If you go on the internet and try to research the relationship between the Nazi State and religion you will get opinions that are all over the board.  Some people are still angry about what they view as the collaboration between church and state in Nazi Germany and its occupied territories.  Others are equally adamant about the Church’s opposition to the Nazis.

            In 1933, almost all of the 60 million people living in Germany were Christian.  About 20 million people belonged to the Roman Catholic Church.  Protestant churches had about 40 million members, most of them members of the German Evangelical Church, an association of 28 regional churches that that included Lutheran, Reformed, and United Protestant churches.   Smaller so-called "free" Protestant churches, such as Methodist and Baptist churches also existed, as well as a small representation of Mormon, Jehovah Witness and Seventh Day Adventist Churches.  Less than 1% of the total population of the country was Jewish. 

            It’s pretty clear that, at least at first, many Protestants welcomed the rise of Nazism and were willing to cooperate with it.  They believed the Nazi Party affirmed traditional morals and family values and would protect them from communism.  The German Evangelical Church, which had long considered itself to be one of the pillars of German culture and society, espoused a theologically grounded tradition of loyalty to the state.  By the 1930s, a movement within the German Evangelical Church called the Deutsche Christen, or "German Christians" embraced many of the nationalistic and racial aspects of Nazi ideology.   It should come as no surprise, then, that many were persuaded by the statement on “positive Christianity” in Article 24 of the 1920 Nazi Party Platform that the Nazis believed in freedom of religion:

"We demand the freedom of all religious confessions in the state, insofar as they do not jeopardize the state's existence or conflict with the manners and moral sentiments of the Germanic race. The Party as such upholds the point of view of a positive Christianity without tying itself confessionally to any one confession. It combats the Jewish-materialistic spirit at home and abroad and is convinced that a permanent recovery of our people can only be achieved from within on the basis of the common good before individual good."

Once the Nazis came to power, the German Evangelical Church began to change.  In 1936 it was renamed the National Reich Church.  A member of the Nazi party was elected as its Bishop and non-Aryan ministers were suspended.   Church members were said to have "the Swastika on their chest and the Cross in their heart."

One of the Nazi Government’s most effective ways of corrupting religion was through the indoctrination of children.  All children had grown up with the Hitler Youth Movement, which had been created in the 1920's and by 1936 boasted 4 million members, boys and girls ages 10 through 18.  At first, attendance was voluntary.  However, Hitler Youth Meetings were held on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings, times which interfered with most church activities, so children had to choose, a circumstance explored in Michael Terrell’s based-on-real-life novel Brothers in Valor.  Later, attendance in the Youth Movement became compulsory and competing activities, such as Boy Scouts and church-based programs, became illegal.  Children indoctrinated by the Nazi education program and Hitler Youth were encouraged to inform their teachers if their parents, priests or pastors made disparaging comments about Hitler.         

Not everyone in Germany was happy to let the Nazis have so much control of religion. The Kreisau Circle, a group of churchmen, scholars and politicians, was one of the most famous groups to oppose Hitler. Rather than plan active resistance against the Nazi government, the Kreisau Circle planned for Germany’s future. When the Gestapo learned of the organization and rounded up and executed its members.

There was also dissent within the National Reich Church.   In 1934 Martin Niemöller convinced 6,000 of the 8,000 ministers in the National Reich Church to split off and form The Confessing Church.  Its founding document, the Barmen Confession of Faith, declared that the church's allegiance was to God and scripture, not a worldly Führer. The Nazis reacted strongly to this challenge.  Niemöller himself was arrested in 1937 and sent to Dachau, then Sachsenhausen.  He wasn’t released until 1945.  Around 800 other ministers were arrested and sent to concentration camps.  

The leaders of the Catholic Church were initially more suspicious of Nazism than their Protestant counterparts. Rabid anti-Catholicism of figures such as Alfred Rosenberg, a leading Nazi ideologue during the Nazi rise to power, raised early concerns among Catholic leaders in Germany and at the Vatican. Some bishops even prohibited their parishioners from joining the Nazi Party.  However, in 1933 Hitler signed an accord with the Pope in which he promised full religious freedom for the Church, which he described as the “foundation” for German values.  The Pope responded by promising that he wouldn’t interfere in political matters.  Soon after, the Nazis began closing Catholic churches and monasteries.  Like the Boy Scouts, the Catholic Youth Organization was abolished. Around 700 priests were arrested and sent to the concentration camps for what the government called “oppositional activities”.

Other, smaller churches suffered under Nazi persecution as well.  The Mormons were forced to give up their extensive youth programs and were monitored for anti-German sentiments because of their connections with America.  About one-third of Jehovah Witnesses were killed in concentration camps because their pacifist stand made them refuse to serve in the German army.  The Salvation Army, The Christian Saints and The Seventh Day Adventist Church disappeared from Germany during the Nazi regime.

