“I am now their father too”: the multi-layered meanings of family letters from the Jewish Maquis in France during the second world war

ABSTRACT This article highlights a specific type of ego-document, where the personal and institutional are deeply intertwined and can only be understood together. It analyses a collection of letters sent between the head of the Jewish Scouts in France, Robert Gamzon, and his wife and children in hiding during the Second World War. These letters held a dual purpose: to emotionally connect a family and to pass secret encoded details about maquis activity. Decoding the letters to reveal their true meaning, this article offers a vivid window into the daily life of the resistance and the ways that Jews experienced it.


Introduction
On 6th June 1944, Robert Gamzon, the leader of the Jewish Scouts of France (Éclaireurs Israélites de France, EIF), wrote a letter to his wife, Denise Gamzon (née Lévy), about a local underground scout group he had visited. The group was situated just across the Agout river in southern France from another team he had worked closely with already. When their leader had to move away, Gamzon assumed charge of this new group too. Writing to his wife, he explained this development in a code that not only helped obscure its true meaning from censors but, also, reflected his approach to scouting: 'I am now their father too'. 1 This article analyses a collection of letters sent between Robert Gamzon and his wife and children in hiding during the Second World War in France, now held in the archives of Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Center, in Israel. It shows the multilayered meanings of letters that held a dual purpose: to emotionally connect a family at a dangerous time and to pass secret details about maquis activity. The set of ten letters spans from May to July 1944, covering the time during which Gamzon transformed the EIF from a half-clandestine scouting and rescue organisation into a full maquis fighting force. They offer a vivid window into this transformation and the way that Gamzon experienced it, conveying not only the ways that Jews responded to persecution but, also, the emotional and physical toll that it took upon them. As this quote shows, for Gamzon, scouting was a deeply personal endeavour in which he viewed his fellow members like family. This emotion represents a broader theme within his letters, which enables us to understand the human being at the centre of an often-heroicized narrative of the resistance. Yet the quote also reveals the coded language that he used to convey secret information, employing the innocuous terminology of family and scouting to hide details about resistance. As a result, when censors opened the letters, their true meaning was at less risk of being understood. Reading the letters now -and seeking to decode the messages that Gamzon was in fact sending -reveals a meaningful code, developed so that it could be understood only by someone who knew his way of thinking.

Decoding Gamzon's letters
When Gamzon came to write these letters in mid-1944, the Vichy government -as with other governments across wartime Europe -had established a system of postal censorship to monitor letter communication. As a result, disseminating information about resistance groups became increasingly difficult, with letter writers and receivers running the risk of being identified and arrested. One solution to this was to turn to couriers, physically sending members of the group to travel across the country and deliver messages. This was the case with the well-known courier Gisi Fleischmann, who carried messages and coordinated Zionist rescue efforts in Eastern Europe. 2 Indeed, across the continent, women were often drafted as couriers for underground organisations, perceived as being less visibly Jewish (non-circumcised) and often more assimilated into the local culture and language as a result of the gendered nature of their Jewish upbringing. 3 In France, Gamzon's EIF also used couriers, sending young women across the country with letters, documents, and information. 4 While this was effective, it also took time, relied on volunteers, and involved a significant risk. Another option for communicating was to employ a code that could pass through the censors without being detected. This is the type of communication visible in many of these letters, written and phrased in a way that would be perceived by censors as harmless, while conveying the true meaning to those within the organisation. A large part of the letters in the Yad Vashem file were sent like this, although some were sent with couriers when this was possible. 5 Gamzon's letters thus represent a code which must be cracked. The type of code employed here is specific and appears specially chosen for the circumstances. Cryptography has a long and varied history, outlined well by American author Katherine Ellison as stretching from ancient hidden writings by Virgil, through cryptographic Viking texts, and medieval cipher systems. 6 Within this history, Gamzon's writing is a form of coded language, where words take on different meanings, as opposed to a cipher, where an algorithmic rule is applied to decode a hidden message. Ellison criticises coded language as being 'less secure than ciphers because interpretation depends on a physically existing codebook that can be intercepted or found'. 7 It is, however, the simplicity of Gamzon's code that made it effective. While a string of scrambled letters or numbers -the result of a cipher -would have been more secure, it would have also been more obvious as a code to the censors, putting its author and recipient at risk. By contrast, the coded language of these letters appears harmless and normal. In fact, the very words that Gamzon used -language connected to the scouting movement and families -enabled censors to relate to the content and believe it to be genuine. Reflecting on the code thus chimes with emerging work on the social history of cryptography. At the 2022 conference on Historical Cryptology, researcher Clément Poupard proposed a new methodology for analysing the easily broken codes that he termed 'mundane cryptography'. Poupard's approach was inspired by French cultural history, seeking to understand less the system of code and more the cultural meanings behind its construction, highlighting its potentiality for 'creating bonds' between those in a certain community through a shared coding effort. 8 A similar contribution from American academic Gerhard F. Straßer explored the type of encoded communication in a Turkish Harem. Straßer outlined how symbols -both verbal and non-verbal -that were 'obviously well known' in the culture made it possible to convey a certain meaning without specifically saying it directly. 9 This attention to the symbolism of what Poupard would term a 'mundane' code makes it possible to understand how such codes work. Much like those communicating in the Turkish Harem, the true meaning of the phrases that Gamzon used could only be understood by those on the inside. Historian Ann Goldberg explored a similar case to the Gamzon letters, outlining how coded language between family members could transmit 'forbidden information'. 10 This is the basis for the code breaking conducted in this article, which marshals contextual research on the EIF to illuminate the meaning of language.
Gamzon's codes were not the only example of coded language to be used in the French resistance. In fact, the BBC used similar -seemingly benign -phrases to communicate with resistance members and intelligence operatives through their Radio Londres station. Sentences such as 'the moon is full of green elephants' were broadcast into occupied France to convey hidden meanings, in a history that has been well researched and captured some public interest. 11 Similarly, French citizens who wrote to the BBC during the war often used pseudonyms to protect their identities, yet still feel connected to and contribute to a sense of a 'true France'. 12 Throughout the letters, Gamzon also uses pseudonyms -whose true identities are helpfully revealed in an explanatory note by Denise Gamzon, which accompanied the donation to the archive. The letters are, however, fundamentally different to the coded language employed by the BBC. While the Radio Londres phrases were often nonsensical, Gamzon's letters needed to make sense to both the censors and the recipients. As a result, he drew on the medium of the family letter and the content and history of the scouting movement to compose a letter with multiple meanings. This was aided by the fact that when writing, Gamzon himself had a dual motivation -both to communicate with his family and to pass information about the resistance. This provided not only a pretext for writing his letters, but a genuine one, which helped them fit into the expected content for the censors.

