by Debra Barnes
‘He is indeed a prince among the French people,’ agreed Papa. ‘But why are you telling us this? Is there anything we can do to help?’
‘There is nothing at the moment, but perhaps there will be some way soon. Just knowing that you are offering to help is a comfort. Now, let’s discuss the arrangements for the holy days.’
****
Papa took his bicycle and rode to Rabbi Epstein’s house in Poitiers, with a wicker bread-basket strapped on his back.
‘Albert, welcome. Come in quickly.’
‘What a delicious smell!’
‘The rebbetzin has been busy baking but we need the baguettes as a disguise. I’m afraid you can’t eat them yet.’
Rabbi Epstein led Papa into their modest kitchen where his young wife Rivka was clearing away after her morning baking session. Even with her face smudged with flour, she was a very pretty woman. ‘Many people were happy to spare some of their rations so I could make enough bread,’ Rivka explained with a sweet smile. It was easy to understand why few would have denied her request.
‘Come, come,’ the rabbi said, ‘let’s get this done.’ He knelt on the floor, opened one of the kitchen cabinets and took out the bowls and plates. When the cabinet was empty, he pushed firmly on the back wall which came away to reveal a secret space from which he carefully extracted the Torah scroll. It was protected by a royal blue velvet cover, decorated in gold thread with a crown and Hebrew lettering. The rabbi held it in his arms and kissed the cover gently as he would a small child before placing it carefully in the wicker basket while whispering a blessing. ‘Let us cover it with the baguettes,’ he said, placing loaves in the basket around the scroll. He broke the last in half to cover the top so that the velvet was completely hidden. ‘Now, Albert, cycle carefully home and please hide the Torah somewhere safe. I will come on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, as arranged, to take the services. I have told the congregation; we should have a full house.’
I waited outside our home for Papa to return. He cycled straight into the barn when he arrived. We had already prepared a hiding place, a wooden crate placed in a hole dug into the ground in the far corner of the barn. This corner was also where we hid our money, brought with us from Metz. Papa had buried it a while ago and told me and Samuel where to find it, should we ever need it. I helped my father carefully take the precious cargo out of the basket and lower it gently into the crate. We put a piece of wood on top as a lid to stop the Torah from getting dirty and covered that with a layer of earth. When the job was complete, we took the baguettes into the house and shared them with our cousins.
****
When Rosh Hashanah came, we emptied the house at the last possible moment to minimise the risk of being noticed by the gendarmerie, or by a collaborator like the game warden – anyone who might be snooping around and wonder why our beds were in the barn. Time was of the essence and everyone in the family helped. We left the tables and chairs but everything else was taken out – our beds, our clothes, the kitchen equipment – nothing remained from either our home upstairs or Uncle Isaac’s downstairs. Only Bubbe complained when she had to get out of bed early so it could be taken outside.
Rabbi Epstein arrived an hour before the service was due to start and we retrieved the Torah scroll from its hiding place in the barn. We used a kitchen cupboard as the ark to hold the scroll during the service and the kitchen table as the altar. And then people started arriving, dozens at a time. The women went upstairs, and I joined the men downstairs. The children stayed outside because there was simply not enough room for everyone. The mood was sombre. The Jewish New Year is when we think about the year that has passed, ask for forgiveness for our sins and look forward to the year which is beginning. No one could imagine what the new year would hold for us, but we suspected it was going to be just as difficult, if not worse.
Rabbi Epstein led the service. The doors inside were open so his voice would travel all through the house. People were crammed into every possible space, including the hallways and the staircase. When it was time for the Torah reading the rabbi turned to me to get the scrolls. We had covered the kitchen cupboard with a tablecloth to make it something like a proper ark, so Papa held the cloth to one side as I opened the cupboard door. I carefully took the scroll and held it in my arms while Papa removed the blue velvet cover, then we placed it gently on the kitchen table and Rabbi Epstein unrolled it to reveal the reading for Rosh Hashanah.
God visited Sarah. On this day we read of Sarah and Abraham and how God gave them a child when Sarah was ninety years old and Abraham was one hundred years old. God fulfilled his promise to them, to relieve their distress of not being able to have a child. God did not forget them, and He will not forget us. He remembers us His people and He will redeem us just as he did Sarah and Abraham.
After the morning service, Rabbi Epstein helped us bring the furniture back into the house. Normally he would hold a service on the following day too, but these were not normal times so one day would have to suffice.
As he helped Papa carry a bed up the stairs, the rabbi told us of what he had learnt recently. ‘There are a number of Jewish children in the camp de la route de Limoges who were arrested along with their parents. Father Bisset sees them when he visits the gypsies in the camp. He has spoken to the families, and they’ve asked us to help their children. We have a list of the names and ages of their sons and daughters and we intend to get these children released and placed with other families until their parents are freed. We have false documentation for all the children under the age of fifteen…’
‘But how? From where?’ interrupted Papa.
‘Don’t worry about that, Albert. What we need are remote homes away from the eyes of the gendarmerie where the children can be looked after.’
