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Yahoo
a day ago
- General
- Yahoo
The Sisterhood of Ravensbrück's Story of Resistance
A circa 1941 photo of Germaine Tillion, French ethnologist and member of the French resistance. Credit - adoc-photos/Corbis--Getty Images A new book aims to preserve the stories of the prisoners at an all-female Nazi concentration camp during the Holocaust, who resisted their captors as much as possible. Lynne Olson's The Sisterhood of Ravensbrück: How an Intrepid Band of Frenchwomen Resisted the Nazis in Hitler's All-Female Concentration Camp looks at a labor camp about 50 miles north of Berlin where an estimated 130,000 female inmates were members of resistance movements across Nazi-occupied Europe. They sabotaged any assignments to help with the war effort, hid Polish prisoners who were the subjects of medical experiments, and even wrote and shared an opera to keep their spirits up. For her book, Olson drew on memoirs that the prisoners wrote, past interviews that they conducted, and conversations with their families and the people that knew them. She details horrific conditions in the camp, such as the Nazi officers who hurled scissors at inmates forced to sew Nazi uniforms and the Nazi's so-called doctors who cut open Polish inmates and inserted gangrene bacteria, dirt, and glass into their wounds to see what would happen. As many as 40,000 Ravensbrück inmates died of starvation, disease, torture, shooting, lethal injections, medical experiments, and from lethal gas. Here, Olson discusses the most shocking stories about the all-female Nazi concentration camp. TIME: Why isn't the history of Ravensbrück better known? OLSON: It was liberated by the Soviets, rather than the Americans. When the Soviets liberated camps, there were no Western journalists, so there are no photos, no footage of the liberation of the camp. Ravensbrück was also liberated very late in the game. Most of the other camps had been liberated. There had been so much publicity about the other camps, and then nobody knew anything at all about Ravensbrück. A shocking revelation in the book details how one of the prisoners at Ravensbrück was Geneviève, the niece of Charles de Gaulle, the leader of the French resistance movement and future President of France. Before she got caught by the Gestapo, she was a major figure in persuading resistance leaders that De Gaulle would help lead France out of this horrendous situation that they found themselves in. Geneviève would go around to the various barracks—something that was totally forbidden—and speak to the other French women about him and his plans for France after the war. He gave those women something to believe in and to fight for, to believe that maybe actually they would survive and that France would survive. She was incredibly important in keeping up the spirits of the French women there. What are some of the most surprising stories you learned about what happened in the camp? One of the most horrible ones is the medical experiments that the Nazis conducted on the young Polish prisoners, most of whom were in their late teens and early 20s. He would break their legs and see if they grow back. He inserted bacilli, tetanus and germs [into them], cut their legs to ribbons. Most of them were crippled for the rest of their lives. The records show that basically all of them survived. As the war grew to a close, the Nazis were going to execute all of the survivors of these experiments to do away with the evidence of what they had done. In the last month of the war, Ravensbrück got tens of thousands of women who had been in other camps, and it was not clear exactly who was who, so it was much easier to get away with things. Women dug little caves under the barracks and hid the Poles there. Some [inmates] managed to smuggle the Poles into convoys that were going out. It's fascinating to see that one of the inmates composed an operetta about life in the camp, as her form of resistance. I assume that did not get performed in the camp? That's my favorite story in the entire book. It was written down, and it was circulated among French women. Germaine Tillion came up with it late one night in 1944. At the time that she wrote it, the women of Ravensbrück were beginning to think that they were not going to get liberated, that they were going to get killed before the end of the war. Tillion spent 10 days writing this operetta to boost their spirit—complete with dances, music, and songs that she remembered. Every night after work, she would gather secretly with the French women in her barracks, and she would teach them the songs and the dance. They would sing these songs on their way to work, guarded by German guards. The Germans didn't understand French, and these women would basically be making fun of them as they walked along. More than 60 years later, it was performed in Paris, very close to Germane Tillion's 100th birthday. It was a huge success, and it's being performed to this day, mostly in France, but it's been performed in the US and other countries. Were there any other key ways that these women resisted or stood up to the Nazis in the camp? One of the most important ways was to try not to do anything that would help the Germans in their war effort. They would actually hide to avoid being sent to munitions factories. Those who couldn't get out of it did their best to