"When my mother and I got to the Romanian-Hungarian border and these people saw that I was an eight-year-old boy they panicked. They were afraid that I would make a noise and give them away. In addition to what my father had paid them-- there was nothing wrong with that because they risked their lives to do this-- my mother took off the jewelry she was wearing and gave it to them. They decided it was okay to take the risk. To this day I still remember the sounds of the guards, the smell of their cigarette smoke, and the barking of dogs.
We crossed over; it was a very dark moonless night. We crossed over into Hungary and we were walking across the fields in Hungary and my mother stepped into a pothole, severely spraining her ankle. When we got to Budapest we went to what was called a safe house. I was right back in the apartment of don’t make any noise, don’t draw any attention to yourself, don’t speak to anyone."