I learned that my father had been taken away. Even in the camp, he gave his food to the needier ones, explaining, “I always have enough.” He hoped to meet with me along the way, but our paths never crossed. He was remembered as saying, “If one man can do this to another, there is no reason for me to go back.” And he didn’t come back. My beloved father, who always gave to others, starved to death. What had become of “Live and let live”? He was so greatly respected in the camp that he was the only one not buried in a common grave.

After the war, an eyewitness told me all this and led us to his grave. We brought him back, and he was the first to be buried in the Jewish Memorial Cemetery for the Martyrs in Budapest.