He began to speak, his French awkward but adequate, his accent thick. The French scouts shifted uneasily, glanced at each other quizzically, but within minutes, they no longer noticed his accent but listened raptly to his words. He had been eyewitness to the nightmare that haunted their dreams.
“I was in Berlin on Kristallnacht,” he said. “I saw an old man being beaten by a squad of Hitlerjugend—a pregnant Jewish woman thrown to the ground. I saw a rabbi forced to scrub paving stones, his white beard first pulled and then cruelly cut. I walked through streets covered with broken glass, the remnants of synagogue windows, Jewish homes, Jewish shops. In every glittering shard I saw our people’s terrible future. No—not their future but their present. It was happening now! There were arrests, transports to concentration camps. I raced to our Blau-Weiss headquarters and saw that our office had been ransacked, our books and pamphlets burned, the Jewish flag ripped to shreds.”
He leaned forward, an ironic smile flitting across his face.
“What did they hope to find in the meeting place of Jewish scouts?” he asked. “Our dangerous compasses? Our lethal songbooks? Our toxic Hebrew primers?”
The French scouts laughed bitterly. Madeleine saw Samuel Hofberg grip his brother’s hand. Leo Cohn’s words, she knew, triggered their own memories of their family’s experience on that night of terror, their very last night in the city of their birth.
“We learned that night that the Jewish people are in terrible danger,” Leo Cohn continued. “And we scouts must react to that danger. We must help all those in need of refuge. We must train for danger and learn the skills that will help us—and those who depend upon us, especially our children—to survive.”
The young éclaireurs sat very still. They had loved their hiking excursions into the mountains, the adventure of filling their canteens with water from free-flowing streams, the playful harvesting of wild greens and berries for improvised picnics. But those joyous treks were now vested with new importance, new urgency. Leon Cohn had spoken the ominous word survival, and with that utterance they felt the first stirrings of fear.
He stared out at them, and sensing the darkened mood, he lifted his arms and raised his voice to a triumphant charge.
“Do not be afraid, my young friends! We will not allow Adolf Hitler to triumph. The people of Israel will endure. The Jewish scouts, the Blau-Weiss, the Éclaireurs Israélites, will endure! Our children will endure!”
Their voices joined his in a thunderous shout of affirmation.
“Oui! Oui! Certainement. Certainement!”
Robert Gamzon lifted the French flag, and Leo Cohn waved the blue-and-white Jewish banner. The young people joined hands, their faces radiant. They sang as though their hearts might break. They sang in French. “La Marseillaise.” They sang in Hebrew. “Hatikvah,” the Jewish national anthem, the hymn of hope.
Claude’s fingers dug into Madeleine’s wrist, and she leaned against him. David and Samuel Hofberg stood beside Jean Louis and Etienne Levy, brothers all, French and German, united in their common faith and a recognition of their common destiny. Madeleine trembled with fear for them, for herself, for all those gathered so bravely in this room. Claude pulled her close and sang “Hatikvah” in Hebrew, his voice full and rich.
“L’hiyot Am chofshi b’artzeinu,
B’eretz tzion, Yerushalyim.
We will be a free nation in our own land,
The land of Zion, Jerusalem!”
Each word a promise, each word a pledge.
Tears seared Madeleine’s cheeks. They would never give up. Hope would triumph as it had triumphed before. She remembered suddenly the words her grandfather had penned during the darkest days of his imprisonment. Fight injustice with courage, he had written.
That was exactly what she would do, she vowed. It was her birthday resolution. She smiled at Claude. He rested his hand on her head, the gesture a gentle gift. Yes, she thought, she and Claude would, like Simone and Anatol, eventually seize the day. They would seize many days. Always with courage. And with joy. Joie de vivre, the joy of life.
Still singing “La Marseillaise,” Madeleine and Claude joined the scouts exiting the synagogue. Their procession was orderly; their strong and melodic voices resonated bravely. Passersby paused and sang with them, their hands upon their hearts, tears in their eyes. France might be threatened, but its day of glory would arrive.
