House of Glass

Do not hold a grudge against me that I do not write so often, although I think of you all the time. You must know the times we live in are not peaceful. Nothing happens here and if something bad happens nobody intervenes. I am sad when I realise that everything we believed in does not matter any more. It is only a symbol now … You are full of optimism, that should make me forget about my problems that stop me from sleeping. But all the news we hear suggests everything is worse than it was during the Great War.

On 25 May 1940 Henri wrote what was probably his last letter to his sister before Paris fell, and he spent most of it telling her that everything was fine.

My dear little sister,

Just a word to reassure you that all is well with us. Don’t be frightened by what you read in the newspapers. Life in Paris proceeds calmly with full awareness of the gravity of the situation. We are calm and confident. I am showing my machines at a fair in Paris. There are not many visitors, of course, but the ones who are there are potential buyers.

Mother is very well. I am not evacuating her. She will simply move to Mila’s house. This way she won’t be alone, Mila neither. And at Mila’s, being on the ground floor, she won’t be in any danger. Jacques and Alex are in the army and fine, the Ornsteins are all well, too. Write to us and don’t worry, I kiss you often as well as your Ronny. Hello Bill!

Henri

By the time Sara received the letter, Nazis were on the Champs-Élysées and a swastika flag was hanging from the Arc de Triomphe.

How does a Polish Jewish couple live in Paris for the whole of the war and survive? And how could a woman as naturally attention-grabbing as Sonia live under the radar for four years, running away from her natural place in the sun to live in the shadows? Henri never spoke about their years in hiding. Sonia did, but she only ever told half the story. The other part of their story she kept to herself.

Of the 200,000 Jews who lived in Paris when war started, more than half of whom were foreigners, it is estimated that, at most, only 10 per cent refused to register.[1] It is, for obvious reasons, impossible to know how many of those hidden Jews survived. But given they were Polish Jews, who stayed in Paris for the entire war and survived, there is no question that Henri and Sonia were exceptional.

Once the Nazis arrived, Henri and Sonia’s relatively calm life ended. Most of the anti-Jewish legislation was passed during the first year of occupation, and Jews were banned from public places, travelling in certain cars on the metro, owning a bicycle, telephone or radio, and working in particular professions. They had to be home at specified hours and were allowed to shop only between three and four in the afternoon. Anti-Semitic posters appeared all around the city: ‘Il faut aussi balayer les JUIFS pour que notre maison soit propre,’ read a popular one (We must sweep away the Jews in order to keep our home clean). Between October 1940, when the anti-Jewish legislation kicked in, and December 1941, the number of known Jews in Paris fell by 18,000: 8,000 had been arrested and were interned as enemy aliens in French camps and 10,000 had vanished.[2] From June 1942, Jews had to wear a yellow star at all times so as to make it easier for the authorities to identify them and, imminently, deport them.

Henri and Sonia never registered as Jews. Both of them foresaw the dangers ahead and Sonia, as usual, took charge. She figured out how to buy false identity cards on the black market which claimed they were a Christian German couple, called Classe. She also spoke German so fluently she could pass as a native, even to German officers, and Henri could get by. They then rented a tiny apartment on the Avenue des Minimes, under the name of Classe, and left almost everything back in their home on rue Victor-Cousin, so it would look to the police who came looking for the Jewish Glasses like they’d simply abandoned it.

Henri and Sonia’s lives were saved by their identity cards but life in Paris under Nazi occupation was still crushingly difficult. The French had an easier time under occupation than the Polish, because the Nazis didn’t consider the French to be Untermenschen. But their beloved capital city soon became almost unrecognisable. Familiar buildings were now covered with Nazi flags; cinemas – which the French had always loved – were handed over to the Germans and, for example, the Rex Cinema on one of the Grands Boulevards was renamed Deutschen Soldatenkino (cinema for German soldiers). Swastikas decked all the great Parisian monuments and propaganda posters were everywhere, warning Parisians to fight against ‘le cancer du terrorisme communiste’ (the cancer of communist terrorism). With petrol almost impossible to come by, the only vehicles in the streets were German military ones, while the French made do with bicycles, the metro and their feet. French brasseries were renamed in German and the street signs were similarly redubbed. France’s humiliation was total. On the newsstands only papers approved by Joseph Goebbels, Hitler’s minister of propaganda, were on sale, such as the established far-right paper Le Matin which had eagerly become pro-Nazi, La Gerbe (the Sheaf) a pro-Nazi weekly rooted in racism, and Aujourd’hui, a once independent daily that became pro-Vichy and pro-Nazi.[3] After the war, the editors of some of these papers would be charged with treason, but during the occupation they were almost all that Parisians had to bring them news. While Parisians could see the Germans dining and living it up in the bra

sseries and the Ritz Hotel in Place Vendôme, they endured near-crippling rationing. The city, one inhabitant wrote at the time, was defined by ‘silence and misery’, and the rations were ‘barely sufficient to keep people alive provided they remain lying down and don’t work’.[4]

Henri and Sonia fared better than many of their fellow Parisians. As well as feeding herself and Henri, Sonia looked after Mila and Chaya, and also managed to get enough food on the black market to send to her relatives back home, who then sent her thanks in return.

5 April 1942

My dearest Zosia,

Yesterday I received parcel No5 containing 1 box of melted butter – nothing missing. Today I received 3 parcels together No1, No2 and No3 – there was between 80 and 100 grams missing in each of them.

Sweet fruit cakes were all in bits and there were only 9 pieces of butter in a box.

As the post office is not working I am sending this postcard by First Class. Last week they took lots of people from here. My cousin Azyasza H. (76 years old) was one of them. In November they took mum, grandmother and aunt. We are terrified every single day and nobody knows what happens in a couple of days. It is still a little bit cold here so we burn the fire every other day and we make wholemeal bread as there is lack of it.

I am looking forward to hearing from you. I hope you are healthy.

Lots of love,

Lille Lemberg

Some of her relatives spent as much time in their letters griping to Sonia about family spats as they did thanking her for her bravery and generosity. Not even living in fear of their lives can alter the nature of families.

4 July 1942

My dear Zosia,

I received the olive oil and marmalade, thank you. I think some fruitcakes got damaged in the parcel and 200g of chocolate was missing.

I am worried about mum and on top of that my son and his wife do not respect me. Zenek shouts a lot since he got married. He does not care about his parents any more. I do not speak to him any more and I speak with his wife only when I need something when she goes shopping etc. This is how thankful he is for the fact I have been supporting him financially all his life.

If you have any socks size 8 you do not need, please send me 3 or 4 pairs but no underwear please. Also 20 laxative tablets as I cannot take any liquids and the herbs you sent before are not helpful for constipation. Also shaving cream and lime tea, please. Thank you for looking after me.

Lots of love,

David Lemberg