‘Who Will Rescue Us?' Review: The Children Who Escaped
Initially placed in group homes and orphanages, the child refugees found solace from homesickness and loss by forging close, sibling-like friendships to stand in for the family ties they feared they'd never experience again. In her 90s and living in San Diego, the former refugee Elfriede Meyer Schloss introduced Ms. Faure to her 'little brother,' Werner Dreifuss, whom she had first met in an orphanage many years earlier. The two refugees had created a lasting bond that helped them serve as mutual witnesses, through the decades, to the sadness of their shared experiences.
When France fell to Germany in 1940, the added threat of air raids, bombings and Gestapo searches compelled the children and the organizations responsible for them to scramble for new places of refuge. One girl who survived the chaos described trekking through the horrors of war: '[We] hiked, hiked, hiked. On foot. . . . Spent the night in the open. . . . And then came the real hunger.'
As the plight of the children became increasingly dire, American humanitarian organizations were forced to transform their aid missions into rescue operations. Ms. Faure, a professor of modern Jewish history at the Sorbonne, diligently chronicles the intricate negotiations that humanitarian groups conducted among themselves, and with the often-reluctant U.S. State Department, about the number of American visas and ship passages available for the endangered minors in France.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Washington Post
20 hours ago
- Washington Post
A German city mobilizes to save Sorbian, a vanishing Slavic language
BAUTZEN, Germany — In the singsong cadence of Sorbian, Europe's westernmost Slavic language, a milk-drinking dragon came to life in a small preschool in Bautzen, a German town in east Saxony, not far from the borders with Poland and the Czech Republic. Outside, bilingual signs mark the town's name not only as Bautzen but Budyšin, in Sorbian. Inside, a dozen children giggled as a teacher animated the green dragon hand puppet, telling a modern tale rooted in Slavic folklore. The Sorbs, a West Slavic group, settled in what is now eastern Germany more than 1,000 years ago and never left. Borders shifted, regimes and ideologies changed. But the Sorbian language, in its upper and lower variants, endured. Now, however, the Sorbian language is on the brink, threatened by assimilation and also overt hostility from the region's surging German ultra-nationalists. In response, artists, educators and tech innovators are undertaking an urgent effort to preserve the language and Sorbian customs. 'The language can only be saved if more and more people speak it,' said Stefan Schmidt, a Sorbian-language broadcaster and father of five Sorbian-speaking children. 'It's an ambitious goal.' The Sorbs are one of Germany's four officially recognized national minorities, alongside the Danes, Frisians, Sinti and Roma. The designation provides cultural funding, education and media in Sorbian, as well as protection under European law. Fewer than 20,000 people still speak Upper Sorbian in Saxony — and even fewer speak Lower Sorbian in Brandenburg. UNESCO, the United Nations cultural and educational arm, lists Sorbian as endangered, along with other minority languages such as Welsh and Breton. Beate Brězan, head of the Witaj Language Center in Bautzen, has a bold goal: 100,000 active Sorbian speakers by 2100. State and federal funding, bilingual signage and public awareness campaigns help, Brězan said — but the true battleground is within family homes. 'What happens at home is key to the language's survival,' she said. This isn't the first time Sorbian has confronted extinction-level risk. The Nazis sought to erase Sorbian identity through cultural annihilation and assimilation, and banned the language from public use. In the former East Germany, Sorbs were given more freedom, but only within a tightly controlled framework that often commodified their traditions. Across the rest of Germany, the Sorbs are best known for their elaborate traditional dress, or 'Tracht,' and their colorful Easter eggs. But here in the Lusatia region — straddling Brandenburg and Saxony — the effort is to make Sorbian relevant day-to-day, not just in folklore or on holidays. The Witaj Language Center's digital arm, for example, is working to ensure Sorbian has a digital presence. Its Sorbian translation app, Sotra, launched in 2019, is now being developed to include speech functions. In a small studio in Bautzen, Sorbian native speakers like Veronika Butendeich have recorded hours of Sorbian sentences. It's painstaking work — but essential if children are to use the language digitally, said Daniel Zoba, who leads the digitization effort. 'If it's not available in Sorbian, they'll take it in another language — and get used to German or English,' Zoba said. At Jan Radyserb Wjela preschool, named for a 19th-century Sorbian poet, about 80 percent of the children come from German-speaking families. 'We speak only Sorbian with the children,' day care director, Grit Hentschel, said. 'They first understand through constant listening — and only later start to speak.' For Hentschel, who learned Sorbian at school while growing up in a German home, the mission is personal. 