‘We don’t have much room, but we can take in two children. I’m sure they could attend the school too, the teachers are sympathetic. I will find out if they are willing to help.’
‘Thank you.’
‘There is no need to thank us.’
‘Rabbi, I would like to help too. What can I do?’ I asked. ‘I’m not afraid. Tell me what I can do.’
‘Pierre, Son, look after your family. That is the best thing you can do.’
This was not what I wanted to hear. I was frustrated at not being able to fight in some way but had no choice but to do as I was told.
****
A week later we emptied the house again, this time for Yom Kippur. Again the people came, over one hundred adults inside and the children outside. They prayed and cried and asked why, but there were no answers. I didn’t usually fast over Yom Kippur, but this year I made an exception, willing to try anything that might help protect my family in the year ahead. I realised that I would need to call on my faith to get me through the hard times. I asked for forgiveness on this Day of Atonement and for God to inscribe the names of my little sisters and brothers – too young to ask for themselves – in the Book of Life. As on Rosh Hashanah, Rabbi Epstein gave me the honour of helping with the Torah scroll and from my position at the top of the room I looked out at the faces of the downtrodden men who came to our house to pray with us. Everyone prayed, whether they believed or not. Everyone had been questioned for the census and their names put on a list. No one had been asked if they believed in God. We were all Jews, whether religious or not, and the camp at Poitiers was filling up with our people as each day passed, arrested at the whim of the French police.
My father invited Rabbi Epstein, his wife and daughter to stay and break the Yom Kippur fast with us at the end of the day. ‘I’m sorry we can’t offer you a feast like the ones we used to have before the war,’ said Maman.
‘Nonsense, Rosa, it’s really tasty,’ said Rivka. ‘You’re very clever making everything so delicious with the few ingredients we can get these days.’
Maman blushed. She was a proud hostess and it was difficult for her not to provide for her guests as she had in the past.
‘We talked about the
children from the camp,’ said the rabbi. ‘There are two sisters I would like to bring to your house, if you are still willing to take them?’
‘Absolutely. Can I ask their ages?’
‘Eight and ten.’
‘The poor little things,’ said Maman. ‘When will you bring them?’
‘Father Bisset has the false papers and is going to the camp tomorrow. He is well liked by the French guards and they have no reason to distrust him. This was his idea; he is a wonderful person. God will protect him.’
‘Then let us raise our glasses to Father Bisset,’ said Papa, lifting his empty glass.
****
The following day Rabbi Epstein brought the girls to our home. He introduced them as Francine and Ella. ‘These are their names now and they have to get used to them as soon as possible,’ he explained, smiling kindly at them. He handed Papa their new identification papers. We were not told anything of their family. The girls were thin, pale and filthy; their clothes full of holes gnawed by rats in the camp. They clung to each other and wouldn’t look at us. When we spoke to them, they didn’t answer. They only whimpered and sobbed for their parents.
Maman set about immediately arranging for the girls to be bathed. She heated water while Samuel and I brought in the metal tub from the barn. We were sent out of the house while the ladies got to the not-insignificant task of washing our guests. Soap was almost impossible to get, so the girls had to be scrubbed with rough washcloths and have their hair painstakingly combed through to remove the head lice. It would have been easier to cut their hair short, but that would have added to their trauma, so Aunt Dora and cousin Simone did their best with a comb. Afterwards they rubbed on eucalyptus oil to kill any lice that remained. In the past they’d used gasoline, but there was none to be had, which was probably a blessing in disguise.
Maman scrubbed their clothes and tried to mend the holes as well as she could. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much we could offer them from our own clothing. But we gave them our bed and Samuel and I slept on the floor. Maman sat with the girls and spoke softly to them. She tried to stroke their newly washed hair, but they moved out of her reach. We told ourselves that it was to be expected. They were traumatised by what they had lived through at the camp and by being separated from their parents. But their silence conveyed a terrible fear, far worse than any words could express.
****
After a few days which the girls spent clinging to each other and crying, cowering in the farthest corner of the house and having nightmares all through the night, Rabbi Epstein came to take them away. He had found another family in Vichy France, considered to be a safer area, who would take care of them. We all felt a sense of relief once they left… and then guilt for not having tried harder.
****
‘But, Papa! Please try to understand.’
We heard shouting downstairs and Maman sent me to find out what was happening. Cousin Simone and her husband Leon were sitting with my aunt and uncle around the kitchen table. They all looked distressed.
‘Never!’ shouted Uncle Isaac. Then, noticing me, he lowered his voice, ‘What do you want, Pierre?’
‘Maman sent me down to ask you not to shout so loud, you’re upsetting my sisters.’
‘Of course. Wait… do you know of this madness?’
‘What madness?’ Everything seemed mad lately.
‘Simone and Leon plan to cross the demarcation line.’
‘We didn’t tell Pierre yet,’ said Leon.
‘So tell him your brilliant idea!’
‘Your cousin Elias in Lyon said we would be safer in Vichy France. Innocent Jews are being arrested and put in that camp in Poitiers for no reason. Whole families are being kept there. Simone and I have our two children to consider. Things are only going to get worse. Now is the time to leave.’