Four
Madeleine and Simone sat beside Anatol’s hospital bed as he slipped quietly into death. Simone rested her head upon her young husband’s silenced heart as Madeleine very gently closed his eyes.
“He was not yet thirty,” Simone whispered. “It’s not fair; it’s not just.”
Madeleine was silent. She had no words of comfort to offer her sister. Fairness and justice had vanished from their world, replaced by apprehension and uncertainty.
“Anatol is at peace,” she told her sister and led her from the room.
There was much to do. A small girl to be cared for, a funeral to be arranged.
Once again the Dreyfus family gathered at Montparnasse Cemetery. Once again Pierre Dreyfus intoned the Kaddish, his voice breaking as Simone knelt beside the newly dug grave and dropped a sprig of lilac on the plain pine coffin. Once again, each mourner lifted a shovel overflowing with dark, moist earth and blanketed the pale wood.
They turned then to the nearby grave of Alfred Dreyfus, and one by one, each member of his family placed small stones upon it. Madeleine selected a pebble, sun blanched to the color of alabaster and wind polished to a fine smoothness. Simone, in turn, found a jet-colored stone. Their grandmother’s lips moved in silent prayer.
“Sometimes I think our family is death haunted,” Simone murmured to Madeleine.
“No,” Madeleine protested. “We are a family in love with life, who want to make life better for those around us. Papa in his clinic, Maman and Grand-mère with their work in the Pletzl. And you and I as social workers and éclaireurs. Even Frederica with her laughter and games. We are life lovers all.”
Hearing her name, the child smiled bravely and Simone held her in tight embrace.
“Yes. Our daughter is a wonderful child. But Anatol and I always worried that we were selfish to bring her into this dangerous world of ours. We worried that we would not be able to keep our Jewish child safe. Now I will worry alone.”
“You are not alone,” Madeleine countered. “We are together. Frederica will be safe. She will survive. We will all survive. It is actually possible that the German army will not invade France. Churchill has pledged assistance. Prime Minister Reynaud, in his broadcast only last night, said that an Anglo-French coalition has every chance for success. That will surely deter Hitler.”
“I want to believe you, Madeleine,” Simone said wearily. “But I think Monsieur Reynaud is cursed with false optimism. Since the German invasion of Poland, the question is not if the Germans will invade our France, but when they will invade.”
Madeleine did not reply. In actuality, she shared Simone’s ominous appraisal, which echoed Claude’s own gloomy prognosis, but she refrained from admitting it. It did no harm to opt for hope, however elusive it might be.
They returned for the post-funeral meal of consolation in Lucie’s home on the rue des Renaudes, newly aware of significant absences. Close Dreyfus cousins had already left France, their visas to different destinations that offered refuge, however tentative, bought and paid for.
Pierre and his family made a brief appearance. Their long-delayed departure for America was imminent, and they had preparations to complete before they left Paris to await their passage in Marseille.
There was subdued talk of days spent visiting one embassy after another in search of visas, only to realize that few countries would accept Jewish refugees.
The fear and tension in the room was palpable. Claude arrived as a Levy cousin described a fu
tile visit to the American embassy. “The clerk there would not even accept my application. He advised me to go to the Costa Rican embassy. Where is Costa Rica?” he asked and laughed bitterly.
“That is why we need a Jewish homeland,” Claude whispered to Madeleine. “If we had a homeland in Palestine, if England had kept the promise of the Balfour Declaration, no Jew would now be stateless.”
She nodded in agreement. The creation of a Jewish homeland was no longer a distant fantasy. It was an urgent necessity.
“We will be talking about an escape route to Palestine at a meeting of scout leaders tomorrow night,” Claude added. “Will you come?”
“I will try,” Madeleine promised, although she cringed at his use of the word escape. She felt a flurry of anger at his despair. Did he not realize that she needed him to be strong and resolute, optimistic and hopeful? An impossible dream, she realized and cursed her own resentment.
