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Travel Piece by Ida Nasatir
Letter from Paris, by Ida Nasatir, March
2, 1951
March 2, 1951—Ida Nasatir, "A
Letter from Paris," Southwestern Jewish Press, page
6: Dear Julia and Mac: I imagine that each one of us
cherishes in the mind some moments of experience which, when logically examined
are a source of perplexity. The great moments of our voyaging (and of life in
general) are apt to be forgotten; we remember instead a yellow coffee cup and a
bowl of fruit lying in the sunlight; we think about a "yellow badge"
and wonder why these things remain in the memory so long, when we cannot for the
life of us remember exactly what we felt when we first saw the ornate Opera
House, or the age-old cathedrals of Chartres and Notre-Dame. I am, therefore, at
a loss to explain why I remember so clearly a cloth yellow badge on which was
printed one word: "Juif", meaning "Jew" in French. A French
Jewish couple showed it to me last week. They are so "French" that not
only were they, and their children born here, but their parents and grandparents
were Parisian born. Somehow, they always retained Jewish affiliations. They used
it to live in the fashionable Etoile apartment section; they were well-to-do
merchants and respected citizens. Then came the German occupation...five long
years of it in Paris, and these Jews though thoroughly "French," had
to wear the yellow badge over their arms. So did thousands of other French Jews.
For fifty-two weeks each year, the French were constantly reminded to beware of
the "tres mauvais Juif," and human nature being what it is, the
constant repetition had its effects. This particular couple (who gave me their
yellow cloth badge) together with untold other Jewish business people were
boycotted. No one came to buy their merchandise; in time they lost everything.
Even to this very day, too many French people remember that they wore the
"badge." But instead of bending their heads and shoulders in
regret and perplexity my friends of last week told me that since
"their" people have always had a monopoly of hope, they felt that as
long as there was one string still taut in the broken lyre, and one star still
shining from the dark sky, there was still hope. (Days after I left them I kept
thinking of what they said: "Hope! However bleak the prospect, or mute the
music, life is still possible if one star shines, or one string
vibrates.") I shall have to repeat this thought to many Jews whom I have
come to know well, and who are becoming tense and frightened over the world
situation. Should trouble come to the continent, all of them feel that
theirs will be the first heads to roll. There is a predominant feeling among
them of acute restlessness and worry. I asked my friends a foolish question. I
asked them why they continued to hope. I should never have done it.
The reply was excellent. "If you take this faith away, what is there left
to live for? Money? You cannot take it with you...Personal pleasure? But there
is nothing more wearisome than overstimulated nerves...Position? But only the
petty mind delights in being toadied...Fame? Not much of it survives a
generation." Having said this, they pointed to the cloth badge, which now
rested in my hands, for they wanted me to have it. I think I shall go back
to see some of the magnificent sights of Paris again; maybe if I look long and
hard at those exquisite 12th century hand-painted windows in the ancient St.
Chapelle, maybe if I get there at the close of day and watch the sun create a
ball of fire behnd these windows the...well, maybe I will forget the yellow
badge. Fondly, Ida Nasatir.