Introduction to Eva Heyman
Eva Heyman (1931 – October 17, 1944) was born in Hungary in 1931 and began keeping a diary in February of 1944 when she was 13 years old. She began her diary a few days before the Germans invaded her home country, Hungary. The Hungarian Jewish people were the last major Jewish community to fall under Nazi rule during World War II. Eva’s diary shows that she knew what her fate would be, since by 1944 the world knew what the Nazis were doing to the Jewish people. She also knew because she had a Polish friend, Márta, the subject of this excerpt, who had been killed after returning to Poland. She even knew that children were also killed. Eva was living with her grandparents and they were arrested and deported to Auschwitz on June 2, 1944. Eva was gassed at Auschwitz on October 17, 1944. Her mother found her diary and published it.
Eva Heyman (1931 – October 17, 1944) was born in Hungary in 1931 and began keeping a diary in February of 1944 when she was 13 years old. She began her diary a few days before the Germans invaded her home country, Hungary. The Hungarian Jewish people were the last major Jewish community to fall under Nazi rule during World War II. Eva’s diary shows that she knew what her fate would be, since by 1944 the world knew what the Nazis were doing to the Jewish people. She also knew because she had a Polish friend, Márta, the subject of this excerpt, who had been killed after returning to Poland. She even knew that children were also killed. Eva was living with her grandparents and they were arrested and deported to Auschwitz on June 2, 1944. Eva was gassed at Auschwitz on October 17, 1944. Her mother found her diary and published it.
Eva Heyman was 13 years old when she started writing her diary. She was brought up in a secular bourgeoisie family in Hungary. Eva started writing her diary in February 1944 and continued writing until May 1944, the day she was deported to Auschwitz. She died on October 17th, 1944.
(February 14, 1944) Dear diary, I promised to write Márta’s story down in you, because you’re my best friend and I mustn’t keep any secret from you. Márta was two years older than I. Ági said that she was a genius in dance and resembled Josephine Baker, except that she is a Negro and Márta was only dark and glorious. I was always very proud that a genius two classes ahead of me was my friend. That afternoon, it will be three years this summer, Márta was over at our house. First we went riding our bicycles in Szálldobágy. That was my first “tour” on this bicycle. Marta’s was just like mine, only hers was a brighter red. Then we came home, and Ági asked Márta to dance something to music from a record but Marta didn’t want to, because she was tired from riding the bicycle. Then we had an afternoon snack, chocolate with whipped cream and strawberries with whipped cream, which Márta loved more than anything else, even more than dancing. Suddenly the bell at the front gate rang five times. It was Márta’s nursemaid, who had stayed on with them as a cook, because Márta didn’t need a nursemaid any more. She came in and said: “Mártika, come home. The police are there, and you have to go with Papa and Mama”. I still remember Ági. She turned white as the plaster on the walls. But Marta said it must be because she rode her bicycle so fast on Rimanóci Street, and her father had said many times that she would end up at the police on account of “speeding”. That explanation reassured me, but Ági paced up and down the room in such a strange manner, and she kept calling Aunt Pástor, Márta’s grandmother, on the telephone but there was no answer. In the morning I also called, but there was no answer from Márta’s telephone. I heard Ági tell Grandma that at the Journalists Club the night before they had said that the government was preparing to do something terrible, and Jews who weren’t born in Hungary would be taken to Poland where a horrible fate was in store for them.
I didn’t understand this right away, because Márta was born in Várad, and so was her mother, and her grandfather had owned a daily newspaper in Nagyvárad an awfully long time ago, even before Ági was born. I think the name of the newspaper was “Nagyváradi Friss Ujság”. But Márta’s grandfather, Uncle Pásztor, is dead, and now they only have a bookstore and an advertising agency, managed by Márta’s father, Uncle Münzer. Ági said that Uncle Münzer was born in Bukovina, but that doesn’t matter because that area also belonged to the Monarchy. At that time I didn’t know what “monarchy” meant, so I thought I would ask Grandpa, because he is old and remembers everything; he remembers things that happened a long time ago. When Márta’s mother was still single she studied in Vienna; Uncle Münzer did, too. They fell in love, and got married, and ever since they’ve been living here in Várad . Uncle Münzer knew Hungarian well, but Márta didn’t know German, only English.
