The American Deluge

By Uri Norwich

RUSSIAN ELECTION MEDDLING!
For the past year, there’s been a non-stop barrage of this headline. Everyone has heard or seen it. Surprisingly, there was no need for the meddling. It’s been going on much longer than most people realize.
On January 20, 2009, a new occupant had moved into the White House. The transition of power from the previous administration had been orderly and uneventful, and on the surface, seemed to move smoothly through the process as prescribed by the US Constitution.
What millions of Americans couldn’t know was that a few years before the new president was born, another man had been offered two lives to live. His choice would change the lives of every man, woman and child on our planet. Many famous assassinations had been left behind in the wake of his ascension. He destroyed many large individual fortunes and the economies of some countries.
He could have chosen the winning numbers of any lottery ticket, but instead he chose to play Wall Street, the biggest gamble and most lucrative game of them all. Perhaps, it was his reward for surviving many hellish years and being able to come back unscathed. He then established himself as a power broker.
On that very day of the inauguration, he also just happened to be in town..., and was less than a mile away from the Oval Office.
There are no coincidences! There are no twists of fate! And there is nothing that just happens..., without someone orchestrating the outcome!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Uri Norwich
• Release date: Oct 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311432124

Uri Norwich

Author has traveled to, and lived in some, places reflected in the book. Currently, author lives in a New York City suburb.

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The American Deluge

URI NORWICH

The American Deluge Copyright © 2014-2017 by

Uri Norwich

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN-13: 9781311432124

Smashwords Edition

Published by highwood publishing new york©

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, now known or to be invented, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a connection with a review written for inclusion in a newspaper, magazine, on-line publication or broadcast.

For information regarding permission, contact [e-mail]

Cover Design by URI NORWICH

Manufactured in the United States of America

DEDICATION

To my father Solomon, who, as a free man of the free country, has departed this world, leaving it as a much better place than he had first found it ninety-one years before.

And,

To my mother, Sarah, without her this book could not be possible.

Also By Uri Norwich

A Sometimes Strange Story ©2017

Russian Jews Don’t Cry©2013-2016

If I Was Real... ©2013-2017

If one cannot tell a difference between fantasy and reality, it is either that one or a society around mentally ill.

CONTENTS

Prologue

1. The First Thing We Do, Let's Kill All The Lawyers.

2. Living Off The Grid

3. The Prisoner of War

4. If The Mountain Won’t Come To Mohamed...

5. Once You Go Red...

6. Off The Grid, Again

7. America

8. Looking Out The Window At Wall Street

9. András Lorre

10. The Street Paved With Dollars

11. The Seed Capital

12. The Great Killing

13. Whenever The Cause Of The People Is Entrusted To Professors, It Is Lost

14. We Don’t Forget Our Enemies

15. The Second Great Killing

16. A Tale of Two Jews

17. Escaping From Prison

18. A Chicago Night That Changed The World

19. The Candidate

20. Hijacking The Donkey

21. The American Council

22. I Wished It Never Happened

23. Who Am I?

Epilogue

Footnotes

Disclaimer

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, and places is entirely coincidental.

Characters

(Listed in order and at the age of their first appearance)

Emil Fehér, 14 years old.

Father, 47, Emil’s father.

Mark, 14, Emil’s closest friend.

Sergey, 52, GPU (predecessor of the KGB) – State Political Directorate’s foreign intelligence agent.

Igor, 45, MGB (predecessor of the KGB) – Ministry for State Security’s agent stationed in London.

Victor, 34, KGB agent stationed in London and New York.

Lucas, 40, London currency trader.

András Lorre, 37, a Hungarian immigrant, stockbroker and analyst.

Leonid, 30, KGB agent stationed in New York.

Michael Poore, 58, Commodities trader and a hedge fund manager.

Ariel Niecht, 57, Civil Liberties attorney. Principal at Charity Foundations.

Alex Rodnick, 45, Political consultant and top political advisor to the President.

Imanol Zarod, 41, Senior political advisor to the President.