Gamzon's letters: a special type of ego-document
These letters are, therefore, a special type of ego-document. They contain all the characteristic elements of an ego-document: personal information that forms a self-narrative and thus enables us to understand their subjective experience and how they navigated their lives. 13 Yet they also contain hidden information about an institution -the maquis resistance. In this way, they act contrary to the traditional understanding of egodocuments, where historians sought to find in 'even the most unlikely letter . . . an autobiographical repository of the self'. 14 By reading Gamzon's coded writing on the maquis, instead of finding personal identity in institutional record, we can only understand the institutional history by using the personal narrative -the element which explains the cultural cues necessary to decode the hidden message about the institution. Because of this, the letters fit well with recent theoretical discussions on ego-documents that affirmed their ability to complicate the idea of genre, blurring boundaries while also forcing researchers to consider the variety of forms of 'self life writing' and their different roles and positions in society. 15 Gamzon's letters are neither wholly personal nor fully institutional, and these two components cannot be separated from one another. In fact, they can only be understood together. This genre-defying collection thus pushes us to recognise the entangled nature of Gamzon's work and life, and the way in which he consciously took advantage of this entanglement when constructing his letters.
As a result, Gamzon's life and the history of the EIF are crucial elements for understanding his letters. Indeed, one recent study went as far as to say that the history of the EIF was 'inextricably linked with the life of its founder'. 16 Robert Gamzon was born in Paris in 1905 and lived until 1961. In 1923, at the age of eighteen, he helped found the EIF. These Jewish Scouts formed part of the broader scouting movement in France, alongside religious denominational groups such as the Protestants and Catholics. 17 Unlike other Jewish youth movements in Europe which were overtly political, the EIF operated on the principle of the 'common minimum' of Franco-Judaism, seeking to attract young Jews from across the ideological spectrum. 18 They took part in traditional scouting activities of the time, bringing Jewish youth together in comradeship, shared experiences, and practices. 19 In 1930, Gamzon married Denise Lévy, a fellow scout leader, who herself had a major influence in the EIF. Together, they shaped and reformed the EIF both before and during the Second World War. These reforms began in the 1930s, as they developed a greater focus on the 'religious practice' element of the 'common minimum'. 20 The arrival in summer 1934 of figures such as Leo Cohn -who would later become the EIFs spiritual lead -helped mold the organization in this direction too. 21 In 1938, Gamzon reflected on how it was up to EIF members to 'create a Jewish spiritual and collective life', based on community and fraternal collaboration. 22 Because of this -as well as broader shifts in French Jewish thought -the EIF took on an increasingly Zionist philosophy on the eve of the Second World War. 23 When, after the invasion, Vichy authorities promoted a 'return to the land' policy for youth groups, encouraging manual work and agricultural skills, the EIF joined these efforts, partly because the tradition of hachsharot (agricultural training centers) in interwar Zionist youth movements across Europe made them ideologically familiar. 24 Indeed, Daniel Lee, a historian of the EIF, argued that the similarities in ideology between the EIF's agricultural and Vichy's 'return to the land' policies enabled the scouts to continue their work even under otherwise antisemitic Vichy rule. 25 At the outbreak of the Second World War, Gamzon was working as a Communications Officer in the French Army. The chaos that the German invasion caused to French society made scouting -along with many other normal daily activities -almost impossible and many EIF groups stopped meeting. After the fall of France, Gamzon worked to reestablish the EIF in the south of the country. As yet unoccupied by the Germans, southern France became a refuge for large numbers of Jews seeking to escape the invaders. In a policy similar to that of the hachsharot, both Denise and Robert Gamzon set up rural training camps for refugee Jewish youth to learn agricultural skills and reconnect with their Judaism. 26 As the war went on, the EIF was increasingly radicalised towards underground and resistance activities. 27 Throughout this time, they operated under the auspices of the sixth division (youth) of the Jewish Council, known as the General Union of Jews in France (Union Générale des Israélites de France, UGIF), established by the occupying forces to control the local Jewish population. Using this German-sanctioned organisation as a cover, the EIF developed a clandestine wing known as the 'Sixième' ('the sixth'). 28 While maintaining an official above-board presence, they forged identity papers, hid children, and smuggled them to safety in Spain and Switzerland. In January 1943, when occupation authorities ordered the EIF to disband, Gamzon moved them further underground, establishing a resistance movement in the southern Tarn mountainous area, in line with many other fighting groups, known as maquis, who used mountains to avoid capture. 29 At this point, Gamzon and his family went into hiding in the southern city of Castres, using false papers to conceal their Jewish identity. Later, in January 1944, fearing that they may be discovered, Gamzon moved his wife and children to Lamalou-les-Bains, a commune in the Hérault département in the Occitanie region in southern France. 30 As Gamzon's resistance work began to monopolise his time, he traveled across southern France, between Castres, Toulouse, and the Tarn mountains, working to coordinate different groups of resistance and Jewish youth in the area. 31 By June 1944, the EIF scouts had become a full fighting unit known as the Compagnie Marc Haguenau, named after one of their commanders who was killed in battle.
The collection letters between Gamzon and his wife chart the final step in this process. They begin on 21st May 1944, five months after the EIF moved from one of their training centers in Lautrec to a small farmhouse in the Tarn mountains. 32 When they first arrived, only 8 people lived there, although by early June this number had grown to 60. The letters cover the following two months, as the EIF Maquis achieved several milestones: taking on a new name, becoming part of the wider French Forces of the Interior resistance group, and receiving their first parachute drop of supplies from the allies. By the end of June, when the letters in this collection stop, the newly named Compagnie Marc Haguenau consisted of over 120 people. Just ten days after the last letter was written, on 7th August, they were involved in their first battle with German forces in the vicinity of the Lacaze commune, where seven of their members were killed. Today, their names are recorded on a hilltop monument. 33 The letters Gamzon sent to his family in hiding offer a window into his personal experience of these events, as he shared his feelings and emotions about his successes and failures. In doing so, they make it possible to recognise and understand the man at the centre of a story of persecution and resistance. These letters, however, are more than the personal correspondence of a wartime leader; they also acted as a means of secret communication about resistance activities. Recognising this dual-purpose changes how we understand the letters as ego-documents, as they form part of multiple historiographies -they are a document created not only for the individual but, also, for the institution and the resistance.

