It stopped me in my tracks.
A yahrzeit candle perched on a stone plaque right by the Danube River.
At the edge of a quiet, tiny town. A pit stop kind of a place, as you’re weaving through bigger cities.
I’m not sure what I was thinking.
I mean, I knew that both of my Hungarian grandparents hailed from tiny rural villages.
My Bubby from Nyrmeggyes, and my Zadie from Mandok. Prior to WW II, the population of each of their villages was around 2,500 to 3,000 people.
Of course I knew there was strong Jewish presence in the villages of Hungary, not just in the big cities.
I must have subconsciously blocked it out, though.
Last time I’d needed to be here in this small Hungarian town of Baja, I’d arrived late at night. By noon the next day, I was gone.
It was a cobbled waterfront kind of place, geranium planters dotting the promenade. I’d learned that apparently it’s famous for annual halaszle fish soup festival, the Hungarian version of Fisherman’s soup.
This time, I again arrived in Baja past midnight, but was planning on staying through the following night.
I’d planned a Golden Hour walk along the river.
After climbing the modest circular stone lookout “tower” carved with open arches on all sides, and taking in the gorgeous golden sunset, I continued down to a stone carved monument I was curious about.
I’d prayed the afternoon mincha prayer service atop a circular red stone lookout. I couldn’t quite shake the feeling, but it’s as if I heard faint screams of children.
After silently staring at the sunset just as it dipped below my line of vision, I proceeded to a monument.
There, just below the text, on the stone shelf, was the yahrzeit candle.
It was like a slap to my face.
So what if Baja is a tiny non-touristy town? The destruction of Hungarian Jewry had been across the land.
I quietly stood by that candle, and murmured a psalm, the waters lapping not far from my feet.
So of course there had been Jews who lived here.
Ironically, the plaque on the monument was about the Danube and peacefulness; how it connects and runs through 10 countries — or something like that.
Immediately, I wanted to google. I wanted to know. There had obviously been a pre-WW II Jewish community here. How big? How many? What happened . . . I mean, of course I know what happened. How it was tragically terminated.
I leave my phone behind on my Golden Hour walks, so I rushed back to the hotel. I needed to know where I was. Where I stood.
It came up immediately on my first google search.
Baja.
A beautiful synagogue was established there in the 1800’s.
There was a Jewish school, too.
Today, that tall beautiful imposing shul, marked on the outside by a metal Star of David rising above its roof, is Baja’s library.
In 1944, approximately 8,000 Jews from surrounding districts were concentrated in Baja.
They were deported to Auschwitz on May 28 and on June 18.
And now, in the Three Weeks, a time of mourning on the Jewish calendar, someone had paid forgotten Baja a visit, and lit a yahrzeit candle by the river.
I rushed to the shul, now the library, in the morning. I could see that Star of David towering above the city’s buildings. I stood behind the gate, asking of the young clueless gardner to enter early.
I wanted to see the shul. The vestiges. If there were any. I wanted to stand where my fellow Jews had stood in prayer.
The “library” opened at 10 a.m.
Alas, I had to depart before its opening.
As I drove on, with deep roiling emotions, past miles and miles of Hungarian fields of sunshine yellow sunflower beds, I couldn’t stop thinking about pre-war Baja.
Upcoming, was a charming, scenic, lake district was, replete with upscale elegant villas, gorgeous greenery and vineyards.
Lake Balaton was simply beautiful.
This time my phone was on me.
I googled again.
And there it was.
The pre-WW II Lake Balaton Jewish community was vibrant.
Instrumental in developing the region’s wine production.
300 Jews were cruelly murdered at Lake Balaton, then their corpses were thrown into the lake.
In 1944, the remaining Jews of Lake Balaton and its nearby districts were deported to Auschwitz.
There was no physical yahrzeit candle to be found here by the water’s edge at this beautiful beach-esque lake.
Just the haunted feeling of six million yahrzeit candles and souls.
© IJN 2026