Prologue

The phone rang. Then it rang some more. Startled, the occupant of the room sat on the edge of his bed, blankly gazing at the blinking blue panel on his nightstand. He was still dead-tired from the whirlwind night before, from endless hopping from one inaugural ball to another, from the countless procession of smiling faces congratulating him with the victory. It had been barely twelve hours since he moved to these quarters. This was his first night in that bedroom. He sat for a while motionless, trying to remember where he was. Then, he instinctively reached for his cell, just to realize that it wasn’t the one ringing. The blue panel on his nightstand kept blinking.

Just yesterday, after the inauguration, and before all the craziness of the celebrations had started, he sneaked his way into the Oval Office. There, he sat behind the Presidential desk and tried to feel himself at home. Just as he got comfortable, the front door opened and his predecessor walked in unannounced. He sat himself down on one of the two beige upholstered couches on the other side of the desk without saying a word.

That ugly fabric has to go, thought the new President. Suede would look great in that color, though…

They sat silently for a while, just staring at each other.

You know, you really wouldn’t want to hear that one ringing.

The former President pointed to a row of phones on the desk.

It is either bad news, he paused for a moment, or very bad news.

He got up and headed toward the door,

Oh, by the way, it is connected to your bedroom. Enjoy!

The room was dark, and the unfamiliar surroundings made it seem even darker. Finally, he realized that the ringing came from the line he dreaded the most. He slowly stretched his long arm and, with his eyes still half-closed, picked up the receiver.

Mr. President, he heard a quiet voice of his night secretary on the other end, there is an urgent call for you...

Didn’t I tell you last night hold all the calls? In a few hours, I have to fly down to Florida to host a golf event for my biggest ‘bundlers.’ I have to be on top of my game... He sounded irritated.

Mr. President, I’m afraid you would need to take this call. This is your counterpart from Russia.

Couldn’t he wait till morning..., bastard...

Mr. President, it is morning in Moscow.

Still sitting on the very edge of his bed, he reached for a pack of cigarettes and put one in his mouth without lighting it. The smell of tobacco made him relaxed and finally fully awake.

All right, put him through.

Mr. President... I can call you that now... Congratulations are in order. He heard a heavy Russian accent on the other end.

Couldn’t he wait, this prick, till morning with his stupid tirades, he thought.

I wanted to be the first one to get to you, before all others wake up and realize what happened. Someone else here wants to say a good-morning to you, Mr. President.

He heard on the other end a chair being dragged across the floor, as if someone was trying to get closer to him.

Mr. President, slightly accented, older, but a perfect English voice sounded in the receiver, … my best wishes to you, and congratulations.

He instantly recognized the voice. How could he not. Just yesterday, he was shaking his hand after the cold morning spent on the podium in front of the Capitol building. He was starting to get sick from all these people trying to get in his face already, to outdo each other in licking his ass. But this man’s congratulation was different, and in a stark contrast with everyone else. He could still hear that quiet but firm voice,

There are no coincidences! There are no twists of fate. And there are no things that just happen, Mr. President.

Well, now that you are leader of the free world, he heard the heavy Russian accent again, let us not to forget who really the leader of the entire world is. I suppose I can say that, Joe... Can’t I?

He pictured the Russian turning his head to another man in that faraway room, and smiling widely.

Go to bed, Mr. President. We wouldn’t want to see you tomorrow missing any holes. It’s too bad I don’t play golf, but we can have a boxing match. Can we? I am looking forward to lots of good times together.

He hung up and crawled back under the blanket thinking that there were still a few hours left before his Chief of Staff wanted to have his first official meeting in the Oval Office. I suppose I owe him that much, he thought drifting slowly away. And how about that Joe? He certainly gets around. That was some surprise, hearing him on the phone from Moscow...

Here…

The Russian President pushed a small velvety, burgundy box toward his companion.

You long deserved this. The country is gone, but this has been waiting for you for a long time, very long time.

He pushed the box even further.

