Ilana Lindenblatt

He told it to people he visited on EMT calls. He went into schools and synagogues, was recorded for YouTubes and in TikToks. What did he survive for if not to tell the story of what happened to him, a story that six million people did not live to tell? He spoke eagerly, each small anecdote from that time well honed from frequent retelling.

He told it to people he visited on EMT calls. He went into schools and synagogues, was recorded for YouTubes and in TikToks. What did he survive for if not to tell the story of what happened to him, a story that six million people did not live to tell? He spoke eagerly, each small anecdote from that time well honed from frequent retelling.

Each story was told like a miracle, the way any survivor story is told, the exquisite set of coincidences and acts of heroism and kindness that allowed him to be retelling it to me today from the safety of his perch in America. On Mr. Lindenblatt's seventh birthday, his mother took him to the bakery for chestnut puree with whipped cream, a Hungarian delicacy, same as she always did.

Each story was told like a miracle, the way any survivor story is told, the exquisite set of coincidences and acts of heroism and kindness that allowed him to be retelling it to me today from the safety of his perch in America. On Mr. Lindenblatt's seventh birthday, his mother took him to the bakery for chestnut puree with whipped cream, a Hungarian delicacy, same as she always did.

But this year, by the time they were finished, it was past the new curfew that had been levied on the town's Jews. She told him to take off his yellow star, hide it under his coat, and follow her to the front of the train, where they would pretend they weren't Jews. It made no sense to him. He loved that Jewish star. He was so proud to be Jewish. He listened to his mother, though.

But this year, by the time they were finished, it was past the new curfew that had been levied on the town's Jews. She told him to take off his yellow star, hide it under his coat, and follow her to the front of the train, where they would pretend they weren't Jews. It made no sense to him. He loved that Jewish star. He was so proud to be Jewish. He listened to his mother, though.

She was clever, his mother. She was always figuring out how to live in the worsening reality of Budapest. But as it goes in every Holocaust story, worsening quickly got worse. It became harder to violate curfew. Mr. Lindenblatt's father was taken to a forced labor camp, Mr. Lindenblatt's mother was left to fend for the family, and seven-year-old Mr. Lindenblatt was now the man of the house.

She was clever, his mother. She was always figuring out how to live in the worsening reality of Budapest. But as it goes in every Holocaust story, worsening quickly got worse. It became harder to violate curfew. Mr. Lindenblatt's father was taken to a forced labor camp, Mr. Lindenblatt's mother was left to fend for the family, and seven-year-old Mr. Lindenblatt was now the man of the house.

Then one day, an order came. Every woman from the age of 16 to 56 had to report to the train station. His mother went to get her green winter coat to take some money from her pocket and leave it for them. But when it was time to put on the coat and go, she took one look at her sons and realized she couldn't leave them. She put away her coat, and Mr. Lindenblatt looked out the window.

Then one day, an order came. Every woman from the age of 16 to 56 had to report to the train station. His mother went to get her green winter coat to take some money from her pocket and leave it for them. But when it was time to put on the coat and go, she took one look at her sons and realized she couldn't leave them. She put away her coat, and Mr. Lindenblatt looked out the window.

He saw women walking, he said. They were being led to the Danube by teenagers with rifles. Once they were at the river, they would be tied up, five per group. The Hungarian Nazis would shoot one or two and then push the entire group into the river to let the current take them as the living drowned, attached to the dead.

He saw women walking, he said. They were being led to the Danube by teenagers with rifles. Once they were at the river, they would be tied up, five per group. The Hungarian Nazis would shoot one or two and then push the entire group into the river to let the current take them as the living drowned, attached to the dead.

The Nazis began knocking on doors and rounding up Jews to send down the Danube. One day, as they approached, Mr. Lindenblatt's mother, frantic, told him, You know how to daven, say the Avinu Malkenu. The Avinu Malkenu is the holiest prayer in Jewish liturgy, a prayer for God's mercy recited on high holidays. Mr. Lindenblatt began to recite the prayer.

The Nazis began knocking on doors and rounding up Jews to send down the Danube. One day, as they approached, Mr. Lindenblatt's mother, frantic, told him, You know how to daven, say the Avinu Malkenu. The Avinu Malkenu is the holiest prayer in Jewish liturgy, a prayer for God's mercy recited on high holidays. Mr. Lindenblatt began to recite the prayer.

and the Germans stopped their rounds that day at the house just short of the Lindenblatts. Months went by. The Lindenblatts moved to Mr. Lindenblatt's grandmother's house in what eventually became the Jewish ghetto in Budapest. Troops of Hungarian Nazis, called the Arrow Cross, continued to go house to house, sending Jews off to concentration camps or the more immediate death of the Danube.

and the Germans stopped their rounds that day at the house just short of the Lindenblatts. Months went by. The Lindenblatts moved to Mr. Lindenblatt's grandmother's house in what eventually became the Jewish ghetto in Budapest. Troops of Hungarian Nazis, called the Arrow Cross, continued to go house to house, sending Jews off to concentration camps or the more immediate death of the Danube.

Once again, as they approached the door, Mr. Lindenblatt's mother beseeched her son to recite the Avinu Malkenu. He did. He said it with all his heart, and they stopped again, again, just short of their door. Air raid sirens would ring out. There was an underground bomb shelter that allowed Jews, but only in a section that was covered absurdly by a glass roof.

Once again, as they approached the door, Mr. Lindenblatt's mother beseeched her son to recite the Avinu Malkenu. He did. He said it with all his heart, and they stopped again, again, just short of their door. Air raid sirens would ring out. There was an underground bomb shelter that allowed Jews, but only in a section that was covered absurdly by a glass roof.

Each night, Mr. Lindenblatt would watch a panorama of planes flying overhead and the bombs they were dropping. He could still see it now, as he talked about it. He was there again, and it was easy to see what he looked like as a child. His eyes lit up as he watched the light show.

Each night, Mr. Lindenblatt would watch a panorama of planes flying overhead and the bombs they were dropping. He could still see it now, as he talked about it. He was there again, and it was easy to see what he looked like as a child. His eyes lit up as he watched the light show.