The Other Schindlers

by Agnes Grunwald-Spier

  It was fortunate that no one knew that the girl the nun initially chose to look after Josie was a Nazi collaborator. They did not like each other:

  She didn’t know that I was Jewish. That was lucky, because she turned out to be a Nazi collaborator – a fact that my parents did not know until afterward. So much for their effort to put me in a safe place! Of course the nun didn’t know about this woman’s Nazi connection either. By the time she realised it, she couldn’t do anything because of her own vulnerability.149

  The nun was a remarkable woman. Josie has written:

  I can only surmise that Soeur St Cybard was a pious and sincere human being who practised her religious beliefs well beyond the dictates of her immediate superiors. She had been serving as director/headmistress of a girls’ school in Angoulême before being assigned to the backwaters of Lesterps. In that capacity she apparently engaged in some clandestine underground activities to assist the French Resistance. By the early Forties it seems she was in personal danger and therefore was sent into the interior, both for her own safety and perhaps to have her out of the way. We all know not all Catholics were willing to take risks nor make waves.150

  Although Josie never saw her rescuer again, the Soeur was very active until her death in 1968. She was born Marie-Elizabeth Lacalle on 14 January 1885 at Marsous, in the south, close to Lourdes and the border with Spain. She became a nun at the very early age of 14, taking the name Soeur St Cybard in 1899. She became a devoted teacher starting in 1901 at Abzac in the Gironde. In 1918 she was at the Saint-André Institute in Angoulême, and she stayed until 1942 when she was appointed headmistress of the St Bernadette School in Lesterps, where she remained until 1958. It was during this period that she cared for Josie:

  At Lesterps she does not content herself with simply running the school; she devotes herself totally to the local community. On Thursdays and Sunday afternoons, she travels the countryside like a little sister to the poor being in turn a nurse, counsellor, secretary, therapist: she fights poverty. Indefatigable, she opens a needlework workshop which provides for the making of sacerdotal ornaments and linen for the Church, as well as the making of articles for religious observance in school.

  Besides that she organises adult theatre groups composed of pupils’ parents and also a choir for the young of the parish; she herself conducts the choir rehearsals for Sunday mass and for religious festivals.151

  Josie was present when Soeur St Cybard was honoured in Lesterps in 1999 and a tree was planted in her memory. Josie was given honorary citizenship of the village. She was delighted to be there but expressed concerns: ‘I was concerned that by honouring me, and through me the deeds of one courageous nun, I would help to whitewash the generally dismal record of French complicity and collaboration with the Nazis in the Second World War.’152 The visit back to Lesterps enabled her to meet others who had known Soeur St Cybard, and these meetings led her to conclude, ‘it’s clear she was a very strong and independent woman who saw her role as reaching beyond the strict definitions of what nuns were supposed to do. She was also described as highly intelligent and progressive for her times.’153 Josie discovered that Soeur St Cybard was remembered with love and affection in the area:

  I also wonder if I could have been a rescuer. When I think of that, I’m always struck by how heroic that nun was – not just for the obvious reason of risking her life by taking in the enemy or a perceived enemy. I also think of the upheaval it must have caused for this woman to take in a child!154

  She wonders why her parents did not keep in touch with the nun. She writes that after returning home she was like a stranger:

  silent, terribly polite, withdrawn. I have no memory of missing the nun. Did Soeur St Cybard miss me? My parents did not stay in contact with the nun after the war. Were they fearful of my attachment to her? Were they afraid that I had become the good Catholic child as they watched me pray to a mysterious guardian angel?155

  Nothing is known of Soeur St Cybard’s parents, but she had a sister who died many years ago. Her great-nephew, Louis Lacalle, has since been found and he recalls his great-aunt coming to spend holidays with the family. ‘In his child memories she was rather stern and wanted them to write exercises during their holidays’.156 Quite remarkably, until he received my letter of 21 November 2003, kindly translated by Madame Landréa, he was unaware of his aunt’s courageous acts and thinks no one else in the family would have known either.157 He describes the farming family life into which she was born as very hard and says she had four brothers and three sisters:

