Seeds and Roots: Olaszliska, Mesozombor and Forro

The Tokaj area of Hungary — what is called the “unterland” or “under land” because its people are poor and lower-class compared to the “oberlanders” in the south — is made up of many small towns and villages, and many of those town and village names appear on documents that are part of my Hungarian family tree. We couldn’t visit all of them, but we did drive to see the Memorial on the site of the old Olaszliska synagogue, where the Friedmans likely went to services. 

With one new wall and one remaining wall of the original synagogue and open to the sky, it commemorates the Hasidic rabbis and families who lived, worked and worshipped in the area until they were driven out by the Nazis in 1944.

The chief rabbi of the Liska Hasidic sect — also named Friedman — is buried in the Olaszliska cemetery, but Karesz said it wasn’t safe to go in there. Apparently, the Roma population in this part of Hungary is prone to violence, theft and other crimes, and we didn’t want to take the risk with our bodies, our belongings and a rental car. 

Instead, we drove to Forro, another small town where Aron’s wife, Betti Weisz Friedman, was raised, and where the two may have been married. We wanted to find out more about her and her family.

While on the road, we got a call from the clerk in Vamosujfalu, who was able to give us more information about the Friedman family. If you click on the photo to make it bigger, you can see Karesz’ notes about some of the family killed in Auschwitz.

The Town Hall in Forro

The city clerk looking at the old record books 

More good news: We found recorded evidence of Betti Weisz, her parents and her sisters, when they lived in Forro in the late 1800s.

Privacy laws prohibited us from making copies of the civil records, but being the rebel I am, I snuck a few photos anyway. While at the Town Hall, we asked about the Jewish cemetery. The clerk made a call to the local old age home. We waited on the phone while they finished singing a song. Then someone there told us the cemetery was gone. It had been built over with homes now inhabited by the Roma. We drove over to the area anyway, and carefully walked around, but there was nothing there to see but blue sky.

Still, I felt really good about the visit to Tokaj, all we saw, learned and felt there. On the way back, we stopped in the town of Encs where Karesz’ father is buried so he could pay his respects.

Later that evening, we celebrated our time together with another fine meal at a Michelin-recognized restaurant Anyukam Mondata in Encs. Appropriately, its name translates as “My Mother Said,” so I have to add that this whole adventure is a tribute to my mother Steffi, grandmother Frieda, great-grandmother Mollie and great-great-grandmother Betti. Now I really know where I come from.

To end the trip, we ate this delicious Pastry of the Day, which was actually potato dumplings with plums, another traditional and wonderful Hungarian dessert. Look for it in my kitchen someday soon.