sabotage whatever they were doing. If they were making parts for guns, they would do their best to make sure that those guns didn't work. They stole supplies. They were constantly trying to come up with ways to defy the Germans. What happened to these women after Ravensbrück was liberated? Germaine Tillion became known as one of the top French intellectuals in France after the war, and Geneviève de Gaulle set up an international organization to help the poor and the homeless. When she saw the poor and the homeless in France after the war, they reminded her of herself and the other inmates in Ravensbrück. Basically, the French overall wanted to forget the war. They wanted to forget the fact that, as a country, France had capitulated to the Germans and then collaborated with the Germans. They didn't really want to face what their country had done. They were determined to make it very clear to the country—and also to the men who were taking credit for the resistance—that women had sought to keep their country free. What did you find in your research that strikes you as particularly timely in 2025? In this evil place that was designed to dehumanize you, these women created this sisterhood and refused to allow that to happen. [The resistance in] Ravensbrück shows the incredible power of individuals when they come together to overcome evil in the worst of situations. Authoritarianism is back, and this book is a lesson: You're not powerless. You're not powerless if you join in the community and work together to do something. Write to Olivia B. Waxman at
Time Magazine
a day ago
- General
- Time Magazine
How Women Imprisoned at an All-Female Concentration Camp Resisted the Nazis
A new book aims to preserve the stories of the prisoners at an all-female Nazi concentration camp during the Holocaust, who resisted their captors as much as possible. Lynne Olson's The Sisterhood of Ravensbrück: How an Intrepid Band of Frenchwomen Resisted the Nazis in Hitler's All-Female Concentration Camp looks at a labor camp about 50 miles north of Berlin where an estimated 130,000 female inmates were members of resistance movements across Nazi-occupied Europe. They sabotaged any assignments to help with the war effort, hid Polish prisoners who were the subjects of medical experiments, and even wrote and shared an opera to keep their spirits up. For her book, Olson drew on memoirs that the prisoners wrote, past interviews that they conducted, and conversations with their families and the people that knew them. She details horrific conditions in the camp, such as the Nazi officers who hurled scissors at inmates forced to sew Nazi uniforms and the Nazi's so-called doctors who cut open Polish inmates and inserted gangrene bacteria, dirt, and glass into their wounds to see what would happen. As many as 40,000 Ravensbrück inmates died of starvation, disease, torture, shooting, lethal injections, medical experiments, and from lethal gas. Here, Olson discusses the most shocking stories about the all-female Nazi concentration camp. TIME: Why isn't the history of Ravensbrück better known? OLSON: It was liberated by the Soviets, rather than the Americans. When the Soviets liberated camps, there were no Western journalists, so there are no photos, no footage of the liberation of the camp. Ravensbrück was also liberated very late in the game. Most of the other camps had been liberated. There had been so much publicity about the other camps, and then nobody knew anything at all about Ravensbrück. A shocking revelation in the book details how one of the prisoners at Ravensbrück was Geneviève, the niece of Charles de Gaulle, the leader of the French resistance movement and future President of France. Before she got caught by the Gestapo, she was a major figure in persuading resistance leaders that De Gaulle would help lead France out of this horrendous situation that they found themselves in. Geneviève would go around to the various barracks—something that was totally forbidden—and speak to the other French women about him and his plans for France after the war. He gave those women something to believe in and to fight for, to believe that maybe actually they would survive and that France would survive. She was incredibly important in keeping up the spirits of the French women there. What are some of the most surprising stories you learned about what happened in the camp? One of the most horrible ones is the medical experiments that the Nazis conducted on the young Polish prisoners, most of whom were in their late teens and early 20s. He would break their legs and see if they grow back. He inserted bacilli, tetanus and germs [into them], cut their legs to ribbons. Most of them were crippled for the rest of their lives. The records show that basically all of them survived. As the war grew to a close, the Nazis were going to execute all of the survivors of these experiments to do away with the evidence of what they had done. In the last month of the war, Ravensbrück got tens of thousands of women who had been in other camps, and it was not clear exactly who was who, so it was much easier to get away with things. Women dug little caves under the barracks and hid the Poles there. Some [inmates] managed to smuggle the Poles into convoys that were going out. It's fascinating to see that one of the inmates composed an operetta about life in the camp, as her form of resistance. I