  The daily life of these farmers was just a lot of work for a very low income so that they were hard at work and extremely frugal but at the same time showing solidarity with their community. A mutual assistance was very natural for them when they had to help a parent, a neighbour and so on … when they needed it temporarily.158

  Louis writes that they had deep-rooted religious convictions expressed in the religious life of the village. ‘However hard the necessities of the daily life were, my grandfather would never have forgotten to go to the Sunday religious services or missed any important event in the religious year.’

  One translated letter is not a great deal on which to base a theory, but it is all I have. It seems fair to conclude that Soeur St Cybard learnt two things as a child at home: that we are dependent on each other and the importance of a religious life. Bernadette Landréa was extremely excited by the fact that none of the family knew about Soeur St Cybard’s courage until my research led me to write to Louis. He was apparently very emotional and honoured when he heard about her deeds. Bernadette wrote to me: ‘Isn’t it wonderful that a man of about 55 [Louis Lacalle] may have been informed by your thesis about the important life of his great-aunt?’159

  Josie went to America with her parents in 1947, and as she grew up her mother tended to dismiss their experience: ‘Come, let’s forget about it … it was nothing.’ Compared with the horrors others suffered, she was right, but Josie’s trauma was only treated in her thirties and she became ‘a psychologist who entered the profession probably to heal herself’.160 The war and her childhood were intertwined quite inextricably and the war was always present:

  Unknowingly, the war had become that against which all other ‘terribles’ were measured. But at the same time it also established a benchmark of goodness. The war, devastating as it had been, had also been for me, through Soeur St Cybard, an experience of a rare kind of moral conduct against which I would forever compare all other virtue …

  I like to think that what Soeur St Cybard did, not only saved me, but endowed me with a rare example of great goodness. The force of that example has persisted into the present. It lives in the handful of rescuers, the few righteous Gentiles who risked everything to save Jews and other fugitives from the Nazis, from the Holocaust.

  These examples of ‘light piercing the darkness’, beacons of morality, anchors of goodness … are something to grasp when nothing else holds.161

  As recently as 23 November 2009, Josie heard from Yad Vashem, after three years of correspondence, that Soeur St Cybard is to be recognised as Righteous Amongst the Nations for saving Josie from the Nazis. In response to my query about whether the nun had rescued anyone else, Josie wrote:

  I have not seen the citation, but I’m reasonably certain that it is only about her caring for me.

  I know there has been a lot of enquiry about her activities during the war. Not much could be unearthed. She was modest, discreet (a necessity for carrying out clandestine work) and she certainly did not view what she did as heroic. Even the story my parents told about why she was demoted to the small village of Lesterps after serving at the much more prestigious St Andre School in Angoulême (supposedly because of being involved in the Resistance) could not be verified.

  She did carry out her mission of looking after needy children after the war, e.g. insisting a crippled child who was always kept at home be given a proper education … that kind of thing. This child, now a wom
an, still lives in Lesterps. Many of her former students spoke of her integrity and courage as well as telling stories of her severity often accompanied by an ‘Oh la-la’ and a shaking of the fist to accentuate it.

  A complex personality. I so wish we’d have kept in touch.162

  Josie says this success with Yad Vashem is partly due to the efforts of her French publisher, Francois Julien Labruyere, and ‘Now her name and courage will not be forgotten’.163

  Aristides de Sousa Mendes (1885–1954) was also a deeply religious diplomat who rescued thousands of Jews. He was Portuguese Consul-General in Bordeaux from August 1938 until he was summoned back to Lisbon in the June/July of 1940. He helped in excess of 10,000 Jews escape from the Nazis. Like Carl Lutz, he suffered for what he had done, but he was actually charged with an offence by the dictator Salazar, who ruled Portugal from 1933–68. Both Aristides and his wife Angelina died prematurely, in poverty, as a direct result of his courageous and humane actions, and it took his family over fifty years to gain justice for him.

