In Memory of My Grandfather Claude Levy

My grandfather, Papi Claude, passed away on May 7, 2025.

I’m sharing here his life testimony, recorded a few years ago, as a way to honor his memory and make sure his story is not forgotten. My grandfather lived through hard times such as the Holocaust, his own father was a resistant, and this is also why I want to share his testimony, this is precious.

May his memory be a blessing for us and for future generations.

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Testimony of Claude Levy

Born in 1935

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in September 2020, despite the coronavirus pandemic raging outside. In a small apartment in Levallois, Pierre visits his father Claude with his daughter Julia. What follows is a conversation—and a duty of remembrance.

“There was a census of the Israelites.”

Julia – It’s strange they called you “Israelites” and not “Jews”!

Claude – Yes, that’s how it was. The Vichy government used that term. Look here, it says it clearly: Census of the Israelites.

J – In 1940, it was already the Vichy government?

C – Yes, of course! You see here the documents for my father Pierre, my mother Simone, my sister Odette, my brother André, and myself, Claude—we were all registered as Israelites.

My father had business in Vichy, that’s why he chose to go there. Then, on September 10th, 1942, we received an order from the prefect of the Allier department to leave the region within 15 days.

My mother’s sister was with us, so we were two families. The next day, we left for a small village 25 km away—Saint-Pourçain-sur-Sioule. It’s known for a local wine, Saint-Pourçain! We stayed a few days there, just enough time to organize our departure to Florence, in the Gers region, where family was already living. Our cousins on my mother’s side, the Boman family, were there with their parents. One of my father's brothers was also nearby, in Lectoure. So we settled in Florence, and my father rented a house.

One morning—can’t remember exactly when—two militiamen showed up with revolvers. My father had just undergone surgery in Hoche by his cousin Jean Boman. He was recovering at home and had a big scar. He showed it to them and said, “I can’t move,” then he pulled out a large bill and handed it to the militiamen. They left.

You should know—they got our address because, in Vichy, we had a governess and a housemaid who were very close. The governess came with us to Florence. The housemaid joined the Vichy government and denounced us! That very evening, after the militiamen left, my father packed everything and we moved to a small village 5 km away. Two days later, we moved again to Mauvezin, where he rented another house.

My father scratched out the name in his passport—you can still see it faintly—he changed “LEVY” to “LEROY,” replacing the “V” with an “R.” He also altered the marriage certificate, changing “COHEN” to “COLIN.” He fixed all the documents. So we became the Leroy family. Everyone went to church every Sunday. Apparently, I made the sign of the cross backward!

My father joined the F.F.I., the French Forces of the Interior. From the very first day we arrived, everyone in town knew we were the Levy family because the barber in Florence was originally from Mauvezin and had told everyone. But they all kept quiet… no one said anything. I think we were the only Jews there. At the end of the war, when we left in 1944, the mayor said to my father, “Goodbye, Mr. Levy.” He knew. Among the papers from the Resistance, some were signed “Levy, also known as Leroy.”

That mission order was fake—my father had made it because he wanted to return to Paris and check on our apartment on rue des Bellefeuilles. When he arrived, wearing his F.F.I. armband, the apartment was occupied by collaborators. He pulled out his revolver and said, “By 4 PM, I want this apartment cleared out.” And by 4 PM, they were gone. That’s how he got the place back. He had guts—really, he had guts.

When he made mission orders, he didn’t tell us. He just left. He had a car. Meanwhile, we were staying on a property about 3 km from Mauvezin, up on a hill, with friends. I had a friend who used to come over. I was 7 - when we left, I was 9. I went to school, everything was normal. My mother didn’t say anything. I remember everything like it was yesterday—I was fully aware of everything, everything, everything! I even remember Vichy, riding my bike in front of the house. In Florence, I made a friend who remained my friend for 40 years! Jean enlisted in the American army, landed in southern France with the American troops coming from Africa, and passed through Mauvezin! I remember all of that…

Fake Nazi papers to cross the border

When my mother passed away, she had a folder with all these documents, which I kept. My sister Odette was studying in Toulouse, which was under German occupation, but she was safe there. She wasn’t with us much in Mauvezin. When we left, we passed through Toulouse at some point, but I’m not sure. My brother André was a bit handicapped, so he stayed with us the whole time.

When we left Paris, I was 5 years old, so I didn’t remember the apartment. But I do remember Vichy. You know, these are the kinds of things that leave a mark. I don’t remember if my father ever spoke about it again later on…

My father’s family had five siblings: David, Jean, Edmond, Germain, and my father. After the war, we used to see each other all the time, but they died quite young. Jean Bernard Lévy, the youngest brother I never met, had enlisted in WWI. In 1932, he founded the football division of the Racing Club de France. In 1940, even though he was too old, he enlisted again and was killed on the first day of the war in Belgium when his tank was hit by the Germans.