assume that did not get performed in the camp? That's my favorite story in the entire book. It was written down, and it was circulated among French women. Germaine Tillion came up with it late one night in 1944. At the time that she wrote it, the women of Ravensbrück were beginning to think that they were not going to get liberated, that they were going to get killed before the end of the war. Tillion spent 10 days writing this operetta to boost their spirit—complete with dances, music, and songs that she remembered. Every night after work, she would gather secretly with the French women in her barracks, and she would teach them the songs and the dance. They would sing these songs on their way to work, guarded by German guards. The Germans didn't understand French, and these women would basically be making fun of them as they walked along. More than 60 years later, it was performed in Paris, very close to Germane Tillion's 100th birthday. It was a huge success, and it's being performed to this day, mostly in France, but it's been performed in the US and other countries. Were there any other key ways that these women resisted or stood up to the Nazis in the camp? One of the most important ways was to try not to do anything that would help the Germans in their war effort. They would actually hide to avoid being sent to munitions factories. Those who couldn't get out of it did their best to sabotage whatever they were doing. If they were making parts for guns, they would do their best to make sure that those guns didn't work. They stole supplies. They were constantly trying to come up with ways to defy the Germans. What happened to these women after Ravensbrück was liberated? Germaine Tillion became known as one of the top French intellectuals in France after the war, and Geneviève de Gaulle set up an international organization to help the poor and the homeless. When she saw the poor and the homeless in France after the war, they reminded her of herself and the other inmates in Ravensbrück. Basically, the French overall wanted to forget the war. They wanted to forget the fact that, as a country, France had capitulated to the Germans and then collaborated with the Germans. They didn't really want to face what their country had done. They were determined to make it very clear to the country—and also to the men who were taking credit for the resistance—that women had sought to keep their country free. What did you find in your research that strikes you as particularly timely in 2025? In this evil place that was designed to dehumanize you, these women created this sisterhood and refused to allow that to happen. [The resistance in] Ravensbrück shows the incredible power of individuals when they come together to overcome evil in the worst of situations. Authoritarianism is back, and this book is a lesson: You're not powerless. You're not powerless if you join in the community and work together to do something.
Budapest Times
5 days ago
- Politics
- Budapest Times
Scrabbling for spoils amid a terrible lot of death
Germany's National Socialists, call them Nazis, wanted to expand the country's lebensraum, its living space, by crushing other nations and murdering Jews, Slavs and Bolsheviks supposedly inferior to their "superior' Aryan selves. And, of course, there were lots of nice paintings and other objets d'art to be picked up along the way, so those were fair game too. Biographer Jonathan Petropoulos writes of a prominent offender, Bruno Lohse, and doesn't directly raise the incongruity that while many milllions of soldiers and civilians were being slaughtered in the combat zones, there was a parallel murky world of greed and corruption where the prevailing environment was simply profiteering from persecution and theft. Readers will surely pause to see the parallel themselves. And there was a pecking order for the spoils. Naturally, the Führer, Adolf Hitler, had first choice, for his planned monumental Führermuseum in Linz, his boyhood town in annexed Austria. Second dibs went to Hermann Wilhelm Göring, Hitler's most loyal supporter, then to ideological schools and museums. It was shocking criminality, and Nazi art agents sometimes competed with each other, while some 'filthy' Jewish families were less 'filthy' than others if they had collections and wealth enough to allow them to bargain their way out of the cattle trucks and Zyklon B. And German agents were not above trading 'degenerate' modernist art, for more-prized Old Masters. Göring (1893-1946) was an all-powerful figure in the Nazi Party, having established the Gestapo secret political police and concentration camps for the 'corrective treatment' of undesirables. He headed the Luftwaffe, the air force, and was Reichsmarschall, highest rank in the Wehrmacht armed forces. Göring often dressed in hunting costume, to link himself to landed society in particular and country life in general. And he was especially keen to project himself as a kind of Renaissance man, a collector not only of hunting trophies but also of art. He began collecting in a modest way in the 1920s and more ambitiously in the mid-1930s, but the outbreak of World War Two in 1939 and the conquest of much of Europe and a large swathe of the Soviet Union, offered the possibility of almost limitless acquisition. Insatiable, he used his impregnable position to enrich himself and build what he boasted after his