  Aristides was a devout Catholic, with Jewish ancestors who converted to Christianity 400 years ago. He was an extremely humanitarian man and was always helping people. His son John Paul Abranches has written:

  my father was a very compassionate man, always willing to help someone in need. During his lifetime he would help an unemployed person find a job, or give money to someone without funds. It was customary for my parents to open their kitchen to the needy once a week in our home village when we were there on our annual vacation. When we were living in Belgium, Portuguese students who were attending the university were always welcome in our home on Sunday for a good Portuguese meal, along with singing, dancing and conversation.164

  In 1940 he found himself as Consul-General in Bordeaux, representing President Salazar, who was claiming Portugal was neutral, but in an unenviable position. England could lay claims to his support as the Anglo-Portuguese alliance was the longest-standing diplomatic union, which went back to the Treaty of Windsor signed in 1374 as a result of negotiations by John of Gaunt, whose daughter Phillipa subsequently married King João I. However, Salazar was also bound by the March 1939 Treaty of Friendship with General Franco. He was concerned that any pro-Axis activity by Spain would drag Portugal closer to Germany, and he worked to avoid this event: ‘To curb the pro-Axis leanings of the Spanish dictator, by displays of Iberian solidarity, was Salazar’s primary concern. He used diplomacy, supplemented with gifts of wheat and corn. And he promptly adhered to Franco’s hands-off policy regarding refugees from Hitler’s aggression.’165

  The dictator dealt with the situation of thousands of refugees attempting to enter Portugal by issuing what came to be known as Circular 14. On 13 November 1939 all Portuguese diplomats received a circular from the Foreign Ministry in Lisbon which ‘radically called into question Portugal’s centuries-old tradition of hospitality and officially introduced a hitherto unknown element of racial or religious segregation into the question of immigration’.166

  The circular was very specific about the three categories of people to whom consuls were forbidden to grant passports or visas without referring first to the Foreign Ministry in Lisbon:

  – Aliens of undefined nationality, Stateless persons or holders of ‘Nansen passports’

  – Aliens who in the consul’s opinion were unable to provide valid reasons for entering Portugal

  – Jews expelled from their countries and stripped of their nationality

  De Sousa Mendes found himself in conflict when he realised that the government’s instructions went against the constitution of Portugal, which guaranteed the rights of everyone regardless of their religion. This caused him great inner conflict and stress. He was very vulnerable with a family of ten children in school; he could not afford to risk his career and income:

  He was so exhausted and upset he went to bed for three days. On the third day, he woke up invigorated, saying he had heard a ‘Voice’ stating that he should go ahead and issue visas to all who requested one, regardless of nationality or religion, and he was going to do this free of charge. Asked why he would do this, he stated, ‘I would rather be with God against man than with man against God’.167

  He was influenced by a Belgian Rabbi, Chaim Kruger, whose congregation had been in Antwerp, although he originated from Poland. Rabbi Kruger had uprooted his family of five children in mid-May and swept them off on a train full of German refugees. When they reached Bordeaux, Kruger and de Sousa Mendes met by accident and Aristides immediately invited him to stay in his home overnight. The Rabbi recounted:

  Our children were then between the ages of two and ten. The Consul-General told me he had thirteen children. He told us to make full use of all the amenities of his flat but I had to explain that that would be impossible. I could not set myself apart from the large community of Jews who were milling around near the border. Also his home was full of [Christian] statues, which made a terrible impression on our children, who refused to eat a thing. I thanked him for his generosity. Next morning we returned to our milling brethren, and afterwards I went back to talk to him, to explain that there was one way he could save us – by giving us visas to Portugal.168