'I really live the Sorbian culture and I wear my Tracht with pride,' she said. 'We're especially proud when former students come back and say they passed their school exams in Sorbian,' she said. With fewer children raised in Sorbian-speaking homes, maintaining native-speaking staff is a challenge. The facility now partners with a local vocational college to sustain staffing. Sorbian language is taught just as much through Sorbian culture. The highlight of the year at the preschool is Ptači Kwas (Upper Sorbian for 'Bird Wedding'), a midwinter tradition, featuring Tracht crafted by a dwindling number of seamstresses like Petra Kupke in nearby Räckelwitz. The country road from to Kupke's studio winds through rolling cornfields, flanked by ornate wayside monuments that bear witness to the Upper Sorbs' deep Catholic roots. Across the state border in Brandenburg, the Lower Sorbs have traditionally followed the Protestant faith. Kupke, 57, began sewing Sorbian outfits in the mid-1990s after losing her factory job following German reunification. She learned from local grandmothers mastering the intricate floral embroidery to keep Sorbian identity alive, one stitch at a time. 'It makes me proud to look around the church at festivals and see my work,' she said. But with few young people taking up the craft, she worries for its future. Training an apprentice is expensive. Traditionally, the outfits are worn only on religious and festive holidays, and Kupke believes things should stay that way. But some younger Sorbs have begun to merge elements of the Tracht with modern streetwear. Janźel Panaš — known onstage as Angel van Hell — is one young Sorb pushing boundaries. Earlier this year, Panaš, 24, performed in drag at the first non-heteronormative bird wedding organized in Cottbus by Kolektiw Wakuum, an initiative that aims to create a space for feminist and queer elements within Sorbian society. Wearing traditional ribbons, an apron and a denim bonnet, Panaš played the role of the wedding entertainer. 'My mum was worried I'd upset people — the bonnet didn't fully cover my hair, like it's supposed to,' he recalled. But for Panaš, blending tradition with personal identity offers a path forward to preserving Sorbian culture. Dressed in drag, on a hot August day in his hometown of Schleife, Panaš wore one of his favorite pieces: a neck bow passed down from his great-grandmother and updated with a silver hoop chain. 'She was the last person in our family who really spoke Sorbian,' he said of his great-grandmother. Even in Germany, 'many people outside of Lusatia don't even know that Sorbs exist,' he said. Rural population decline is one of the main challenges. But for families like Andrea Schmidt's in Räckelwitz, the language is very much alive. Growing up in Crostwitz, Sorbian was part of everyday life. Now, her grandchildren carry on the legacy. 'Witaj Wowka!' her granddaughter Hana, 20, called through the kitchen door — 'Hi grandma!' 'It would feel artificial to speak German with the children,' Schmidt, 61, said. Jurij, 4, the youngest of Hana's four brothers, entertained himself on the lawn with a toy horse, practicing to ride through the village as an 'Osterreiter,' or 'Easter rider' — a traditional Sorbian procession proclaiming the resurrection. Despite studying and living in a big city, Hana still speaks Sorbian with her roommates from back home. In her teenage years, she once had doubts: 'There was a phase when we spoke more German. But the awareness of how important Sorbian is came back quickly.' An emerging threat from ultra-nationalists is a concern for many Sorbs. The Alternative for Germany (AfD) party, classified as extremist by domestic intelligence, is surging in the Sorbs' traditional heartland. Last year, the Domowina, an umbrella organization of Sorbian societies, banned AfD officials and candidates from holding office within its ranks. A number of young Sorbs recounted incidents in which they were threatened by far-right groups and told to speak German. Despite the hostility, families like the Schmidts remain defiant. 'We definitely don't avoid speaking Sorbian,' Hana said. For her grandmother, protecting the language is a matter of identity and of the heart. 'It's amazing with how much emotion and with how much love you can pass it on,' Andrea said. 'If you don't put your heart and soul into it, it won't work.'
Washington Post
a day ago
- Washington Post
With the Bayeux Tapestry that tells of their long rivalry, France and Britain are making nice
BAYEUX, France — For centuries, the storytelling masterpiece has been a source of wonder and fascination. In vivid and gruesome detail, the 70-meter (230-foot) embroidered cloth recounts how a fierce duke from France conquered England in 1066, reshaping British and European history. The Bayeux Tapestry, with its scenes of sword-wielding knights in ferocious combat and King Harold of England's famous death, pierced by an arrow to an eye, has since the 11th century served as a sobering parable of military might, vengeance, betrayal and the complexity of Anglo-French relations, long seeped with blood and rivalry but also affection and cooperation.
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Yahoo
German Kids Go To School With Giant Cones. Here's Why.
