Lyon
August 27, 1942
Cardinal Pierre-Marie Gerlier was a church leader of the old guard. Born in Versailles sixty-two years prior, he had studied to be a lawyer before committing himself to an ecclesial path. He had been wounded and captured while serving as an officer in the Great War. His career had been slow and challenging, but he had now been archbishop of Lyon for five years. As a cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church, he held one of the most revered positions possible for a man of orders. An intimate friend of Marshal Pétain, Gerlier had put all his energy into leading the city to obediently comply with the new Vichy regime. The cardinal’s anti-Semitism was a well-known fact. Initially he had not opposed the racial laws or raised a finger to defend the Jews.
Cardinal Gerlier believed that Marshal Pétain was God’s gift to France to save the country from the decadent times it was forced to endure. But things had changed. Gerlier had access to privileged information that allowed him to read between the lines and understand what was happening to Jews in Poland and other occupied territories. It was one thing to want all Jews to leave Europe; it was something else altogether to approve of their complete annihilation. Therefore, when the raids against the Hebrew people increased earlier that year, the cardinal started thinking that the Catholics should do something.
That afternoon his secretary informed him that Alexandre Glasberg had requested a meeting. The day before, the cardinal had received Rabbi Kaplan, who came to intercede on behalf of the foreign Jews in Gerlier’s diocese. Everyone presumed that Gerlier’s ecclesial position gave him some sort of power, but his only authority was in the moral and spiritual realms. He wanted to think that this still mattered in France, but he had his doubts.
The secretary announced the abbot’s arrival, and the cardinal donned his robes before Glasberg entered the lavish office of the episcopal palace. Glasberg bowed his head and kissed the ring on the cardinal’s outstretched hand.
“Most excellent and reverend sir, thank you for receiving me on such short notice.”
“Abbot, forgo the formalities. What brings you here?”
The priest sat on a nearby chair. The cardinal listened in attentive silence as Glasberg explained the Vénissieux problem. When the priest was finished, Gerlier summarized, “From what you’ve told me, the government is denying exemptions. This is inhumane and contrary to a government with Christian morals.”
“I’m sure that Vichy fears retaliation from the Nazis.”
“Without a doubt,” the cardinal said pensively, “but we are still in France, a civilized, Christian nation.”
“On behalf of Amitié Chrétienne, I would like to ask you to intercede directly with Marshal Pétain.”
The cardinal rested his chin on his hand, let out a long-held breath, and allowed his eyes to drift to the window. It looked like a storm was brewing.
“What has happened in France over the past few years has been a true disgrace. The Third Republic spun out into one of the darkest eras for our beloved country, and everything that is of any worth has disappeared. Human beings have become depraved. No God, no fatherland, no family. The Great War sped up the process, and the mad years of the 1920s turned the world into a great garbage heap. The crisis of 1929 impoverished hundreds of thousands of French, and just when it seemed like things could not get any worse, Communism and Fascism threatened what was left of the ashes of our civilization. The Nazis took over the country, and the government and the politicians did not turn down the invitation. They were already rotten to the core. In fact, they contributed decisively to France’s great weakness. The Germans, our eternal enemies, humiliated us, just like what happened last century with Napoleon III. Then, by some miracle, Marshal Pétain committed himself to saving France, not from the Germans but from herself. In his first speech he announced that he wanted to build a nation free from the teachings of Socialism and Communism and that France would once again be strong and great. He put the foundational values of Western society back on the table: work, family, and fatherland. What good are freedom, equality, and fraternity if there’s no bread, family, or nation?”
“But all of that has turned out to be a show,” the abbot dared to venture.
“Indeed, indeed. And so we can no longer keep silent. I’ll write to the marshal and beg him to save the Jews. If that’s not enough, I’ll write a letter to all the parishes of France and raise the people up against this form of tyranny.”
The cardinal’s passion shocked Alexandre Glasberg. He knew of Gerlier’s earlier anti-Semitism and was well aware that most of the high-ranking church officials had not spoken against the injustices committed by French society against the Jews. But something seemed to be changing at last in France. “Thank you, Your Excellency.”
“May God grant us the help we need.”
The cardinal raised his hand, and the abbot kissed it again before quitting the room.
* * *
A few miles away, at the Vénissieux camp, Rachel was staring hard to see if she could spot her father again. Worrisome rumors were circulating that the men would be taken away the next day.
Zelman had not slept the night before. Everything seemed pointless—their journey of crossing border after border and leaving behind all they had known. The evidence was all too clear: he was a weak failure incapable of keeping his family safe. He had spent his time at the camp so far giving haircuts to dozens of prisoners tired of the pesky lice. He wanted to get the money he had earned to his daughter, but he could not find her in the crowd across the barbed wire fence.
Standing on tiptoes, Rachel thought she saw her father. She waved and called out. Then a Chinese-looking man came up to her.
“What is it, little girl? Why are you shouting?”
Rachel studied the man without answering.
He smiled at her and said, “It’s all right. My name is Tuan.”
This seemed to satisfy the girl, and she explained. “My dad can’t see me with all these people around. His name is Zelman.”
The Indo-Chinese worker smiled again at her and knelt, patting his shoulders. Rachel understood and climbed up.
Zelman spotted his daughter above the heads of the rest of the crowd and ran to the fence. He wiped his tears to keep her from worrying.
“Rachel! Where’s Fani?”
“She’s been helping in the infirmary all day.”
“Are you all right?” Zelman asked, suspiciously eyeing the Indo-Chinese man who had Rachel on his shoulders.
“This is Tuan. He helped me find you.”
“Hello, Mr. Zelman.” Tuan was still smiling widely.
“You can set her down now. Thank you,” Zelman said dryly.
Rachel got as close to her father as the fence allowed, and Zelman stroked her cheek.
“Look, I have a bit of money for you. I want you to keep it safe. You may need it. If you and Fani get the chance to escape, head for Italy. They aren’t arresting Jews there. Then find a boat going to Brazil or Argentina. Do you understand?”
Rachel nodded. “But we don’t want to leave without you.”
“They’re transferring the men tomorrow. So I’ll meet up with you later on,” he lied.
Rachel started crying. “I’m scared, Dad.”
Each tear broke his heart anew. “No, honey, don’t be afraid. I’ll always be with you. Every time you look up and see the clouds, think of me. Wherever I am, I’ll be looking at the same sky and thinking of you.”
Rachel’s grip on her father’s hand was tight. He handed her the money just as a gendarme approached and waved them apart.
Rachel stayed crying at the fence as her father was led away. She did not know if she would ever see him again or if misfortune would separate them forever. She thought of something her mother had said at bedtime once: the stars were God’s diamonds, but people were even more valuable to him; Rachel was the apple of his eye and God wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.
Night was falling as the exhausted refugees waited in the supper line at the mess hall. The heat had been suffocating, but distant clouds bespoke a coming rain. Perhaps it would bring hope as well. A few weeks prior, they had all been going about their daily lives, albeit under the threatening shadow of Nazism. A few months prior, they had still hoped to sidestep the terrible tide of war. A few years prior, they had lived happily without even knowing it. Back then they had wasted their days worrying about ridiculous little things and watching the clock anxiously. But now time had run out on them. The dark red evening sky was suddenly of utmost importance. It now seemed entirely possible that they would not live to see a new dawn.