It was April 5, 1944. The German troops occupied Budapest, Hungary, two weeks earlier, on March 19, and all of us Jews were staying close to our homes, cowering in our apartments, all over the city, fearful of the occupying troops. Each day there was a new set of rules that restricted our lives and reduced our freedoms. On April 5 we could not go out into the streets without wearing a yellow star. The star had to be canary yellow, 10 centimeters in diameter and firmly sewn onto our garments, right above our hearts.
I was a 12-year-old girl and I was proud to be a Jew. I didn’t mind being identified as an “Israelite” (which was the Hungarian term for being Jewish). I felt, in my youthful enthusiasm, that not only will “they” — our enemies — be able to tell who we are, but we will also know who our sisters and brothers are. I wore my star of David with pride and dignity. I announced to the world that I was a daughter of the covenant. I had my identity embossed inside and outside and it became a matter of the heart for me.
Many terrible things befell us Jews. Since we had to move into a designated Jewish ghetto house, my family and I went into hiding with Christian papers. We hid in the shelter, survived bombs and hunger, but our spirit never wavered. Sh’ma Israel, Adonai Eloheinu, our Jewish God is One.