My name is Nicole, I was born in Paris on September 5^th 1932: it means I was seven when World War II was declared, eight when the armistice was signed, and ten in 1942.

I was a little Jewish girl… I find it difficult to talk about it, nevertheless I'll try to… It's stupid, because I didn't think I would be cracking up… I talked about it so often! I talked about it very much…

One thought being a little Jewish girl born in Paris was easy. There was no problem from 1939 to 1940. We lived like every other children: we left Paris because we were afraid of the Germans; we went back to Paris because we had to go back to school; the first days were normal for us who'd been what was called… refugees… who lived in a requisitioned house by the seaside. It was wonderful! An uncle, who was a chemist and more or less well off, had dragged us, and it was pretty funny. We didn't notice what was going on.

In fact we did… On the day war was declared, my parents had fetched me for wine. It happened in '39. I was seven. I walked across the street with a bottle carrier to go and get wine. I went into a shop where everyone was crying. When I saw these people crying … I didn't understand why… And, for the first time in my life I heard the word "war". We were at war, and the women who were there, the shop assistant and the customers, everyone was crying… So, I took the wine, paid, and walked home and said: "What's going on? Why is everybody crying? Apparently we are at war, what's war?"

And indeed, it was the beginning of everything. That is to say I started to grow up, to age, to learn, to learn that we were living something very particular which had nothing to do with what we had lived before…

Anyway, my parents have always explained everything to me. And even more, probably…Because, generally speaking, parents explain things badly to children. Generally speaking, they are told as little as possible. As for me, it was extraordinarily clear.

"What's war?" So, they explained what war was, and they also explained that we had to leave as soon as it got dark.

First thing… At night we went to the farm of the friend of my mother's mother. A club-footed man took us there. I was afraid of sleeping because I wondered how he would manage to drive because of his foot. We arrived at the farm, we stayed there for a few days, then, shortly after, my father said: "That's all hooey!" we spent a part of our holidays there, then we went back home.

For nearly a year, Everything went roughly well, except perhaps some restrictions.

The armistice was signed: I didn't understand very well what it was.

I had a little brother. And so my duty was to take care of my brother. I was already responsible for the family: in fact, for my mother, who was psychologically frail, and for my little brother, who was 20 months younger than me. I was almost ten, and he was under my protection. And as I knew the situation was serious, I had to take it seriously. And so I took that situation really seriously.

As for me, the important things were playing the piano and school. I didn't want my parents to worry and I wanted to please them. To please them, I played the piano (which I liked very much) and was good at school. And I kept an eye on my brother. It was my job and also my pride to fulfil my parents' expectations.

We weren't scared. And you'll see that the word "scare" will be recurrent. Because, if I speak about war, I'll talk about scare, or the absence of scare, or learning about scare or about what scare can teach in children's life…

My mother had to be reassured. So, we shouldn't show we were either sad or miserable or that we were scared or that we weren't feeling very well. My father had to be free enough to be able to manage the situation of a family in wartime without being bothered. My brother had to be protected because he was so young and scatterbrained - irresponsible in fact - that I had to take care of him as well.

I was happy to be a little girl whose parents were happy. I was very good at school. My father was very strict. And that too - my father's strictness - was double-edged: he'd been so strict that he's taught us everything and that…

He was strong, strict, responsible; my mother was an extremely fragile woman, and I had to protect her. "Your mother mustn't know, because she mustn't be scared, otherwise she'll not be able to sleep…"

So, it was a major responsibility. Once again, the word "responsibility" clings on to me, because I had an intense responsibility during these four years; I had to learn to be responsible for someone; I had to learn how to control myself.

Things really got clearer, as regards my fate as a little Jewish girl, the day when my father… (he told me everything, he said everything to me)… told me: "Well now, I have to go to the police station to register that our family is Jewish".

Because I was Jewish I knew the Hebrews had to leave Egypt… because we ate unleavened bread and I had been told the story… I knew the Hanuka candles. As you have to think, and as to find the truth, it takes several days, several lights, and one doesn't get the light immediately… My dad was a philosopher, but he was totally self-educated. Well, everything was always tinged with poetry.

And so, we learnt Judaism because we worshipped my grandparents who were in Algeria… whereas my parents had left Algeria when one was 17 and the other 22: they were young but adult, since my father had left Algeria to enlist in the French army… and this is important too: my father's choice had been to get closer to his fatherland, which was France. And my mother's choice was to follow her husband, since he'd married her to take her to France.

