This happened everywhere in Hungary and all over Eastern Europe. Of course, the Communist government waited until the factories and other businesses were rebuilt before they took them over. This was a common practice by the communists—letting the private businesses do the rebuilding at their own expense so that when the factories were surrendered the government could start operations immediately and reap all the benefits without those expenses.
My father was again facing an uncertain future, and this time with a young family. Losing the factory—which was the only thing left from his family’s business and in which he had invested all the remaining family’s assets—was devastating. These were hard times for everybody, and I don’t believe that my mother ever fully realized the pressure my father was under. She was a beautiful young woman, but had no idea how to be a supportive wife and partner to my father during those trying years.
After losing the factory, Dad moved his young family to Budapest, the largest city and capital of Hungary, where he thought he might have more opportunities to find employment. But Budapest was struggling to rebuild after the war, and life was very hard there, too. The city had suffered major damage and casualties in the last year of the war, after Germany occupied Hungary. In February 1945, the city was nearly destroyed in the Battle of Budapest. After being subjected to massive air raids by the Allied forces and ground fighting between attacking Soviet forces and defending Hungarian or German forces, nearly forty thousand civilians lost their lives, and every bridge over the Danube had been destroyed.
I was two years old when we moved to Budapest. By this time my parents’ marriage was floundering. Dad wasn’t getting the support he needed from my mother, and she had no concept of the magnitude of his losses—emotionally, physically, and financially. He had lost his entire family, he had lost the factory (and the family money he used to rebuild it), and he had lost his right arm and with it his dreams of becoming a concert cellist. Now even his marriage was falling apart and he did not know where to turn next.
Dad was beginning to lose hope of being able to start over again. As luck would have it—I would rather say it was God’s intervention—he ran into an old friend in Budapest one afternoon when he was just taking a walk and wondering how to go on, almost ready to give up the fight to survive. His friend, Katinka Daniel, a respected piano teacher, knew my father from the time when they were both studying at the Budapest Music Academy. Her husband, Dr. Erno Daniel, was a young conductor.
When Katinka saw Dad she was overjoyed that he was alive and had survived persecution during the war. Katinka had a lot to tell my father, also. Her beloved husband, Erno, left Hungary to go west just before the war ended, with the promise to build a better life for her and their two children in America. Katinka was left by herself to raise her children alone, but her faith was strong and she knew her husband would keep his word and that they would eventually reunite. They did, but it took twelve years.
The friendship between Katinka and my father came at the right time, and they helped each other a lot. Dad was obviously struggling, but Katinka, a deeply religious Christian woman, was very encouraging. She helped my father get a job teaching cello to young students, and he also started conducting the Hungarian Communist Party Chorus, with Katinka accompanying him on piano. During this time Dad also went back to school and got his master’s degree in music. Eventually he became one of the most well-known and highly regarded cello teachers in the country, and his close friendship with the Daniel family lasted throughout their lives.
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Love’s Orphan
Chapter 2
Love’s Orphan
Chapter 2
Love’s Orphan
Chapter 2
Love’s Orphan
Chapter 2
Picture of the young bride.
The newlyweds: mom and dad.
Love’s Orphan
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First year of marriage; still a happy couple before my early arrival.
One of my favorite pictures of my handsome dad.
Last family photo taken on April 25, 1949; the day after my second birthday. The marriage was already in trouble.
Love’s Orphan
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Last picture of my grandmother, the year before she passed away.
Grandmother, dressed for church.
The only picture of my maternal grandmother and grandfather together; they were married almost 60 years.
Love’s Orphan
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Chapter 3
My Childhood
My full birth name was Ildiko Judit Kalman. My mother named me Ildiko after the last wife of Attila the Hun. Some legends say that the teenage bride Ildiko killed Attila on the night of their marriage for forcing her into it, or for the murder of her family, while others say he died on their wedding night from a sudden hemorrhage. While lost in the fog of legend, the name itself is certainly Germanic in origin, sharing the same root with Hildegard and Hildchen, and has come to mean “fighter” or “fierce warrior.” Considering the trials of my life in Hungary, I feel this is quite appropriate, and I am proud that my name is a symbol of the strength I needed to survive those difficult years. My middle name, Judit, was in honor of my father’s niece (the daughter of his sister, Irene) who perished at Auschwitz.
According to my grandmother, I surprised everyone by arriving two months earlier than expected. She would often joke that I was in such a hurry to enter this world, and that nothing much has changed since that time. I still tend to be in a hurry in everything I do. I like to be early whenever possible, especially when I promise to be somewhere for our children; and I am fanatical about arriving early at airports!
Since I was premature, things didn’t look too good for me at first. Mom told me that I was not a pretty baby, and that at first she didn’t want my father to see me because she was afraid he would not believe that I was his child. I think she really had no idea how to take care of me. Mom had no interest in nursing me at all, so we had a nanny with enough milk for babies. She fed me while she was nursing her own baby, too. I was a sickly infant, very colicky, and didn’t grow at the normal rate. My grandmother, having raised