capture in 1945 was the finest private collection in Europe (a disputed claim). He had a vast forest estate in the Schorfheide, north of Berlin, where from 1933 he developed a baronial set-up named Carinhall, and it was here that he kept the bulk of his hoard. Göring could not tell a good painting from a bad one, but he employed professional experts to scour Europe for paintings, sculptures, tapestries, jewellery, carpets, fragments of Roman buidings; all he could lay his hands on. Much enrichment came from Jewish collections in the occupied countries, and many gifts from those who sought his favour. By the end of the war he had, besides some 1700 paintings, 250 sculptures, 108 tapestries, 200 pieces of antique furniture, 75 stained-glass windows, 60 Persian or French rugs and 175 other various pieces. The pictures included many by Brueghel, Cranach, Rembrandt, Rubens, Ruysdael, Tintoretto, Titian and Van Dyck. He went to great lengths to avoid being considered a looter. But behind the scenes he used currency manipulation and pressure of various kinds to effect gifts and purchases at the lowest prices. He carried devalued Reichsmarks. Göring's bloodhound in occupied Paris was Dr. Bruno Lohse (1911-2007), the deputy director of the Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg, the ERR, a new and secretive Nazi organ tasked with looting Jewish-owned cultural property. Lohse initially was conscripted into the German Army to fight in Poland, but he had a PhD in art history was approached by the ERR. Its sole purpose was to plunder Europe, though it had tentacles, basically following the German Army. When Lohse arrived at the ERR headquarters in Paris he found art looting on an industrial scale. The organisation stole whatever it could lay its hands on, whether a painting of really no value except to the family, furniture, tables, plates, cutlery, candlesticks. And France was the place for art — or more valuable art – more so than any other part of Europe. One estimate is that the ERR stole one-third of all the art in private collections in the country; the Rothschilds, Alphonse Kann, David-Weills and other great Jewish families. The machinations to grab the Schloss family artworks make particularly eye-opening reading. The Göring connection made Lohse among the most promient individuals in the ERR. He felt he was king of Paris, armed with a pass from the Reischmarschall that allowed him to travel freely and buy what he wanted. Lohse helped his patron commandeer some 700 pictures from ERR in Paris, with Göring never parting with a pfennig. Petropoulos, who is a European history professor at Claremont McKenna College in California, US, ranks Lohse in the top five of history's all-time art looters. The author met him for the first time in Munich in 1998 after writing to seek an interview for a book he was writing about the complicity of art experts in Nazi plundering ('The Faustian Bargain. The Art World in Nazi Germany' published in 2000). By the late 1990s, most of the Nazi art experts who helped loot European Jews were either dead or living quiet lives under the radar, but not so Lohse. Over the next nine years, he and Petropoulos met more than two dozen times, and the author was invited to Lohse's Munich flat, where he saw on the walls Expressionist works and Dutch Old Masters worth millions. Lohse would often pull out a box of old photographs and mementos, allowing Petropoulos to peer over his shoulder and to pepper him with questions. Lohse died in 2007 and bequeathed the box to Petropoulos, who used it as source material for the new 'Göring's Man in Paris: The Story of a Nazi Art Plunderer and His World'. Lohse's large walk-in bank vault in Zurich was found to hold works by Monet, Renoir, Sisley, Corot and Wouwerman, confirming suspicions that at the ERR he slyly siphoned off pieces to sell or keep for himself. Petropoloulos tackles the questions of how Lohse amassed such works, what do we learn about the nexus of culture and barbarism, and what of the post-war networks that grew and the fate of much Nazi-stolen art? There were challenges in writing about Lohse, such as separating his stories from the truth, the dearth of archival sources, the culture of silence among the participants and their general desire to conceal this history. The author determines that the physically imposing Lohse was personally involved in emptying Jewish homes and boasted to a German officer that he had beaten Jewish owners to death 'with his own hands'. The biographer learned that the wartime networks of Nazi dealers did indeed persist into peacetime, individuals such as Lohse growing prosperous selling to museums and collectors, often cashing in on goods with complicated wartime pasts. Lohse was jailed at the end of the war and investigated. He was tried and acquitted in France in 1950 then returned to the art trade from his new base in Munich, where other former Nazi art experts had also gone back to work, trading mostly within a 'circle of trust' in Germany and Switzerland. Göring avoided being hanged as a war criminal by taking poison. Lohse was imprisoned in France for about two and a half years and faced charges of pillaging but was unexpectedly acquitted in 1950, perhaps due to poor prosecuiton, good defence and other vague factors. Some 20 percent of items stolen in France remain out there somewhere. It's all quite a story.
