Jewish Herald-Voice (Houston, Tex.), Vol. 103, No. 12, Ed. 1 Thursday, June 30, 2011 Page: 4 of 24
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Jewish Herald-Voice
June 30, 2011
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changed, due to a series of French laws that
restricted immigration.]
My father was a widower with a child, my
half-brother Jacques. I think this was 1934.
My father belonged to one synagogue, and my
mother belonged to another. People in one of
the synagogues introduced my parents to each
other. It wasn’t exactly an arranged marriage.
But, it was common in that time to introduce
young people to each other, although my parents
were not so young. Today, you have JDate.
In those days, couples would go for walks
on the boulevard or in the park. They were
always chaperoned, although my mother was
30-something. But, whenever my mother would
go out with my father, my aunt, who was single,
would go along. What I understand is that
my mother knew if she did not get married,
she would have to go back to Romania. My
mother, Therese Goldman, was a couturiere
(seamstress).
My father, David Strul Covrigaru, was a
good man, very hardworking. Although his
occupation is listed as tailleur (tailor) on his
livret defamille (marriage document), he only
made pants. In French, that occupation is called
cullotier.
My parents married on Feb. 28, 1935. They
had one child together - me - on March 10,
1937. She had a difficult pregnancy, in and out
of the hospital. I was born by a C-section, and
afterwards, my grandmother moved in with us
to assist. So, we lived with my grandmother,
brother, me and my parents in a two-bedroom
apartment in the 18th arrondissement (on the
Right Bank). It was a Jewish neighborhood at
the time.
In 1939, the government evacuated women
and children out of Paris.
[French evacuations were run by local
governments and tended to be in destinations
less than 200 kilometers from home.]
Paris has several railroad stations, and the
police really controlled what was going on. The
police told you where to go. My mother and I
ended up in Brittany. I remember that whenever
the train arrived at a small railroad station, the
mayor and the town manager greeted us at the
station, accepting a certain amount of people.
We got to a location, and I remember going to a
church where they took all the evacuees. There
were no men, just women and small children.
My mother got off the train, and Madeleine
Guilbaud, who was the daughter of the
stationmaster at Abbaretz, was the one who
physically lifted me out of the train. So, the
Guilbaud family came into my life.
We were placed with some farmers at first. I
don’t remember their names. Within weeks, my
father came out to Abbaretz. My father would
frequently come to visit, and he developed a
relationship with the stationmaster, Madeleine’s
father. We called him Pepe. At some point, we
went back to Paris.
[German troops entered Paris and Italy
on June 14, 1940, eight days before the official
French surrender. About 300,000 German troops
occupied the north and west of France. Passed
in October 1940 and June 1942, The Statut des
Juifs excluded French Jews from public life,
most occupations and professions such as
medicine, law and teaching.]
Sometime in the summer of 1941, the
Germans came after my grandmother. She was
not a citizen. My grandmother lived with my
aunt and her husband, who was being held as a
French army prisoner of war by the Germans.
The Germans came to the concierge and asked
for Mrs. Goldman, who was my aunt. Luckily,
she was not in the apartment. When she
returned, the concierge said, “Madame Goldman,
the Germans were here. You cannot go back
upstairs.”
That’s when the family on my mother’s side
decided to leave Paris. They sent a telegram
to Madeleine’s parents, because the Guilbaud
family had promised my parents that if things
got worse, they would take care of me. That I
remember.
Madeleine and her mother came by train to
pick me up. I went with them. This was in the
summer of 1941. I was 4 years old. I remember
a big wooden trunk in which my mother put my
clothing, photographs and precious things. And,
I remember a bicycle with trainer wheels and
Monique, her uncle Tibi and cousin Claudine in
1941, before going into hiding.
In 1946, Monique then 9, with her parents, David
and Therese.
my doll, Lily. I still have that doll.
Madeleine and her mother arrived in the
morning. We left for Abbaretz that afternoon.
The family lived above the railroad station, so
that’s where I played. I remember the railroad
station. I used to ride my bicycle on the
platform. Madeleine was around 16 years old at
the time.
In 1942, the family moved to a different
village, called Le Cellier. Pepe retired from
the railroad, and we moved because he had
children living there. I started school there.
It was a Catholic school run by nuns with big
white hats.
