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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.