Our peaceful life in Nyirbator, Hungary, a picturesque farming community, abruptly dissolved into chaos with the invasion of Russian troops on October 23, 1956. My parents, who survived World War II, never thought they would ever have to live in fear again. As the tanks and soldiers rolled through our small town and other larger cities like Budapest, my parents started to wonder if a Holocaust-like event would engulf all of Hungary.

Our parents had every right to be concerned with what was unfolding right before their eyes. My father had lost his parents and seven siblings in the war. My mother watched in horror as her mother and 5-year-old brother she held on to were both sent to the gas chambers by the Nazis.

During the invasion of our town in Hungary, I recall the loud sounds of the large Caterpillar tracks of the tanks metal-on-metal as they glided along the cobblestone street in front of our home. My parents took my brother and me to our grandparents’ home just two short blocks away so that we could all be together and comfort each other. Bombs could be heard in the distance as we all huddled behind a china cabinet for protection. I peered out a curtain at some point and watched as a Russian tank’s turret turned and fired a cannon blast that destroyed a house just down the block. The sound made us all scream out as we all gathered closer to each other and hugged tightly. It was this fateful night that my parents decided we needed to escape Hungary. At the time, my parents had no idea that the invasion and complete control of Hungary would only last 11 days. The Russians had accomplished their goal of defeating the “freedom revolution” against the Hungarian government.

Although things were back to normal and my parents went back to their small storefront, my father still had plans to escape to Vienna, where most Hungarians went on their own or with the aid of smugglers. My parents had no resources to pay a smuggler and they knew it would be too dangerous to try on their own. Unbeknownst to my father, his two younger brothers who went to the U.S. immediately after World War II were hatching a plan to get us out of Hungary. Louis and Sandor Srolovits had established a thriving factory between World War II and 1956. Uncle Sandor contacted his local congressman with whom he had become friendly and asked for his advice. The congressman explained that he would be able to assist with official papers to enter the U.S., but my uncle had to find a way to get us out of Hungary. After a few weeks, my uncle managed to get two handwritten notes to two independent smugglers within Hungary. Uncle Sandor knew many smugglers were caught and jailed along with refugees; he knew he needed two notes and didn’t know which note would make it through to my father.

One morning while my father was in his store, a young gentleman walked in and presented him with a note stating, “Your brother sent this to you.” Quite baffled, my father opened the note and immediately recognized uncle Sandor’s handwriting. The note read, “The person presenting this note to you will take you across the border. Everything is paid for and may God bless your journey.” My father and mother were both in shock because they never expected anything like this to happen. My father told the smuggler that he needed to digest all of this first. My father put the note into his pocket and closed his store in the evening as he always did. After arriving home and finishing dinner there was a knock on the front door; it was a second smuggler presenting a similar note. My father decided to meet both smugglers at the same time at a coffee shop at the center of our town. Upon greeting both smugglers my father asked how often they made the journey across the border, how many people they would smuggle per trip and how long would it take to cross the border, as well as a very detailed scope of challenges and dangers.

My father knew he had to make a decision right then and there about who he would use to smuggle us out. It was my father’s faith in God that helped him pick the smuggler. As a prisoner of war for three-and-a-half years, it was faith that sustained him while dodging bullets digging frontline trenches for the Hungarian soldiers. Once again, he raised his head to the sky and whispered to himself, “Oh dear God, you helped me survive the war, please help me once again to pick the right smuggler that will take me, my wife and sons across the border to safety.” As my father finished his silent request of God, he realized the stark difference between the two smugglers before him: one was a religious Jew and the other was not Jewish. Immediately, my father thanked both of them and informed the Jewish smuggler he would be using his services.

The plan of escape was to head to Budapest where the group would meet the smuggler and board a train at night heading to the Austrian border. At some point the train would slow down and one by one we would jump off and regroup. The group would consist of 15 people, no luggage and at most one handbag with some food. The train motorman would be paid off to slow down at a certain point and we would get a signal from the smuggler indicating it was time to walk to the back of the train car and jump off. The challenge my father had was to find a way of traveling the road to Budapest knowing that Russian/ Hungarian soldiers would stop us and ask where we were going and why. My father devised a plan to hire a truck driver for our furniture to take to Budapest where we could hand it over to his older brother. While in Budapest we met the smuggler and the rest of the group at the train station. My father couldn’t even tell the truck driver what our ultimate plans were, only my mother’s father and stepmother knew what we were doing.