  The Rabbi continued his discussion with de Sousa Mendes. They were interrupted by the Vice Consul, who overheard the conversation and ‘warned him not to fall into my net. All his efforts were to no avail. Mr Mendes told me that I and my family would receive visas.’ However, de Sousa Mendes’ request for permission to grant these visas was refused by Lisbon on 13 June, along with those of thirty other people:

  Sousa Mendes promised his friend he would do everything in his power to get him the precious visas that would allow him to leave France with his family. The Rabbi then said something that had a radical effect on Sousa Mendes: ‘It’s not just me that needs help, but all my fellow Jews who are in danger of their lives.’169

  But Aristides was already in difficulties with the authorities, having been approached by an elderly Austrian professor by the name of Arnold Wiznitzer and having granted him a visa. Unfortunately for him, Aristides had written to Lisbon on 27 November and 6 December 1939 asking for permission to grant the visa.170 When his actions were subsequently queried by Lisbon he said: ‘He [Wiznitzer] informed me that, were he unable to leave France that very day, he would be interned in a concentration [read detention] camp, leaving his wife and minor son stranded. I considered it a duty of elementary humanity to prevent such an extremity.’171

  There were other cases as well, including a Dr Laporte, who was a professor from Barcelona trying to get to Bolivia with his family, and by April 1940 de Sousa Mendes was given a stern official reprimand. He wrote to his nephew Cesar in May 1940:

  The ministry is giving me a lot of trouble … The man [Dr Laporte] and his family would never have been able to leave here if I hadn’t done that [given them a visa]. In the end, everything went through quite normally, but the Portuguese Stalin decided to pounce on me like a wild beast. I hope that will be the end of the matter, but I can’t rule out another attack. I’ve no problems with my conscience.172

  He was, therefore, already struggling to deal with these matters prior to 10 May 1940, as his nephew Cesar Mendes, son of his twin brother, wrote:

  Before May 10, 1940, the Portuguese Government granted visas or refused them, but this was slow, and after that when the refugees kept coming, there was no use writing anymore, and it became necessary to wire, but the Government stopped answering, and consequently the work in the Chancellery concerning passports and visas froze. This way the number of the refugees increased frighteningly, leading the situation to a dramatic climax. This is when my Uncle made up his mind to help all the refugees.173

  With the fall of France imminent, in June desperate refugees flocked to Bordeaux where de Sousa Mendes was housing many of the most desperate in his own home. His nephew described the scene:

  the dining room, the drawing room and the Consul’s offices were at the disposal of the
refugees, dozens of them of both sexes, all ages, and mainly old and sick people. They were coming and going, there were pregnant women who did not feel well, there were people who had seen, powerless to defend themselves, their relatives die on the highways killed by the machine guns firing from planes. They slept on chairs, on the floor, on the rugs; there could never be any control again. Even the Consul’s offices were crowded with dozens of refugees who were exhausted, dead tired because they had waited for days and nights on the street, on the stairways and finally in the offices. They could not satisfy their needs, they did not eat nor drink for fear of losing their places in the lines, what happened nevertheless and caused some disturbances [sic]. Consequently, the refugees looked bad, they did not wash themselves, they did not comb their hair, they did not change their clothes and they did not shave. Most of them had nothing but the clothes they were wearing.174

  It was the pressure of all these desperate people and the failure of Lisbon to understand or care which made Aristides so ill. The three days he took to his bed were 13, 14 and 15 June 1940. Whilst Aristides wrestled with his soul, Angelina coped. ‘She became the rock, bearing up under the pressure and sustaining her husband as he lay prostrate, rent by anguish. One son, Sebastian, later heard the father speak of a night spent entirely in prayer, together with his wife. It was during those three days that his father’s hair turned white, wrote Sebastian.’175

  But afterwards he was clear about what he would do. He got up, washed, shaved and dressed, and marched into his office and announced to all that he would issue everyone with a visa. He added: