Homecoming

The idea of writing a personal story about my experiences in my childhood, and after the Holocaust – until I arrived to Israel in April 1948 – has cost me many sleepless nights. I was struggling with this idea without respite. I felt that I must write it, but when I was to begin, I was discouraged by the prevailing prejudice against the survivors of the Holocaust in many countries, including my own, in Israel. Finally, upon the advice of my dear friend, Professor Viktor Frankl (1905–1997) I actually started this work. And my soul responded positively. The manuscript was written in three weeks. The words were simply pouring out of my memory like water from a fountain. Still, many people, including some of my relatives, strongly objected to my effort. They tried to convince me that "so much had been written on the Holocaust that there is no need for another book, especially for a personal account of what happened to a Jewish boy in Budapest". After more than twenty years since this book has been published, I know that I did what my soul was yearning for so long ago. The book has been translated and published in Hebrew, Hungarian and in German. But its publication in English waited until now.