Gamzon's letters: A history of resistance
Because of this, analysing the letters' contribution to the historical narrative is deeply entwined with histories and perceptions of resistance during the Second World War. While the historiography on this topic is extensive and varied, its public perception has remained contested. 34 French memorial traditions in the 20th and 21st Century continue to have an impact on the way the past is understood and the framing of histories like that of Robert Gamzon. Reflecting on these traditions, French historian Serge Barcellini argued that in the late 20th Century there was a shift from perceiving citizens as heroes who made sacrifices for the nation to focusing on marginalized groups that were victims of the nation. 35 This trend, influenced by contemporary debates about French colonial history and events like the Algerian war, is mirrored in discourse on the memory of the Second World War. 36 As a result, the status of French wartime history as a 'Mémoire Désunie' [disunited memory], proposed by French historian Olivier Wieviorka, rings true. 37 In the immediate aftermath of the War, French President Charles DeGaulle sought to establish his legitimacy and secure himself against threat from Communism by promoting the foundation myth of 'resistancialism', claiming that it was the resistance that represented the 'real' France and had played a major role in the liberation of the country. 38 This was contested by Communists, who promoted a memory of their own resistance actions separate to that of the nation's. The contested nature of this memory continued for decades after the war -in fact, five laws were passed between 1945 and 1992 which sought to define the status of members of the resistance. 39 Both Robert and Denise Gamzon were themselves a part of this process, writing citations for resistance members they knew as part of post-war recognition efforts. 40 In the 1970s, as the Gaullist myth faded, it was replaced by a greater focus on Vichy and French collaboration, igniting fierce debates. Indeed, Belgian historian Pieter Lagrou has argued that it was the deportation of Jews and forced labourers -among others -under Vichy, rather than the resistance, that provided the founding myth for post-war France. 41 This reflects the broader shift towards a narrative of 'national martyrdom' in French memorial traditions. American historian Philip Nord analysed this with reference to the Holocaust, revealing how the 'martyred deportees'' 'incontestable moral authority' was 'coveted' by French political and religious elites. 42 In the academic world, similar debates came to the fore, as initial research was split in the binary of helplessness or conventional battlefield heroism. 43 In recent years, however, significant developments in the scholarly world have led to advances in thinking and recognition of nuance unparalleled in public discourse. Paul Bartrop and Samantha Lakin's work on Jewish women rescuers in France has explored the gendered experience of resistance, while Joanna Beata Michlic has pioneered recognizing the perspectives of Jewish children and teenagers. 44 Similarly, Robert Gildea's work has brought attention to the complexities of resistance in France, highlighting important transnational elements. 45 In a way, French historiography on this topic has outpaced the English-speaking world. Asher Cohen's work on Jewish rescue operations and Anny Latour's research on Jewish resistance provided early insights on the variety of Jewish responses to persecution, while Renée Poznanski's work remains unparalleled in terms of breadth and detail. 46 Perhaps most impressive is David Knout's 1947 work, providing one of the earliest histories of the Jewish resistance in France. In his book, Knout identified the smooth transition from scouting to resistance efforts, providing a more contextual perspective that recognised the roots of resistance rather than simply its nature. 47 Yet, while it is important to recognise this background, the change from scouting to resistance also had an impact on the lives and identities of Jewish scouts. Incorporating this into the historical narrative requires drawing on histories of identity and subjectivity, aspects that are only now emerging in historical research.
This article builds on the French and English language work on Jewish life in France during the Second World War, as well as the latest scholarship on social histories and those of identity. It seeks to return the gaze to a traditional 'hero' figure, but marshal the analytical power of social history, gender, and identity analysis to explore his life. In so doing, it becomes possible to understand the hidden meaning of Gamzon's letters, as well as the way he chose to encode his thoughts. It also reveals the special nature of such letters as documents that reflect both the institution and the individual.

Gamzon the man, husband, and father
On 30th June 1944, Robert Gamzon turned 39 years old. Surrounded by fellow scouts and living an underground existence after Jewish scouting was banned the previous year, they nonetheless celebrated his birthday with presents and joviality. When Gamzon wrote to his wife a few days later, he recalled the occasion and the gifts of clothes, a book, and a wristwatch he had received. 48 But, he also added a deeply personal note, one which stands out among his correspondence as particularly profound. 'It was', he said, 'since the beginning, the only evening where I felt the depression caused by your and the children's absence. I would have preferred to see fewer children, but my own'. 49 This reflection is a significant remark for Gamzon to have made, as at all other times he talks deeply and passionately about his connection with the scouts as if they were his own children. This single line in his letter therefore serves as a powerful reminder of how his private family life continued and remained something which meant a lot to him. This complicates the idea of the 'surrogate family', traditionally perceived as the 'camp sister' paradigm. 50 Social historian Natalia Aleksiun has effectively expanded the perception of such nonbiological family-esque solidarities through her study on Jews in hiding and the making of surrogate families, arguing that a variety of surrogate roles for men, women and children 'struggled to fill the emotional void and to provide pragmatic assistance' when biological family members were no longer able to do so. 51 Aleksiun's is an insightful perspective from which to consider the EIF. Gamzon's close relationship with the scouts -seen through the caring acts of birthday gift giving, spiritual community, among otherscould be viewed as such a surrogate family. Yet, his continued communication with his biological family via these letters complicates this, showing how Gamzon built and maintained strong and meaningful relationships with both biological and nonbiological 'family' structures. This duality changes how both relationships must be understood; it was the moment when his 'surrogate family' performed a distinctly caring actthat of celebrating his birthday -that accentuated his longing for his biological family. Perhaps precisely because of his continued connection to his biological family, therefore, his new non-biological community had the capacity to remind him of his losses as much as it did to help fill the void of their separation.
