The Broken Threads
Survival and Identity of a Family of Jewish Origin Between Germany, France and Denmark (1903-1963)

Pierre-Emmanuel Metzger-Debrune
4 July 2026

Introduction

‘Identity only becomes a concern – and, indirectly, a subject of analysis – when it is no longer taken for granted, when common sense is no longer a given, and when those involved can no longer agree on the meaning of the situation and the roles they are supposed to play within it.’
– Michael Pollak (1948-1992), L’expérience concentrationnaire

Eighty years ago today, on 4 July 1946, an anti-Semitic pogrom took place in Kielce, Poland. It marked the culmination of a series of pogroms that occurred in Europe following the Holocaust, serving as a stark reminder that the end of the Holocaust did not signify the end of anti-Semitism. During the Kielce pogrom, several dozen Jewish survivors of the Holocaust were accused of ritual murder and were massacred.

Whilst the case of Kielce is of interest for examining the conditions that made such a cruel irony of history possible, it is particularly relevant for analysing how Jews were identified as such in the run-up to the massacre. Many Jews from Kielce who had survived the Second World War and the genocide were, upon returning to their town, prevented from regaining their former homes. They were then rehoused in what came to be known as the town’s ‘Jewish house’. Just as during the St Bartholomew’s Day Massacre [1], the inhabitants of Kielce possessed practical geographical knowledge which they were able to put to use at the start of the pogrom: based on an assumption of equivalence that ‘Jews are those who live in the Jewish house’ and ‘those who live in the Jewish house are Jews’; knowing where this house was, they were certain that by going there they would indeed be able to massacre Jews. The place of residence thus represented one means of identification among others.

Let us recall the toll of the genocide. Six million Jews were exterminated, representing two-thirds of Europe’s Jewish population and 40 per cent of the world’s Jewish population [2]. In Poland, the death toll stands at three million (90 per cent of the Polish Jewish community). In the case of metropolitan France, Laurent Joly states that [3], out of 280,000 Jews recorded (155,000 French nationals, 125,000 foreigners), 16 per cent of French Jews were deported (disproving the belief that they were ‘protected by Vichy’), and 40 per cent of foreign Jews. In total, 74,150 were deported (most to Auschwitz-Birkenau [4]), of whom only 4,000 returned: taking into account a further 5,000 victims, the total stands at 75,000 Jews who perished.

When reading accounts of the genocide (as well as those of the post-Holocaust pogroms), it is common to oversimplify matters: it is generally implicitly assumed that the Jewish victims of the Holocaust did indeed identify with a Jewish identity (Jewishness) and/or belonged to a Jewish religious community (Judaism), and that it was as such that they were identified, persecuted and massacred by the Hitlerite and Vichy regimes. Similarly, when one reads that only a third of Europe’s Jews survived, the Jewishness of the survivors is generally taken for granted.

This research, however, aims to place at the heart of the study the question of the survival of people whose identity was ‘interstitial’ – that is, characterised by a discrepancy between what they believed themselves to be and the way in which they were perceived. How, and with what resources, did people presumed to be Jewish – even though they did not consider themselves as such – attempt to escape this imposition of identity [5]? More generally, what do the non-Jewish victims and survivors of the genocide of the Jews tell us about the identification mechanisms put in place at the time by the German and French authorities?

Before developing a methodological framework to contribute to research on these issues, a number of theoretical tools need to be introduced. A human being can be viewed in two different ways. Firstly, there is what that person actually is, and which social science researchers seek to reconstruct: a certain habitus [6], that is, a set of ways of acting, thinking and feeling that give rise to their practice, however diverse this stock of internalised dispositions may be [7]. The habitus, as Norbert Elias shows, gives rise to a certain image that the person has of themselves [8]: their identity, or more precisely – since it concerns the identity they believe themselves to have – an ‘identity-as-perceived-by-the-self’. Then, there is the image that other people have of that person: an ‘identity-as-perceived-by-others’, which varies according to those others and their habitus – ranging from mere passers-by encountered in public spaces and relationships built up over time (family, friends, colleagues, etc.) to the staff of the administrative bodies responsible for governing that person.

Consequently, explains Florence Delmotte, we must be careful not to reify identity, as it is never definitive: it must be regarded as a given that is never fixed, a constantly evolving phenomenon rather than an essence, as it is constantly (re)produced and transformed by processes of identification [9]. An analysis of identities (what it means, for example, to ‘be Jewish’ or ‘be German’) is therefore incomplete without an analysis of the processes of identification that people experience over time (the processes through which they come, for example, to identify as Jewish or to be identified as such). Here too, a distinction must be made between self-identification (the categorisation processes through which a person identifies themselves in a particular way and asserts that they ‘feel like X’ or that they ‘belong to group X’) from identification-by-others (a process that unfolds in as many ways as there are others in relation to that person, and according to modes of identification that can be highly diverse).

Since identity is thus understood in relational and processual terms, it becomes possible to consider the similarities and differences between one’s self-perceived identity and how others perceive one’s identity. There may, of course, be a match: after someone has identified me as X, I may myself recognise myself in that definition of the self; or, conversely, after I have identified myself as X, I may try to convince others – at least as many people and institutions as possible – that this is indeed my identity. But there may also be situations where there is a discrepancy. If others identify me as X, I may reject this assignment of identity and try to resist it rather than yield to it, provided that my dispositions and resources allow me to do so. Similarly, if certain social conditions are met, a person may develop a high degree of reflexivity and, through a interplay of perceptions and anticipations, foresee that they will be identified in one way or another, depending on the strategies of self-presentation they adopt [10]: even if they identify themselves in a certain way, they will ensure that they are identified differently by others.

Of all the agents that assign identities, the state is the most powerful: it is the chief assigner [11]. With the emergence of modern nation-states [12], for a given population and within a given territory, it is the state that decides who holds the country’s nationality and who does not; it holds the monopoly on legitimate travel documents [13] and determines, for foreigners and stateless persons present on the territory, which of them are in a lawful situation (tourists, refugees, migrant workers, etc.) or in an irregular situation, regardless of the views of those concerned (regardless of how strongly I feel I belong to the French nation, it is the French state that decides whether or not I hold nationality). Similar processes can be observed in relation to gender [14] (a woman not recognised as such by the state may apply to have her gender changed on the civil register) and sexual orientation (the persecution of gay men by the Third Reich led them to adopt strategies of concealment in order to avoid being categorised as ‘homosexual’ by Hitler’s regime).

With regard to religious and racial identities, in Germany between 1933 and 1945 and under the Vichy regime, the authorities were responsible for assigning each person one of several possible identities: Christian-Aryan, Jewish, or ‘mixed-race’ (mischling). How, then, could one survive in Germany and in the countries it occupied (in the case that concerns us here, France and Denmark) when one was identified as Jewish but did not identify oneself as such? What specific survival strategies were therefore employed by the populations affected by this discrepancy between their self-perceived identity (whether national, ethnic or religious) and the identity assigned by the state?

To further research into these issues, I propose – following on from the extensive studies by Rose-Marie Lagrave [15] and Adèle Yon [16] – to draw on my own family history: that of my great-grandparents. The aim was to make use, for the purposes of social science research, of privileged access to individuals and archives, enabling the collection and cross-referencing of empirical data and information that would otherwise likely have gone unnoticed.

I never knew these great-grandparents. But once I’d opened the Pandora’s box of their story, the libido sciendi did the rest: ‘Curiosity is a strange thing, but I hope it’s normal.’ [17] It was a family of Jewish origin: not a Jewish family, but, specifically, a Christian family whose members were, for the most part, presumed to be Jewish by the Reich and Vichy regime given their origins. Because they were not recognised as a Christian family ‘like the others’, they were neither ‘truly Jewish’ nor ‘truly Christian’, but somewhere in an existential interstice. Similarly, having experienced multiple forms of mobility in Western Europe, she was never ‘truly’, in any lasting sense, German, French or Danish, but somewhere between these categories, playing and navigating her way through them.

‘Survival and Identity’ of this family of Jewish origin: readers may recognise here the title of the third part of Michael Pollak’s book on the concentration camp experience [18]. The aim of this study was to employ methods similar to his in order to examine the life stories of people who, although they were interned in a forced-labour camp (a group of foreign workers), a transit camp (Drancy) and a concentration camp (Dachau), managed to avoid deportation to the extermination camps and centres proper, precisely because their dispositions and resources enabled them to play with their identities.

Their life story unfolds against a backdrop of significant population movements in Western Europe before, during and after the turmoil of 1933-1945. The study begins in 1903, when these great-grandparents were born in Berlin. The story ends in 1963, the year in which, after a quarter of a century spent in France, followed by several precarious years in Berlin, they decided against returning to Paris. This case study highlights multiple reconfigurations of national and religious identities. It also demonstrates the diversity of identification mechanisms employed by Western European states, which assign identities that may serve as resources (a legally resident foreigner and/or refugee, a national in need of protection, a victim entitled to compensation; someone committed to France and worthy of support) or as stigmas [19] (a suspect foreigner to be investigated; a Jew to be deported; a mixed-race Jew to be monitored; a traitor to the nation to be punished).

From a methodological perspective, this research began in July 2019 with an initial interview with my grandmother Nina, born in 1931 [20]. I subsequently conducted three further interviews with her, the last of which took place in the autumn of 2025. A testimony can only exist if, on the one hand, the survivor is willing to speak and, on the other, they can be heard [21]. Nina agreed to be completely open. Nina’s mother told her her story, but left no direct written account (only a few indirect traces have survived). Her father spoke little about his life and left almost no written record.

Just as a physicist devises experimental protocols to test a theory, the interviews with Nina served as a starting point for research in the archive collections. The documents uncovered (in France: the National Archives, the Diplomatic Archives, the Prefecture Archives, the Shoah Memorial; outside France: the Danish National Archives, the Dachau Archives, the Arolsen Archives, etc.) confirmed almost all of her account. Nina also gave me access to a number of personal archives (dozens of documents of various kinds, correspondence comprising around 700 images, a 50-page guest book, and family trees drawn up by both professionals and amateurs). I was also able to draw on a number of open-access sources available online [22].

The research also benefited from the exceptional support of the Danish Embassy in France. After reviewing my request, the embassy contacted the Danish National Archives, which located and agreed to provide a copy of two sets of records, comprising 65 pages of documents, which enable a very detailed account to be traced of how Danish diplomacy prevented the deportation of a member of this family to Auschwitz-Birkenau.

During this research, I paid systematic attention to: the documents issued by government bodies to identify individuals (identity cards and passports, refugee cards and certificates, etc.); the spoken and written languages (Danish, French and German), which proved to constitute a genuine body of accumulated linguistic capital [23]; variations in the spelling of names across sources [24]; the participants’ reflexive anticipations of how they feel they are perceived and categorised, and the strategies for self-construction they develop in response; the issue of the reconstruction and stabilisation of identities after the war, following recent research on the fate of the 25,000 German Jews residing in France after the Holocaust [25] and on claims for restitution of confiscated property and leases [26]; geographical mobility (metropolitan France and its division into the free zone and zones occupied by Germany and Italy; French territories in Algeria and Morocco; Germany and subsequently the Federal Republic of Germany; occupied and subsequently liberated Denmark; Sweden; and Switzerland). I speak neither German nor Danish: sources in these languages have been systematically translated using artificial intelligence [27].

