Policeman’s Lasagna

When I met Lionel Barrieu, practically the only Jew living in Auch, a small town in the sparsely inhabited department of Gers, in the southwest of France, I thought he was an ordinary Jewish policeman. But as his story unfolded, his saga became more complicated. Lionel, who also goes by his Hebrew name, Ariel, is the grandson of a Roman Catholic Paris-born police inspector. When the Germans took over Paris in 1940, the other policemen encouraged his grandfather to help round up the Jews living in the capital. As Lionel tells the story, his grandfather smelled a rat and, not wanting to be part of this witch hunt, went underground. Lionel, in his early forties, followed in his grandfather’s footsteps, going to the police academy while also studying theology, Greek, and Latin at the University of Strasbourg. “When I discovered the biblical texts in Hebrew and French,” he told me in his office, “I realized the two Bibles were different. The Hebrew was richer and more spiritual.” After moving to Auch, he converted to Judaism with the help of the rabbi in Toulouse, about one and a half hours away, even getting circumcised at the age of thirty-nine. Today Lionel leads a Jewish life with his wife, also a police officer, who does not follow his religious practices. “I go to buy kosher meat at a little store in Toulouse,” he told me. “I feel as if I can now respect the animal.” For the Jewish Sabbath every week, which he observes, Lionel makes challah. He used to bake it on Friday, during his lunch hour, but too many police emergencies disturbed his bread-making. Now, to be extra careful, he makes it on Thursday evening, after work. One of the dishes that he missed most after taking on the obligation of keeping kosher was his meat lasagna. To satisfy his craving, he created this version, using soy milk instead of cow’s milk in the béchamel sauce. It is hearty and rich, and can fool almost anyone.