very elegant in her beige wool coat, her long brown hair pinned up under a matching hat. She adjusted her cashmere scarf more snugly around her neck and pulled on her gloves. It was February and, in this region surrounded by the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains, the winter cold crept into one's bones. Karola gazed out at the land owned by her family and the vineyards that stretched as far as the eye could see up the hill and beyond. The vineyards in this area were renowned for producing particularly good wine because of the rich volcanic soil on the terraced hillsides. Her father had amalgamated all their properties to build this dream house and she was amazed at how the massive structure that would soon be an integral part of their lives became more remarkable, more a distinct entity each time they visited. The two storeys were already under roof now and carpenters were busy laying the oak parquet floors onto the unfinished concrete.

  With her new husband, her father, and her son, Tibor, by her side, she walked up the long pathway that ascended to the house. It sat perched on the side of a prominent hill. They stepped gingerly into the front hall atrium. The entranceway had turned out to be far more impressive than even she had imagined. She breathed in deeply the delicate scent of wood shavings that emanated from the front hall. The house was swarming with workers, each focussed on his particular task. A team of carpenters was just finishing lining the two-storey atrium with rows of floor-to-ceiling handcrafted oak bookshelves. She marvelled at the honeyed hue of the wood that exuded warmth throughout the entrance and stopped to admire the fine craftsmanship. Her husband, Domokos, shared her sense of excitement and, as he stood next to her, he reached for her hand and squeezed it gently.

  Herman, the master carpenter who had been brought in from the Black Forest region of southern Germany to oversee the construction, seemingly held his breath as he gave them all a chance to take a good look at his work. Karola's father, Janos, was a man of few words but when the distinguished-looking man with the thick moustache spoke, his words carried a weight that prompted people to listen. Without his financial backing and assistance, this home could not have come to fruition.

  "Herman, you have outdone yourself," Janos beamed. "I never imagined it would turn out this well." Herman nodded his appreciation of the praise.

  While his parents spoke to Herman, seven-year-old Tibor wandered off, enticed by the activity going on around him. He always insisted on coming with them when they scheduled such house inspections. Before they left home he would proudly put on the toy toolbelt his grandfather had brought back for him from Vienna when he was five. It was his most prized possession. He walked around studying the workmen and watching with fascination as they hammered and sawed, built the wooden frame, mixed and lay concrete, and bore holes to insert the plumbing pipes. On the site and off, Tibor had come to be known as "the little working man."

  As he walked around, Tibor noticed one obscure nail that stood out from a baseboard at the bottom of the circular oak library. While the adults were all admiring the empty shelves, Tibor began pounding away at the loose nail with his toy wooden hammer. When Karola heard the noise, she rushed to the child.

  "What are you doing, my darling?" she asked as she put her hand out to stop him from hammering.

  The dark-eyed child looked sternly at his mother and explained as patiently as he could, "I'm fixing a nail that the workmen left to me to fix."

  Karola bent down, putting her arm around her son, and looked at the baseboard. There was indeed a nail sticking out, hanging halfway out of the wall - a nail that could be dangerous to someone walking by.

  Herman hurried to their side and crouched beside them. "You are right, young man," he said. "Let me give you a hand." With a quick motion, he hammered in the unfinished nail. Then he turned to Tibor. "Thank you for noticing our mistake, Tibor. You will make a fine master craftsman someday."

  Tibor's dark eyes beamed with pride as he tucked his toy hammer back into his belt and rubbed a bit of sawdust off his hands. Karola watched her son. He'd been such a calm, contended little human almost from the moment of his birth. A deep sense of serenity had enfolded Karola the day Tibor was born for she felt this baby would herald a new beginning in her life. She felt instinctively that as the Great War finally ended, so would her marriage. She couldn't tolerat
e living with her volatile husband much longer. Their married life had been dominated by his toxic bouts of depression, followed by fits of uncontrolled anger. Karola never knew what to expect. How could she have known when she met him what he was really like? As a first lieutenant, Istvan Schroeder had made such a fine impression on Karola and her family. But once they were married, he became unrecognizable. The only valuable legacies left from the bitterly unhappy marriage were her two fine sons: Istvan, the firstborn, and Tibor.