Aunt Dora was silent. She looked down at the dishcloth in her hands, tears falling onto the kitchen table.
I kept quiet, but I admired my cousins for trying to create their own fate. I considered asking to go with them but realised I could never leave my family, particularly my mother and sisters.
‘You know it is not permitted to cross the demarcation line. Anyone caught crossing is arrested, and then you will surely end up in a camp like the one at Poitiers – or worse. You’re crazy! The Vichy government are the ones responsible for introducing the anti-Jewish laws, what makes you think you’ll be any better off over there?’ said Uncle Isaac.
‘Elias told us. I can assure you we have not taken this decision lightly. Simone and I have discussed it at length, and we will be leaving soon. I know someone who will help us cross. Anyone who wants to come with us is welcome, but no one will stop us leaving.’
****
Uncle Isaac and Aunt Dora were distraught at the thought of their daughter and her family leaving; their only consolation was that Elias would help them settle in Lyon once they completed the five-hundred-kilometre journey. My aunt and cousin spent the rest of the day weeping at the prospect of being separated. We were all worried about them going; only Bubbe and the youngest children were oblivious to what was happening.
Simone, Leon and their two children left early the next morning.
‘When will I see you again?’ sobbed Aunt Dora, clinging to her daughter before hugging her grandchildren.
‘I don’t know, Maman,’ wept Simone.
‘We promise to get word to you as soon as we arrive at Elias’s house,’ said Leon.
‘But how…?’ asked Uncle Isaac, but they were already halfway down the path, Simone holding her children’s hands tightly, head bowed and not once looking back.
Once safely over the demarcation line, they would travel by bus to their destination. If everything went according to plan, we would receive message of their safe arrival within days. We were told that the same people who would help them cross over would also deliver the message. I was desperate to find out more of these people who were helping others in the fight against the authorities, but Leon refused to tell me anything ‘for my own good’.
Three, four, five days passed and no message arrived. We told ourselves it was still early and nothing to be concerned about. After a week Uncle Isaac and Aunt Dora were besides themselves with worry. They wrote to Elias and, weeks later, received a reply with the news that his sister had not reached Lyon and Elias had not heard anything from her. We didn’t know who to speak to. Leon was the only person in the family with any connection to the people who were to help them cross, and no one contacted us.
Uncle Isaac drew another blank after asking around in Poitiers. I was shocked to see him unable to hold back his tears as he reported back to us; we all relied on him and Papa to be the strong ones who would see us through these terrible times. ‘Word is there was a crackdown on security at the demarcation line around the time they left. Prior to that, people had been crossing freely for months. The Germans decided to post more guards at the border with strict instructions to arrest anyone who tried to leave without a visa. We don’t know if they had visas, but Leon was very secretive about everything. Damn him!’
This may have been the first time I heard my uncle curse.
‘Oh my darlings. Will we ever see them again?’ cried Aunt Dora.
‘We must hope they crossed the border and settled somewhere else,’ consoled Uncle Isaac, composing himself as he held his wife’s hand. ‘Yes, I’m sure that’s what happened and they’re all fine.’
Over the following months we still hoped for some news of our cousins. Papa asked Rabbi Epstein if he could find out anything, but nothing came back. Elias wrote again asking if any news. It was as though they had simply disappeared.
Samuel
Sarry
April 1942
Life felt different. Claude and I went to school as usual and played with our friends, but it was difficult to have fun when our cousins had vanished. I got angry with my pals who carried on as normal, but they hadn’t lost anyone from their families. Simone’
s children were younger, and I used to get annoyed when Maman told us we couldn’t leave them out of our games and had to play something gentle so they could join in, but now they were gone and I really missed them. We were all worried about them. My aunt and uncle were so upset, Aunt Dora cried all the time. What had happened to them, and would it happen to me next?
We had even less to eat. The Germans took their pick of the crops and livestock that the farmers had managed to keep till now. There was a pond that was used to farm carp, looked after so carefully by the farmer. Claude and I had always enjoyed seeing the fish swim up to the surface with their huge mouths wide open in the hope we were there to feed them. Some luck that would be; we hardly had enough to feed ourselves. We’d watch the farmer when he came to open the sluice and catch the carp in his nets as the water ran from the pond into the nearby stream. He would carefully return the smaller fish to the pond and take the big ones to the fish market in Poitiers. Sometimes he’d let me help him, when there was a particularly wriggly fish looking for an escape!
A group of German soldiers passing through the village discovered the pond and noticed the fish. The thugs threw a grenade into the water and collected the dead fish that floated to the surface. How I wished I could throw a grenade back at them.
We were all hungry. Claude and I would go with Maman to keep her company as she waited patiently in line to try to buy food and did our best to cheer her up when we were forced to return home empty-handed. The black market was thriving. People were spending their life savings on feeding their family. Jewellery and valuable heirlooms were sold for a fraction of their worth for a chicken or piece of cheese. Papa told us, ‘Survival is the only thing that matters now.’