Hitler Made Me a Jew Read Online Free PDF Page A

received at that time in France, a serious test for which we had to review the entire year and which took two full days. We were only twelve years old. As it turned out this was going to be my last year in Chatenay although I didn’t realize it. We were occupied by the Germans but in Vichy, in the unoccupied zone, the Maréchal Petain—the old hero of Verdun—was making speeches pleading for the French to stick together as a family. I loved this song that was written for him “Maréchal, here we are facing you the savior of France! The motherland will be reborn Maréchal, Maréchal here we are!!” It was a stirring song, and I volunteered to help in school and distribute leaflets for the old Maréchal.
    There was always an undercurrent of fear. My mother began to receive a Jewish newspaper. She was surprised. She couldn’t imagine who would have known she was Jewish. She was not religious, and there was no reason for her to get this paper, which was suspicious anyway. She also received a notice asking her to register as a Jew. Marcel told her not to go, but she didn’t know what to do. She had always obeyed all the rules, and she felt obliged to register rather than take the chance and be in the wrong and found out. Also she didn’t believe that she would be in danger because she was Jewish. Then more mail came with “JEW” printed all over it, as if to proclaim to the postman and all his friends that she was a Jew. Everyone in the Cité was alarmed.
    My father, discharged from the French Légion in Africa, was now living in Marseille in the unoccupied zone. Half of France was occupied by the Germans, and the other half was under a government with the Maréchal Petain as the head, cooperating with the Germans.
    My father sent my mother letters through a friend who was the cook on the train that traveled Paris to Marseille. The man put the letters in jars, which he hid in a huge simmering soup pot. The ordinary mail was censored. My mother was more and more anxious to join my father. They decided I should go first because the cook had said that unescorted children had no problem passing the “demarcation line.”
    I took the train with a small suitcase. The cook walked by and winked at me. I was not supposed to know him, but my mother had told me he would be looking out for me during the trip, and I had nothing to worry about. All I had to say, if anyone asked, was that I was going to visit my father in Marseille.
    I was excited to be traveling on my own with a suitcase. This was my first voyage, I was alone in the train compartment for the entire trip. In those days there were not many travelers. I enjoyed the scenery and was not worried. It was peaceful until there was a sudden stop and I heard a man shout something in German. My door opened brusquely and two uniformed men towered over me “Where are you going?” “How old are you?” “Open your suitcase!” The soldiers searched my things and found a chocolate bar, which they confiscated on the spot. They laughed and ate it in front of me. Chocolate was rare and expensive. And only available on the black market, but I couldn’t protest. I was paralyzed with fear. The soldiers tapped me on the head and walked out chuckling and looking pleased with themselves. As soon as the train started again the cook came to see me, and this time he sighed, relieved: “You’ve made it.” I was puzzled because I had not realized I had been in any danger and that I had crossed the border without papers. The cook had told my mother I could cross, but it was not a sure thing. “In these days of war nothing is ever sure,” he said to me.

Chapter 6
    Marseille 1941-42
    My father lived in the center of Marseille, in a quiet small back street. His furnished apartment with white lace curtains on the windows also had a white Victorian handmade crocheted bedspread on the bed. The kitchen was