Marcell (Tücsi), Ildi, Emil és Dávid | Klauzál square

“The sky is an above-river, the sun is cheese, the moon is a pancake”. This poem was written by our son Tücsi, our big boy. It’s not about the 7th district but this whole point is surreal in the same way. It wants us to think and feel: his memory is very strong. The house opposite ours is full of bullet holes. This hill, we are sitting on, is also a wound. Now, the sun is shining and the grass is glistening, it’s good to just be here in the multicultural playground of the city. You can hear English, German, Italian, Russian, Danish, Belgian, Swedish, Romani, Farsi words and several other languages, we have a picnic together, we take out sand from each other’s children’s mouths without having a common language. The sun is shining on us and on our peace, where basically wasn’t any food on 27th December in 1944 as it is the area of the former ghetto, where the massacre didn’t take place in the end. It shines even on this hill and grows the dandelions while I’m telling you that this hill is a cemetery, and on your camera that sees the hill where the corpses of people who died of starvation, epidemic or suicide were thrown in a pile. Well, it’s like this.