The Hero of the Soviet Union?

Joe took the gold star out of its bed, turned it around, and put it just above his heart.

Is that where it goes? He tried it on the other side of his chest. Who am I kidding... I am not going to wear it anyway. Where? At a White House dinner, perhaps...

Well, just for that occasion I have another one for you.

The Russian President opened top drawer of his desk and handed to Joe another small velvet box. This time, it was blue with a red and white stripe hugging it around.

This is the current one. The Hero of the Russian Federation Star. We appreciate your efforts in making the new President. Speaking of which... I almost forgot...

This time, he picked up on the first ring.

What is it now?

Mr. President, I forgot to mention that we would appreciate if you start cleaning out your military between your rounds of golf. Don’t hold back! Clean out all those generals your predecessor had brought in. And while at it, please do use your tax agency to go after the ones you dislike. Oh, by the way, take a vacation. Go relax somewhere warm.

He heard a loud click, and the night silence filled up the dark room.

I hope I ruined his night. Love doing this sort of thing. Well, Joe, I didn’t know how to approach this one..., started the Russian President, ... It’s about your dad, your father. It’s been forty years since his death. We thought for some time to honor him publicly, you know. But every time we had to stop on our tracks... I suppose you would understand why. Anyway, here are his two...

And he pushed toward Joe two other velvety boxes. Joe put them next to his own and opened them. He stared at the Stars for a while without saying anything.

"Joe, it’s time for you to go now. As far as everyone is concerned, you are still up in the air between Washington and your villa in Cypress. The plane is ready and waiting for you. And leave those Stars for safekeeping here, for the time being. Who knows... Maybe one day you would wear them to a White House dinner, indeed. Do Svidaniya, tovarisch! ¹ "

He went around the table and briefly hugged his night visitor.

*****

1. The First Thing We Do, Let's Kill All The Lawyers. ²

J ust a few hours earlier that night, Joe gathered a small meeting in his St. Regis hotel suite. Only a short walk from the White House, he didn’t want to inconvenience his guests with a long absence from the inaugural festivities engulfing Washington. By five o’clock, all his guests gathered and seemed to enjoy their cocktails after spending a cold January morning outside.

Among present there were a Senator from Brooklyn, commonly known as a New York Senator, a Madame Senator from California, and another one from the same La-La land. A Senator from the Garden State, also known as a New Jersey Senator, shared a couch with a Senator from Michigan. A redheaded woman sat in an armchair next to them — another Madame Senator from Michigan. A pretty pair from Pennsylvania seemed an odd couple in the room. They stayed by themselves in the far corner. The young guy was still a first-termer, and obviously looking for guidance. Who could be a better guide than the older man next to him? He was a Republican turncoat — a well of wisdom and a gold mine of experience on both sides. He had pulled a move to the other side just for that last election. Amazingly, it worked!

Another oddball, a Senator from the great state of Connecticut, was sitting quietly in the opposite far corner of the room. Although he was a stray horse among the gathered, claiming that he didn’t belong to either side of the isle, he was invited here nevertheless. He kept to himself, while the others in the room chatted cheerfully away. That only added to the validity of his publicly announced statue of being an Independent.

A homely looking Senator from the great state of Nevada sat at the tall bar counter. He was trying to reach the floor with his feet, but couldn’t. They were strangely dangling in search of a firm ground. In spite of his shabby looks, no one in the room would dare question his unlimited position of authority he held tightly onto.

There was also a small group keeping to themselves by the window. They were not Senators. They came from the House side — congressmen and women. The one in the middle, dressed in bright-red two-piece suit, was the Speaker of the House. The tough one..., very important to the gathered as well. She was the first woman in that position, ever.

They were still missing two more, but as Joe started to lift up his flûte filled with expensive champagne, a newly elected to the Senate comedian from Minnesota walked through the open doors. He was loudly telling a dirty joke to the last expected guest accompanying him, a blonde, not elected, but freshly-appointed, Madame Senator from New York.