The investigation established that my great-grandmother, Ilse Radsack, and her mother, Inga Salomon, were German and were born in Germany. In 1932-1933, they emigrated to France. Although they considered themselves Protestants, they were nevertheless identified as Jewish by the Reich and the Vichy regime on account of their origins (in accordance with the Nuremberg Laws and successive statutes governing Jews in France). In 1943, Inga was sent to Drancy to be deported, but she was saved by the Danish diplomatic service, which invoked her Danish origins to present her as a Danish national like any other. As for Ilse, she went into hiding in the south of France with her daughter Nina: they were sheltered by several families, including that of a Righteous Among the Nations. All three survived, but by the end of the war, many of their Jewish or presumed Jewish relatives had committed suicide or were reported missing.

My great-grandfather Erich Radsack, who was born in Germany, was not affected by any discrepancy regarding his religious or racial identity: he considered himself a Protestant and was recognised as such by the Reich. However, his life story reveals significant discrepancies regarding his national identity: having come to France for economic reasons (he was a pioneer in the dubbing of foreign films into French), he became stateless; as an anti-Nazi, he enlisted in the Foreign Legion (Légion étrangère) to fight against his country of origin. After his demobilisation, he went into hiding in the Free Zone. He then joined the Resistance and, following the Liberation, the French secret services. Sent on a mission to Germany under a false Swiss identity, he was arrested and deported to Dachau, where he survived by concealing his true identity. After the war, he continued to work for the French secret service; he failed to obtain French nationality; the legal proceedings he initiated to claim compensation for the spoliation of his former apartment took nearly 15 years; reluctantly, he reverted to German citizenship, returned with Ilse to Germany (West Germany) and spent the rest of his days there.

The following study is divided into four parts. The first, covering the period from 1903 to 1938, examines the history of the entire Radsack-Salomon family from the birth of Erich and Ilse. I then divide the study into two parts to explore the family’s fate between 1939 and 1945. I begin by examining the survival strategies employed by Ilse and her relatives who, like her, were identified as Jewish (her mother, her uncles) or half-Jewish (her daughter, her cousin) by the Reich and the Vichy regime. I then turn my attention to the specific case of Erich, a non-French anti-German who served successively in the Foreign Legion, the Resistance and the secret services. In a fourth and final part, I examine the family’s subsequent history up to 1963, after they were reunited at the end of the war, exploring the possibilities of readjusting to ‘normal life’.

Part 1
From Berlin To Paris: Shattered Certainties (1903-1938)

‘Fine people, the Germans! And to think I once belonged among them! But no – Hitler made us stateless long ago.’
– Anne Frank, Diary

I – In Berlin, the Early Life of a Protestant Couple (1903-1931)

1) German and Protestant: Doxic Identities (1903-1929)

The central figure in the story that follows is Ilse Radsack (née Ilse Salomon [28], 1903-1988). She was born in Berlin on 13 January 1903 [29], shortly after the marriage on 17 April 1902 [30] of her parents, Hermann Salomon (1867-1927) and Inga Salomon (née von Essen [31], 1877-1957). Inga came from an upper-class family in Hamburg. She married Hermann there, before joining him in Berlin [32], where he managed one of the branches of the Dresdner Bank [33]. Ilse therefore grew up in Berlin’s bourgeoisie. It was a wealthy family, given her father’s income as a bank manager and the financial support provided by Inga’s parents [34]: ‘Ilse told me that Inga, when she realised, for example, that there was a wardrobe missing from her home, would write to her parents: “Send me a wardrobe.” And her parents would send a wardrobe.’ (Nina)

Ilse was baptised as a Protestant from the outset. On her birth certificate, her father is listed as Protestant (evangelischer) and her mother as ‘of the Israelite religion’ [35]. In reality, Ilse’s mother, Inga, was not baptised as a Protestant: this is a key point in the story that follows, the reasons for which will be explained later (see Part 2). Suffice it to say here that Inga was acculturated into Protestantism: thus, from the end of the 19th century onwards, she was identified as Jewish by the German bureaucracy, despite her lack of a Jewish identity (regardless of the cultural, communal or religious dimensions that this Jewishness might have taken).

Ilse therefore grew up within a Lutheran Protestant tradition, which was quite common in early 20th-century Germany. As a teenager, her parents enrolled her in catechism classes so that she could receive religious instruction before her confirmation. It was there, around 1916, that she met the man who would share her life.

Photos 1 and 2. Ilse Radsack (on her refugee certificate, February 1955)
and Erich Radsack (photo he carried with him during his deportation to Dachau, April 1945)

 

Erich Radsack (1903-1982) was born on 17 January 1903, four days after Ilse, also in Berlin [36]. In the available sources, he is referred to in various ways, taking into account his middle name (Erich Paul Radsack, Erich-Paul Radsack, E. P. Radsack), his full birth name [37], spelling errors in his first name (Eric, Erick) or his German-Slavic surname (Erich Paul Radzach, Erich Paul Radzac, Erich-Paul Radsak), his pseudonyms in the Resistance and the secret services (Étienne Risle, Étienne François Risle, Charles Gloor), and his Dachau registration number (159497). His social background was more modest than Ilse’s, placing him within Berlin’s petty bourgeoisie. His father, Heinrich Radsack (1865-1938), was an accountant, and his mother, Helene Radsack (née Meister, 1878-1962), was a seamstress, working on a self-employed basis [38]: ‘She had several sewing machines. She had a machine that did hems. She had a machine that did the little embroideries, or other things, that you used to do at the top of the sheets.’ (Nina)

Like his parents and grandparents, Erich was a Protestant of the Lutheran tradition. Baptised three months after his birth, he enrolled in catechism classes at around the age of thirteen, where he met Ilse. His confirmation took place in September 1918 [39].