The tension then was awful. Ági cried and cried and kept telephoning, and Grandma kept saying that it was dangerous to discuss such things on the telephone. Then Ági rushed into town to the journalists, and they told her that tens of thousands of people like Márta and her family had been taken away to Poland in a train, without luggage and without food. They said that if Aunt Münzer hurried up and got a divorce, she and Márta might be allowed to stay. But they didn’t want to get divorced. And Márta didn’t want to stay here without her father. Ági heard that Grandmother Pásztor went to Pest, the capital, where she tried everything. I think that some Minister by the name of Keresztes-Fisher sent a telegram to the Polish border to have them taken off the train, but the telegram never arrived. Ági said even then that this was a lie and that they were only making excuses, because nowadays everybody was bad and nobody obeyed orders, not even from a Minister. Márta’s bicycle was left near mine, beside the gate, and we didn’t have the heart to send it to Márta’s grandmother. Ági cried a lot whenever she saw the two red bicycles standing alongside each other. I even asked her why she always cried, since they wouldn’t take us away from here, because my father was born in Budapest, Uncle Béla in Komárom and Grandpa in Kaposvár. But she only cried more and said that a lot could still happen, and that they could still take us to Poland in a train just because we were Jews and because there was fascism here. I don’t know what fascism is, but one of the things it probably means is deporting Jews to Poland. Márta’s grandmother says that Márta and her parents are alive, but they can’t write, because the Germans don’t allow it. A lot of soldiers have already dropped in on them quite a few times, and after asking her for money they told her that they had seen Márta , and her mother, too, in some Polish town called Kamenetz-Podolsk. I found the place on my map and marked it with red. But they don’t have any clothing, because they weren’t allowed to take luggage along, and the soldiers bring them their clothing so they shouldn’t suffer from the cold. I’ve also heard that Aunt Pásztor brushes Uncle Münzer’s dress-suit. Because the suit is in the house where it isn’t of use to anyone. The soldiers ask especially for warm clothing, because it’s cold there, but Márta’s mother doesn’t seem to be bothered by the cold, because my grandfather heard that recently a soldier came to get her summer dresses. I asked Ági about it, but she didn’t want to talk about it.
(February 14, 1944) Dear diary, I promised to write Márta’s story down in you, because you’re my best friend and I mustn’t keep any secret from you. Márta was two years older than I. Ági said that she was a genius in dance and resembled Josephine Baker, except that she is a Negro and Márta was only dark and glorious. I was always very proud that a genius two classes ahead of me was my friend. That afternoon, it will be three years this summer, Márta was over at our house. First we went riding our bicycles in Szálldobágy. That was my first “tour” on this bicycle. Marta’s was just like mine, only hers was a brighter red. Then we came home, and Ági asked Márta to dance something to music from a record but Marta didn’t want to, because she was tired from riding the bicycle. Then we had an afternoon snack, chocolate with whipped cream and strawberries with whipped cream, which Márta loved more than anything else, even more than dancing. Suddenly the bell at the front gate rang five times. It was Márta’s nursemaid, who had stayed on with them as a cook, because Márta didn’t need a nursemaid any more. She came in and said: “Mártika, come home. The police are there, and you have to go with Papa and Mama”. I still remember Ági. She turned white as the plaster on the walls. But Marta said it must be because she rode her bicycle so fast on Rimanóci Street, and her father had said many times that she would end up at the police on account of “speeding”. That explanation reassured me, but Ági paced up and down the room in such a strange manner, and she kept calling Aunt Pástor, Márta’s grandmother, on the telephone but there was no answer. In the morning I also called, but there was no answer from Márta’s telephone. I heard Ági tell Grandma that at the Journalists Club the night before they had said that the government was preparing to do something terrible, and Jews who weren’t born in Hungary would be taken to Poland where a horrible fate was in store for them.
I didn’t understand this right away, because Márta was born in Várad, and so was her mother, and her grandfather had owned a daily newspaper in Nagyvárad an awfully long time ago, even before Ági was born. I think the name of the newspaper was “Nagyváradi Friss Ujság”. But Márta’s grandfather, Uncle Pásztor, is dead, and now they only have a bookstore and an advertising agency, managed by Márta’s father, Uncle Münzer. Ági said that Uncle Münzer was born in Bukovina, but that doesn’t matter because that area also belonged to the Monarchy. At that time I didn’t know what “monarchy” meant, so I thought I would ask Grandpa, because he is old and remembers everything; he remembers things that happened a long time ago. When Márta’s mother was still single she studied in Vienna; Uncle Münzer did, too. They fell in love, and got married, and ever since they’ve been living here in Várad . Uncle Münzer knew Hungarian well, but Márta didn’t know German, only English.