After the war, my father was asked to join the football council of the Racing Club de Paris. I still have a plate with all the football players’ autographs, including my father’s.

J – Why did you never tell us any of this before, Papi?

C – These aren’t the kinds of things one likes to talk about… I’ll tell you what happened. Three years ago, Françoise’s friend had been hidden under a false name during the war and was told she could receive compensation from Germany. I found out about it late, but in 2017, I went with your father to an association near CASIP and brought my entire file. It was accepted. Now, every quarter, I receive compensation from the Germans. It’s a special fund for victims. That’s how I found the whole file again. I always knew I had it, just stored it away somewhere. Every year they send me a “certificate of life,” which I have certified by the Levallois town hall to prove I’m still alive! Because I’m the only one who can receive it. Same with my combat pension, since I served in the Algerian war.

All these memories came back when I looked at the documents again. I hadn’t thought about them in a long time. My sister wasn’t interested in any of this, so I kept everything. She later got married, but she had a condition that prevented her from having children, so she adopted a boy and a girl. Her son is no longer here. One day, his parents sent him to the scouts, and later he became gay, fell very ill, and by age 50 had lost his sight. He took his own life. Her daughter, Anne, had a daughter—Chloé, a midwife.

I did two years in Algeria, but in good conditions! When I did my military service, I trained in Vincennes, and I had connections—my godfather, a friend of my father’s. His best friend was a colonel in a military sports center in Vincennes. That’s how I got assigned to “Cheppes” in Versailles, the NATO military command. I stayed there for a year. But then a nasty French minister, Maurice Bourgès-Maunoury, decided all young men had to be sent to Algeria. So I was sent too. But thanks to the colonel who had been transferred to Algiers, I managed to get reassigned there!

I worked at the Algiers air agency, issuing mission orders for planes heading into the Sahara. When de Gaulle came to power and liberation was underway, I made myself a mission order to fly to Africa on a military plane. A few days earlier, a lieutenant who wanted to leave but didn’t have priority asked me, and I told him, “Sorry, you’ll have to wait 48 hours.” He was furious! When I arrived at Colomb-Béchar, he took revenge by saying, “You’re staying here,” even though I was due for discharge three days later. I ended up flying back on the DC3 donated to the army by General de Gaulle, which did the Paris-Algiers route. I brought my friend along, and we were discharged.

I had another friend, Jacques Strauss, who worked in cinema and was drafted the same day as me. We took the same boat to Algiers. The trip from Marseille to Algiers was hell—one whole night. One day, I was at headquarters and saw a document saying he was being reassigned to a very dangerous area. I warned him right away, and thanks to that, he stayed in Algiers.

That’s it. That’s the whole story.

My father had a stroke in 1954 at Parc des Princes at the end of a football match. It was August 31—I remember it clearly. It was the first game of the Racing Club de Paris back in the first division. The big issue at the time was that there was no emergency medical service or resuscitation, so they transported him in a regular bus. My cousin Jean Boman arrived and said, “It’s no use. Bring him home.” I was only 19.

J – And what did you do in your youth, Papi?

C – My studies didn’t go very well. I was even sent to boarding school at École Fleur Rosace near Paris. It was a bit better there, but still… My father took me into the office, but that didn’t last long because he passed away. He had sent me to intern with a friend of his in Lyon, at a notary office—a nightmare! Thankfully, that friend also worked in real estate like my father, and I spent weekends with him. It wasn’t a very pleasant life. Then my father died. Later, I went back into real estate with a cousin, but it didn’t work out. They were jealous of my father, blamed him for many things, and he couldn’t bear it. So I left. I started my own real estate business, but the crisis hit and I had to stop. I did a bit of insurance with a friend, but I didn’t like it.

Then I worked with a guy in the wine business—we did trade shows and fairs. I sold wine for a while. Later, Polémile, the husband of my wife’s sister, suggested starting a wine import business from Spain. That’s what I did until retirement.

I met my wife Gisèle at the Boulie golf course. We got married in 1963. Her mother was very ill when we met in 1962 and passed away from cancer… We got married in March 1963, a few months later, because in Jewish tradition we don’t postpone weddings due to mourning. So we got married then.

And today, with the Covid virus, what I miss the most is not being able to play bridge. They’ve started online tournaments, but I hate that. I prefer playing in person, holding the cards, having a partner—it’s much more enjoyable.