Now that we are all here together, I would like to make it short. We have done it! We got it! The man is in place. But don’t you think even for a moment that your work is done!

Joe’s voice was flat and without any emotions.

Some of you are soon up for re-election; others have a long way to go before that. He stopped for a second,

Regardless, you will all need money! You will all need T-H-E M-O-N-E-Y!

Joe made sure that he spelled each letter out, and paused for each one of them. No one in the room touched their glass, except for the clown from Minnesota. His glass was empty and he was looking for a right moment to refill it again. The silence was deafening in the room. Joe made sure that each and every word he said sunk in. The Brooklyn boy broke the silence first. Joe anticipated it, of course.

And what exactly, sir, do you expect from us now? We just put everything on the line to get the man elected. We promised them everything but the kitchen sink... You know, most of it was just a talk, just a dream...

Well, you will get those promises delivered, Joe interrupted him rudely. And if not... You know the consequences.

He reached out for his coat lying in an armchair next to the Senator from Connecticut.

And by the way, you just broke the first cardinal rule of the military — ‘Never stick your neck out!’ You wouldn’t know it anyway. Hardly anyone in this room, or, should I say, in the entire Congress, had served this country.

Still with the coat in his hands, he turned to the Brooklyn Senator,

Tomorrow morning, when I turn my TV on, I’d like to see your face on the steps of the AIG Building in downtown Manhattan. Although, it is not what I would want to see first thing in the morning... I mean your face. I still want to hear you tell the American people how naughty all those banks, insurance companies and their real estate brokers are. How they are to be blamed for the economic crisis, raging unemployment and all other ills you can come up with and pin on them. Improvise! Promise to the American people that you can get to the bottom of it, that you get all responsible to pay back. Tell them it is now the first priority of the new Administration to make it right by the American people. It would be a great time to start blaming the previous Administration, too. We have only a couple of years to play this card. Joe paused,

On that note, each one of you, go home to your districts and start the blaming game. Let me worry about the media. Believe me, by tomorrow, every major newspaper and a TV outlet will start their day with it. Please, help yourselves at the bar and enjoy the balls tonight. In a few weeks, I will revisit with each of you individually. My assistant will contact you. Make sure to be there. No excuses.

Joe started toward the door. Just as he was walking out, he heard someone speaking loud from the far end of the room.

Pardon my French, but we don’t have to take this crap, no matter who it is coming from. We are the United States Senators! We are the real power! We answer only to our constituents, not to a man named Joe. Is it your real name, by the way? The quiet Senator from Connecticut was standing now in the middle of the room.

Are you going to put up with it?

He turned around and looked at each one of them sheepishly turning their eyes away from him. A long pause set upon the room.

No one? Any one of you would like to say anything? Once again, the silence pierced the space.

All right, suit yourselves! I am not going to be any part of it. I am out of here!

He walked through the door past Joe, nearly hitting him with his small shoulders.

Now on the plane somewhere above the North Pole, Joe was thinking that he perhaps was too harsh on those nice people; too abrupt; too direct. Maybe he should’ve let them enjoy the moment and bask in their stupid glory... Maybe, maybe... There wasn’t much time for that garbage. They have just four years, maybe eight at best, to do what they set out to do. No A-bombs or missiles, could accomplish what they were on the brink of finally able to achieve. It took ninety-one years to arrive to this point, and without any war or blood spilled. Wise Chinese were right — dripping water pierces a stone...

Joe’s thoughts slowly drifted away. He closed his eyes and saw a fourteen-year-old boy running along the streets in the heart of Pest. That area of Budapest was known as Erzsébetváros or Elizabethtown. It was situated on the East side of the Danube River and was the traditional Jewish quarter of the city. It started to get dark already. The Great Synagogue of Dohány Street overshadowed the entire neighborhood with its two onion-shaped domes sitting on top the twin octagonal towers. In a bizarre play of light, their long shadows stretched out into the setting in first darkness.

