France – Monaco: La Turbie’s Quiet Corridor, a Path to Safety

In the 1930s, La Turbie, a village in the Alpes-Maritimes, served as a discreet passageway for Jewish families seeking refuge from the growing anti-Semitism across Europe.

La Turbie, perched on its promontory, was a discreet yet crucial location for Jewish families crossing the Alpes-Maritimes in the 1930s. Photo credit: Remy Hellequin via Unsplash.

Through the winding turns of the Moyenne Corniche, they arrived at dawn. Their light suitcases, heavy eyes. By the 1930s, La Turbie, perched on its millennial promontory, had become much more than a mere village in the Alpes-Maritimes—it was a beacon of hope for hundreds of Jewish families fleeing the escalating anti-Semitism in Central Europe.

The true beginning of this story dates back to 1933, with the arrival of the first German refugees at the Italian border. Though Vintimille was the traditional route of exile, migrants were forced to find more hidden paths due to heightened Italian surveillance. At that moment, La Turbie became a vital connection in this chain of hope, thanks to its advantageous position above Monaco and the Mediterranean.

“My grandfather used to tell how the locals would quietly point them towards Monaco,” recalled Rachel Steinberg, whose parents had used this route in 1938. “There was this silent solidarity, almost invisible, but incredibly effective. People didn’t ask questions. They knew, they understood, they helped.”

Long-unused municipal archives revealed the existence of an informal network of smugglers, including shepherds, traders, and sometimes even customs officers, who guided refugees toward the Principality. The Rossetti family managed a cozy café on Place Neuve, which acted as a secret meeting spot for sharing safe routes and important details about police patrols.

The café owner, Giuseppe Rossetti, maintained a secret list of his “preferred customers,” using the guise of tracking his inventory to also keep track of the anticipated number of guests and their arrival times. His grandson, Marco Rossetti, found these notebooks in the family attic in 2015. “The codes were simple but effective,” he explained. “A kilo of coffee meant an adult, a croissant symbolized a child. The passing points were named after wines.”

This migration route, unknown to historians for decades, allowed nearly 2,000 Jews to escape persecution between 1933 and 1940, especially given the unique topography of La Turbie, with its steep paths and natural caves providing lifesaving hideouts for families in transit. The network depended on a deep understanding of the territory, handed down from one generation of local shepherds to the next.

In 1985, CRIF collected a testimony from Eva Weiss that shed light on the operation of the system: “After hours of walking, we reached our destination exhausted, in the middle of the night.”

A woman was waiting for us near an olive grove. She didn’t speak German, we didn’t speak French, but she led us to an abandoned sheepfold. There was food, blankets, even clean clothes. We hid there for three days until a man came to guide us to Monaco.”

Solidarity was also organized at the institutional level. The local hospital regularly took in refugees under false diagnoses, as noted in historical records. Medical registers from the time revealed surprising cases of “flu” that required several days of hospitalization. “My father invented mild illnesses, but serious enough to justify quarantine,” recounted his daughter Jeanne, the daughter of a doctor in La Turbie.

Rabbi Isaac Cohen, a well-regarded member of the Monaco community, quietly organized the welcoming of refugees. His diary, carefully documented in the Consistory records, extensively described the assistance given: shelter, meals, forged documents, and connections for relocation. In 1937, he wrote that every saved soul is a preserved world. The Monaco synagogue had already been an informal gathering place in the 1930s, even though it was not officially inaugurated until 1948.

Thus, La Turbie route was not merely an escape path; it was also a route of hope. Many who traveled it survived the Holocaust and were able to rebuild their lives.