On September 1, 1944, as German troops retreated, I was one of 152 brothers who, along with other prisoners, were being taken from the concentration camp at Bor, Serbia, to Germany. On some days we had nothing to eat. When we did get a few scraps​—beets lying on the roadside next to fields, for example—​we shared everything equally. When someone was too weak to walk, the strong would trundle him along in a wheelbarrow.

Eventually, we reached a railway station, rested for about four hours, and then unloaded two roofless freight cars to make room for ourselves. It was standing room only, and we had no warm clothes​—just a blanket each, which we draped over our heads when it started to rain. We traveled like that all night. At 10:00 a.m. the following day, as we reached a village, two planes bombed our locomotive and brought the train to a halt. None of us were killed, even though our cars were immediately behind the locomotive. Despite this incident, another locomotive was hooked up to our car, and we continued on our way.

While stopped for two hours at a station about 60 miles [100 km] farther on, we saw some men and women carrying baskets of potatoes. ‘Potato sellers,’ we thought. But we were wrong. They were our spiritual brothers and sisters who had heard about us and knew that we would be hungry. They gave each of us three large, boiled potatoes, a piece of bread, and a little salt. This ‘manna from heaven’ sustained us for another 48 hours until we reached Szombathely, Hungary, early in December.

We stayed in Szombathely for the winter, surviving largely on corn lying under the snow. During March and April 1945, this beautiful town was bombed, and the streets were littered with mangled bodies. Many people were trapped under rubble, and sometimes we could hear their cries for help. Armed with spades and other implements, we were able to dig some of them out.

Bombs hit the buildings near the one in which we were staying, but not our building. Whenever the air-raid sirens sounded, everybody dashed for cover, terrified. At first, we ran too, but soon we saw that running was pointless, for there were no proper shelters. So we just stayed where we were and tried to remain calm. Before long, the guards stayed with us. Our God, they said, might protect them too! On April 1, our last night in Szombathely, bombs rained down as never before. Even so, we stayed in our building, praising Jehovah in song and thanking him for our calmness of heart.​—Phil. 4:6, 7.

The next day we were ordered to leave for Germany. We had two horse-drawn carriages, so we rode and walked for about 60 miles [100 km] until we reached a forest 8 miles [13 km] from the Russian front. We stayed overnight on the property of a rich landlord, and the following day our guards set us free. Thankful to Jehovah that he had sustained us both physically and spiritually, we said tearful good-byes and headed for home​—some on foot, others by train.

in October 1940, German troops occupied the country. Under these extreme circumstances, correspondence between Romania and the Central European Office in Switzerland virtually ceased.

Because most of Jehovah’s Witnesses in the region lived in Transylvania, Martin Magyarosi moved there from Bucharest, establishing himself in Tirgu-Mures. His wife, Maria, had moved there earlier for health reasons. Pamfil and Elena Albu, who had also served at the Bucharest office, moved farther north to Baia-Mare. Working from these two cities, Brothers Magyarosi and Albu reorganized the preaching work and the underground production of The Watchtower. Their fellow worker, Teodor Morăraş, stayed in Bucharest, where he coordinated the activity in what remained of Romania until he was arrested in 1941.

All the while, the brothers kept busy in the ministry, placing Bible literature at every opportunity but with great caution. For example, they left booklets in public places, from restaurants to train compartments, hoping that the literature would catch someone’s eye. They also continued to heed the Scriptural injunction to meet together for spiritual encouragement, taking care, of course, not to arouse suspicion. (Heb. 10:24, 25) For instance, those living in the countryside took advantage of the traditional parties that took place at harvesttime, when farmers would help one another bring in their crops and celebrate afterward by telling jokes and stories. The brothers simply substituted Christian meetings for these parties.

“Pressed in Every Way”

Brother Magyarosi was arrested in September 1942 but continued to coordinate the preaching work from prison. The Albus too were arrested, along with about 1,000 other brothers and sisters, many of whom were released after being beaten and held in detention for six weeks or so. Because of their Christian neutrality, a hundred Witnesses, including several sisters, received prison sentences of from 2 to 15 years. Five brothers received the death penalty, which was subsequently commuted to life imprisonment. Under the cover of darkness, armed police even dragged mothers and little children away, leaving their animals untended and their homes vacated for thieves to loot.

At the prison camps, the brothers were met by a “welcoming” committee of guards who would tie each one’s feet together and hold him down while another flogged the naked feet with a wire-reinforced rubber cudgel. Bones broke, toenails fell out, and skin turned black, sometimes peeling off like bark from a tree. Priests who patrolled the camps and witnessed these abuses would sneer, “Where is your Jehovah to release you out of our hands?”

The brothers were “pressed in every way” but “not left in the lurch.” (2 Cor. 4:8, 9) In fact, they comforted other inmates with the Kingdom hope, which some took to heart. Consider the example of Teodor Miron from the village of Topliţa in northeastern Transylvania. Prior to World War II, Teodor concluded that God forbids the taking of human life, so he refused to enroll in the army. Hence, in May 1943 he received a five-year prison sentence. Soon thereafter, he met Martin Magyarosi, Pamfil Albu, and other Witness inmates and accepted a Bible study. Teodor made rapid spiritual progress and, in a matter of weeks, dedicated his life to Jehovah. How, though, was he baptized?

An opportunity arose when Teodor and about 50 other Romanian Witnesses were taken by a roundabout route to the Nazi prison camp in Bor, Serbia. En route, they stopped at Jászberény, Hungary, where over a hundred Hungarian-speaking brothers joined them. During the stopover, the guards sent several brothers to the river to fill a water barrel. Having won the guards’ trust, the brothers went unsupervised. Teodor joined them and was baptized in the river. From Jászberény, the prisoners were taken by train and riverboat to Bor.

At that time, the Bor camp held 6,000 Jews; 14 Adventists; and 152 Witnesses. “Conditions were terrible,” Brother Miron recalls, “but Jehovah cared for us. A sympathetic guard who was often sent to Hungary introduced publications into the camp. Some Witnesses whom he knew and trusted looked after his family in his absence, so he became like a brother to them. This man, a lieutenant, would warn us if anything was going to happen. There were 15 elders, as they are now called, in the camp, and they arranged for three meetings a week. On average, about 80 attended as their shifts allowed for it. We also observed the Memorial.”

At some of the camps, Witnesses on the outside were permitted to give food and other items to their incarcerated brothers. Between 1941 and 1945, about 40 Witnesses from Bessarabia, Moldova, and Transylvania were sent to the concentration camp in Şibot, Transylvania. Each day they went to work at a local lumber factory. Because food was scarce in the camp, Witnesses who lived nearby brought food and clothing to the factory each week. The brothers distributed these items according to need.

Such fine deeds gave an excellent witness, both to fellow inmates and to guards. The guards also observed that Jehovah’s Witnesses were responsible and trustworthy. Hence, they granted them freedoms not normally extended to prisoners. One of the guards at Şibot even came into the truth.