Maramures - What I know about my Transylvanian ancestry

Some of the information I inherited might be incorrect. The narrative, however, is to me as interesting as a song of the ages.

I know a significant amount about my mother's side of the family. Perhaps not as much as I know about my father's side. I will write about Germany and my father's ancestry later. My maternal great-grandfather, a man by the name of Chaim Katz, lived in the small town of Ruskova, in the Province of Maramures. This Province, sits in the northern fringes of Transylvania, bordering on Ukraine and Hungary. Needless to say, as has been the case with so many areas of Central Europe, this region changed name multiple times. The peoples who inhabited this mountainous Transylvanian region spoke multiple languages, a manifestation of the nature of changing political landscape. For the Jews of the region it was no easy task to sit at the crossroads of some of the most tumultuous times and forces of European history. They were in the crosshairs of multiple ethnic groups who inflicted attacks on Jews as a matter of daily routine.

The information that was passed on to me by my grandmother goes like this: Chaim Katz was allegedly a devout man, probably a rabbi, in the town of Ruscova. Although my grandmother Cecilia Katz was born in Kolosvar, I do know the family actually lived in Ruscova, a town of a few hundreds dwellers. At the time Kolosvar (today Cluj-Napoca, Rumania) was predominantly Hungarian and the inhabitants mostly pledged allegiance to the Austro-hungarian empire. My grandmother spoke predominantly Hungarian and Yiddish. From photos I have gathered thanks to the internet today, it looks like there was a Yeshiva in Ruscova, and I would venture to say that Chaim Katz was a student or even a teacher there. I also know that he played the violin. Being as it is that his grand-daughter, my mother, and I, love music so deeply, this begs the question...does the passion for music run genetically in one's veins?

In Hebrew above: Yeshivat Torat Aish: Ruscova. I am not sure if my great grandfather might be on this photo. I want to think he is one of these men.

The synagogue of Ruscova

My grandmother, Cecilia Katz, was born in 1914, at the time of the great upheavals of WWI which ravaged so much of Europe. I am certain that she had many siblings, probably up to 8. According to multiple family sources, a number of her siblings were murdered during WWI, or perhaps they were the casualties of the warring parties which swept though this region of Europe. Her mother Margit, Chaim Katz's fist wife, also perished during this time. Of this marriage 3 sisters remained, Esther, Sarah and Ziporah (Cecilia), my grandmother.

At some point after the war, Chaim and his new wife, Rivka, immigrated to Argentina, afraid of further attacks on Jews in the region, which had been devastated by the conflict. The narrative goes like this: the Katz family took advantage of funds available through the Baron de Hirsch Foundation. Maurice de Hirsch, one of the wealthiest German philanthropists of the end of the 19th century, created multiple funds through foundations to enable immigration of Jews to various regions, including Argentina. The history of the early immigration of Jews to Argentina is an extraordinary chapter, which one day will merit its own reflections on these pages. I will merely say that the fate of Chaim Katz was alas not a happy one.

The story was told by my grandmother many times with relative precision. Chaim, by then known as Jorge, his adopted Argentinian name, was injured by a horse-drawn carriage in Argentina. Whether this occurred in Buenos Aires or in Moises-ville - the town created by jewish immigrants to the Argentinian countryside - is no longer clear to me. I do know that his injuries might have been serious enough that he believed no one could help him in Argentina. Allegedly he packed a few things and took a ship back to his motherland, by then no longer part of Hungary, but a Rumanian territory. He took his second wife and a son by the name of Srul (aka Shulem, aka Johnny), back to where he though he would be safe! He left the three daughters, Sarah, Esther and my grandmother, in Argentina. Alone, to fend for themselves. I believe my grandmother might have been 16 or 17 at the time.

She never saw her father or stepmother again. He and his wife, as well as probably other children they had later, died in concentration camps, most likely Auschwitz. Srul, on the other hand, survived. I will tell his story at some other point. But the twist of fate that my great-grandfather experienced has intrigued me and made me uneasy for years.

A fascinating narration of the way of life in Ruscova can be found at site of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.