In 1936, in the French city of Lyon, Yvette Kahn was born into a world filled with music and joy. Her earliest memories are of rain tapping gently on the rooftop of her family's apartment. The moment she heard it, little Yvette smiled. Her mother, Esther, would later describe her as a child born to dance, “born to the rhythm of the rain.” Even as a baby, Yvette clapped her hands, not randomly, but with a remarkable sense of timing that made everyone around her take notice. Her father, Bernard, would joke, “A drummer, maybe? Or a dancer?”

Growing up in a modest Jewish household in Lyon’s old quarter, Yvette was surrounded by love and warmth. Her parents, Bernard and Esther Kahn, ran a small tailoring shop, working hard to make a living. Their home was a place of laughter and song, especially on Shabbat evenings when Esther would sing Yiddish lullabies and Yvette clapped along to the beat.

Yvette’s love for the rain was unmatched. Whenever it fell lightly on the windowsill, she would stand with her arms raised, giggling and clapping to its tempo, as if the rain itself was a secret concert for her. “Listen, Maman! The clouds are singing!” she would shout, her joy filling the room.

Despite their financial struggles, the Kahn family made do with what they had. Yvette didn’t have many toys, but she didn’t need them. The world itself was her orchestra. She drummed on pots and pans, tapped spoons on tabletops, and found rhythm in the simplest moments of life—whether it was the swing of a shutter, the chirp of a bird, or the tap of her shoes on the pavement.

But as the 1930s ended, Europe was plunged into darkness. In 1940, Germany invaded France, and life for the Kahn family began to change. Anti-Jewish laws crippled their small business. Synagogues were desecrated, and the streets of Lyon, once alive with color, were now filled with swastikas and fear.

Despite the mounting terror, Yvette continued to find rhythm in the world. But by 1942, her family was forced into hiding, seeking refuge with a Christian family who risked everything to shelter them. Yvette was told not to sing, not to dance, and not to clap—yet when it rained, she would instinctively raise her hands, tapping her fingers against her knees, as if the rain could still offer her a moment of freedom.

Her father, fearful of attracting attention, would have to hush her. “We can’t make noise, my love. We must be silent like the rain when it stops.” Yvette nodded, her silence speaking volumes of the loss and pain she was beginning to understand.

In 1944, the Kahn family was betrayed. Nazi soldiers arrived at their hiding place, and there was no time to escape. At just 8 years old, Yvette clung to her small knapsack, which contained a scarf, a crust of bread, and a drawing of clouds and musical notes—a symbol of the music she could still hear in her heart.

The family was transported to Drancy, a transit camp near Paris, and soon separated. Yvette searched for her mother in a sea of faces, but she never saw her again. A few days later, she was placed on a train bound for Auschwitz. The journey was long, cold, and suffocating, with no music to soothe the passengers. Yet, even in the darkest moments, Yvette quietly tapped her fingers against the wood, perhaps imagining the rain, her last connection to the music she loved.

At Auschwitz, Yvette’s life, like so many others, was reduced to a number. She was no longer the girl who danced or clapped to the rhythm of the rain. She was just another victim of the Holocaust. Yvette Kahn, born on June 11, 1936, was murdered in 1944, just shy of her 9th birthday.

Though her life was tragically short, Yvette’s story continues to resonate. She never had the chance to grow up, to see the clouds drift by peacefully, or to return to Lyon. But in her brief life, she found joy in the smallest moments, and through that joy, she resisted the hatred and cruelty surrounding her.

Today, we remember Yvette not as a victim, but as a symbol of resilience. She was a girl who clapped to the rhythm of the rain, who found beauty even in the darkest times. We remember her as a voice—small, steady, rhythmic—tapping on the heart of history.

There is a legend that the souls of children become music after they pass— that their laughter becomes the wind, their footsteps become the rhythm of rain. If that’s true, then Yvette is still with us, clapping softly every time it rains. She lives in every child who hums without reason, in every puddle jumped, and in every hand raised to the clouds.

Let’s honor her memory by ensuring that no child ever has to hide their song again.

Credit to the rightful owner for sharing the poignant and powerful story of Yvette Kahn’s life and legacy.