As teenagers, the social differences between Ilse and Erich became apparent as they lived through the First World War (1914-1918). Erich’s parents’ income was too meagre to allow them to feed themselves properly during the periods of scarcity caused by the war: ‘Ilse lived comfortably during the 1914-18 war. Erich struggled to find enough to eat. He was sent to the countryside so that he could eat his fill.’ (Nina)

The war ended before Erich reached conscription age. In the meantime, whilst attending the Luisen-Gymnasium in Berlin, he prepared for and obtained his school-leaving certificate (Zeugnis der Reife). His certificate states that, with the exception of Latin, his standard was ‘sufficient’ (genügend) in all the subjects he studied [40]: German, Ancient Greek, history and geography, mathematics, and, above all, French, which he studied instead of English. Having been French-speaking since their time at the Gymnasium, proficiency in this language would subsequently prove to be one of Erich and Ilse’s most important assets.

After completing his A-levels, Erich stopped studying and entered the workforce, presumably in the retail sector [41]. As for Ilse:

‘She must have had to leave school, perhaps when she was 15. And her father told her: “Now you choose a profession.” So she did what girls did back then: she became a shorthand typist. She qualified as a shorthand typist. And then she worked at a publishing house, as a secretary.’ (Nina)

In the first half of the 1920s, shortly before losing her father to illness (1927), Ilse began a relationship with Erich. Noting the difference in their social backgrounds, Nina hypothesises that her father, who came from a middle-class family that had gone hungry during the war, may have been ‘dazzled’ by Ilse’s family, his love for her appearing inseparable from a social status that he ‘envied’ and idealised [42]:

‘Because my mother was perhaps quite pretty, and she had a sense of humour. [But perhaps he also thought that] if he married her, as she seemed to have enough money to live on, he’d have a bit more money to live on too.’ (Nina)

For Erich and Ilse, the period 1903-1929 was therefore one of strong social reproduction. This affected every aspect of their lives: their national identities (both were born in Germany to German parents), their place of residence (born and brought up in Berlin, they worked and lived in Berlin), their religion (Protestants of the Lutheran tradition, following the most traditional practices in Germany: baptism, catechism and confirmation), and socio-economic circumstances (a man of middle-class origin who aspired to go into business, was about to marry the heiress of a bank director and was set to run a company). These identities and this reproduction are doxic because, as they are never questioned, they are taken for granted [43].

2) Wedding and Dubbing: The Beginnings of a Settled Life (1930-1931)

In the very late 1920s, Erich Radsack entered an industry that was on the verge of experiencing rapid expansion: dubbing. Before the first talking films appeared in 1927, cinema, since its inception in 1895, had been silent. The development of sound cinema presented the film industry with an unprecedented challenge: that of distributing talking films worldwide through subtitling and dubbing.

It is not known exactly when or how Erich discovered the film and dubbing industries. What is certain is that he entered the field through a specific technique which would go on to have a major impact and lasting influence on the history of dubbing: rythmography [44]. This technique was developed in particular by two eponymous firms: the Berlin-based company Rhythmographie (with an ‘H’ after the capital letter), and the Paris-based company Rythmographie (without an ‘H’). To avoid any confusion between the three terms, care should be taken to note whether or not the word begins with a capital letter (which indicates a company) and to observe the typographical convention used (the term in italics specifically refers to the German company).

In Berlin, the company Rhythmographie was founded in 1929. A document published online – an extract from correspondence referring to the German dubbing of the film All Quiet on the Western Front – helps to clarify the context of its founding [45]. The articles of association of Rhythmographie G.m.bH (Gesellschaft mit beschränkter Haftung: a limited liability company) were drawn up on 16 September 1929 and amended on 14 November. The company was subsequently entered in the commercial register on 30 November 1929 (register number 43259), with its registered office in Berlin and a share capital of 75,000 Reichsmarks. Several managing directors were appointed: Karl Robert Blum (usually spelled Carl Robert Blum), Karl Egon Martiny and Walter Hahnemann. The company’s object is specified as follows:

‘The exploitation of industrial property rights and patent applications in the field of rhythmography, that is to say, in the field of the recording and reproduction of sequences of rhythmic movements of a phonic and optical nature.’ [46]

It is not known under what circumstances Erich came to work for this company. What is known, at least, is that by the summer of 1930 he was well established there: the commercial register, dated 19 June 1930, shows that Karl Egon Martiny was no longer the managing director of Rhythmographie, and that Erich Radsack and Willi Matthias had been granted power of attorney (‘each is authorised to represent the company jointly with a managing director’ [47]). As a proxy for the company, Erich held an important position there, even though he was not a managing director.

This new position was soon followed by his marriage to Ilse on 27 September 1930 [48]. Erich moved into the spacious flat that Inga and Ilse were already renting with Hermann Salomon. This marriage and move provided the occasion to start their guest book, also known as the ‘friends’ book’ [49]. It is a small notebook in which the couple’s friends and family, when invited to dinner, were asked to sign their names or even leave a short message [50]: a valuable source for research. The first entry in the guest book, dated 27 September 1930, provides a list of those present at the wedding.