The battle between church and state was not only fought in Germany.  Once its forces were defeated, France also fell under the influence of the Nazi Party.  It was divided into two zones, one of which was occupied by the German army.  The Vichy Government, which was sympathetic to the German cause, controlled the other half of France.  Its leader, an aging World War I hero named General Petain, who declared that he had a moral necessity to free France from decadence and corruption.  With sanctions from the Catholic Church and the Nazi Party, he purged the political Left and demoted Jews, communists and Freemasons to second class citizens and enemies of the state.  As in Germany, his task was made easier by the indoctrination of the young in schools and social programs.  By 1942, internment camps throughout France were filled with Jews and others considered to be morally subversive to French culture.

The Nazi State used religion in its war for the hearts and minds of the German people and the world.  They created a church that was racist and anti-Semitic, and they persecuted anyone who chose to defy or deny their vision.  And yet, through all the persecution, people of conscience representing every denomination strived to rescue Jews and other groups which the Nazi state considered undesirable.  In both Germany and France there were individuals who fought, either openly or quietly, to countermand the government and its policies. God bless those people, and those who continue to fight for truth and love amid the chaos of politics and prejudice. 

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The Bohnhoff boys laughingly refer to family vacations as death marches.  We routinely try to pack too many adventures into too little time.  Frequently we don't plan adequately for little things like eating and sleeping.

I researched the story known as Code: Elephants on the Moon while on one such vacation with my family in the summer of 2005.  Our plan was to take an overnight flight to Paris, spend one night sleeping and getting over jet lag, then take a train to Caen, and a bus to Ouistreham where we would pick up the bikes I had reserved over the internet, then ride 12 miles to Amblie, a little Norman village where we had rented a house for the week.  While exhausting, this plan seemed doable.  We packed lightly in suitcases that converted to backpacks and headed out with high hopes.

But things seldom go as planned.  We ended up spending our first night in Paris in Dallas after our flight was delayed 24 hours.  Determined to keep on schedule, we got off the plane midmorning and immediately made our way to the St. Lazaire train station, just in time to buy tickets and scramble aboard a train. We had no idea that some seats were reserved and some were not, so of course we sat in seats reserved by others, who happened to be French and not at all entertained by our lack of understanding.  Soon we were on our way.  Without, of course, any provisions for lunch.  But that was okay.  After all, we had gotten a small breakfast on the plane and the train trip was only two hours.  We would be in Caen in time for lunch.

And we were.  But, careful travelers that we are, we decided to first make our way to the bus station and check the schedule before eating.  Of course, we arrived just in time to buy tickets and leap onto an out bound bus.  No problem.  Caen is only 17 km from Ouistreham.  Google maps says it takes 16 minutes.  21 in traffic.  But Google maps didn't account the frequent stops that a bus makes.  I don't remember how long the ride actually took us, but by the time we arrived in Ouistreham we were hungry and tired and jet lag had caught up with us.  Big time.

We must have looked terrible by the time we dragged our sleep deprived bodies into the bike shop; terrible enough that the workers adjusted the heights of the seats, then told us that they would drive us to Amblie in their little car and deliver the bikes the next day  My husband was too proud to accept this offer, but I wasn't.  While he and my two older sons rode through the picturesque countryside my youngest son and I careened through the French countryside in the back of a tiny car being driven by a woman who spoke French as rapidly as she drove. Before she left us she made sure that the proprietess of the property we rented knew that we needed a ride to the nearest market to get supplies.  We were in good hands.

John Adams, Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson may have been among the first Americans in France, but they weren't the last.  Americans have been fascinated with France since the very beginning. 

During World War I thousands of young American men arrived in France as part of the AEF, the American Expeditionary Force.  Although the boys who went "Over There" were called "Yanks" or "Sammies" (from 'Uncle Sam'), their most popular nickname was "Doughboys," a name that may have come from the adobe dust that covered marching foot soldiers involved in American military operations on the Mexican border in 1916. My grandfather was one of these doughboys.

There were Americans in France even before America entered the war.  Many adventurous and idealistic young men, among them Ernest Hemingway, John Dos Passos, Julian Green, William Seabrook, E. E. Cummings, and Dashiell Hammett, served as ambulance drivers attached to the French forces before the United States entered the war. Many of these men, both adventurers and regular doughboys, became enamored with France.  “If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast,” Hemingway wrote decades after having discovered the adventure of the city in 1918 at the age of 19.  Some, like a character in Code: Elephants on the Moon, stayed to recuperate from wounds (there are some great photos of them, like the one below, at http://www.firstworldwar.com/photos/medical.htm).  

After the war, some of the AEF found that going home and settling down wasn't easy.  A popular song of the period asked "how ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm after they've seen Paree?"  It was a valid question.  Many disliked postwar American culture, seeing its social mores as moralistic, standardized, and vulgarized. Others felt that America had become a civilization of businessmen devoted to the worship of materialism. To them France represented ancient wisdom, history and refinement. 

