November 01, 2017
by Peter Gorog
My mother came from a very observant Orthodox Jewish family. Her grandfather was an Orthodox rabbi in a small town in Austria-Hungary (today Prešov, Slovakia). Her father graduated from a yeshiva in Pressburg (today Bratislava, Slovakia), but he never became a rabbi. Her family kept kosher—meaning they observed the very strict Jewish dietary laws—and she had a strong Jewish education.
My mother continued the family traditions after she started her married life, but according to her own account, she became less observant. She called herself the “black sheep” of the family. In reality, this title belonged to her brother Bubi, who was a member of the Communist Party in the 1930s, when it was outright dangerous.
Either my mother was not familiar with the intricate details of Jewish customs, or she just forgot the one that almost ruined her wedding. The day before her wedding, she went to the hairdresser, who, according to the wedding pictures, did a fabulous job with her very thick hair. Actually, the photos show the second attempt of her hairstylist because the first one was the victim of the Jewish ritual of mikvah. This is a water immersion ceremony before a wedding or some other life-cycle event. When she came home from the hair salon, the whole family admired her beautiful hairdo. It was her father who reminded her that it was time to go to the mikvah ceremony and completely immerse herself. One can only imagine my mother’s horror, but she dutifully went, ruined her coiffure, and returned to the hair salon to repair the damage.
Her adherence to Judaism and its customs became a much larger issue a few years later. The year was 1943, and the very strict anti-Jewish laws of Hungary, very similar to the infamous Nazi Nuremberg Laws, endangered the life of every Jew in Hungary. By that time, my father was already among the 40,000 Jewish victims who were part of the Hungarian labor battalions, and the rumor spread in Budapest that Jews who converted to Catholicism could avoid persecution.
Although the anti-Jewish law was very explicit that anyone who converted to Christianity after 1919 would still be considered Jewish, many hoped against hope that it might save their lives. The Catholic Church was opportunistic and used the desperation of many Jews to win converts. It Echoes of Memory 23 started conversion classes, and a Jewish friend of my mother’s convinced her that they should take the class, saying they had nothing to lose even if the rumors were not true.
From my mother’s diary, it is clear that at this time she had not lost her faith in the G-d of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and she followed the Jewish religious practices. She wrote at various dates in 1943 the following paragraphs in her diary, addressed to my father:
“I hope and believe that the good Lord will help us to see each other again and soon.”
“Every Friday night at the candle lighting, I pray for you and of course every night when I go to bed.”
“Your little girl is strong, the good Lord listens to my everyday prayers that we will be united soon.”
In the 1990s, my mother told me about her conversion attempt. After the first class, she could not recall the topic, but she remembered the strong feelings she had about going through with the conversion. As she phrased it, she could not bring herself to betray her family and her people. She could not see herself kneeling in the pews as the statues of the Catholic saints in a historic baroque church peered down at her. She could not bring her hand to make the sign of the cross.
Her first conversion class was her last one, too. She remained faithful to her “good Lord” who heard her prayers and gave her the courage, the bravery, and the perseverance to survive and protect me during those difficult times.
©2017, Peter Gorog. The text, images, and audio and video clips on this website are available for limited non-commercial, educational, and personal use only, or for fair use as defined in the United States copyright laws.
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