The significance that Gamzon held for his biological family appears throughout his letters, not just at the time of his birthday. Almost a month later, on 28th July, he wrote a long and rambling letter to his wife in which he spoke about the journeys members of the resistance were making, morale at the scout camp, news from both his and his wife's parents, and his thoughts on the future. Finding time to write a long letter is difficult; but I find the time for you and the kids and would like to know that you are all in good health as I don't always have that impression in your letters. 52 Gamzon's comment here about time is unsurprising -at this point, the EIF maquis was in full force and working closely with other resistance movements in the Tarn area of southern France, as part of the Armée Secret. 53 Reports from the EIF show that they were 'practicing intensive military and physical training' and received an air drop of arms and supplies, part of over 50,000 parachuted into France between July and September 1944. 54 For Gamzon, as for all members of the resistance in France, the summer of 1944 was a crucial time. His busyness is reflected in the form of his letters: a mix of snippets of information conveyed directly, and long rambling sentences that express the complexity and ever-changing nature of his life. The fact that, within all of this vital activity, Gamzon made special effort to 'find the time for you and the kids' shows how important his family was to him and suggests that writing was a way for him to feel like he was maintaining a connection to his family at a difficult time. The time taken to write letters is an important element that is often overlooked in historical analysis that focuses instead on the content and form of letters. Gamzon's specific mention of the time it took to write the letter reminds us of this and provides a good example of what historian Marian Kaplan termed the 'consuming and creative act of connection' through letter writing, which often 'took a great deal of time and commitment'. 55 As Gamzon struggled with the intensity of his work, managing relations between different resistance groups, and the loss of old friends arrested and deported, he nonetheless worked hard to maintain his family links in what was a profoundly meaningful act.
As well as giving an insight into Gamzon's own personality, priorities, and approach to life, the close attention that he paid to his family at this time of crisis also sheds light on the wider position of family and parenthood during the Holocaust. Scholars have long employed a familial framework for approaching the Holocaust: to understand communal structures and institutions, as part of gendered and feminist history, and for research into survival strategies. 56 Reading family in Gamzon's letters speaks to all three of these elements. Most significantly, however, his strong desire to 'know that you are all in good health' gives insight into how families approached parental responsibilities during the Holocaust. 57 His reflection that 'I don't always have that impression [of them doing well] in your letters' suggests that his desire is deep and sincere, rather than a quotidian platitude. Separated physically from his family and living an underground existenceboth as part of a persecuted group and as a resistance member -Gamzon had little if any ability to provide the traditional caring and protection roles of a father. Despite this powerlessness, Gamzon longed to know that his family were safe and comfortable. This echoes what Holocaust historian Dalia Ofer termed the 'unquestionable responsibilities' of parenthood, as the 'norms and expectations of parents were deeply implanted' in their minds and lives. 58 For Gamzon, continuing his role as a father even during the most intense time of his life was never in question, as it was a part of who he was as a person.
Recognising how his role as a husband and a father was central to his identity is yet another important part of humanising him, but also contributes further to our understanding of parenthood during the Holocaust. Here, it becomes possible to combine Kaplan and Ofer's perspectives; it was through the sense of connection provided by letter writing that Gamzon was able to practice his 'unquestionable responsibilities' as a father.
Gamzon's family was not, however, limited to his wife and his children. In two of his letters, he speaks about his mother and his concerns for her. This concern is understandable: in the notes supplied by Denise Gamzon to the Yad Vashem Archives, she describes how her mother-in-law was ill and 'practically powerless since the beginning of the war', housed in a home for the mentally unwell. 59 On 21st July, Gamzon wrote that 'Maman is well and in good form. She is alone and doesn't often have news'. 60 Seven days later, he reported that he had 'finally found her a crystal radio', so that she could know what was happening. 61 In the same letter, he also explained that 'Maman is still in Lyon and I will send someone to tell her that she can stay'. The insight that these letters cast on Gamzon's relationship with his mother demonstrates the broader family network that he sought to maintain. As an adult with an elderly mother, Gamzon again felt it his duty to care for her, in a reversed interpretation of Ofer's 'unquestionable responsibilities' of parenthood. But Gamzon's connection to his mother is not wholly one of providing material care. When Gamzon relays that his mother is 'well and in good form', we gain an insight into his emotional connection to her, where her welfare is of personal interest and importance to him. Here, we see a different application of Kaplan's interpretation of letters as enabling a connection between him and his mother. 62 Although not writing to his mother in these letters, we learn from them that he did receive information from her and that he was thinking about her at the time. By talking about her welfare in this way to his wife and children, Gamzon reconstructed in the letters an interaction that -in normal times -would have taken place in the family home. This is significant because, in a world where Gamzon is required to fulfil so many traditional masculine roles -including leading an underground resistance group and being a father figure for the scouts -recognising his connection to his mother presents an image of Gamzon as someone else's child and as the recipient of parental aid, rather than the giver of it. Much research on wartime masculinity and gender as a category of analysis for men focuses on communal and public sphere expressions of masculinity and its connections to power relations in society. 63 When we read ego-documents like Gamzon's letters, however, we journey into the private sphere. This is particularly the case for letters between a man and his wife, where the most intimate details are shared without fear of judgement and without needing to conform to a public perception of masculinity. In this space, we see Gamzon in his full humanity -as a man who needs his mother.
This extended family concern is mirrored with Denise, too. In three of the letters, Gamzon talks about her parents, paying close attention to where they are and if they are safe. On 5th July, he conveys the news that they have been denounced and arrested, saying 'I have heard some very worrying news from your parents who are suffering'. 64 Gamzon's choice to use the term 'suffering' here is another example of his coded language where, given the context of arrests and deportations, he could be confident that his wife would understand the term as relating to their arrest. He goes on to reassure her that he has sent Jeanine Cerf (a scout courier) to help them, writing 'I believe Jeanine has sufficient authority to do what is necessary'. 65 In the notes accompanying the letters, Denise Gamzon explains how after bribing the French paramilitary Milice to release them, Cerf changed their false identity papers and brought Denise's parents to Castres. 66 Once again, therefore, Gamzon's phrase 'do what is necessary' is revealed as referring to underground rescue activities. Gamzon continued to check in on his parents-in-law, writing in letters on 21st and 28th July that they were living in the Vabre area and that 'all seems well'. 67 The attention that Gamzon paid to his wife's family adds further detail to our understanding of him as a husband. Here, however, there is also a clear intersection between his resistance work and his family life. In trying to fulfil his familial duty of care, Gamzon draws on the means of the underground to provide his wife's parents with false papers and smuggle them to Castres. His actions here change how we understand both family bonds during the war and the operation of the resistance. In their book on Jewish and Romani families during the war, Eliyana Adler and Katerina Capková argued that 'even those who had very close relations to people outside the family prioritized rescuing their closest family members'. 68 Gamzon's use of the Jewish underground to help secure the freedom and safety of his parents-in-law is a prime example of this. As persecution threatened the life of loved ones, family bonds took on new meaning where any action could have lifesaving consequences. Simultaneously, the individuals at the heart of resistance movements were motivated by their own personal desires to save themselves and their loved ones. As a result, it is crucial to recognise resistance as a human-led organisation, influenced as much by personal emotions as they were by political, national, and religious concerns.