  The town of Nagyszollos had also gone through much dislocation and turmoil since the end of the Great War. Nagyszollos was part of a region known as Karpatalja that had always been part of Hungary but, after the war, the victorious powers, particularly France and England, were cruel when they dismembered the vanquished Austro-Hungarian monarchy. Two-thirds of Hungary's historic territory and one-third of her population were forced to become part of newly created foreign countries such as Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia. Romania became greatly enlarged. In 1920, a new border was dictated and most of Karpatalja - along with Karola, her family, and their lands - would be partitioned to the newly created state of Czechoslovakia.

  The new borders brought dislocation, chaos, and unemployment to the region. Nagyszollos was renamed Sevljus, but the only thing that was Czech about the town was its new name. There were hardly a handful of Czech residents - mainly the recently arrived civil servants and administrators. The new regime in Prague didn't want the international community to discover they had misrepresented the ethnic makeup of the population of Karpatalja at the Paris Peace talks, so one of the first declarations of the new government was to demand a certificate of citizenship in communities where practically no one had such a certificate. Karola and her family were directly affected by the cruel decree. She was persona non grata in the new state. She and her children were denied citizenship, as was her father, even though he was a landowner and taxpayer. She was informed that if she left the new country for any length of time, she might not be allowed to return. Furthermore, her children could not be enrolled in school. Without citizenship, they were stripped of any rights. She would have to secure a private tutor for them.

  Karola was incensed by the injustices she witnessed around her - the unemployed, the disenfranchisement, the hardships of the elderly she saw daily as she walked down the main street of Nagyszollos. The tragic events, the collapse of her homeland, had hardened her. Beggars, many of them pensioners, lined the streets trying to sell their last possessions in order to buy food. The only things that kept her going were her family and the land - the vineyards that had given them all so much sustenance and prosperity for so many years.

  Her parents had found Nagyszollos a wonderfully entertaining place to live, so different from the stuffy, self-important social circles they had left behind in the capital. The townspeople were of varied backgrounds and religions - a dozen different churches and synagogues lined or were just off the main street, Verboczy ut. While strolling the main street on any day of the week you could hear many languages: Hungarian, Yiddish, Rusyn, Slovak, and German. The Rusyns, a proud but poor Slavic people, spoke a language distinct from Ukrainian and Russian. Those who lived in the mountain regions were known as Huculs: rugged, independent people who kept mostly to themselves.

  About one-third of the townspeople were Jews. Skilled craftsmen, they operated many of the small shops along the main street. On Fridays, at sundown, many of the stores in town closed and the streets became eerily quiet as Jewish families went home to light candles and celebrate the start of the Sabbath. Everyone seemed to know about and respect each other's dress, customs, and holidays.

  Karola sighed as she looked around her. Through the openings in the construction she could see the breathtaking view into the vineyards and the mountains beyond. She couldn't imagine a more colourful place to live.

  Upstairs now, Karola and her husband were admiring the size of the bedrooms - recently installed large windows filled the rooms with light, stunning vistas, and a feeling of expansiveness.

  Five in all, room for all of them: her father, her boys from her previous marriage, and their new baby. Even Domokos's son by his first marriage would have a guest room when he came to visit.

  "This switch will be installed in each and every room, right by the door," Tamas Vag, the electrician, explained as he clicked the main hall chandelier on and off. They marvelled. Their home would be the first fully electrified house in Nagyszollos.

  As they stood admiring the work of the electrician, Tibor zipped up the stairs, making a beeline straight to his mother, grabbing her hand, pulling. "Come see, Mother! You will never believe it!"

  The excitement of the child was contagious. Everyone smiled as Karola asked: "What is it darling?"

  "Mother," Tibor exclaimed, "there are railway tracks going into our basement! Come see!" The child said it with reverence and caution, as if it was too bizarre to be believed, yet it was so amazing and exciting! Imagine ... Train tracks leading into their basement!

