Two women were born in 1933. One in France. One in America.
The woman born in France was Jewish. Her name was Francine.
The American girl was born in a small town in West Virginia. She was a second-generation Cherokee. Her name was Peggy.
They came from different parts of the world and would face very different challenges. What they shared was coming into the world in the year Hitler came into power. That became part of both of their stories.
By the time Francine was eight years old, her father had been taken into custody as a prisoner of war. She had to wear the yellow star on her chest, marking her as Jewish. She and her mother were eventually taken to the Bergen-Belsen camp in Germany. Francine’s mother took two small pieces of chocolate with her, knowing there would be hard days ahead. She told her daughter she would save them for when they grew weak and needed strength. The chocolate would help get them through.
When another woman gave birth in the camp, Francine’s mother asked her if she thought they should give their chocolate to the struggling woman to help her have the strength to survive the birth. Francine didn’t hesitate and readily agreed. Despite dire conditions, both mother and child survived.
Six months later, British troops rescued them, and the camp was liberated. Francine and her mother were able to return to France, as did the other mother and child.
Life moved on from those dark days for all of them. Francine went on to write books and poetry and give lectures about her time in the camps. And give birth to her own daughter.
Many years later, when she was in her 80s, her daughter asked if she thought it would have helped her and the others freed from the camps if they had been given access to psychiatrists. She said she couldn’t say, mental health wasn’t something they even spoke of then. It was about survival. But that question inspired her to put together a symposium on the subject.
When one of the psychiatrists who had come to speak took her place at the podium, she began by saying she had a special gift for Francine and took out a piece of chocolate. She smiled warmly at Francine and said, “I’m the baby.”
Can you imagine the depth of feeling as the two women meet again after all those years?
We don’t often get to see what comes from those moments of sacrifice. I found it very moving that they had a second divine appointment to meet. Somehow, you begin to understand from that moment that Francine and her mother gave so much more than a piece of chocolate.
The power of story always remains.
Listen to her tell her story in her own voice and words
Going back to our young girl growing up in West Virginia, her life took on a very different shape because of the war as well. Her mother worked as a tailor, making uniforms for soldiers fighting in Europe, to save those like Francine and her mother. Other friends and family lost loved ones who wore those uniforms. Their sacrifices were different. None compared to what Francine and her family experienced. But that time shaped everyone who lived through it.
That girl grew up, married a Marine, and moved to Ohio, where, in 1955, she gave birth to her first child, a daughter. Me.
I knew that my grandmother’s life had been changed by that war, but I hadn’t thought about the fact that my mother’s life began during that time. When I first heard Francine speak, I realized that they were contemporaries. The children also have their own stories to tell.
Listening to Francine talk about her conversation with her daughter, I thought of my own conversations with my mother.
I remember a telephone conversation with my Mom one summer, when I lived with my great-aunt and uncle in downtown Cleveland. My great aunt was recovering from heart surgery, and they needed help. On our call, I lamented missing home and my freedom. My mother reminded me that I wasn’t there for me.
She said I was born to fulfill a purpose, and that opportunities to make a difference would come throughout my life. They would never be a burden in the end, but a gift. It was the genesis of my understanding of having a purpose in the world and in my life. And the joy that would bring. She prophesied that into and over my life many times. She also modeled that in her own life. I have never forgotten it.
I find myself yearning again for conversations about her life with questions I never thought to ask. But still, I am comforted by the conversations we did have and my memories of her.
Thinking about both of these women, born in 1933, I’m reminded that no matter what our circumstances may be at any given time in our lives, we all have something to give. We are all called to give of ourselves, even to sacrifice at times. And, it is always a gift for us to have that opportunity.
It’s an important reminder and question to ask of ourselves with every encounter. How can I best serve in this moment?