My parents were living together in central
France in the Massif Central. They did not
come to see me. I remember that the Guilbaud
family emphasized that if someone asked
where my parents were, I should answer that
my father was a prisoner of war and my mother
worked in a factory.
During the war, many children were being
given to families who kept them. Other children
went to nunneries or monasteries. It was very
normal. I think the family was being paid to
keep me. But, there would be no reason for me
to ask.
When I met Madeleine in 2005,1 asked her
if I cried and asked for my mother. She said,
“No, you didn’t.” What I remember is that when
I first came there, I slept with Madeleine in the
bed. If I asked her questions about my family,
Madeleine would pull photographs from the
trunk and would reassure me. She had met my
family, so she knew something about them.
They treated me very well, very close. We
went to church every Sunday, the early service.
And, when we came home, there was lunch. In
the afternoon, we would go to the cemetery to
pay respects to the elders. They were aware
I was Jewish and I knew, also. But. it was
something you put on the back burner. Two of
their children were in the underground early
in the war. So, I knew one thing: I had to keep
my mouth shut, because I could put somebody’s
life in danger. They knew my parents, and they
knew what Judaism was about. I don’t think
they were motivated by religion or politics. I
think it was more of a humanitarian feeling.
I know I was loved. I know I was never
hungry. I was hugged when I needed it. I would
say that I had a normal life. I didn’t feel hatred.
I didn’t feel out of place, although I knew I had
another mother and father.
In the summer of 1943,1 went to visit my
parents. Madeleine took me by train. They were
staying in Mandailles-Saint-Julien at the foot
of the Puy de Dome (a volcano in the Massif
Central). I stayed there from the summer until
Christmas. The mayor of that village was an
underground guy. He and my parents, who
were neighbors, became friends. In that village
was also a prison camp for Jewish men. At
one point I remember the Germans came on
a motorcycle, knocking on my parents’ door,
looking for the school principal. The school
was located across the street from where they
lived. The principal had disappeared. And, the
German soldier pointed a gun at my father and
said, “Are you sure, sir, that you don’t know
where the principal is?”
Right after Christmas, Madeleine and her
sister, Yvette, came to pick me up. It was
getting more dangerous in Mandailles. All I
remember is that my parents sent a telegram,
and the Guilbauds were right there. I went back
with them. I really can’t tell you how I felt. My
parents explained to me that it was dangerous
to remain with them, but I cannot answer how I
felt. It’s black to me. I was 6 years old.
So, I spent the remainder of the war with
the Guilbaud family. I went to school and
learned how to read, knit and do embroidery.
I remember going to the forest and making
clothing out of leaves and pine cones. I
remember they had a huge vegetable garden,
and we had to water the vegetables when it
didn’t rain. One of the brothers kept bees, so
we used to visit him and get honey. We ate lots
of cabbage, potatoes, vegetables and rabbit. I
can’t remember going to bed hungry. I cannot
remember being scared at any time.
In the summer of 1945,1 remember an
American came into Le Cellier in a jeep. And
everybody was cheering. I knew that the
war was almost over. Brittany is south of
Normandy. So, when the Americans started
coming into France, they went from Normandy
to Brittany, and we knew the war was nearly
over.
My parents and uncle arrived in Le Cellier in
late summer of 1945. I remember being sent out
to the garden to get something for Pepe and,
seeing my uncle. I screamed. My uncle turned
me around, and there were my parents, behind
me. That was the shocking moment of our
reunion. My emotions were on a roller coaster.
We all went back into the house. I was happy to
see my parents, but I had to say goodbye to the
family who kept me. On one side, my parents
are here. And, here is this family that I need
to say goodbye to. Tears still come to my eyes
when I see that scene.
I was 8 years old. My parents had given me
to this family for four years. There were no
papers. If my parents had not come back, the
Guilbaud family would not have returned me
to any living relatives. They felt responsible for
me, but it’s more than that - they felt like I was
one of them. Maybe I would have resented them
when I got older, because I had other living
relatives who would have taken responsibility
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Samuels, Jeanne F. Jewish Herald-Voice (Houston, Tex.), Vol. 103, No. 12, Ed. 1 Thursday, June 30, 2011, newspaper, June 30, 2011; Houston, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth543964/m1/4/: accessed July 18, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; .