  "Yes, sweetheart, I know," said Karola. "Your grandfather saw that many other wine producers were bringing in their crop utilizing mini railway cars. Grapes are very heavy when harvested. To move the bushels of harvested grapes for any significant distance takes a lot of men working long hours. These lines and cars will make it much easier to bring the grapes into the pressing facility, which will be built into our basement."

  Tibor Schroeder as a young boy with his younger sister, Picke, and brother, Bela, in pram, 1930.

  Domokos, to further encourage the child's delight, leaned down to his stepson and asked, "Why don't you show me where the lines come into the basement?"

  Tibor took his hand and led them all down the stairs. Domokos smiled broadly at his wife, sharing her enthusiasm. It seemed God had blessed them so abundantly.

  DOMOKOS AYKLER HAD BEEN the postmaster of this town before the war and was one of the few fortunate individuals who were able to resume their jobs when the war ended. Karola met Domokos socially when he had come to call on her father concerning a business matter. A number of their friends were over for tea, and they invited Domokos Aykler to join them.

  When she met him again, after the war, Karola was surprised by her own reaction. She was very pleased to see him again and stammered a bit as she greeted him. He smiled tentatively but his eyes reflected warmth and tenderness as he returned the greeting. He was handsome, not particularly tall, but muscular with strong but gentle eyes. He had a long beard and distinctive facial features that caused people to sometimes mistake him for a Jew. Later she would learn that one part of his family had Armenian roots.

  Istvan and Tibor were upstairs with the tutor and her father wasn't at home, but she invited Domokos into the parlour and reminded him of that significant day they had first met - the day the Austrian heir to the throne was assassinated in Sarajevo. Her friends, all civilians, had speculated excitedly about what would happen next. They had predicted that the Empire would crush its enemies. Looking back, Karola realized Domokos had been the sole voice of reason and the only one who had realized the gravity of what was to come. She remembered how sad his eyes looked as he stated unambiguously, "This will lead to war."

  Now she offered him tea and they sat and talked at length about all that had enfolded in their lives since the last time they met. There was fire in his eyes when he spoke of the suffering of the people since Karpatalja had been annexed to Czechoslovakia.

  "This state of affairs cannot continue," Domokos said, quoting the great American president Abraham Lincoln. "Nothing is settled finally, unless it is settled justly."

  He told her about all that had happened to him and Karola realized that, as a captain in the Austro-Hungarian army, Domokos had been through his own incredible, soul-annihilating experiences. He had fought on the eastern front, had been captured and been a prisoner of war in Russia where he was condemned to death on several occasions. Once he managed to escape from a forced labour camp by pretending to be insane. She
sat mesmerized as he related his experiences. He spoke calmly, without embellishment, radiating an inner strength that captivated her. She was impressed that, despite all he had gone through and survived, he still sat across from her undaunted, unbroken, a strong and determined man. But at the same time, she realized, there was still so much kindness in this man.

  By the time their long conversation ended, Karola realized that she was drawn to this determined man sitting across from her. From that day forward, she invited Domokos to meals on the terrace of their home more and more frequently. They shared the same opinion on so many topics and discussed everything from world politics, inflation, and history to the education of Karola's sons, poetry, and the grape harvest. Their long conversations often extended into the early hours of the morning. They seemed oblivious to everything around them as they took long walks in the vineyard. In the small town of Nagyszollos, or Sevljus, their romance was the topic of much speculation and gossip. Even though Domokos was married and had a son, his marriage had also disintegrated, just as hers had.

  After a whirlwind but discrete courtship, Karola Schroeder married Domokos Aykler in a quiet ceremony in 1924.

  Their first child, a daughter named Karola, was born in March of 1925. Just a few pounds at birth, Karola and Domokos endeared her with the name of "Picke," or "tiny one."

  Istvan Schroeder, Karola's first husband, died at the age of forty in a sanatorium where he was still recovering from "nerve damage" suffered during the war. Many speculated that he had taken his own life but the official reason for his death was listed on the death certificate as "heart failure." The body was found several hours after rigor mortis had set in. In his tightly clenched fist they found his wedding band.