The following entries, written by Erich’s friends and colleagues in their invitations, provide an insight into the Franco-German dubbing networks of which he was a part. For example, at Erich and Ilse’s wedding, Erich Luschnath, who was close to Rhythmographie [51], signed the guest book [52]. Later, at Rhythmographie, Erich took part in the German dubbing of All Quiet on the Western Front. To mark the screening of the German version of the film, the couple organised a party on 6 December 1930: Viktor Abel, who was also heavily involved in dubbing in Germany [53], signed the guest book. Another guest makes direct reference to the screening of the German version of the film:

‘Date of the controversial premiere
“All Quiet on the Western Front”
6 December 1930
It was a lovely evening
Entertaining and “invigorating”’ [54]

In 1931, Erich continued in Rhythmographie. In November, a new entry by Viktor Abel appears in the guest book [55]. Ilse’s correspondence with her daughter also reveals mention of a collaboration with the filmmaker Abel Gance [56] (1889-1981). But for the couple, 1931 was above all the year their daughter Nina Radsack was born, baptised as a Protestant from the outset. Ilse then stopped working to bring up her daughter.

On the surface, therefore, everything seemed to be going well for the couple. In 1930-1931, Erich appeared to be laying the foundations for a lasting career in the German-language film dubbing industry: he was earning a comfortable living, marrying the woman who had so captivated him, and moving in with her. A career in a booming industry, a marriage, a child: one can imagine nothing other than a couple making plans, believing in the future and whose identity is self-evident.

Thanks to the guest book, however, we know that this predictable and reassuring existence would come to an end shortly after 28 December 1931, the date of the last party organised by the couple in their Berlin apartment.

II – Working and Taking Refuge in Paris (1932-1938)

The previous section, which depicted the lives of Erich and Ilse in 1930-1931, deliberately overlooked the rise of National Socialism and anti-Semitism in Germany during the 1920s. However, there comes a point when this rise can no longer be ignored, as Laurence Guillon points out:

‘In the spring of 1927, and again in the autumn of 1930, attacks took place on the Kurfürstendamm against passers-by “of Jewish appearance”, who were beaten up. In September 1931, such violence recurred, orchestrated by the SA, on the occasion of the Jewish New Year.’ [57]

From 1931 onwards, therefore, Jewish-owned businesses and shops in Berlin were targeted: their owners were threatened, shop windows were smashed, and customers were prevented from entering. Having obtained German citizenship in February 1932, Hitler was able to stand in the presidential election in March-April: in the second round, although defeated by Field Marshal Hindenburg, he secured 13.4 million votes, or 36.7 per cent of the votes cast.

Initially, Erich and Ilse left Germany for France, driven both by their ideological aversion to Nazism and by the economic and professional opportunity, identified by Erich, to work on the French dubbing of films. Then, following the parliamentary elections of July 1932 and the intensification of the persecution of Jews in the autumn, the family sensed danger. Although Inga Salomon, Ilse’s mother, did not consider herself Jewish, she was identified as such by the German state: it therefore became dangerous for her to remain in Berlin. This perceived risk became a further reason for emigrating to Paris, alongside their anti-Nazi convictions and the work in film dubbing: the break with Germany became irreversible.

1) Refounding and Running Rythmographie: French Film Dubbing as an Opportunity to Live Outside Germany

Erich and Ilse’s first entry into French territory is dated March 1932 [58]. As anti-Nazis, disgusted by the rise of anti-Semitism, the couple found refuge in France. Whilst the available evidence does not allow us to confirm that Erich was already anti-Nazi in 1932, in hindsight it seems difficult to doubt this, given the commitments he would undertake between 1939 and 1945 (see Part 3) [59].

Their revulsion at anti-Semitism leaves no room for doubt, given, on the one hand, the Jewish origins of Ilse and her mother Inga, and, on the other, Erich’s many Jewish friends and colleagues from his time working in the Berlin film industry. Viktor Abel, for example, whose signature as we recall appeared twice in the guest book, would not sign it a third time: as a Jew originally from Ukraine, born in 1892, he was deported in 1941 to the Łódź ghetto, where he died [60].

An opportunity arose for Erich that would enable him to leave Germany: to become the representative [61] of the Berlin-based company Rhythmographie in Paris. His role involved dubbing films into French, introducing the techniques of rythmography to France, whilst remaining attached to the German firm (whose head office remained in Berlin, SW. 68, Alte Jakobstraße, 133). Such an opportunity would have been unthinkable without the knowledge of the French language that Erich had acquired at secondary school.

Erich’s emigration was driven from the outset by work: we know from a report by the French General Intelligence Service that he was employing staff for Rhythmographie as early as 12 March 1932, notably the ‘publicity manager and assistant director’ [62] René Petit, who remained in his post until 4 February 1933.

The period from March to November 1932 was, in fact, a transitional phase. Officially, Erich continued to present himself as the representative (in Paris) of Rhythmographie (in Berlin). He had his own office, paid staff, and achieved a turnover of 2.8 million francs in nine months. Between June and August 1932, there are several references to Erich’s work for Rhythmographie in France:

‘Mr Erich Radsack, Mr Daubannay and his assistant René Petit are continuing with the French dubbing of the Fox-Film–Transatlantic production.’ (Cinémagazine, June 1932) [63]

‘At the Eclair Studios in Epinay, director Paul Daubannay, in close collaboration with Mr Léo Lasko and assisted by René Petit, has just begun work for Pax-Film, using the “rhythmography” process, on the French version of the film Der Greifer [1930], which is being released in France under the title Oiseau de Nuit. Artistic director: Erich Radsack.’ (La Liberté, 13 August 1932) [64]

‘The Eclair Studios have secured the services of “Rhythmographie” for the dubbing of foreign films, and Mr Jourjon immediately had new studios built, specially equipped for this work, in accordance with the instructions of the managing director of “Rhythmo”, Mr Radsack.’ (La Critique cinématographique, 27 August 1932) [65]

Thanks to these successes, Erich and Ilse soon rented a flat near the Champs-Élysées (51 Avenue Georges V), whilst their daughter Nina remained in Berlin with her grandmother. However, a significant problem soon arose: the organisation headed by Erich in Paris was becoming increasingly independent from the Berlin-based company Rhythmographie. With its own offices, turnover and staff, the Paris branch was, in effect, gradually taking on the form of an independent company.