Sending Cerf to help his wife's family shows more than Robert Gamzon's family priorities. It also hints at Denise Gamzon's role within the EIF. It is a little-known fact that it was Denise Gamzon herself who established the first houses to receive EIF children evacuated from urban centres in September 1939, setting up homes in the southern French localities of Villefranche-de-Rouergue, Saint-Affrique, Saint-Céré, Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne, and Moissac. 69 After Robert Gamzon established the Lautrec centre, Denise Gamzon maintained a major position in the movement: it was she who directed all operations at the homes when her husband was away, as was often the case. 70 It is important, therefore, to view her as an active member of the EIF underground in her own right. Recognising this changes the way we think about the letters as ego-documentschallenging their traditional focus on the author by highlighting the recipient's active stance too. In this way, Gamzon's writing takes on a new significance, as someone writing to another person also heavily involved in his work.
Indeed, the letters show the close connection Gamzon had with his wife. Above all, he treated her as a confidant, expressing his anxieties and uncertainties as well as his pride and triumph at a time when the institutions he worked for and led were developing from scouting to resistance. 71 On 10th June, for example, he wrote about how he was unsure which groups he should be in charge of and complained about some of the other leaders in the area. 72 Conversely, just twelve days later he was full of praise for other key figures in the movement and how well they got on with the scouts. 73 Despite this success, in the same letter he commented how he felt uncomfortable, saying 'it is a bit too beautiful for something so hard'. 74 Gamzon's unease is understandable, occupying as he did a senior role in an underground movement in the closing years of the Second World War. In the weeks after the D-Day landings on 6th June, Gamzon wrote these words at a time when resistance activity became more intense. These specific letters date to shortly after the EIF changed their name to the Compagnie Marc Haguenau in memory of one of their fallen members and just days before they received their first parachute drop of supplies and ammunition from the Allies, on 25th June. 75 They represent, therefore, a time of great uncertainty and heightened activity. His letters served as an outlet for this anxiety, reemphasising the importance of family bonds at a time of great stress. In this way, the letters take a form of familial support and aid, just as if they had been talking together in the same physical space. This recreation of the physical space of the family home as a place for discussion and the sharing of emotions in the letters thus emerges as a key theme of Gamzon's letters, one that enabled him to build a sense of connection even during a trying time.
'It was the first time in several years that I had two hours of peaceful work', Gamzon reflected in a letter on 21st May. 76 Writing from his room in Castres, near the southern French city of Toulouse, Gamzon tells her of the busyness and intensity of his work. By May 1944, the EIF had undergone several reconfigurations, becoming increasingly clandestine and oriented towards resistance. The toll that this took on his personal wellbeing is brought into sharp focus in his letter of 21st May, where he explains that these two hours were interrupted by news that a close friend of his, Leo Cohn, had been arrested. A pre-war immigrant from Germany, Cohn had become the spiritual leader of the EIF and worked closely with Gamzon at their rural training camp in Lautrec, where he led the scout choir and religious services. 77 Earlier in May 1944, Cohn had succeeded in smuggling his own wife and three children into Switzerland, where they survived the war. 78 He himself, however, was arrested on 17th May while attempting to smuggle another group of children to safety. He was taken to the Drancy internment camp from whence he was later deported to his death in Auschwitz on convoy number 77 on 31st July 1944. 79 Cohn's arrest was the latest in a string of arrests and deportations that decimated the EIF throughout the latter part of the war. When Gamzon told his wife the news of Cohn's arrest, he did so in a code, referring to a friend of his, Dr Sigismond Hirsch, who had earlier been arrested, sent to Drancy, and deported to Auschwitz on the 62nd convoy on 20th November 1943. 80 '. This heart-breaking line tells of the immense loss and emotional trauma as Gamzon lost yet another close friend, while also thinking of the wider community who knew him and how they might react. The uncertainty that he expresses when talking to his wife reveals the internal struggle between his personal emotions and his thinking of others that so characterised his resistance activities. Its juxtaposition in his letter next to a line about the first peaceful work he achieved in years accentuates the ever-changing and challenging environment that so characterised Gamzon's wartime life. Expressing this rollercoaster of emotion to his wife, our window into how he felt at the time, is arguably best summarised by the last line in this letter: 'the nature is so beautiful, but the people are so stupid'.
