The Romanian Jewish Community

         My name is Eva Czinczar nee Lustig. I was born in a Transylvanian village, Soimeni, in Cluj County, on February 26, 1925. My father was a notary public and my mother was a housewife. I had 6 siblings: Tiberiu, the oldest, is a physician; Oliver, a reserve general and a writer; Emilian, former manager for CENTROCOOP, is 77 today. The other siblings – the twins Corneliu and Cornelia and Valentin – died in Auschwitz with my mother. My father died in Mauthausen labor camp.

         In 1944, when the Hungarians occupied northern Transylvania, they came to our village too. All the inhabitants were Romanian, except for three Jewish families: us, my grandparents and the Schons. On May 3, 1944, the so-called ‘Rooster feathers’ (‘Kakastollasok’, Hungarian gendarmes) arrested us all and took us to the Cluj ghetto in carts pulled by oxen.

         I had recently graduated from high school, but the racial laws prevented me from being hired in town or from pursuing my education at the university. So I came back to my village and got a job at the mayor’s office in the commune of Vultureni, to which our village, Soimeni, belonged.

         So, on May 3, 1944, the ‘Kakastollasok’ came to our place, arrested us, put us into carts pulled by oxen, and took us to the Cluj ghetto. The locals in the Romanian villages that we passed welcomed us and gave us food for the road: eggs, cheese, bread. The people in our village were crying when we left. They had all got out in the street, as if it had been a rally.

         We lived for about one month in the Cluj ghetto, in subhuman conditions. The ghetto was located in the brick factory. They ‘accommodated’ us in the open galleries used to dry the bricks. Occupants were only separated by a sheet that was hanging from the ceiling of the gallery. Living there was an ordeal; little did we know that it was far better than what awaited us. About 4 weeks later, people were distributed into groups of 3,000 persons and were sent to board freight trains. They told us they were taking us to Dunantul, in Hungary, to work. The truth is they got us out of the country; at Kassa, they handed us to the Germans, who took us to Auschwitz.

         My family left Cluj in train no.5 and got to Auschwitz on June 9, 1944.

         On June 2, 1944, Cluj was bombed, but the ghetto wasn’t hit. Our train left and stopped in Oradea, because they were clearing debris of the bombing from the station and the surrounding area. It was there that we met Tiberiu; his labor detachment was working to remove the effects of the bombing from the field, so that the train wouldn’t be affected. We watched him through the window of our freight car. We got to Auschwitz on June 9, 1944. As soon as the doors were opened, those beasts called Kapo rushed to kick us. They were wearing striped clothes and a sign that read ‘Kapo’ – they were a sort of leaders of the inmates.

         They kicked us out of the cars. The first selection took place on the platform. Two rows were formed: the women, the babies, and the old women on one side; the young lads and the men that were good for work on the other side. The selection process was very simple. Everyone passed before the SS group and their leader picked those whom he deemed fit for work. A lot of women and many men were sent to their deaths by a single gesture of Mengele’s hand. When my turn came, I was asked to step out of the line. My mother held my hand tight and told them in tears: ‘But she’s my little girl.’ ‘It’s all right’, Mengele told her in a kind voice. The other SS men told me to move, because they knew their dreaded leader might change his mind at any moment.

         We all spoke a bit of German. I had studied it in high school. Besides, living in Transylvania, we were familiar with it. I ran a few meters, then I turned towards my mother; I thought they would send her and my young siblings to a place where work was easier or there was no work at all. But I knew I had to work. We were all prepared for that. In the ghetto, they had told us they would have us work in Dunantul (across the Danube), in Hungary, not that they would hand us over to the Germans in Kassa.

         It was then that I saw my family for the last time. My brothers, Oliver and Emilian, witnessed the moment I was selected for work – they were in the men’s line, not as in front as I was in the women’s. As long as they were in the camp, my brothers kept thinking I would survive, because I was robust and healthy. They clung to that thought, as they had seen with their own eyes that my life had been spared.

         (Edited text)