She Saved Jews On Her Bike

 In 1994, I took a bike tour from Paris to the southern Atlantic coast of France.  Along the way, I stopped in Bordeaux for a few days.  Wine isn't the only reason to visit:  Like other French cities, it's rich with architectural and artistic treasures.  

One of them is the Palais Rohan.  Originally built for the Archbishop of Bordeaux, it became the Gironde department's prefecture and later the Bordeaux Hotel de Ville (City Hall), the function it serves to this day.

In the parking lot were spaces reserved for various city functionaries--and Nazi officials.  The latter retained their markings and were not used, half a century after the city's, and France's, liberation from German occupation.

(I tried to find photos--which I'm sure I took--of those spaces.  If and when I come across them, I'll post them here.)

I am reminded of that encounter today, the anniversary of Auschwitz-Birkenau's liberation by the Allies (with African-American soldiers at the front).  The United Nations has designated today as Holocaust Remembrance Day.  

So why am I writing about it on a blog about bicycles and cycling?

Well, as I've mentioned in other posts, many people escaped, or helped others, escape death by pedaling away from the advancing storm or by riding from house to house, village to village, to warn people or deliver things that would help residents weather the attacks, hide Jewish refugees (or themselves) or pass on messages.  Cycling is faster than walking or running, and it's easier to evade roadblocks, checkpoints and other obstacles on a bike than in, say, a car or bus.

For that reason, Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Center in Jerusalem, includes a bicycle. Marie-Rose Gineste, a social worker in Montauban, France, donated it to Yad Vashem, where she was enshrined as Righteous Among the Nations in 1985.

On 26 August 1942, Pierre-Marie Theas, Bishop of Montauban, followed the example of Archbishop Jules-Geraud Saliege in nearby Toulouse and issued a pastoral letter condemning the deportation of Jews.  He knew that, for full effect, it needed to be read from all of the pulpits in his diocese.  He thus turned to Ms. Gineste to ensure that the letter would be replicated and distributed in time to be read the following Sunday, 30 August.

Marie-Rose Gineste in 1943

"It was with great enthusiasm that I accepted this mission," she recalled.

Remember, there was no Internet in those days.  And she knew that it wasn't feasible to send it through the post office, as the Vichy authorities would surely censor it.  So, she hopped on her ancient steed and delivered the letter to all of the parishes in the diocese.

That Sunday, the letter was read from the pulpits of all except one of the parishes, where the priest was a known Vichy sympathiser.  That pronouncement, along with that of Archbiship Saliege a week earlier, is seen as a turning point away from the Catholic Church's earlier passive attitude toward the Petain government and a signal to French citizens to protect Jews from deportation.

The bicycle Gineste rode.

But Ms. Gineste didn't stop there.  Bishop Theas noticed her commitment and called on her to find shelter for Jewish children and adults at various religious institutions and supply them with false identities. She accomplished those tasks, and more:  Gineste also obtained ration cards from government offices and warehouses, or received them from sympathetic government officials.  Working with Jewish clandestine organizations, she ensured that the cards went to Jews in hiding.

Marie-Rose Gineste, at her Montauban, France home in 2000, just before she donated her bicycle to Yad Vashem..

I believe that every bicycle has a story.  If they could talk, I don't think any of mine, or those of just about anybody I know, could recount anything as intense or important as what Marie-Rose Gineste experienced on the bike she gave to Yad Vashem on her 89th birthday!

Note:  All photos in this post came from the Yad Vashem website.