Given this ever-present contradiction, it is unsurprising that Gamzon's letters are plagued with anxiety. In his letter on 22nd June, he wrote that 'at night I go to bed exhausted with a sane tiredness and deep down I am well, but I do not risk becoming too intelligent'. 81 In another, he told of the 'tiring' and sometimes 'demoralising' work of the underground. 82 His tiredness is understandable -these were crucial months for the EIF Maquis and for Gamzon himself, as he transformed the scouts into a force for resistance and sought to carve a place for his specifically Jewish group within the wider French resistance. This involved growing the size of his group in the Tarn mountains, training them, and receiving 15 containers of 200 kg worth of supplies from the allies, as well as liaising with other resistance groups in the area. 83 The intensity of this work was allconsuming: 'The present action totally absorbs me', Gamzon reflected on 28th July. 84 Gamzon's emotional responses here show the impact that his work had on him personally. As a human being at the centre of so much activity, Gamzon suffered from the stress and anxiety that it brought. Constantly questioning himself and fearing that things would go wrong, his wariness to not be 'too intelligent' was echoed by his fears that, when things were going well, 'it's maybe too good to be true'. 85 Throughout his letters, these mixed feelings portray a man constantly on the edge: proud of his achievements, but aware of the dangers. The one thing that he held certain was that 'the hardest bit is yet to come'. 86 On 11th June, the EIF Maquis officially took on a new name: the Compagnie Marc Haguenau. 87 In so doing, they honoured one of their fallen members, Marc Haguenau, a veteran of the Moissac children's home who had helped place children into hiding and who was shot dead while trying to escape arrest by the Gestapo on 18th February 1944 in Grenoble. 88 Telling his wife about their new name, Gamzon wrote that 'I thought that would please him to be with us in name'. 89 The naming of the group -and Gamzon's poignant comment about it -show a particularly emotional and deeply personal side of the EIF Maquis, rooted in their comradeship to each other. Gamzon is revealed to be emotionally invested in the group, generating a connection with his dead comrade through the new name of their movement. When he wrote this comment to his wife, he prefaced it with a question: 'did I tell you that the colony is called "Marc Haguenau"?' This phrasing, with no other information about the group or Haguenau, suggests that she would understand the reasons behind the naming. Haguenau was no doubt a man that she also knew well, a man whose death would have been a great loss to them both, and whose memory was now to be immortalised. By reading these letters, we therefore gain a window into Gamzon's personal emotions as he presented them, both consciously and unconsciously, to the person who knew him the most and who -being herself involved in the work -could understand him. When we think of a hero of the resistance, we do not often imagine a figure plagued with uncertainty and even sometimes depression. Yet we should, because recognising this shows us the individual and the human existence at the centre of a narrative of heroism; it rehumanises a figure otherwise turned into myth; and it makes it possible to understand how Gamzon's actions influenced his life and how he experienced the war himself.

Gamzon the resistance fighter
Although the letters clearly held a significant role as the link between husband and wife, they also held a second purpose, as a means of communication about underground activities. This enables us to learn about how the EIF resistance operated and how Gamzon as its leader perceived of its work. Gamzon's central role comes through in many of his letters where he describes how he directed scouts to go on missions and recounts the activities of others under his command. On 22nd June, he wrote that in order to hear news about what had happened to Leo Cohn he had 'sent Sancho [whose real name was Elsa Baron], she is an old EI [Jewish Scout] from Strasbourg and is active and resourceful . . . I await impatiently her return for news'. 90 Women were often used by underground movements across Europe as couriers, largely because they were perceived as being less easily identifiable as Jewish. 91 The EIF Maquis was no exception. Gamzon established a group of 'courier girls' led by a former scout, Liliane Schwab-Marx, referred to in his letters as 'Liliane and her sisters'. 92 That we see this gendering in the letters to his wife reveals the integral role female couriers played in the work of the EIF underground. When Gamzon speaks of them, he is waiting 'impatiently'; they are the lifeblood of the organisation as they provide the intelligence and information vital to its success. In this way, the letters show us not only how central Gamzon was to the EIF activities but, also, how the EIF operated as an underground organisation in a gendered way, and its similarities with others across Europe in this respect.
While the EIF Maquis viewed couriering as a female-gendered activity, Gamzon 'directed' men and teenage boys in the EIF to participate in the combative activity of the maquis. 93 In his letter on 22nd June, Gamzon describes a visit from an unnamed 'extraordinary PE instructor' from one of the other resistance groups, who taught them 'new methods' to 'develop our kids physically and mentally'. 94 Denise Gamzon explained in the notes accompanying the letters that, when Gamzon wrote this, he was talking about training in 'close combat and how to kill the enemy bare handed without arms'. 95 Indeed, EIF reports show that, between June and August 1944, the EIF Maquis received several visits from members of other resistance groups 'from whom we profited from their hard and long experience'. 96 Understanding Gamzon's true meaning in the letters when he talks about their activities thus reveals the combat preparation that took place in the EIF maquis camps and its distinctly gendered nature. Considering this training, it is unsurprising that, when three supply parachutes landed just before 5th July, Gamzon told of how they 'created a sensation and the kids got carried away'. 97 Gamzon's account of the EIF maquis -from his letters, wartime EIF reports, and post-war citations -reveals a distinctly masculine community.
Indeed, while some women did take part in armed resistance, it was largely perceived as a masculine endeavor. 98 Maddy Carey proposed that armed resistance offered Jewish victims of dehumanizing and emasculating persecution a chance to 'reassert their normative masculinities'. 99 When turning towards armed combat, young Jews enacted longheld perceptions of masculinity stemming from gendered ideas of protection, fearlessness and honor, which were present in public discourse both before and during the war as the 'quintessential traits of manhood'. 100 Through his discourse about them, and their own actions, EIF members visibly performed these gendered perceptions of manhood as they built the EIF into a maquis force.
As well as highlighting the gendered dynamics of the group, preparation for combat reveals another significant element of the EIF maquis -its connectivity to other resistance groups in France and the allied war effort more broadly. The visit of the unnamed 'PE instructor' shows how groups could work together to train each other in the new skills that their members needed to learn. In addition to this, their receipt of supplies in parachute drops reveals connections to the allied forces. But these links ran deeper still. Throughout his letters, Gamzon refers to other resistance groups through their leaders, exposing an extensive web of resistance groups across the French countryside. In his letter on 7th July, Gamzon speaks briefly about one of these, referred to as the group 'Armand's children'. He explains how they have 'some new amazing and relatively advanced projects', and that if 'all goes well, it might one day be a big thing'. 101 Here, Gamzon is referring to a project that the Jewish resistance was working on to attempt to carry out sabotage and fly two delegates to London -a project that failed when they were betrayed, arrested, and deported from Drancy to Auschwitz in August 1944. 102 Despite the failure of the mission, their attempts show how resistance groups were not limited to their immediate local surroundings, but worked as part of a wider network. Recognising the plurality of resistance groups is important because it complicates the otherwise simplistic perception of an 'archetypal French resistant'. 103 A variety of maquis groups operated in the mountains of southern France, a location that was perceived as safer than towns and cities because of its isolation. 104 This history of the maquis and the Free French forces is well established, yet their memory has often been conflated together and lacks nuance, with new social histories only developing in the past two decades. 105 For example, the hilltop monument that marks the location where seven members of the Compagnie Marc Haguenau were killed in battle does not recognize the group, but merely refers to the Corps Francs de la Libération (French Liberation Corps, CFL), an 'umbrella level' created in May 1944 to unify Gaullist resistance groups. 106 Although the Compagnie Marc Haguenau was a part of the CFL, amalgamating the actions of individuals like Gamzon into a broader narrative of French resistance is problematic as it disregards their own subjectivities. Indeed, rejecting national-centered narratives, Gildea argued that 'it may be more accurate to talk less about French Resistance than about resistance in France'. 107 By indicating the place of the EIF maquis within this broader picture of resistance, Gamzon's letters highlight the diversity of resistance and its specifically Jewish elements.