Yahoo
29-05-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Marthe Cohn, French Jewish secret agent who posed as a nurse in wartime Germany
Marthe Cohn, who has died aged 105, was born into an Orthodox Jewish family in France; she survived the Holocaust and after the liberation of Paris in 1944, joined the French First Army intelligence service and crossed over into southern Germany, posing as a German nurse looking for her fiancé. The intelligence she sent back was instrumental in allowing the Allies to break through the Siegfried Line and enter German territory in 1945, leading to the end of the war. In 2002, with Wendy Holden, she told her story in Behind Enemy Lines: The True Story of a French Jewish Spy in Nazi Germany. One of seven children, she was born Marthe Hoffnung on April 13 1920 in the north-eastern French city of Metz, in the Lorraine region that had been part of the German Empire from 1871 to 1918. She grew up fluent in both French and German. The Hoffnungs were aware of the rise of anti-Semitism in Germany under the Nazis, and Marthe recalled how, after Kristallnacht, November 9 1938, the family home was opened to Jews fleeing Germany. In August 1939, at the urging of the French government, Marthe and her family left Metz for Poitiers, south-west of Paris, which became part of the occupied zone of France after the German invasion of 1940. There they were helped by French farmers and Marthe got a job as a municipal translator, and because she looked so Aryan, with fair hair and blue eyes, she became a favourite of the German commanding officer, who suggested she should make a career for herself in Berlin. One of Marthe's sisters was living in Paris on false papers. Martha acquired false papers of her own, moved in with her sister and attended nursing school. Meanwhile, her family were involved in helping hundreds of Jews cross over from the Nazi-occupied zone into the 'free' zone of southern France, efforts which in 1942 were discovered by the Germans when they intercepted a letter written by Marthe's younger sister, Stéphanie. Stéphanie was arrested by the Gestapo on June 17 and imprisoned, but she refused to tell her captors anything. In an effort to persuade her to talk, the Gestapo arrested her father. When that did not produce the desired result he was released. In September 1942 Stéphanie was deported to Auschwitz. She never returned. Marthe, meanwhile, organised her family's escape from Poitiers to the Vichy zone of France, where, thanks to her false papers, she continued her studies at the nursing school of the French Red Cross in Marseille. However her fiancé, Jacques Delaunay, a student she had met in Poitiers, who had been involved in the Resistance, was shot in October 1943 at Suresnes. She tried, without success, to join the Resistance, and after the Liberation of Paris, when, she joined the mad dash of people looking to enlist in the French army, she was unable to provide a birth certificate and could not join the service until November 1944. She was originally assigned to work as a nurse until the colonel of her regiment discovered she was fluent in German and suggested she enter the intelligence service: 'He explained that in the German army, all men were in uniform. So any man in civilian clothes would be noticed and arrested. That's why they needed women.' After training she was sent via Switzerland into Germany in early 1945 with false papers under the name Marthe Ulrich. Soon after crossing the border, she ran into a German soldier and, raising her right arm she said, 'Heil Hitler' before he asked for identification: 'I was very worried because I knew they were false papers, and I didn't know if he would notice it or not, but he gave it back to me with no problems. I was now in Germany.' Her cover story, which she had invented herself, was that her parents had been killed in Allied bombing and she was an only child. All she had left was a photograph of the man she was supposed to marry together with a stack of his love letters 'They were very sympathetic toward me,' Marthe said of the Germans she encountered, and she admitted pangs of conscience at deceiving the families who showed her hospitality. One day she came across a group of retreating German soldiers, including a non-commissioned SS officer who was bragging about his exploits on the Eastern Front: 'He was raving about the Poles and Jews and how many he killed.' He could 'smell a Jew', he told her. Suddenly the man, who had been wounded, collapsed in front of her, 'so I was a good German nurse. I took care of him.' He ended up giving her valuable information about German troop movements, including the fact that the Siegfried Line had been evacuated, and where the Germany army was hidden in the Black Forest – key pieces of information for the Allies. To deliver the information, she met up with Allied forces as they were about to enter Freiburg: 'The first tank arrived, and I went in the middle of the street and I made the 'V' sign for victory. It was the only way for me to show them I was a friend. The tanks stopped in front of me because I'm very lucky, and I asked to talk to the commander of the tanks. I was quite assertive, too.' Marthe returned to France after the war, then in 1953, while undertaking further nursing training in Geneva, she met Major Lloyd Cohn, an American medical student. They married in 1956 and moved to the US, where Marthe worked as a nurse and, later, a nurse anaesthetist. The couple had two sons and eventually settled in California. For decades she remained quiet about her wartime work, but in 1998 she returned to France and asked to see her war records. To her surprise, they agreed. Then, following the death in 2001 of her brother she decided the time was right: 'He knew I had been in Germany... He was the one who protected our whole family and paid for everything. After the war, he asked me to write a book. So when he died, I felt I owed it to him.' Marthe Cohn was awarded the Croix de Guerre in 1945 and the Médaille militaire in 1999, and was appointed a Chevalier of the Légion d'honneur in 2004. In 2014 she was awarded the Verdienstkreuz, the Order of Merit of Germany, for saving German lives by helping to shorten the war. Marthe Cohn, born April 13 1920, died May 21 2025 Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.