As a result, the organisation’s status was uncertain. Erich was faced with a choice: should he continue to run the Paris office as part of a German company, or set up a Paris-based company independent of the former? It took Erich nine months to make up his mind, at a time when neither he nor Ilse knew whether they would return to Berlin or settle permanently in Paris. The couple’s final decision to remain in Paris was taken in the autumn of 1932, against the backdrop (which we shall discuss further below) of the rise of Nazism and anti-Semitism in Germany.

The company’s status was formalised on 1 December 1932: a new company, Rythmographie – independent of Rhythmographie – was established on 1 December 1932 by Erich Radsack. It was registered with the Seine Trade Register under number 255.056:

‘By private deed, drawn up in Paris on 5 December 1932, registered in the same city under 1st A.S.S.P. [private deed, ed.], on 5 December 1932, no. 70 […] Mr Erich Radsack, engineer, residing at 51 Avenue Georges-V, Paris; and Mr Alfred Ludtke, a merchant, residing in Berlin, formed a [limited liability company (SARL)] whose purpose is the acquisition and exploitation of industrial patents and licences relating to rhythmography. The term of the company is fifty years, commencing on 1 December 1932 […]. The registered office is situated at 52 Rue des Martyrs, Paris (2 Square Trudaine). The name and trading name are: “RYTHMOGRAPHIE” [SARL]. The share capital is 25,000 francs […]. The company is managed by one of the partners, Mr Erich Radsack.’ (Les Annonces de la Seine, 9 December 1932) [66]

The National Archives contain a report from the Paris Police Prefecture concerning the company Rythmographie, addressed to the Minister of the Interior and dated 12 July 1935 [67]. Drawing on the commercial register, the author also attributes the founding of Rythmographie to Erich [68].

Can we therefore say that Erich Radsack was the first person in France to use rhythmography to dub films into French? This is what Thierry Le Nouvel wrote in 2007:

‘Thus, in Max Ophuls’s Une Histoire d’amour (1933), a “multiple version” of Libelei (1932), the dubbing was provided, amongst others, by Erich Paul Radzac [sic]. According to a dubbing artist’s recollection, it was this same Radzac who, on his return from Germany, is said to have introduced to France the “rythmo” track invented in 1927 for the screening of Felix the Cat in Baden-Baden.’ [69]

The author is in fact referring to an account by the director and editor Jean Sacha (1912-1988), published by Philippe Roger in 2001:

‘I worked on the French version of Liebelei. My friendship with [Max] Ophuls dates back to that time. I was a junior dubbing assistant; that was my start. The managing director of Rythmographie, the dubbing studio, Erich Paul Radzach [sic], was a German who had already settled in France; Jean Rozenberg was the artistic director.’ [70]

However, in 2014, Jean-François Cornu pointed out that ‘the Rythmographie process […] had, in fact, been in use in France under that name since 1931’ [71]. The author attributes the founding of the French company Rythmographie to André Rigaud, Richard Heinz and André Norevó, and dates its creation to late 1931 [72]. One plausible hypothesis could be that Erich re-established the company following the liquidation of a previous one. Two different entities may have been created, against a backdrop of fierce commercial competition [73].

Whilst Erich Radsack may not therefore have been the first to introduce this dubbing technique to France, he was certainly the architect of what Jean-François Cornu describes as the ‘revival’ [74] of Rythmographie from 1933 onwards. From the moment of its (re)founding in December 1932, Erich remained the sole manager and director of Rythmographie.

In January 1933, the company entered a phase of regularisation. This primarily concerned the issue of taxation. Following a tax audit, the company – which had been established just a few weeks earlier – was assessed for tax ex officio, as the tax inspector considered that the turnover generated between March and November 1932 on behalf of the Berlin-based company should be retroactively regarded as that of the Paris-based company:

‘[The] “Rythmographie” and, prior to its existence, a certain Mr Radsack, an agent of “Rhythmographie” (G.M.B.H.) in Berlin, generated a considerable turnover [and] part of the profits made was transferred to Berlin without any tax being paid in France. […] The individual named Radsack claims that, as ‘Rythmographie’ was not established until 1 December 1932, this figure of 2,800,000 francs mainly comprises business he conducted in France on behalf of “Rhythmographie” (G.M.B.H.) of Berlin, a company which, consequently, is liable to pay. [However] the Berlin-based “Rhythmographie” is reportedly currently in liquidation.’ [75]

The investigation then turned to the regulations governing foreign workers. In 1932, a number of foreign employees were working for Erich, mainly German Jewish refugees, who were authorised to reside in France but not to be employed: ‘[It] appears, in particular, from the information provided, that Rythmographie failed to comply with the laws concerning labour regulations and the employment of foreigners’. The report notes that Erich subsequently took note of these regulations (‘this company now employs only French nationals’).

