I couldn’t predict the future, but I knew it would be dreadful. I had my family to protect and my parish to guide. I had to stick to my beliefs, and I feared my own weakness. One way or another, I had to bear witness, but I didn’t yet know how.

Later, I tried to explain to the “purists” that we do not decide to be nonviolent or truthful in advance as if we had an outline, a moral blueprint to follow automatically. Events appear almost always as a series of little, unexpected problems we must solve one at a time. We choose between two alternatives, one of which, in the final analysis, appears closer than the other to the laws of Jesus Christ. In that moment, one is sure of nothing. If the choice is the right one, if it does not conceal a hidden interest, it will open onto new possibilities and new opportunities for service. It will also present new problems and demand new options. That’s how I would describe our often hesitant march, step by step, through the darkness of the Second World War.

In his memoir, which Plough is publishing in English today, a French pastor tells how and why his village offered sanctuary to thousands of Jews facing deportation.