Holocaust Survivor: Nehemiah David

Born 1924 in Nagyida, Transylvania. Life in Nagyida village. Forsakes idea of escaping to Rumania. Szaszragen ghetto. How Jews saw Hungarians and Rumanians. Drafted for forced labor. In Nagybanya camp. Easier work in Budapest area thanks to prior acquaintance with Hungarian officer. Dispatch of labor unit to Austrian border and escape to Budapest. Released, re-drafted into labor unit. Trial at Szombathely. Labor camp in Austria. Religious observance in camp. German retreat and liberation by Russians. Year in Nagyida. Attitude of local populace. Conversation with village's two priests. Displaced-persons' camps in Austria. To Israel in 1949 from British internment camp in Cyprus.

My honor

On my journey home to the village, I wondered what it would be like. I surveyed the area from the ridge. From that height, you could see a great distance. I saw our vineyard, the fields, our houses. I recalled the dreams I had dreamt about being a tree part of that countryside, part of those mountains, belonging to them. I thought about what had been done to the Jewish People in general and to my family in particular.

About how all that was beautiful in Man here likened to the beautiful natural landscape, the mountains had descended to such depths, to such unprecedented cruelty. How wretched for humanity! Towards what end?! How is it said? "What is my crime, what is my sin?" Nature is so gorgeous. I remembered the Sabbaths, the festivals, among our extended family. We would go into the countryside: the stillness, the pure air, the beauty, the harmony there was room for all. You didn't see anyone push. There was no wickedness there. Everybody and everything was forbearing, patient, as though some Hand were directing everything thus. Everything was alive, everything grew, with nothing and no one interfering. It hurts so what human being are capable of doing to each other.

Why, I mused, go into the village by daylight, to see the man you lived with, grew up with, went to school with, trusted, helped in good times and bad, shared his joys? I didn't want them running after me saying: "Here he is, poor fellow..." I couldn't forget those moments when they didn't stand by our side not a single one of them not the Rumanians, not the Hungarians, not the Saxonians. I didn't want to see them at the moment of my homecoming.

I walked on. It was turning dark. It was May, springtime. The young people were outside. I recognized many of them, to the right and to the left. I didn't answer them. They called out: "There's a stranger in the village!" One of them followed me and recognized me. He let out a shout: "Nehemiah!" It turned into a circus. All of a sudden they were all friends: "Come over to our house! You'll have a meal with us! How we cried for you, how it hurt us to see how they humiliated you!" I said: "No! I want to go see my honor." "What honor?" "Our house! I want to see what kind of respect you paid our house. I want to see what condition it's in." Not a soul was there. I went into the rooms no door, no window, no table, not a single piece of furniture... The house was empty. The winepress was empty. Books volumes of the Mishna and Talmud, festival prayerbooks piled up in the yard, soaked from rain and snow. Pictures one or two. It was evening and the older people came, Hungarians: "Young man, come over to us, come and sit with us; why stay here alone?" I said: "No, thanks." There was no one in the village who didn't come and shake his head.

The next day I went to the vineyard. Here a big surprise awaited me: in the middle of the vineyard there came running toward me Who? My only true friend, who really didn't know how to lie, and I believed him I mean the dog. He gave me a proper welcome. A human-on-four. He didn't budge from me, didn't forsake me for a moment. The cat also came back. Afterwards all the members of my family arrived. We were four brothers and sisters. We rehabilitated everything the vineyard, the trees. But to enjoy life there?!... Not for a single moment did I consider staying. Every minute, every second I thought of nothing but going to live in Eretz Yisrael. I spent nearly a year in the village. I had returned in May 1945 and I left the place in March 1946.

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