In reality, one month after Rythmographie was founded, in January 1933, it was a press campaign launched by Erich’s former employee that triggered the tax and labour inspections. This press campaign took on a fiercely xenophobic tone from the outset:

‘Behind the press campaign and the accusations levelled against the company “Rythmographie”, we find a man named René Petit to be the main instigator […]. [He] launched the press campaign in question with a view to persuading the French Film Industry Trade Association to take action to ensure that the “dubbing” of foreign films was entrusted to French nationals or to French companies managed by French nationals.’ [76]

It should also be noted that, for all his anti-Semitism and xenophobia (see note 75), the police officer who authored the 1935 report expresses greater contempt towards René Petit than towards Erich: he considers that Rythmographie did not pose any ‘unfair’ competition to the dubbing companies run by French nationals, that it was simply a ‘formidable competitor’ to them given its client base and turnover, and pointed out that Petit ‘was obviously the first to have a vested interest’ in ensuring that the press campaign resulted in a ban on foreigners such as Erich dubbing films into French.

Be that as it may, following 1932 – a year of uncertainty, with the choice of whether to stay in Paris or return to Berlin, and whether to set up an independent company or remain linked to a Berlin-based firm – the years 1933-1935 appear to have been Rythmographie’s heyday. The company’s main client was Universal Films, a subsidiary of the Universal Pictures Corporation (headquartered in New York), for which it had been dubbing three-quarters of its films since 1932. These successes enabled Erich and Ilse to rent a new flat as early as October 1934 – in fact, a floor of a building in Neuilly-sur-Seine (14-16 Rue Frédéric Passy) – ‘a luxuriously furnished flat, with an annual rent of 20,000 francs, including service charges’ [77].

A few months later, in April 1935, Rythmographie’s head office was moved from 2, square Trudaine (premises then sublet by Universal Films [78]) to this flat. As for the studios rented for voice recording, from then on:

‘[Rythmographie] uses an auditorium at the “Studios de Neuilly”, 42bis, Boulevard du Château, in Neuilly-sur-Seine, which it rents as and when required. […] Before moving to the Studios de Neuilly, “Rythmographie” operated in Epinay-sur-Seine at 42 Avenue d’Enghien, in a studio rented to it by the company “Eclair-Tirage”.’ [79]

As regards the people working at or associated with Rythmographie in 1933-1935, this same report, and the guest book, are a rich source of information. For example, in the guest book, following a party organised on 19 January 1935 by Erich and Ilse in their apartment, there are four pages of signatures enabling us to identify those present at the party (and others mentioned). Some of them, as Jean-François Cornu has shown, were part of the dubbing scene: Henri Debain [80]; ‘Kiko’ (Léon Kikoïne [81]); ‘J. d’Arcole’ (Jacqueline d’Arcole [82]). Among the signatures, we also find: ‘Weill’ (Pierre Weill [83] or Janine Weill, Erich’s secretary [84]); Georges Hubert [85] (who refers to Erich as ‘the boss’); Max Fromm [86].

Figure 1. The Radsack family guestbook, pages 15 to 18

To mark the New Year of 1936, the screenwriter and director Erich Weissenberg, whom the couple had met in Germany, also signed the guest book (although no direct link to Rythmographie can be established). As for the report drawn up by the Prefecture of Police in 1935, it mentions other people who were (or had been) employed by Rythmographie: Jean Rozenberg [87], mentioned by Jean Sacha; Alfons Steinfeld, employed as a translator in 1932 (and at that time taken under the wing of the French Committee for the Protection of Persecuted Jewish Intellectuals); Lucie Barzmann. We also learn that, from October 1933 onwards, Erich and Ilse took in Erich Blumenhein – a Jew originally from Germany who had sought refuge in Paris – at the flat they were renting on Avenue Georges V [88].

After three years of what seemed to be a golden age, the economic climate of 1936 proved too much for the business: according to Nina, the devaluation of the franc in October 1936, shortly after the general strike of May-June, led Erich to ‘close up shop’ [89].

There is subsequently little evidence of Erich’s professional activities between 1937 and the summer of 1939. We know that, alongside Rythmographie, he was a managing partner of the company ‘La Centrale’, founded in August 1933, which had its offices in the same building as Rythmographie when it was first established (2, Square Trudaine). The operations of ‘La Centrale’ were suspended in 1938 (see section 4). A report by the French General Intelligence services dated 1945 [90] also states that ‘until 1939, Radsack was a managing partner in a film dubbing business at 4, rue Caran d’Ache (17th arrondissement) and earned around 6,000 to 8,000 francs a month’, but it has not been possible to identify the company in question. All that is known is that in 1939 he was working on the dubbing of a film about the Swiss army: Notre armée, by Arthur Porchet and Jacques Béranger [91].

2) Fleeing Antisemitism: From Anti-Nazi Conviction to the Necessity of Survival

Thus, by becoming the Paris-based agent for a German dubbing company, and then by (re)founding and running its French counterpart, Erich killed two birds with one stone: he distanced himself from his country of origin, towards which he was growing increasingly hostile, and enriched himself by contributing to Parisian cinema. During 1932, however, living in France was to take on a new meaning. At the start of the year, it was still a matter of remaining true to his anti-Nazi convictions, thanks to the opportunity to practise his profession outside Germany. By the end of 1932, it had become a matter of survival: as Inga was identified as Jewish, the Radsacks felt she would be in danger if she remained in Berlin. Arrangements were made for her to join her daughter in Neuilly.

As early as July 1932, the German parliamentary elections saw the National Socialist Party win 37.3 per cent of the vote. Shortly afterwards, in the autumn, members of the SA planted bombs in synagogues and in businesses and shops run by Jews [92]. So, in the autumn, Inga applied for a French visa. She was granted it on 30 December 1932, at the height of the boycott of economic sectors employing Jews [93]. Barely ten days later, on 9 January 1933, Inga and her granddaughter Nina entered French territory to seek refuge with Erich and Ilse [94]. Three weeks later, Hitler was appointed Chancellor.