She rose to greet the Hofberg family who had come to offer their condolences.
Madeleine’s mother and grandmother frequently visited the Hofberg home on the rue Lascin, carrying welcome donations of clothing and food. Pierre Dreyfus had found employment for Herr Hofberg through a Jewish welfare organization, and Etienne and Jean Louis always accompanied Samuel and David to meetings of the éclaireurs.
But Madeleine took special pride in small Anna, who was the youngest member of Madeleine’s own group of junior scouts. The little girl bore scant resemblance to the skinny waif who had once stood so wistfully beside the crepe vendor’s cart. Her fair hair was now woven into a long, thick braid, her school uniform neat and clean, and her high-buttoned shoes sturdy, laced, and polished.
As always, she rushed into Madeleine’s outstretched arms, bubbling over with exuberant tales of her adventures in school and her mastery of scouting skills.
“I can tie all the knots now, just as you taught us,” she proclaimed proudly. “Will I get a new badge, Madeleine?”
“Of course you will,” she responded. “Well done, petite soeur, little sister.”
She felt a strong attachment to Anna, even fantasizing that the little girl was the younger sister lost to her so many years ago when Jeanne, her mother, then pregnant, had assured Madeleine that the child would be a girl.
“A little sister for you, Madeleine,” Jeanne had said. “Just as you are Simone’s little sister.”
The baby had indeed been a girl, a breech delivery, stillborn and cyanotic, her tiny, blue-tinged face glimpsed for the briefest of moments by Madeleine and Simone, who had huddled beside their mother’s bed.
Madeleine had been bitterly disappointed and wept for the little sister she would never have. Anna, she acknowledged, had somehow filled an enduring lacuna in her life. Her attachment to the child was irrational, she knew, but it was an irrationality she allowed herself. It did no harm. It caused no pain.
Claude rose to leave.
“Please try to come to the meeting. We have urgent matters to discuss. Matters that will involve you. Please try to be there,” he said.
“Of course.” Her smile was a promise.
* * *
Madeleine recognized the importance of the meeting as soon as she entered the small room in the rear of the synagogue that served as the scouts’ office. Every seat was taken and Robert Gamzon, who visited only during times of crisis, sat behind a battered desk puffing nervously on a Gauloise as he shuffled through a sheaf of papers and selected a pale-blue aerogram. He motioned for quiet and shared its message in sad and sonorous tones.
“We have a communique from Palestine,” he said. “The British are intent on enforcing the White Paper, which severely limits Jewish immigration, so the scouts there are finding clandestine points of entry. Bribes must be paid and money must be raised. All intelligence indicates that France will soon be attacked by Germany. If the German invasion succeeds, the Jews of France will be in great danger. We know what has happened to the Jews of Germany. We too will see roundups, incarcerations, concentration camps. We anticipate that there will be French citizens collaborating with the Nazis.”
“But that will not happen. Not here in France. Prime Minister Reynaud has promised that our community will be protected,” a tall youth protested.
“Prime Minister Reynaud has lost faith in his own promise,” Robert Gamzon replied. “He now realizes that it cannot be kept. We then must hope for the best and anticipate the worst. We are scouts, and we will do what scouts have always done. We will prepare. Prepare to save the Jewish children of France. We must rely on our own ability to survive and to help our children to survive. We must train to help them escape from France and find safe passage to Palestine. We must, all of us, be strong of mind, strong of body. Do you understand, my Éclaireurs Israélites?”
“We understand!” A chorus of assent rang out.
Madeleine clutched Claude’s hand and listened intently to the ensuing discussion of how such training would be organized. She feared missing a single word, and gratefully, she saw that Claude was taking careful notes which he would pass on to her. Her hearing loss, slight as it still was, would not impede their efforts.
A committee was selected to create maps detailing escape routes through the Alps and the Pyrenees. Contacts had been made in Switzerland and Spain. Safe houses had already been established in those countries. A cadre would be formed to undertake the forging of documents. Passports, identity cards, visas. They would need skilled calligraphers.
