Shmuel’s Story

Diseases and Hospitals

At the time I was transferred to a hospital, I was all dazed. Although I understood that I was free, and sensed that I went through some treatment by good many injections, I did not know where I was. I do remember that I was running wild because they would not let me eat anything, and water was given to me only sparingly. A nurse was appointed to calm me down and tell me stories. Other people came over to me, asked questions and wrote all kinds of personal data.

Later on I learned that the treatment and the caring atmosphere were not only of great help; they actually saved my life.

Nevertheless, I was desperate and unhappy. No matter how much was done for my well being it never satisfied me. I also have to admit that in those days I did not even care about the rest of my family.

Only at a later date I heard the medical staff’s complaints, and as time went by I better understood their frustration: they did all they could to save my life and strengthen my body and soul, and there I was, ungrateful and embittered. Such behavior could drive crazy even the most devoted person and staff.

However, it should be kept in mind that by the time of liberation I weighed only 32 kilograms, and the process of recovery was slow and lengthy. Then another type of typhus attacked me, causing serious retrogresses in my physical condition.

Some time after I reported my personal data, my name was put on the list of survivors. One of my uncles saw it, and sent someone to call for me. At the same time, Ďuro, who already was in Piešťany, also got the news about me. He and uncle Arpad tried to contact me. They could not call because the telephone system was out of order; instead, they sent a telegram, asking for my release.

The official reply from the hospital said that as I was fatally ill, they would not allow my transfer to Slovakia before full recovery.

One day, Mr. Fessler, who stayed with us at the Sered camp, came to the hospital. He told the senior physician that both my family and the Jewish community have sent him with an authorization to take me home. The doctor’s response was sharp and clear: “No doubt that your mission is both noble and important, but you will return home without the boy.” Mr. Fessler, a sophisticated and experienced man, raised his voice: “ I am committed to this child’s parents, and you are not going to say who should or should not take him to them. We suffered enough!” The doctor replied that he would not let anyone take me out of the hospital, and if Mr. Fessler refuses to leave the hospital’s premises, he would be arrested. The doctor gave Mr. Fessler a medical statement, from which he learned about my serious condition. He conveyed the message to my family.

Meanwhile, my health condition has worsened and caused great concern among the doctors. At an appropriate opportunity I was transferred to a high-level hospital in Prague. It took four more months of gradual recovery until my health condition became satisfactory enough in order to transfer me from Prague to Piešťany.

Mr. Dohany, a distant relative of ours, brought me to the home of uncle Arpad and aunt Lili in Piešťany. There I met Ďuro, after not having seen him for a long time.

Upon my arrival, I was so skinny that I could hardly walk. Uncle Arpad and aunt Lili took me to a doctor who said to them: “I cannot tell whether the boy is going to live for one or two more days. You should be prepared for not seeing him alive by tomorrow morning.”

At uncle Arpad and aunt Lili’s home, it took several months until I recovered, perhaps against all odds. Even upon my parents’ return from the camps, I was too weak to go and meet them at the railway station.

Next winter I got arthritis, and was again hospitalized – this time in the Jewish hospital in Bratislava, for three or four months. Because arthritis is a serious illness that might affect one’s heart, I was afterwards sent to a spa for treatment and convalescence. It took a whole year until I could stand on my own feet, and live again like a human being.