Communicating between these groups, however, was not easy. As has been seen, Gamzon employed coded language to convey news about the resistance which needed to remain secret. Instead of choosing random words to obscure his meaning, however, Gamzon's coded language expressed his approach to scouting and the resistance, as he constructed a meaningful code. Building on Clément Poupard's methodology of a cultural history approach to cryptography, recognising the meaningful nature of this code helps not only to understand its true message but, also, Gamzon's perspective. 108 Building on the medium of the family letter, Gamzon employed family terms to refer to maquis groups. On 27-28th May, he told of how he had met one underground group in Toulouse, writing in his letter that he had met 'Roger's children' and that 'the atmosphere of this family is remarkable'. 109 Similarly, on 6th June, he used the term 'Armand's children' to refer to another group in the area. 110 On 10th June, he reported how he had worked hard to arrange a chain of command that kept familiar people together, saying: 'that way we stay as a family'. 111 This code tells us much about how he approached the resistance. As a scout leader, Gamzon had a close connection to the youth. For him, scouting was a family affair: something he led with his wife, that they were both passionate about, and which was deeply engrained in both of their personalities. 112 Remarking on her husband's nature in a 2006 interview, Denise Gamzon spoke of how he 'loved young people' and 'had a charm on them'. 113 His 1938 reflections, quoted earlier, about creating a 'Jewish spiritual and collective life', also reflect the intensity of his approach to the Jewish scouts. 114 Indeed, psychologist Nathalie Zaide argued that when the EIF transformed into a rescue and resistance organization, they perceived their survival as both physical and cultural. 'For them', Zadie described, 'losing one's soul was as grave as losing one's life'. 115 This ideological and cultural intensity led to strong bonds of solidarity across the EIF, echoing the discussions around 'surrogate families' mentioned earlier. 116 The familial tone of the letters thus chimes with Gamzon's impassioned approach to scouting and the maquis. When he used the phrase 'my children' to refer to maquis members, Gamzon showed the profound connection he had with his comrades. Similarly, when Gamzon stated simply in a letter on 5th July, 'it is a family', he went beyond what was required to encode the message. 117 This statement offered no new information in the letter -it is already clear that he is referring to a resistance group, one that he has, in fact, spoken about in more detail already. Instead, this line offers a glimpse into the way that the code was profoundly meaningful for him. The family words employed to communicate news about the resistance were, therefore, more than a code to convey information, they also expressed Gamzon's relationship with the maquis. Because of this, they hold a dual function, both as egodocuments describing Gamzon's personal experience and as sources that explain how the resistance functioned and what it meant for those involved.
As well as employing the medium of the family letter, Gamzon continued to use child and scout terms which, for members of the EIF maquis, had attained a new meaning in their underground existence. On 7th July, Gamzon explained how they welcomed new members of the EIF maquis who joined them as refugees from towns that had been bombed: 'So that our kids . . . may have some clothes, we have given them some pretty uniforms. They look nice. They also have some toys'. 118 This seemingly innocuous passage that, on the surface, speaks of looking after children, in fact referred to equipping new recruits as an armed force within the EIF maquis -with uniforms and guns. In the context of the maquis, something that only Denise Gamzon as the knowledgeable recipient would have known, the true meaning of 'pretty uniforms' and 'toys' become apparent. Similarly, in his letter on 28th July, Gamzon paints a vivid picture of 'all the kids in a circle singing in the night with their scout baton, pretty batons very ornate'. 119 In her notes accompanying the letters, Denise Gamzon revealed that in this situation, the term 'scout baton' was another pseudonym for a gun. By choosing familiar and everyday terms that fit without suspicion in a family letter, Gamzon was able to write about the underground activities of his resistance group, even when his letters were subjected to official censorship. Gamzon used these terms safe in the knowledge that his wife would understand their true meaning, given her extensive background and involvement in the EIF maquis herself. For EIF members taking part in resistance, these seemingly normal terms assumed new significance. Their underground activity imbued these words with new meanings, enabling them to be used for communication.
This transformation of language also reflects the wider change that the EIF underwent during the war -and especially during the period covered by these letters. By paying close attention to the words used in the letters, they convey the long history of the EIF as a movement that transitioned organically from scouting to resistance during the war. In several of the letters, Gamzon often refers to the children's 'summer camps' that they organised before and at the beginning of the war as training centers for Jewish youth during their school holidays. 120 These were similar in content to centers organised by many other Jewish youth groups across interwar Europe, according to the tradition known as hachsharah. 121 By summer 1944, however, the EIF establishments were no longer holiday camps, but centres of resistance and rescue. Although using this term was certainly part of the coded language Gamzon used to refer to the resistance, its continued use is also reflective of his broader approach to the underground as something that developed naturally from pre-war scouting. The double meaning for the term 'scout baton' also reveals this continuation of terminology from a pre-war scouting tradition. Using the same terminology was not just a method of masking their activities, but a nod to their roots and to their core identity as scouting members. It was, after all, scoutingnot resistance -which united the members of the EIF maquis.