Arrangements were made for a specific night to drive our furniture to Budapest. There was one more thing to do the day of our departure, visit my grandparents. My parents took my brother and I for that final visit. Everyone hugged, cried and kissed each other as we said our goodbyes. My mother approached the only grandfather I had the privilege to know and love and asked for a blessing. My grandfather responded by saying, “my dear, dear sweet daughter, I pray that wherever you ultimately end up you should be blessed with two sets of twins.” This statement was a complete shock to my mother and she immediately responded, “I have two beautiful boys already. How do I know I will be able to afford four more children?” My grandfather with his jovial hearty laugh responded, “the two sets of twins I speak of are “Health (Gizzunt), Prosperity (Parnasah) is the first set of twins and Luck (Mazel), Blessing (Brochah) are the second set of twins. My grandfather continued by saying, if you have these things in life in this order, you have it all.

We all hugged one last time and headed back to our house to wait for the moving truck. Once the truck was all packed, late at night, we headed toward Budapest. Along our journey we were stopped twice by soldiers asking us where we were headed. The driver showed a signed contract and an address where we were supposedly moving to in Budapest. Once we arrived in Budapest my father and his brother unpacked and the following night we met up with the smuggler and the rest of the group. We boarded the train that had multiple cars. Many of the cars had soldiers headed to the Austrian border. Our group was fortunate that all the soldiers were on two train cars in front of us and none in our section of the train. When the train slowed down, just as the smuggler had told us, my parents took me and my brother to the back of the car. My father jumped off first while my mother threw me into his arms, next was my older brother and finally my mother. After the entire group was off the train the smuggler brought us close to each other and we walked all night through open farm fields. The smuggler informed us we must make it to a certain farm before daylight because a farmer was paid off to keep us hidden during the day in his barn that had horses, pigs and chickens. The next two nights we stayed at other farms as we continued our journey to the border. At the third farm where we stayed, we were told to be very quiet and careful because the farmer was entertaining soldiers in his house not far from the barn. The fourth night we did not stop at a farm house, but rather crossed the border into Austria.

The border between Hungary and Austria consisted of a dirt road the width of a typical car, no barbed wires existed but there were machine gun nests all along the frontier separating both countries. Across the road on the Austrian side was a dense forest. Our smuggler had prearranged with the Red Cross to meet us once we crossed at a certain point and time. The last night of our journey there was monsoon-like rain that lasted quite a few hours. Our smuggler kept on encouraging everyone in the group to keep going because of our deadlines. As we got very close to the border two machine gun nest flood lights lit up the field in a panning motion. Within a minute of the lights shining down on the field through the torrential rain a barrage of machine gun fire erupted from the two closest towers. My father instinctively threw me into the muddy field and laid on top of me, while my mother pushed my older brother to the ground. As the entire group hit the ground, my mother noticed a bullet whiz right by my brother, George. We all started running for cover in all directions. Fortunately for us the rain was so fierce that none of the guards came down from their covered tower to patrol the fields and look for refugees trying to escape. Once the shooting stopped and the piercing lights went off, our small group quietly crossed the border. The Red Cross unfortunately left the area because they heard shooting on the Hungarian side of the border. We found out days later that a woman in our group had dropped something while she was walking and turned on a small pocket flashlight which resulted in floodlights and rapid gun fire. We walked through the forest until daybreak and reached a farmhouse. The farmer and his family greeted us warmly with food and drinks. The farmer took my mother to a back room of the farmhouse where there was clothing piled so high it practically reached the ceiling and said to my mother and the group that we could take as much as we wanted. The farmer explained to our smuggler and group we could take as many clothes as we wished. Our smuggler said goodbye to us and told my parents he was heading back to Hungary to bring out more escapees from Hungary.

My parents met up with a HIAS representative in Vienna and they put us up in a shelter with other refugees. My parents were told the only way we could get into the United States is through sponsorship. What this meant is they would have someone sign a document that they would house us, feed us, take care of our medical needs and try to find my parents a job. My father was able to call his brother, Sandor in New York to let him know he was safe in Vienna. My uncle was ecstatic that we made it to Vienna. Although uncle Sandor knew the local Congressman, it would still take close to two months to get the proper paperwork to enter the US. Almost every other day my father would wake up super early and stand in a long line in front of the American Embassy to ask the consulate if any official documents came through with our names.