The tension then was awful. Ági cried and cried and kept telephoning, and Grandma kept saying that it was dangerous to discuss such things on the telephone. Then Ági rushed into town to the journalists, and they told her that tens of thousands of people like Márta and her family had been taken away to Poland in a train, without luggage and without food. They said that if Aunt Münzer hurried up and got a divorce, she and Márta might be allowed to stay. But they didn’t want to get divorced. And Márta didn’t want to stay here without her father. Ági heard that Grandmother Pásztor went to Pest, the capital, where she tried everything. I think that some Minister by the name of Keresztes-Fisher sent a telegram to the Polish border to have them taken off the train, but the telegram never arrived. Ági said even then that this was a lie and that they were only making excuses, because nowadays everybody was bad and nobody obeyed orders, not even from a Minister. Márta’s bicycle was left near mine, beside the gate, and we didn’t have the heart to send it to Márta’s grandmother. Ági cried a lot whenever she saw the two red bicycles standing alongside each other. I even asked her why she always cried, since they wouldn’t take us away from here, because my father was born in Budapest, Uncle Béla in Komárom and Grandpa in Kaposvár. But she only cried more and said that a lot could still happen, and that they could still take us to Poland in a train just because we were Jews and because there was fascism here. I don’t know what fascism is, but one of the things it probably means is deporting Jews to Poland. Márta’s grandmother says that Márta and her parents are alive, but they can’t write, because the Germans don’t allow it. A lot of soldiers have already dropped in on them quite a few times, and after asking her for money they told her that they had seen Márta , and her mother, too, in some Polish town called Kamenetz-Podolsk. I found the place on my map and marked it with red. But they don’t have any clothing, because they weren’t allowed to take luggage along, and the soldiers bring them their clothing so they shouldn’t suffer from the cold. I’ve also heard that Aunt Pásztor brushes Uncle Münzer’s dress-suit. Because the suit is in the house where it isn’t of use to anyone. The soldiers ask especially for warm clothing, because it’s cold there, but Márta’s mother doesn’t seem to be bothered by the cold, because my grandfather heard that recently a soldier came to get her summer dresses. I asked Ági about it, but she didn’t want to talk about it.
Interpretation
Eva’s diary entry begins three years after her friend Márta has been deported from Hungary back to Poland. She is recalling the events because the situation in Hungary is getting worse and she now understands her own fate as a Jewish girl living in a country that is no longer safe from the Nazis.
The memory begins with the two girls riding their bicycles. This is similar to the beginning of Number the Stars, where the girls are running down the road, leading “normal” lives. In this excerpt however, there is even more detail of what will be lost, as they return to Eva’s house and enjoy an afternoon snack of “chocolate with whipped cream and strawberries with whipped cream.” Eva speaks about Ági, who is either a family member or a servant in her household. After this happy image, the diary entry shifts with the bell ringing suddenly five times.
Eva’s diary entry begins three years after her friend Márta has been deported from Hungary back to Poland. She is recalling the events because the situation in Hungary is getting worse and she now understands her own fate as a Jewish girl living in a country that is no longer safe from the Nazis.
The memory begins with the two girls riding their bicycles. This is similar to the beginning of Number the Stars, where the girls are running down the road, leading “normal” lives. In this excerpt however, there is even more detail of what will be lost, as they return to Eva’s house and enjoy an afternoon snack of “chocolate with whipped cream and strawberries with whipped cream.” Eva speaks about Ági, who is either a family member or a servant in her household. After this happy image, the diary entry shifts with the bell ringing suddenly five times.
Next, Eva explains that Ági “turned white as the plaster on the walls,” when Márta’s nursemaid came to tell her to go home since the police had arrived to take Márta and her parents away. Marta tries to reassure Eva, a lot like Annemarie’s parents do when they must hide Ellen from the soldiers. Again, the idea of not sharing too much information is an important one here. Eva does not understand what is happening to her friend, and she overhears pieces of conversations. “The tension was awful,” since Ági cries and tries to keep calling Márta’s family. Márta’s bicycle also makes her cry, and it reminds the reader of the happy beginning to this diary entry.
The last part of the diary entry continues to reveal the reality of Márta’s situation, even though it seems positive. Eva writes about the soldiers bringing warm clothing to Márta and her family, so they won’t “suffer from the cold.” But this isn’t really what has happened, and three years later, Eva probably understands this.