As for me, who was born in Paris, I was perfectly at ease: More Parisian than French. Parisian. And within my family it was fantastic: "The young Parisian!" I was the first "young Parisian" in the family - the whole family lived in Algeria.

My parents worshipped their parents because they were far away. But even so, they were happy to leave them; they were happy when they moved to another country. So they brought us up like Jewish children, who were the heirs of an Algerian Jewish culture: that is to say mixed with orientalism but not religious. A bit traditionalist all the same, but not religious!

And, when one day my father came home and told us that since we were Jewish we had to register, he immediately added: "That's no problem, we're French." He had immediately drawn the distinction (which was something very hard to swallow afterwards) between French Jews and foreign Jews. And, to cheer us up, he gave us the strange impression that we, as French Jews, we had nothing to fear. And that the Jews who were going to be chased were all the foreign Jews who were here.

We trusted daddy and said: "That's true, there's no problem". He came back and, since he was very optimistic, he showed us his identity card on which the word "Jew" was printed. You know, the word "Jew" stamped in red gothic letters on an identity card, it was a tragedy! Well, daddy came with his identity card and said: "See how intelligent your father is!" he had a small leatherette card wallet sewed by machine. And that old card-wallet was a little unstitched. And since it was a little unstitched, you could play with the leatherette. And the stamp was on the top: that was the first stroke of luck! The stamp was not in the middle, but on the top of the card! As a result, when daddy pulled the piece of torn leatherette down, he managed to hide the Jew stamp.

He was very proud of himself… he showed it to us and said: "See what I'm going to do! If they bother me - wham! - I put the leatherette like this and hide it!"

So we learnt that being a Jew was something fantastic but also that, in some circumstances, you had to hide it.

Some time later, my father was gloomy when he came and said: "Listen children, I've got bad news, the Jews will have to wear the star: so, I'm going to the police station to get the stars". There was something in him that was proud and at the same time solemn. It's quite something. And, mum and I spent the night sewing the stars on our clothes.

On the next morning I went to school with a star on my apron (at the time, everyone wore an apron) and on my coat. And I arrived at school with my star. I was THE ONLY Jew at school.

Perhaps that too makes … We have all emotions as children. When I speak about war, I speak about my childhood. Even so it was childhood! There are good moments in childhood. Yet, the bad moments were going to prevail over the good ones.

So I was at school with my star. A little girl threw herself at me (only later did I learn that her parents were in the Resistance). She told me: "Listen, we didn't get along well"… And that was true: when I was first, she was second; and when she was first, I was second; so we were at war! She told me: "Now it's different…" she was my age, perhaps one or two years older, because I was advanced. And her parents had told her about it … So, she came to see me and said: "If someone causes you trouble, I'll protect you".

And there I knew the solidarity between two children one of whom was threatened and the other immediately claimed to defend the latter. It was something marvellous. We remained very good friends.

Of course, I totally lost sight of her… But for me it was a support, an extraordinary comfort. Her name was Jeannine Joubert. Her parents also meant a lot to me, because they fed the two Eliachev sisters who were Russian Jews and one of whom was disabled; they've taken food upstairs during the whole war... And I knew it. I knew that Jeannine, my friend, had parents who did it. And so I didn't bear a grudge against people who weren't Jewish. Because there had already been… The first thing was this little girl.

So, we wore the star and, very quickly, we learnt that adults were no longer allowed to work: my uncle who was in charge of the chemist's at porte Champerret got an administrator, and "This is a Jewish shop" was written in red letters on the window. My mother, who was his sister, really was humiliated.

Very quickly, my father understood that defensive measures had to be taken. It was too late, we couldn't leave because we had no money, we had no family at all: no one outside Paris. It was too late, we had registered. My father had said: "Since we're French, we're safe". From that moment on, we lived in fear. And we also lived thanks to resourcefulness because: we had no money, we couldn't work, we were forced to keep our mouth shut, and at the same time, we had to be renowned because of my uncle's chemist's.

My father told me: "You're the only little Jewish girl at school, so you must be the first, you cannot be second. You must be beyond reproach. You mustn't be late, you mustn't have stains on your apron, you must be perfect".

So, I was a kind of chosen one for my father. I didn't know the story of the chosen people, but he got me all the same. "You must meet an absolutely irreproachable image. And, you must pick your brother up. And, if we're arrested, we'll be split up and very quickly it'll become awful, awful". My uncle belonged to a well-informed Jewish organisation. We were very well-informed.

Very soon, I learnt that actually - I used the underground to go to secondary school (because I obviously went from a local school to secondary school) - I could only go in the last carriage. I had to wear my star. I was not allowed to hide it because it could be seen as a misdemeanour. We could be arrested when we went out of the underground …

Children had no identity card but I had the Jewish type: big dark eyes, curly hair! "The type", as people said at the time…

"You have the type, I don't have the type": was what my father used to say!

"I don't have the type. You need me to have a job. I mustn't be arrested, otherwise you'll have nothing anymore. And I can't show myself a lot in this area. So, if you happen to meet me in the street, You mustn't kiss me."

It may not look it, but it's the hell of an instruction to know that one can't kiss one's father, to greet him with a kiss when one meets him.

For my mother, the instruction was the same because she too had the "type". She went shopping between 11 and 12, that is to say when there was nothing left in the shops because we were forbidden to do otherwise…

She stood in a queue between 11 and 12. She tended to hide her star with her bag… she was told: "Look out! You mustn't hide it!" But she was scared to death.

As for me, I was lucky to inherit from my father's strength: that is to say: first of all, let's do our best not to be caught; then, if we're caught, well, we'll have to face death (let's go all the way): first to face separation, then to face death.

But my parents had explained very clearly to us that there were nice persons among the French people and that, if my parents were arrested, we had a distant cousin who's name was aunt Nano and who lived 7, rue Cavalotti… Obviously, I haven't forgotten the address where we had to go if our parents were arrested.

We had such instructions. We obeyed the law. Of course, we didn't want to stick our heads into the lion's mouth. We obeyed the law, and we cultivated dignity, respect…

I find it hard to link these things together. But I'm telling you these children things, which are childhood…

Our life was more or less normal. One day, my father said: "We can't keep our furniture because, when they arrest us, they'll take everything away; and when we come back, there'll be nothing left"; So we emptied the apartment. We kept the beds and the piano.

And the day when we moved the piano to the neighbour's, we said: "if we're arrested, the piano won't be here anymore when we come back". The neighbour accepted the piano. And one day someone told me: "The neighbour doesn't want to keep the piano anymore because she's scared". So, we moved the piano back to its place. Someone said: "We can't do without the piano". So I continued taking piano lessons… I don't know how my father could afford it.

He bartered. Since he hadn't got the "type", as he would say, he worked all the same. He pretended he wasn't Jewish. For a whole night long, He had studied a small book he'd bought in a flea market: a book about how to cut shirts. And he'd been hired by a chap who obviously ignored he was a Jew.

My father's star was in his pocket. When he thought it was better to wear it, that it was better to be in order with his papers, he stuck it on his jacket. And when, in his mind, it was better not to wear it, he took it off and put it into his pocket. He played cops and robbers during the whole Occupation…

And he always told us everything. The swoops… he came home and said: "I saw so-and-so being arrested".

Then he didn't take the underground anymore. So, he used a bike. Oh, the bike as well is a fantastic memory of when I was a child! My father had to cycle to his working place because they only swooped in the underground. Someone riding a bike wasn't arrested. So he'd got that bike with small yellow plates and registration numbers on them.

And one day, we got a small note saying someone would come and fetch the bike. Obviously the car had already been taken from us. Nearly everything we possessed had already been taken! The day when it was about the bike, things were serious.

So, now I'm going to tell you a story, which is a beautiful story, and which strikes a child for a long time in his life… My father took me aside and told me: "You are a big girl now, you're not going to cry." (I didn't use to cry when I was a child). "So, my bike is going to be taken. But, If I haven't got my bike anymore, I won't be able to go to work. I won't be able to bring back something to eat. So, we're going to give your bike."

And we unscrewed the plates and put them on my bike. We put dad's bike upright in the toilets, and when the French cops came to fetch the bike, they saw my bike with the registration plates! And they said: "What are we asked to do!" and they took my bike… and, scornful and angry, I went to school, but I was proud too my father had trusted me to such an extent that he could tell me the truth and that he could keep his bike.

And so he cycled to work. I came back from secondary school and what I found in the courtyard (I'll tell you about the courtyard later) was a policeman with a small blue cloak and his kepi and my bike. He told me: "I'm bringing you your bike back". This kind of thing makes you strong and confident.

I'm telling you this because I'm lucky enough to be here to tell you this… I wasn't arrested; neither were my parents. We weren't sent to a concentration camp. We were four in the beginning and we were four in the end… My father, my mother, my brother and I. It's true to say that we saw the horrors and the beautiful things at the same time. We were called "filthy Jews" very often. The caretaker threatened us: "If you get near the hoopla, I'll denounce you."