Since we weren’t getting enough food at the shelter, my father would go to an upscale restaurant in Vienna and ask the manager for extra tossed away scraps of food. One day, while visiting the restaurant the manager was asked by a well-dressed diner who that father is holding on to the two boys. The manager stated we were refugees from Hungary. The lady instructed the manager to give us regular full meals and free scraps of food and to put it on her tab every time my father came by. My father nodded and gestured with great appreciation and a smile. Whenever my father took us to the restaurant the lady always sat in the back and could see us picking up food which she paid for. One day after weeks of picking up food the lady approached my father and through a translator asked my father to bring my mother so she could also meet her. The next time my father went to pick up more food my mother came along. My mother had light blue piercing eyes and light blond hair and spoke a broken German and Yiddish combination. As my mother spoke to this affluent lady, she asked my mother why her German Deutsch is different from what she speaks. My mother responded, it’s not Deutsch it’s Yiddish with a mixture of Deutsch, I’m Jewish. After that encounter, all food subsidies stopped from this lady. My father found out later from various sources, that she was the wife of a famous lawyer in Vienna who hated Jews.

Back in the US, uncle Sandor once again reached out to his local Congressman. The Congressman told him his timing was perfect and all the paperwork has been completed and signed off on. The Congressman continued by saying, “your brother is one lucky man because I am giving the signed papers to my son who is traveling to Vienna on vacation and he will hand deliver the documents to the US Embassy.” Two days later my father went to the US Embassy and asked the guard to look his name up. Within two minutes my father was in the embassy and given instructions about his upcoming journey to the US. Within days we boarded the USNS General Walker battleship which became a transport ship for refugees. While on the USS General Walker, we had daily drills on the high seas. Every man, woman and child had to put on a life vest and stay on deck until instructed to go below deck. We were all violently sick just about every day and were told to drink Coca Cola. After nearly nine days at sea, one sunny morning we were all told to get on deck with our life jacket vests. I’ll never forget seeing the Statue of Liberty. Everyone on the ship hugged each other and cried tears of joy.

After we all disembarked the ship, we were transported to Camp Kilmer, a former military compound in Edison, New Jersey. At Camp Kilmer we had medical exams and were processed before we were permitted to be released to our respective sponsors. After several days, we left Camp Kilmer and were reunited with my father’s two brothers and their families. We started our lives in Brooklyn and my uncle Louis found my mother and father a job on the assembly line of a pocket book factory. My father made a dollar an hour while my mother made 90 cents for the exact same tasks. My brother and I started school but we didn’t speak a word of English. My two uncles kept my parents financially afloat until my parents made enough money to take care of all our needs.

After a while my father decided to use some of his skills from Hungary in order to make a better living and tried to join the glaziers union. Although his English was not great, his skills were top notch. Beside escaping with the shirt on his back and his family, he brought his cutting tools in his pocket. As a test the glaziers union asked each candidate to cut a piece of glass. They handed my father a carbide cutting tool used by all glaziers. My father smiled, handed it back and he took out his diamond tip cutting tool. Several people watch in amazement how he cut a piece of glass with one passing strike down the center with perfection. They gave him a different kind of glass and once again they were amazed how he didn’t have to score the glass multiple times. They asked my father what was so special about his cutting tool and he showed them the diamond tip. They hired my father instantly but they never told him he would be on the ledge of the Empire State building with only a belt and two hooks. My father only replaced glass in private homes, there were no tall buildings in our little town in Hungary.

We moved to a house in Queens, New York, where my family prospered and my brother and I received a good education. My brother and I got married and raised our children. Unfortunately, my father passed away 19 years ago but my mom (God bless her) is almost 99 years old.

About two months ago I got an email from Dr. Kate Hallgren, a research scientist from Homeland Security who stated she would like to interview me about our escape from Hungary and our time in Camp Kilmer. I was informed that close to 200,000 Hungarians escaped from Hungary and the ones that came to the US were all allowed passage because of President Eisenhower and an obscure law called the Parole Act. The actual operation to resettle Hungarians was called Operation Safe Haven (also known as Operation Mercy). Dr. Hallgren was able to look up our names in the database but couldn’t release any documents or pictures. However, Dr. Hallgren sent me a link to request all of our documents under the Freedom Of Information Act (FOIA). As of this writing, I am anxiously awaiting the release of the documents.

Leslie Srolovits is a retired banker/technology officer with various international banks and can be reached via email at [email protected]