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We were pushed up on railroad cars, actually cattle cars. But the amazing thing, what I still remember is, that on the way, being driven, or herded, by the Hungarian gendarmes, we were singing so...songs of hope. I do not remember exactly how to translate the song but I know where, which part of the Psalms it is in. And we thought that we are already enough in it [the cattle car]. We were about fifty people or sixty. Twenty more, thirty more, we must have been in that little cattle car which is about a third of the size of an American railroad car. About 120, 140, and before we know, whoever didn't make it of the family in the same car was cut off and they just slammed the doors, and those who were outside. They still had to put barbed wire on the little bit of an opening there was on the outside on the top of the railroad car. These cars were usually used for cattle transports or for grain. In the car the situation got by the minute worse and worse. People were looking to find a spot for the older...elderly people to sit down. There was no space to sit down, because if you sat down you couldn't get up, we were herded in, squeezed like in a sardine box. The journey actually lasted--Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday--three nights and about three days. If anybody had something to eat--because in the ghettos we already used up most of the stuff what we have, were successful in taking out of our homes when we were taken out into the ghetto--had to share it with others. But we realized it is not a simple journey of just a few hours. People were holding back, or we couldn't as generously pass it out to others. Then suddenly we start seeing that people were taking care of their needs in the cars, and the stench got worse every minute.
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