Back-to-school season in the U.S. involves a number of fun rituals, like shopping for classroom supplies, picking out a special first-day outfit and taking photos with a personalized sign. On the first day of school in Germany, however, you'll see an even more striking sight. German children mark the transition to school by carrying large paper cones on their first day of classes. The cones — which seem larger than the kids themselves — are brightly colored and sometimes have ornate decorations. But what's the deal with these cones? What's inside them? And where did they come from? We turned to some German cultural experts to find out. What is the school cone? 'A Schultüte ― also known as a 'school cone' or 'cone bag' in some parts of Germany ― is a cardboard container in the form of a pointed cone that schoolchildren carry with them when they start school,' Amrei Gold, head of public relations for North America at the German National Tourist Board, told HuffPost. She noted that German children receive these cones from their parents on their first day of elementary school, which typically occurs around age 6. The Schultüte is very large and can be fully rounded and cone-shaped or appear more like a pyramid on a hexagonal base. 'The school cones are usually filled with sweets and small gifts such as crayons or other school supplies,' Gold explained. 'The name 'sugar cone,' which is common in some areas for the school cone, comes from filling it with sweets.' She joked that perhaps the idea of having to attend school every day for the next 12-13 years requires 'sweetening' with treats and gifts. The Schultüte is also a big photo opportunity, as many kids pose with their cones and sometimes a sign reading 'My First Day of School.' 'The cone has been a tradition for a long time and is an important part of the very first day of school for children in Germany,' said Kirsten Bencker, who works in the language department at the Goethe-Institut in Munich. 'The point of the cone is to highlight the transition from one status to another. This transition is connected with many changes for the child and for the family and this is to be emphasized through a ritual.' Where did this tradition come from? 'The custom of giving school starters a Schultüte on the first day of school has been practiced in Germany since the 19th century, but the roots go even back into the 18th century,' Gold explained. 'Historically it has its roots in Saxony and Thuringia, but is well-known across Germany today.' She pointed to early evidence from the autobiography of Saxon theologian Karl Gottlieb Bretschneider, who began school in 1781 or 1782 and recalled receiving a bag of candy from the schoolmaster. 'Twenty years later, when Johann Daniel Elster started school in Benshausen, Thuringia, in 1801, it is even said that he received a large bag of sugar from the cantor 'according to old custom,'' Gold added. 'Further evidence comes from Jena in connection with the city cantor Georg Michael Kemlein in 1817, Dresden in 1820, and Leipzig in 1836.' Early versions of the tradition involved telling kids that there was a special 'school cone tree' at their teacher's house or on the school grounds. Once the school cones grew big enough, it would be time to pick them and start school. 'The custom became widespread not at least because of a children's book called 'Zuckertütenbuch für alle Kinder, die zum ersten Mal in die Schule gehen' ('Sugar cone book for all children going to school for the first time') by Moritz Heger,' Bencker explained, noting that the 1852 book suggested that teachers pick the cones for their students from this special tree. Edible treats were the dominant contents of school cones at that time. 'In his childhood memories, 'When I Was a Little Boy,' Erich Kästner describes his first day of school in Dresden in 1906 and his 'sugar cone with the silk bow,'' Gold noted. 'When he wanted to show the bag to a neighbor, he dropped it and the contents fell on the floor: He was 'up to his ankles in sweets, chocolates, dates, Easter bunnies, figs, oranges, tartlets, waffles and golden May bugs.'' Although the Schultüte started as a predominately central German tradition, the practice caught on elsewhere. 'Berlin was the first big city outside of the original areas in which school cones became common ― although they were still rare before the First World War,' Gold said. 'Only gradually did the custom catch on in the south and west.' Following the division of Germany after World War II, traditional round cones around 28 inches long were the standard practice in West Germany, while those in East Germany opted for hexagonal Schultüte around 33 inches long. 'Nowadays, the tradition is a widespread tradition in whole Germany and also Austria and the German-speaking part of Switzerland,' Bencker noted. 'The central German regions where it began are also the areas where a very distinctive custom has developed around this school cone ― big family parties, ordering cakes with the name of the children at a bakery for the first day.' How do you put together a school cone? 'While you can buy prefabricated cones at the store, many parents make their own school cones, with or without their children,' Bencker said. 'Generally speaking, children can be very creative in decorating their sugar cones.' Indeed, there are many online tutorials explaining how to make a Schultüte with thick paper products like poster board ― though cardboard and plastic can also be used. These days, there are also more sustainable school cones made of fabric, which can be turned into cushions. 'If the parents are not going to make the school cones, they are either bought ready-made or made by the children themselves in kindergarten,' Gold said, adding that in the past, godparents were often the ones giving kids their school cones. 'The largest manufacturer of school cones in Germany is Nestler GmbH Feinkartonagen in Ehrenfriedersdorf. It produces over 2 million school cones a year.' In addition to the traditional sweets, cones these days may also be filled with school supplies, books or something to play with. Some schools even have guidelines for the maximum size of students' cones, and there might be a designated enrollment day before the first day of classes when children receive their cones and take photos. And the tradition is no longer explicitly limited to the beginning of primary school. 'Today, small cones of candy are sometimes handed out at the transition from elementary school to secondary school or at the beginning of an apprenticeship or study,' Gold said. 'However, they are still primarily associated with the beginning of school.' Of course, if you want to make yourself a Schultüte for no reason whatsoever, who's to stop you? Related... 33 Vintage First-Day-Of-School Photos 21 Hilarious Comics That Sum Up Back-To-School Season 35 Hilariously Real Tweets About Back-To-School SeasonSolve the daily Crossword