This continuation of individuals, as well as terminology, also reveals the long trajectory of the EIF's natural transition from a scouting movement to an armed resistance group. Gamzon's reliance on figures such as the courier Elsa Baron, a former scout who worked under the codename 'Sancho', as well as the preponderance of scout leaders within the higher echelons of his maquis group, further attests to this fact. In his letter on 22nd June, when Gamzon reported on the 'PE instructor', he stated that 'he is also an old scout leader'. 122 In fact, the number of people who were involved in the Jewish resistance that had links to the scouting movement led Gamzon to summarise in this letter that 'old scouts train everyone'. Both Robert and Denise Gamzon were aware of this trajectory; in her video interview, Denise Gamzon explained how the EIF was 'reorganised' towards clandestine work during the war. 123 Similarly, when describing the life of another EIF scout turned resistant, she dubbed his transition as coming 'completely naturally'. 124 Another member of the EIF maquis commented that Gamzon perceived EIF maquis camps as 'clandestine rural centers' with an added combat element. 125 As well as being recognised by participants at the time, this has been noted in some of the historiography: from David Knout's statement that the EIF began a 'period of clandestinity' to Renee Poznanski's argument for a more general natural development towards resistance. 126 The important place of scouts in the EIF maquis is unsurprising given the institution's history: instead of being formed as a resistance group in response to the German invasion and occupation, the EIF maquis was the culmination of a metamorphosis that adapted in response to persecution across the years of the war. Pre-and early-war solidarities between members of the scouting movement were not forgotten but bolstered when the time came for resistance. This echoes historian Erin Corber's research on Jewish solidarities in interwar and wartime Strasbourg. Corber argued that by uniting in a physical space, Jewish youth could 'produce novel communal expressions and configurations' as a 'concrete expression of a vibrant Jewish life'. 127 For Corber, this interwar organisation explained how rescue and resistance networks in Southern France were so effective. Given the plethora of pre-war terminology and people that Gamzon refers to in the letters, such a long-term perspective appears fundamental to understanding the Jewish resistance.
Gamzon's letters, as ego-documents with their duality of purpose, thus offer a powerful insight into the reality of the EIF maquis. This was a movement entrenched in its own preexisting ideology and networks, which changed as it needed to during the wartime period. Because of its origins in scouting, the EIF maquis viewed itself as a family, with Gamzon fulfilling a paternal role over his 'children'. The coded language that Gamzon used to communicate news about the group was a meaningful one, which reflected his philosophy about the Jewish Scouts. Because of this, his personal ethos and the work of the group cannot be separated, as they were deeply intertwined and fed off each other. Reading the institution through the personal thus moves us towards a better understanding of how the Jewish scout maquis was constructed, recognising the long-term trajectory from scout to maquis and the intimate nature of the group.

Conclusion
These letters are, therefore, a special type of ego-document. They show us how Gamzon's personal experiences and the work of the Jewish Scouts were deeply intertwined and inseparable from each other. As with ego-documents in general, the letters are imbued at every level with Gamzon's individual personality and offer a highly unusual insight into the humanity of the man behind a heroic tale of resistance and rescue. Simultaneously, however, they have a clear institutional function, conveying the latest news about the Jewish Scouts and the war, as well as reflecting the institutional structure and modus operandi of the underground. Consequently, they contribute to multiple historiographies, telling us something about resistance, Judaism, youth, and gender in general as well as the specific history of Robert Gamzon, his emotions, and his life experiences. It is in this duality that they are most powerful.
Because of this duality, the letters change how we must think about ego-documents in historical research. Going against the grain of traditional approaches to ego-documents, these letters force us to recognize how the personal and individual can reveal the history of the institutional. By breaking down the barriers between research on these two strands, it becomes possible to integrate their histories and show how they impacted each other. It is, after all, a group of individuals who make up an institution. This collection of letters details the roles that these individuals had within their organization and the norms and ideals that governed them. The correspondence also reveals the deeply meaningful connections between members of the EIF both before and during their involvement with the Jewish resistance. Such a connection was rooted in common beliefs and experiences as members of the Jewish scouting movement and often dated to before the scouts' entry into resistance activity. The letters show this long-term trajectory through their form as much as their content. The appropriation of scouting terms for secret underground activities created a meaningful code that could be understood only by those involved in the scouting movement. On a practical level, using these terms helped keep their communication hidden from the censors. For this purpose, however, any random code word would have sufficed. Instead, Gamzon chose words that related to the scouting movement, giving an insight into how he interpreted their activities and the meaning behind them. For him, the EIFs work in the resistance was a natural continuation of pre-war scouting solidarities. The letters Gamzon wrote to his wife and children in hiding convey these central elements of the EIFs institutional history. To read the personal in the letters is, therefore, to read the institutional, as Gamzon led a resistance movement that was born from an organization close to his heart. When Gamzon wrote to his wife, he did so with a frankness and an honesty unsurprising for letters between a husband and wife. This honesty allows us to understand his own experiences at an intimate and personal level. As a result, the letters challenge traditional histories of the EIF and Jewish resistance in France more broadly, instead forming a part of developing research on the personal lives, emotions, and feelings of those who partook in resistance. As ego-documents reflecting the innermost thoughts of a resistance leader at the height of his influence, the letters contribute immensely to this history. Gamzon's strong connection to his family and concern for them, even at times of great crisis at his work, provide a powerful reminder that despite his work as a resistance leader, he remained a husband and a father. The centrality of these roles to his identity reveals how ideas of masculinity, parental responsibility, and family ties were reformed by the wartime situation, but continued to hold great relevance. Recognising this personal side of his life builds a more thorough and accurate picture of the people involved in Jewish resistance. The letters go deeper into this, portraying the emotions that Gamzon felt while working in the EIF Maquis. Punctuated by expressions of uncertainty and doubt, the letters convey the anxiety that gripped Gamzon as he led the EIFs transformation into a fighting resistance force. Questioning himself and his actions, constantly fearing failure, and mutedly and cautiously celebrating his successes, Gamzon's writings show the emotional impact of resistance activity and of the persecution that Jews faced during the Holocaust. These personal elements of his experience of the war reveal the humanity of the man at the center of a resistance history.
The collection of letters that Gamzon sent to his wife and children in hiding thus defy traditional perceptions of ego-documents. Instead of finding details of a personal history in an institutional record or being a solely individual source such as a diary or autobiography, the letters transcend the gap between individual and institutional. They show how the two are intertwined and how -for the EIF maquis -the institutional can only be understood with the context of the personal. Because of this entanglement, they provide an insight into different elements of Gamzon's and the Jewish scouts' identities at a time of crisis. From each of these perspectives, the letters tell a story that is connected to another and furthers our understanding of it. Only when viewed together does a clearer picture of Jewish life under occupation appear, revealing the interrelations between Jewish scouts' personal identities and their work in the resistance.