Inga is now a refugee in France, like many German and Austrian emigrants, at a time when the country had become their main place of refuge given its geographical proximity and its still-liberal reception policy. From the end of 1933, however, France tightened its asylum policy [95]. For the Radsack-Salomons, at any rate, the break with Germany was seen as irreversible: their aim was to settle permanently in France and build a new life there. A few months after leaving Germany, they had the furniture from the flat they had been renting in Berlin transported to Neuilly [96] and terminated the tenancy agreement. Erich and Ilse enrolled their daughter Nina at a school in Neuilly. In order to continue residing in France, each of the Radsacks obtained and renewed, when necessary (roughly every two years), a ‘residence permit for non-working foreign nationals’ issued by the Prefecture [97]. A few years later, their identity documents stated that they were no longer ‘Germans’, but ‘stateless persons of German origin’.

The analysis here must focus on the (pre)dispositions to start a new life. A number of factors made it possible for the Radsacks to envisage and accept a life outside Germany. Erich claimed that he was not attached to his parents [98]. Many of his German friends and colleagues, a significant number of whom were Jewish, had left their country of origin. He worked in a film industry undergoing rapid internationalisation, into which he was able to integrate thanks to a keen sense of self-positioning. Like Ilse (and probably Inga), he spoke French fluently. As for Inga, she came from a family characterised by significant movement between Germany and Denmark (see Part 2): she spoke Danish, taught it to her daughter, and regularly travelled to Denmark herself to visit her family. These circumstances and resources fostered a resilience to the anomie [99] engendered by fascism and totalitarianism, to which we shall return (see Part 2). In the absence of such conditions, existence can lose all meaning and all sense of purpose.

It is here that the first victim of Nazism in this family enters the story: Erich Salomon (1878-1933). Hermann Salomon, Ilse’s father and Inga’s husband, had three brothers. All were born in Helmstedt and of Jewish origin; only Hermann lived in Berlin, whilst his brothers had settled in Brunswick, near Hanover. The youngest of the brothers, Erich Salomon, was a lawyer:

‘Doctor of Law, lawyer and notary, partner of Bruno Mielziner and E. Magnus, residing at 8 Bernerstr. […] In 1911, Erich Salomon was managing director of the Braunschweigische Terraingesellschaft, 132 then a member of the board of the Braunschweig Bar Association, the Bar’s representative on the mutual aid fund for lawyers’ associations, as well as a member of the supervisory board and legal adviser to Brunsviga Maschinenwerke Grimme, Natalis und Co., legal adviser to the Association of Breweries of Brunswick and the surrounding area, legal adviser to the German Lawyers’ Interest Group in Hamburg, and a member of the Assembly of Deputies of the German Association of Sheet Metal Works.’ [100]

Erich Salomon took his own life on 11 January 1933. Various studies undertaken to piece together his life have led to the conclusion that his suicide was linked to the rise of Nazism in Germany. The following passage appears in the biographical note cited earlier, written by the mountaineering association to which he belonged: ‘It can be assumed that his act was directly linked to the imminent rise to power of National Socialism.’ Erich Salomon has been recognised as a victim of Nazism by Yad Vashem, a fact also noted on the website of the German Federal Archives (Bundesarchiv [101]). Readers may be surprised to see the date of his suicide included in the chronology of Nazism: Hitler had not yet become Chancellor, and the Nuremberg Laws still seemed a long way off. But thanks to Nina, we can confirm that Erich Salomon was the target of anti-Semitic harassment, and that for this reason he had reason to fear the worst:

‘[Erich Salomon] was a partner in a law firm. And he was constantly receiving anonymous letters calling him a “dirty Jew”. He couldn’t bear these anonymous letters and took his own life.’ (Nina)

Erich Salomon had explained his situation – the anti-Semitic letters, his fear of no longer being able to practise his profession – to his niece Ilse. She was close to her uncle, as evidenced by his attendance at her wedding [102]. When Ilse was preparing to welcome her mother to Neuilly, she offered to put her uncle up as well, thereby helping him to seek refuge in France: ‘My parents had even offered to let him stay with them in Neuilly. In the end, he didn’t take them up on it.’ (Nina)

On 9 January, Inga Salomon fled Germany; on 11 January, Erich Salomon took his own life. A cruel sequence of events: whilst some were preparing to start a new life, others were ending theirs. Perhaps this can be seen as a consequence of the Salomons’ deep-rooted ties to Lower Saxony – of an assimilation that went too far, in a sense: if, as Nina asserts, Erich Salomon chose suicide over emigration, it may be surmised that the conditions were not in place for him to envisage a life beyond the one he had built for himself as a lawyer in Brunswick.

For Ilse and Inga, the news of his suicide was a tragedy. But life went on. Having taken refuge in France, Inga soon had no choice but to rely financially on her family: shortly after the Nazis came to power, her widow’s pension was frozen (at first she could only access and spend it on condition that she travelled to Germany, then the pension was permanently withdrawn). Erich Radsack ran Rythmographie. Ilse regularly supported him in his work. The couple grew increasingly attached to France and Parisian life, whilst Inga looked after her granddaughter Nina in Neuilly [103]:

‘My grandmother stayed at home; she looked after me. That’s why I have such a bright, wonderful memory of my grandmother, because she looked after me so much. She was very gentle, very kind.’ (Nina)

Photo 3. Inga and Nina (c. 1934-1935)

Notes

The notes and bibliography are available in the full version of this research, which can be accessed below: