The Embers of Resistance

Chapter 2 Sonia

Sonia Olschanezky pulled her second-best jacket, a brown tweed, from her closet before tossing it on the bed. After a moment of hesitation, she picked up the badge on her nightstand and examined it. It was made of a coarse fabric in a hideous yellow color and cut in the shape of a star. A single word was printed on it: Juif.

She had just finished pinning it over her heart the way the decree demanded when Mama entered the room.

"I see you've changed your mind about the star," Mama said, sitting on the bed.

"Yes, well, I still think it is humiliating, but if I don't wear it, people might deem me cowardly." Sonia pinned a tri-colored brooch above the star. "But if I have to wear it, I'm going to do it with pride." She glanced in the mirror and then frowned. "The Dubois children are bound to ask endless questions."

"You are lucky to have a job," Mama stated. "After Papa一"

"I know." Sonia's voice came out more sharply than she had meant. Papa's death was still like a raw, open wound. A wound that would heal better if left alone. "Have you heard from Enoch?" she asked in a softer tone.

"No."

She reached out to pat her mother's hand. "I'm sure we'll get some good news soon."

"Good news." Mama harrumphed. "There is never good news for Jews in Occupied France."

As Sonia walked out into the Parisian sunshine, she felt as if she were on display. Though she had been born in Germany to a Russian father and a Romanian mother, she'd lived in France since she was seven and never had felt like a foreigner on the streets. Now, however, it seemed everyone was staring at her. Or rather, at the star on her chest. As she walked past two young boys standing on the street corner, one pointed at Sonia's jacket and giggled.

She tried to convince herself it didn't matter, that wearing the star was a test of courage— like a badge of honor instead of the mark of shame it was meant to be. She held her head high as she walked toward the train station, staring down the passersby as if daring them to say something. Some people averted their gaze to the ground, refusing to meet Sonia's eyes. Others gave her tight-lipped smiles.

She reached the station just as a train was pulling in. As usual, she headed for the front car, but the conductor waved her hand away as she presented her ticket. "You'll have to ride in the back carriage," he said, his eyes on the star.

"But..."

This time he didn't even bother to wave her off. "Next."

Sonia had no choice but to rush to the last car and nearly missed the train.

Once on board, she focused hard on the splintered wood of the seat in front of her, willing her tears of shame mixed with indignation to dissipate. None of the other people in the car were wearing the star. After a few minutes she began to wonder whether they were Jews who refused to wear it or if they sat in the back car by choice. At any rate, their lack of stars only made her feel more alone.

Sonia worked as an au pair for two, spoiled young girls. As predicted, as soon as their parents had left, the eldest of the Dubois girls, Belle, asked about the star. Sonia tried to change the subject, but the little girls did not appear to take the hint. Aged 7 and 9, they were old enough to know that things in France had changed but not old enough to understand how or why. Like most of their fellow countrymen, they were trying to make sense of a world gone mad.

"What does it mean to be a Jew?" the littlest one, Louisa, asked. "Does it mean you don't believe in Jesus?"

"I haven't really thought about it either way," Sonia replied. The Olschanezkys had never been overly religious and did not eat kosher or observe the Sabbath, though they did celebrate the major Jewish holidays.

Belle was next. "Why does Hitler hate you so much?"

Sonia sighed as she removed her jacket. She hung it on a kitchen chair, hoping that they'd forget about the star now that it was not visible. "Come, let's work on our routine." One of the main reasons the Dubois had hired Sonia was to teach the girls ballet. "We have lots to do today," she said before grabbing both girls' hands and leading them into the backyard.

When Sonia finally got home that evening, all she wanted to do was lay down, but, once again, Mama was hankering to discuss fleeing Paris.

"We cannot leave," Sonia told her for what seemed like the hundredth time. "We do not have the proper paperwork to get us to the Free Zone."

"We have to think of something," Mama insisted. "Every day there is more talk of deportation. People are being arrested in the streets and sent to God-knows-where."

"East," Sonia said. "To the Nazi work camps." She could tell Mama wanted to argue that was another reason they should leave and added, "We have to stay put in case Serge or Enoch come home." As foreign Jews, there weren't many opportunities for earning an income besides enlisting. Both of her brothers had been taken as prisoners of war by the Germans, but Enoch had disappeared from his camp a few weeks ago and no one was sure of his current whereabouts.

Someone banged on the door to the apartment. Mama's eyes were wide as she met Sonia's gaze.

Sonia answered the door to find a man wearing a Milice policeman's uniform. Her first thought was that he had come in regard to Enoch.

"Good evening." Without waiting for an invitation, the policeman strolled into the apartment. "I'm looking for..." he paused to consult his paperwork. "Eli and Sonia Olschanezky."

"I am Sonia, but Eli is not here."

"Do you know where I can find him?"

"He's dead," Sonia replied.

"Do you have proof of his death?" the policeman asked.

She nodded at her mother, who went into the bedroom. "What is this in reference to?" Sonia asked.

"You will need to come with me."

"But I am a protégée française," Sonia protested.

His gaze focused on the tri-colored brooch pinned above the star. "That protection has been withdrawn."

Mama's voice was shrill as she returned. "Is she being arrested?"

Sonia reached out to brush back a lock of Mama's hair. "It's probably just an ID check. I won't be gone long, and Enoch..." She stopped herself from giving away too much information.

"No. Even if the Milice are Frenchmen, you cannot trust them." Mama whispered, trying to pull Sonia back, but she stepped forward. "Let's go," she told the policeman.