Wait, wait up, Emil heard the voice behind him. I can’t run anymore. It is too fast for me. Please... Please..., his younger brother, Jákob was pleading behind him.

Jákob was just three years younger, but already almost the same height.

Why do we need to run all the time?

Emil stopped for a second,

We have to hurry up! We have still got two more stops to make before the curfew. C’mon, Jákob! C’mon...

The boys ran for a few more blocks until they reached a dark- gray apartment building. They stopped at the front entrance and looked up. The last sunlight was still reflecting from the top floor windows. Many were crisscrossed with paper tape, protecting them from breaking during too often now air raids.

All right, Jáiky, we have to climb up to the fifth floor. Sorry about that. I can’t leave you down here. Let’s move.

The boys started up the stairs and soon reached the top floor. Heavily breathing, Emil knocked on the wooden door. Nothing... He knocked again, and again. Finally, the boys heard a heavy shuffling behind the door and a woman’s voice inquired,

Who’s there?

We have a letter from the Jewish Council for you, madam.

Jewish Council? What is that? Never heard of it... Go away, go away! The shuffling resumed, and this time, going away from the door.

But, madam, wait, wait, wait! Emil pleaded. It says it is very important for Mr. Sándor Antal to receive it. Is he an attorney? Isn’t he?

The shuffle stopped and started back toward the door. Soon, the boys heard clicking of deadbolts, and finally, the door opened a crack. A middle-aged woman was staring at them through the chain, still holding the door from being fully open.

Give it to me, boy, at once! Ordered the woman.

She turned the envelope to the light and looked at it.

Go away! Go away! She started shutting the door in the boy’s faces.

But, madam, Emil pleaded again, we need you to sign that you received the letter. Here, on this piece of paper, right near your name.

The woman looked at him as if he had two heads on his shoulders,

I am not signing anything, boy! Go away!

She shut the door with a loud bang, barely sparing Emil a second to remove himself from the harm’s way. Running down the steps, the boys still could hear the echo from the deadbolts slammed back into place.

Jáiky, we still have to make one more stop. Luckily, it’s just around the corner.

The boys ran again, and in no time, reached another gray apartment building. This time, the apartment was on the ground floor. They knocked without any hesitation and an old woman answered the door.

We have a letter from the Jewish Council for you, madam. Emil quickly repeated the memorized opening.

Is Mr. Lajos Básti home?

I’m afraid not. But what is it?

The woman turned the envelope around in her hands and handed it back to Emil.

Would you be a darling to open it for me and read. Mr. Básti has been out of town for a while. Please...

Emil slid his finger under the flap and carefully ripped it open. He removed a paper with an official ink seal and started to read typewritten text.

"By the order of the Jewish Council, Mr. Lajos Básti, attorney at law, requested to report on this Day of April 1, 1944, at 9 o’clock in the morning at its offices at the Rabbinical Seminary in József körút Boulevard for the purpose of registration with the Council. All members of the family must be present, carrying current identifications, blankets, and two-day supply of food. Failure to appear at the above date and time may lead to an arrest by the Gendarmerie authorities." Emil stopped reading.

Go on, boy, demanded the woman.

That’s it! There is nothing else, madam.

But April 1 is tomorrow... and Mr. Básti is not here...

I am sorry, ma’am, but we have to run. Would you be so kind signing over here that you received the letter?

Emil handed the woman a list of a dozen names, some with signatures already next to them. The woman signed next to her name and was about to say something when Emil intervened,

We still have to make one more stop, madam, before the darkness. We better hurry up. The curfew… You understand.

He turned around and grabbed Jákob by his sleeve, dragging him out to already almost dark street.

Now, we really have to run home fast, before the Gendarmes see us.

But what about our teacher, Mr. Seidel? He is waiting for us to finish our rounds and turn the list in. Jákob looked at his older brother.

Never mind Mr. Seidel. We’ll turn our list in tomorrow. Now, run!