Yahoo
27-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Marcel Ophuls, Oscar-Winning Director of ‘The Sorrow and the Pity,' Dies at 97
Marcel Ophuls, the documentary filmmaker behind the incisive WWII films 'The Sorrow and the Pity' and 'Hotel Terminus,' has died at his home in France at the age of 97, according to the Associated Press. Born in Frankfurt, Germany, Ophuls fled his home country in 1933 following the rise of the Nazis with his family, including famed director Max Ophuls. The family stayed in France until the Nazis invaded in 1940, eventually arriving in Los Angeles just as the U.S. entered the war in December 1941. After graduating from Occidental College and UC Berkeley, Ophuls returned with his family to France in 1950 and entered the film industry, working with directors such as Julien Duvivier, John Huston and Francois Truffaut well into the mid 1960s. But his claim to fame started when he pivoted to documentary filmmaking and television news reporting following a series of box office disappointments. In 1969, he released his groundbreaking, iconoclastic film 'The Sorrow and the Pity,' which interviewed everyday French people as well as officers during WWII about life inside Nazi-occupied France. 'The Sorrow and the Pity' was credited for being the first documentary to critically examine France's response as a nation to the threat of the Nazis, examining how everyday people respond to the threat of tyranny and how difficult it can be to speak out and act against it. It ran contrary to France's postwar self-image of itself as one where defiance was widespread despite the collaboration of leaders like Marshall Phillippe Petain, and instead presented an image of France where collaboration and complicity with Hitler's forces could be seen amongst everyday the film was commissioned for a government-run TV station, executive Jean-Jacques de Bresson refused to air the film because it 'destroys myths that the people of France still need.' The film was not publicly released in theaters until a few months after the death of French president and resistance leader Charles de Gaulle in November 1970 and wasn't aired on TV until 1981. Still, the film was well-received abroad, winning a BAFTA and earning an Oscar nomination. Ophuls later won an Academy Award for his 1988 documentary 'Hotel Terminus,' which recounted the story of Nazi Gestapo officer Klaus Barbie. The officer was accused of torturing Jews and French Resistance members personally while serving as the head of the Gestapo in Lyon, with the film's name derived from the hotel where he was accused of committing his war crimes. Through interviews with torture survivors, eyewitnesses, journalists, investigators, and former government officials, 'Hotel Terminus' recounted not only Barbie's accused crimes, but also his escape to Bolivia with the help of American counterintelligence officials who saw him as an asset against the spread of communism. Barbie was arrested in 1983 and extradited to France, where he was sentenced to life in prison. In 'Hotel Terminus,' Ophuls highlights the contradicting descriptions of Barbie, with descriptions from survivors of how he tortured them alongside those who spoke fondly of him and how he was useful to the Allied nations after the war, particularly to the U.S. Roger Ebert praised the film as 'the film of a man who continues the conversation after others would like to move on to more polite subjects.' In 2015, Ophuls received the Berlinale Camera award at the Berlin Film Festival in recognition of his life's work. One of the last projects of his career, and which went unfinished, was a film in which he had intended to explore Israel's occupation of Palestine alongside Israeli filmmaker Eyal Sivan. Ophuls is is survived by his wife, Régine, their three daughters, and three grandchildren. The post Marcel Ophuls, Oscar-Winning Director of 'The Sorrow and the Pity,' Dies at 97 appeared first on TheWrap.
