Memorial de la Shoah

20 April 2007

Today, after Virginia left for school, I finally got myself organized and went to the Memorial de la Shoah. This memorial was only opened two years ago and is the largest research, information and awareness raising centre in Europe on the genocide of the Jews during the Second World War. It is haunting, horrible, unforgettable and magnificent. One gets a sense of the vastness of the Nazi machine when one sees the walls of names of those who were sent to the concentration camps and perished there. The most heartrending sight is the wall of pictures of 3,000 of the children who died in the camps.

The crypt is a place of contemplation in the centre of which there is a black marble star of David. Here lie the ashes of victims collected from the camps buried in soil brought from Israel. Both this and the wall of pictures of the children bring home that this was a crime not just against Jews, but against humanity. Outside the building, on an external wall, is a list of the Righteous among Nations which, at least to some extent, reminds one that even in the worst of times there are those who retain and practice their humanity.

After meeting Virginia back at the flat and having some lunch, we headed off to visit some of the Arcades. Although very elegant and very nice, they were not as impressive as we thought they might be, but that may be that we have been spoiled by some of the very nice arcades in Melbourne and Sydney.

And now the big news! We dined "Chez Yang." And not only did we dine there, we dined with "the man." Well, not exactly dined with - he was at his usual table and we watched surreptitiously from the other side of the room. The restaurant is absolutely clean, but slightly shabby. Certainly Mama Yang is the boss of the establishment. Papa Yang cooks and she is "front of house." There was a set evening menu at 14 Euros which was excellent value and which tasted even better with a nice bottle of Beaujolais.
Our man arrived on cue at 7.30 and seemed slightly startled to find other diners there. He greeted us in the normal French manner, "Bon Soiree, Monsieurdame," sat down at his normal table and then having glared at us for a few seconds, and having heard us talking, Virgina said to him, "Monsieur, nous sommes Australienes." "Ah," he said. And that, dear readers, was the sum and substance of our conversations with "L'homme qui dine chez Yang." We did, however, get a rather blurry picture of him leaving Chez Yang.

Virginia did notice that in his conversations with the proprietors, the term "vous" was constantly used suggesting a level of formality rather than familiarity. The proprietor certainly never referred to him by his given name, calling him only "Monsieur." It was strange being in a situation where we felt we knew them, but were aware that they had no idea who we were. Ah well, C'est la vie.
A bientot.