Just as the darkness fell, the boys rushed along empty streets. They carefully ran around and at a distance their school building. They called it in the German manner, the Gymnasium, to give it an aura of elite school where only the privileged could educate their kids. Some of the teachers were indeed German or Austrian. In fact, Emil’s favorite teacher was Frau Ümlauter. Her real name wasn’t that at all, but the kids nicknamed her for the German letter Ü, she constantly corrected them in her German grammar classes. The building was taken over by the German soldiers now, and housed their command post. At that late hour, it was the only bright spot in the otherwise dark neighborhood. They could hear a busy roar of trucks and motorcycles in the square, even a block away.

On the last breath, the boys ran inside their apartment building on the Jószef Nador Terrace. This was a very affluent area of Pest. Situated less than a mile away from the Parliament Square, it still presented a nice residential quietness in a large city. And yet, it was close enough to the government offices, that Father could have his own law office on the ground floor. It was a nice three-story and newly renovated building, overlooking a small green park always full of children’s laugh and play. Now it was dark and cold.

Father was waiting by the door. Pale in his face, he ripped the door open, letting the boys in.

Oh, thank god! You are home. What happened? Why so late? They promised me that all children would be home way before darkness... Liars, pathetic liars! The Jewish Council... Who do they think they are helping? C’mon boys, go wash up and tell me what happened.

When Emil told about the letters they were running all day, Father sat quietly for some time. Then suddenly, he spoke,

You didn’t get a chance to see what was inside those envelopes? Did you, boys?

He listened attentively to Emil’s recital word by word the letter he read to Mrs. Básti. Once again, he sat motionless for a long while.

Would you show me that list where people supposed to sign for those letters? Emil handed it to him.

Then Father got up, walked out of the room, and came back together with Mother.

Boys, please listen carefully now. I don’t know those people you have delivered the letters today to. One thing is clear to me, they were all prominent lawyers, all Jewish, and they went down in alphabetical order. I figure it would be just a few days before a letter like that arrive to our own door. It has been just two short weeks since the Germans invaded Budapest, and it has already started to happen. He paused.

The boys sat quietly in their chairs, afraid to miss a word Father was saying. Neither of them had any idea what their Father was referring to. But the way he put it gave them a sense of something bad about to happen.

Do you know what is going to happen to these people, boys? I’ll tell you. They will be deported and possibly murdered. Once again Father paused.

They have no right to give people orders like that! Those bastards! Those liars at the Jewish Council, they supposed to help us, to warn us, to get us away from danger... You cannot work there anymore, boys!

But father, our teachers told us to run errands for the Council, to make up for our missed school work. There are no classes any longer, so we are hanging out over there all day long anyway. Why not make a little geld? Emil protested softly.

This is not up for discussion! Done! Come tomorrow, I’ll try to call as many of my attorney friends as I know to warn them about those letters. No one should answer to those summons! No one! As far as we are concerned, we have no choice but to go into hiding. By my calculations, the German occupation shouldn’t last longer than a few months. The Russians are already on the border with Romania, and it is just a matter of time before they would arrive here. We won’t survive in the countryside. We must survive here! We are going into hiding, family.

Father, I have just one request. May I? Emil said with a small voice.

Can we take my friend Mark into hiding with us? He really has no one to turn to, since that freak boat accident where his parents had died. His grandma can’t help him... Emil stopped. His father nodded in approval.

*****

2. Living Off The Grid

The Jewish Council’s offices occupied an old four-story building with tall, arched windows. It was in the heart of a traditional area for the majority of the Jews living in the city of Budapest, and just two short blocks away from the Great Synagogue.

Emil’s Father was a well-to-do lawyer. Before all, he considered himself a Hungarian, and well-assimilated into the fabric of the Hungarian society. He thought very rare of himself as a Jew and had all means to live in the best part of town, and away from the Old Jewish Quarter. Although their apartment on the Jószef Nador Terrace was less than a mile away from it, it was worlds apart. Twice a year in the fall, for the celebration of the Rosh Hashanah — the Jewish New Year, and for Yom Kippur — the Day of Atonement, Father brought the family to the Great Synagogue for services. There had been just one more time when the family came back at an unusual for them time of the year. It was on Emil thirteen’s birthday to celebrate his Bar Mitzvah, or his passage to manhood. Nonetheless, Emil and his brother Jákob had been dutifully attending a Jewish school twice a week after their regular classes in a normal school, as the boys referred to their Gymnasium located near their home and where only kids of very prosperous parents went.

