The French Jewish Soldier

Ma Rachel bien-aimée,

The sun is rising over the trenches. It is the most beautiful and terrible thing I have ever seen. In an hour, the whistles will blow, and we will go over the top. I am writing this quickly, with my bayonet- sheathed and leaning against the parapet beside me.

I fight for France because France gave my family freedom. I die as a Jew because that is how I was born. There is no contradiction in my heart. When I charge across no man’s land, I will carry the tricolor in one hand and the Shema in my breath. Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad. Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is One. I will say it as I run. I will say it as I fall.

I think of our wedding canopy in Strasbourg. The rabbi’s voice, the broken glass, the way you looked at me through your veil. I was so afraid I would step on the glass wrong and everyone would laugh. But you held my hand, and suddenly nothing frightened me. That is how I have lived my life with you — nothing frightens me when I hold your hand.

Tell Samuel that his father was a brave soldier, but also tell him that true bravery is kindness. Tell Miriam that she has her mother’s eyes, and that I saw the world in them. Tell Esther — oh, my little Esther, only six months old when I left — tell her that I sang to her the night she was born. A lullaby my mother sang to me. I hope she will hear it in her dreams.

Si je meurs, dis à nos enfants que leur père aimait deux choses également : la France et Dieu. Mais leur mère — il l’aimait plus que les deux réunies.

If I die, tell our children that their father loved two things equally: France and God. But their mother — he loved her more than both.

I have written a letter for each of them, for when they are old enough. They are in the back of the prayer book. In Hebrew, I have written their names. Shmuel, Miryam, Ester. May they live to be a blessing.

The whistles are blowing. I can hear the men shouting. The sun is higher now.

Shalom, my love. Until the Messiah comes, or until we meet in a world without war.

Yours in this life and the next, David

P.S. — I am leaving my tallis with Rabbi Cohen. He will give it to Samuel when the time comes. Tell our son to wrap himself in it and remember who he is. A Jew. A Frenchman. A child of love.