Because it offered a cultural environment free of the racial obsessions of American society, France also appealed to African-Americans. Writer Richard Wright, entertainer Josephine Baker, and jazz musicians Arthur Briggs, Benny Carter, and Dexter Gordon were a few of the prominent African-Americans who found a home in France after World War I.

Eventually, though, Americans began to leave Paris.  Some, like Hemingway, were addicted to the excitement of war and found even postwar France too tame.  They left for other conflicts, most notably the Spanish Civil War, where Americans volunteered as soldiers, technicians, medical personnel and aviators in the Abraham Lincoln Brigade.  Approximately 2,800 American volunteers fought for the Spanish Republicans against Franco and the Spanish Nationalist.  Between 750 and 800 died. Other Americans in France got homesick, changed their minds about France and returned to the States.

France itself was changing.  In the 1930s France was rocked by the same extreme social tensions and class warfare that brought Hitler to power in January 1933.  A year later, in February 1934, several thousand fascists and Royalists mobilized and brought down the French government.  They accused Jews, communists, and foreigners, including Americans, of being mentally deficient and culturally detrimental to France. As the war drew nearer, Americans fled France.  After the German invasion, a considerable number of the French people backed the Vichy regime and collaborated with the Nazis.

There are no official numbers available for how many Americans live in France today, but estimates near 100,000.  Nearly three million Americans vacation or visit France every year.  My family and I were five of the Americans who visited in 2005, and that visit led to Code: Elephants on the Moon.

How do I get a story idea?  For me, it's a slow, rumbling process punctuated by flashes of ideas.  The early part of the story process is like a gathering storm, and I feel it in my bones more than know it with my conscious mind.  There's a restlessness, an unsettling feeling that something is building within me.  Slowly.  Unseen.  And then ideas start to come.  Some ideas are fleeting, mere sparks that leave little behind.  Many just fizzle away. Others seem brilliant: flashes on inspiration so strong that they burn themselves on my brain.  A very few of those ideas are true strikes.  They light up my mind, make everything seem clear and sharp.  They leave behind the clear scent of ozone, as rarified and pure as the thin air at altitude.

The story known as either Elephants on the Moon or Identity began on a train in 2005.  My family was on vacation and were traveling.  We took a plane to Paris, transferred to a train to Caen, then a bus to Ouistreham.  There we rented bikes to ride the 20 km to Amblie, a little Norman village where we had rented a house for the week.

We ended up sharing a seat with a man named Philippe.  At least, that's what I remember his name to be.  Being a writer, I have to admit that I fill in forgotten details with memories of things that have never been.  At the very least, I polish and refine those memories so that they make more sense to me.  Never sacrifice a good story line for truth.

Philippe was a poet and a playwright.  He had flowing brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and lively, hazel eyes.  He wore a linen poets shirt, the cuffs of the sleeves turned back over hands that had long, slender fingers that had seen their share of hard work.  My husband, on the other hand, remembers a man in a grimy t shirt that was stretched out at the neck, whose hair hadn't been combed in days if not weeks and whose fingernails needed a good long encounter with a nailbrush and soap. He agrees with me that the man, whatever his name, said that he was a playwright.

We talked for a while on books.  Philippe was not very impressed with what I had read of French literature.  Hugo and Flaubert were romantic hacks.  Dumas was quaint and populist.  Camus was almost worth talking about.  But the writers that he considered worthwhile were people whose names I had never heard.  Never mind the fact that I'd read everything in translation.  His English was close to impeccable.  My French was almost up to what a two year old might produce.  It was soon obvious that I couldn't hold up my end of this conversation.

Our talk turned to what we were doing.  We told him our plans: living in the country.  Biking to the Normandy beaches, to museums, to Caen and Bayeux.  Eating locally.  Speaking our terribly inadequate French and relying on the goodness of the French people to put up with us and forgive us our ellipses.  He told us that he was leaving the Parisian theater scene, which went a little slack in the summer anyway, to spend a holiday with his parents in Normanday.

And then the really interesting part of the conversation happened.  At least, for me the talk became interesting because it caused my thoughts to begin gathering.  Philippe talked about growing up in a provincial Norman town and why he had been compelled to move to the big city.  Normandy was such a backwater, he said, the people so provincial.  They cared little for literature or art.  They were concerned with local politics, which amounted to little more than petty family feuds that had raged for decades.  They thought of little except their cattle and crops, their small shops and businesses, their reputations.  And yet, despite all their trivial spats, the Normans were of one mind on one subject; they were better than their neighbors, the Bretons.

At this point, Philippe forgot his urbane, Parisian leanings and began to rant about the people from Brittany: how "unfrench" they were despite years of living on French soil.  How uncouth.  Uncultured.  Foreign.  And as he stormed on, the thunderheads of a story began building in my mind.  What would it be like to live among these people, who had lived together so long?  What would it be like to be a Breton among the Normans?  

Ideas began to rumble about like distant thunder.