15th. January 1945 - half an hour after midnight.

Three pairs of blank, bulging eyes stare beyond the fence in the white snow, the full moon lights from above.

The cold whistling cutting wind penetrates their very bones, it is thirty degrees below zero,

Three youths, skin and bone, stand shivering quietly retreating within themselves, weak and suffering.

There is a sweet smell in the air and all is quiet, from afar the sounds of whining wolves and barking dogs.

Franz, known as "Little Ferry" whispers in Yiddish to the other two

 "Let's go".

The other two quiver with fright as they begin to crawl after him under the fence, they crawl a few meters and then under another fence. They advance in the snow with their slow heavy footsteps to the frightening black forest opposite. Little Ferry, although he was the youngest of the group was the leader, was the fastest and the first to arrive at the forest. The other two lagging behind, weak and exhausted, falling and getting up, call to him quietly in Hungarian, "Ferry, help us". Ferry who was already in the forest returns to the first puts him over his shoulder and drags him into the forest. Yet again a call in Hungarian, "Ferry, don't leave me here alone!!" Ferry does not give in and returns facing opposite the camp, the fence and the watchtower.

Huge flashlights are turned on, the silence of the night is shattered with a shot, one single bullet, seconds pass as an eternity, a command in German, the bullet enters, shattering the chest, tearing arteries, staining the white snow with blood.

Ferry watches the second youth as he gets up on his feet to run away and disappear in the forest.

With the last remnants of strength he drags himself into the forest where he collapses into the deep snow.

He covers the hole with mud, tries to stop the bleeding which continues through his mouth and ears.

All his life passes before him, his father, mother, sisters and family friends all looking at him from above.

Just a few days ago they were all together and now they are gone.

The cold freezes, the cold is a saviour and preserves meat.

Two days afterwards "Little Ferry" was picked-up by Russian soldiers on their way to repatriate Auschwitz Birkenhauer.

Franz Farkash, "Little Ferry" is my father.

This is his very own story, and the first bedtime story of my childhood that I remember.

63 years have passed and I have returned to settle the account, an account that is open and bleeding.

I have not returned for revenge.

I have not returned for retribution.

I am here to represent a country, although a small country, a strong and proud one.

I am here to show my exhibition, an exhibition of achievements, an exhibition of life.

This exhibition consists of rare posters and historical photographs of my small country.

I am here only to visit, I stand infront of you, tall and proud because I have a country that guards me and it is mine!

The Land of Israel.

"MADE IN ISRAEL" 60th Anniversary Exhibition

Rare Historical Photographs & Posters

  June 2008

At the Jewish Festival in Krakaw POLAND