I wanted to tell you about the courtyard…14, boulevard du Gouvion Saint-Cyr belonged to a group of buildings owned by the city of Paris, made of red bricks, in the green belt of Paris. And there were courtyards in the middle. And in these courtyards were all the children: Jewish, not Jewish, English, refugees, collaborators… Everybody had got children! And there two caretakers in charge of this microcosm located 14, boulevard du Gouvion Saint-Cyr who were collaborators, who denounced and threatened… there also was a member of the Blackshirts upstairs, the son of an SS opposite, a girl on the same floor who slept with Germans and we saw polish their boots, we were mixed and we played together…

Except that we were Jewish. That everybody knew it. That the favourite game was to stand under our window and to shout: "Sarah, Rachel, etc." But it was something which remained very strange…

Anxiety was rising when people started talking about serious arrests, when we realised, when we were warned about the rounding up of Jews in the Paris Vélodrome d'Hiver and were told: "You mustn't sleep home" and that my father answered: "But we have nowhere else to go!"

We had that kind of inner strength to say: "We're here, but - I'm quoting what dad used to say - they won't catch us". Well, it takes guts! "They won't catch us!"

Dad was anticipating everything that could have happened to us…

We lived on the first floor, in between two courtyards, and he'd trained us to jump out of the window, to go down thanks to tied sheets, and to cross a very small part of the courtyard, to enter the opposite building, to go downstairs in the dark. We were young, but we could do it. We were scared not to be worthy of our parents who were so brave… so we did it, several times: that's to say we walked across all the buildings in the cellars, and we went out on the other side of Porte Champerret.

So when my father said: "They won't catch us", it meant: They're going to knock on the door, they'll come to arrest us, to take us with them, and after that it'll be over as far as we're concerned… So they mustn't come; we have to jump out of the window, and escape through the cellars, and go out on the other side; if one of was caught, the three others had to get out of it; if the parents were caught, the children had to escape.

And this sentence my parents said: "You'll always find nice people". My father changed his mind about it, unfortunately… But at first, considering what we'd been through, we trusted nice people a lot. Our neighbour on the same floor was an English soldier's wife. We were in a microcosm, we felt threatened and protected at the same time.

My father was a bit mystical. He used to say: "I was born on some Sabbath evening, my mother told me I was protected". But he was very rash! We stayed there because we had nowhere else to go…

Nothing much happened. The only thing is that when I came back from school, I never knew whether my mother would still be there or not…

Whether she would have the time to put a small piece of red ribbon on the window to warn me the Germans had come to fetch her and that I shouldn't go upstairs and that I had to take care of my brother.

I was old enough. I was told: "You're old enough". I've always been old enough. It's no use telling you I'm so ashamed to have survived to what happened, that I won't complain that I wasn't little, that I wasn't spoilt, that I couldn't play…

I feel that my parents' example and especially my father's - because he took a hold on himself - made me incredibly strong.

We didn't sleep, we listened to the noises. Obviously I slept from time to time…But we listened to the noises. I didn't miss a thing, I was spared nothing. As a child, I lived in wartime with mixed feelings: the fear of being arrested and the pride of not being fetched.

And, I'll try to sum up, it was the end of the war! The end of the war! We were happy to be in the streets like anyone else! I remember the horror at the sight of women with their hair shaved off! The horror! My father filmed everything he could in the streets!

There's something that's just escaped me… The end of the war… But before…. Something escaped me…

That kind of union between the four of us… The fear we felt for one another… and the way we were so prepared to die… it was something unbelievable. Unfortunately, we were well-informed: the gas chambers… we knew we'd be separated from our parents. We knew how to behave at that moment, when life has come to an end: with dignity, with that kind of… neither courage nor excessive pride… It was: facing reality.

I remember it was for my parents that I was mostly scared. I think it was for my mother that I was mostly scared. I couldn't consider her as an adult who was able to go through all this...

One day, they came to arrest us (but they had made a mistake: it was for the compulsory labour), my mother opened the door and said: "Jews aren't sent to compulsory labour, you're in a Jewish house here". The guy stood to attention and said: "I apologise, Madam". He was German. I went out of my hiding place where my mother had put me under a mattress and said: "If you fetch my mother, you must take me with her".

They didn't fetch us since our time hadn't come.

This story may help people feel a bit confidence in life, and in fate. The fact remains that theses four years in the life of a child make either adults that are totally mad and traumatised or adults that'll be responsible for the things of life. I don't know how to express it: I have become someone very very strong and maybe very very weak as well. But both are always present, I always have the impression I must triumph over something.

It's an experience. Once again, I have so much sorrow for those who didn't come back… one is inconsolable…