The Jewish school was on the very border of the Old Jewish Quarter, making it more attractive to parents who considered themselves not-so Jewish anymore, but still wanted their offsprings to learn something about their culture. They didn’t care much about religion… There, Emil got prepared to read from the Torah on his Bar Mitzvah day in the Great Synagogue. Once that was behind him, he stopped going to the Jewish school. It was a great relief for him. Now, he could spend all his free time after school playing soccer and tennis, his favorite. Jáiky wasn’t so lucky, though. He just started going to the Jewish school and was not looking forward to the next three years ahead of him. Then the Germans came. The Gymnasium was closed. Surprisingly, the Jewish school was still open, and it remained so for two more weeks until it was also ordered to close and relocate classes to the Jewish Council’s building on Síp Street.

Building #12 was a beehive of a mad activity. People ran over there for any and every need they had. Some were looking for the loved ones already disappeared, and trying to trace them. Some were robbed; some wanted to get away from the city and needed travel papers. The others were evicted from their apartments, confiscated by the Germans, and simply needed a place to stay. Some came for medical help or money. Many were looking for a job in the hope to find protection from the German orders, as they thought, it was guaranteed if they worked for the Council. That was the place where Emil and his younger brother Jákob went every morning since the day their Jewish school was ordered to close. Their teachers were ordered to come to the Council’s offices every day, too.

A few days passed. Every morning, Emil and his brother, for the lack of school, continued to report dutifully to the Council building. Just as their Father ordered, they found every excuse not to be asked to run any errands. It was easy to accomplish, since the building was a nuthouse, with hundreds of people coming and going all day long. The Council was the last remaining legal authority Jews still could turn to for help.

Meanwhile, dark clouds were gathered with the hurricane force over the Jewish community of Budapest. On April 5, 1944, a mere two weeks after the Germans seized the city, an order was issued for every Jew to wear a yellow star of David on top of a coat. Jews were forbidden to go to public places. All of a sudden, restaurants and parks became out of their reach. It became dangerous to go out on the streets without a star; it became even more so to wear the star. Jews who broke the rules were subject to ‘Deportation.’ No one could explain what exactly would happen, but it sounded ominous. So Emil, his younger brother and their friend Mark spent their days inside of the apartment.

It was a beautiful spring that year. It was beautiful every year, but that one seemed the most beautiful of all. Maybe because the boys couldn’t leave their confinement and do things boys supposed to do in the spring. Father tried desperately to arrange their relocation, and it seemed without any success. Every day he went out, risking to be detained. It was the only way for him to arrange anything. Finally, one day in the middle of April, he announced that he had secured new identity papers for all of the family, including Emil’s friend Mark. All gathered in the living room around the dinner table.

I promised to myself that none of you would ever wear that yellow star! Never! All bets are off! We can’t continue to remain the law-abiding citizens. As a lawyer, I couldn’t ever imagine saying things like these. We are at war, and our survival is at stake. If we abide the orders, we will perish! I thought of some plan.

Father opened his small briefcase, and pouring down came birth and marriage certificates and identity papers of all kinds. Even a death certificate for the mother’s father, who had passed away long time ago. Father had not left anything to chance. Here they were — military papers, occupation papers, permits to conduct various businesses, ration cards, residence forms, certificates of awards and citations.

Well, in a few days we are all moving to a new place. I am finishing the final preparations. We should be able to sit it out over there until the Russians come. It should be just a matter of a few months now.

And just like Father said, the following week, the family moved to a building on Markó Street. It was in the same Pest part of town, but somewhat removed and a bit north from the neighborhoods