“Simone,” Madeleine whispered to Claude. Her sister’s elegant hobby, her graceful pen, would now be aimed against evil.
“Of course,” he agreed.
“We will need weapons,” Robert Gamzon continued. “Pistols. Grenades. Knives. Whatever we can find. We pray that violence will be avoided, but we must be ready to defend ourselves and defend our children if need be.”
Madeleine shivered. There would be violence. There would be death. She thought of her grandfather’s military sword, which her grandmother now and again removed from its scabbard and polished to a high gleam. She chastised herself. A ridiculous idea. Gamzon was in search of weapons that could be carried clandestinely or easily concealed. She remembered that the pistol her father had used in the Great War remained in the bottom drawer of his desk. Could she remove it? Should she? Would he allow it? She struggled with the thought even as her name was called.
“Madeleine Levy, will you be responsible for training some of the younger children?”
The question startled her. She had not realized that Robert Gamzon knew her name or recognized her capabilities.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course.”
She sat back and wondered what such training would entail. But she would learn. And she would teach. There was no other choice.
She and Claude left the meeting together. As always, they made their way across the Pont de l’Alma and paused to stare down at the waters of the Seine, silvered by the moonlit sky.
“How peaceful it is,” she said. “Can war really be coming to Paris, Claude?”
He turned to her but did not answer, a frown creasing his face.
“Is something wrong?” she asked hesitantly.
He nodded and handed her the sheet of paper on which he had taken the notes on Robert Gamzon’s directives. The scout leader had spoken rapidly, and Claude knew that Madeleine’s hearing loss occasionally prevented her from grasping words spoken too swiftly.
“I am worried,” he said.
“Of course. We are all worried. These are dangerous times,” she replied too flippantly.
“But it is you I am worried about. Did you hear Robert Gamzon stress that we must be strong? Strong of body?”
“Yes. I heard him.”
“I worry about your weakness.” He spoke slowly, hesitantly, and she stared at him in confusion.
“My weakness?” she asked angrily, grasping hi
s meaning.
“Your difficulty in hearing. It is a weakness that might prove dangerous,” he continued, impervious to her ire.
“But I do hear. I am hearing you now, am I not?”
Her lips were pursed, and he flinched at the fury of her words. But he would not retreat.
“Yes. You hear me now because I am facing you and if my voice does not reach you, you can read my lips. But there are times when you cannot hear nor see the lips of the speaker. That inability might threaten your safety. And the safety of those in your care. Our children.”
“Do you think I would ever endanger the children?” She stared at him in disbelief.
“I know that you would not. But unpredictable things happen. Unforeseen dangers occur. I think it is important that you see an audiologist who might be able to help you,” he continued.
“A ridiculous idea,” she said. “Nothing can be done to help my hearing. The physician who cared for me after my recovery from scarlet fever told us that. And my own father is a doctor. Don’t you think he would know if there was a remedy?”
She spat out each word, but Claude’s reply was softly phrased, temperate and caring.
“You were eight years old when your hearing was damaged. Surely there has been much research since then. I have the greatest respect for your father, but he is an internist with a busy practice. I doubt that he has had the time to read the latest literature on audiology. It would do no harm for you to meet with a specialist in the field,” he insisted.
“I don’t have the time for such a meeting,” she retorted.
He nodded. He knew that every hour of her day was crammed with obligations. Her daily routine as an assistante sociale was overwhelming as the influx of Jewish refugees from Germany increased. Her free hours and weekends were reserved for meetings with the younger scouts who relied on her leadership. Precious time was spent helping Simone, who was already in a cadre of éclaireurs training to forge the documents that would create new identities for Résistance fighters. Madeleine’s rare leisure hours were often reserved for brief outings with Anna Hofberg. “Invite Anna to accompany you,” he suggested. “I have made an appointment for you with Dr. Levin, an audiologist who is the father of one of our scouts. His office is not far from the café that you and Anna love so much.”
The Paris Children : A Novel (2020) Page 5