It was the day after the German elections that I saw a
swastika spray-painted near my home. The alt-right political party gained more
votes than were expected and the air around me felt heavier. The German political
debates on TV shared similar vocabulary to the ethic cleansing this country
once declared. But tonight in Hamburg, Germany, I am walking around the streets
of Grindel, eyes on the ground.
Tonight 79 years ago, the largest synagogue in Northern
Germany with its remarkable dome and its even more spectacular Modern Orthodox
convictions was burnt to the ground. Rabbi Joseph Carlebach established this synagogue
just 30 years prior with a speech about the new age of Judaism in Hamburg,
delighted about the religious tolerance and modern progress enabling them to
open a synagogue in the middle of a city. Finally, we can be Jews in public. It’s
too painfully ironic to note that he was the last rabbi in Germany at the end
of the Holocaust before being murdered by the Nazis in Jungfernhof.
To my right lays flowers and candles. It’s a circle of where
the dome used to shield. I hear names, dates, deportations and death camps. To my
left there is a girl and her mom lighting a candle and a policeman reading the
information boards created by the Jewish students.
When I was in Berlin, I was slapped by the presence of the
Holocaust. The massive impact of history hurled at me and my stomach bowed at
the impact. In Budapest, the knowledge of the growing Anti-Semitism wacked me
over the shoulder. The Hungarians were eager to push us into the ghetto and didn’t
need Nazi support to walk us to the river, shooting some and mentally torturing
the rest. Eyes on the ground. Eyes on the bronze shoes on the Danube. Eyes on
the description forgetting to mention that they were Jewish. Eyes on the ground
holding back tears, holding back the waves of pain as the punches keep coming.
It was late at night in Vienna when a conversation turned to politics. It was
over that beer that he mentioned that the alt-right in Austria is more center
than people think. I inquire more, glancing at my mom, dad and Rachel and her
Star of David around her neck. Unashamed, he says that they aren’t really Neo Nazis
because they neglect to differentiate on an ethnic Austrian basis, only talk
about getting rid of the minorities, but not because of the intrinsic
difference. Eyes on the ground. Eyes on him. “So what about Jews? Historically
they were in Austria before so would they be considered true Austrian?” He
shakes his head, “No. A Jew cant be a pure Austrian. They might be different
than other minorities but they wouldn’t be considered ethnically Austrian.”
To my left is the Jewish School Talmud Torah. Regarded for
its excellent education, 40% of the students are not Jewish. I smile knowing
that people are not afraid to send their children to be taught be Jews, to
learn Jewish texts and prayers. In Prague, my dad looks at me and vocalizes
that our identity is the tourist attraction. It’s a bizarre mix of feelings
when our landmarks, traditions and proof of persecution garners the eyes of so
many outsiders. It’s a slap of frustration that my whole world is narrowed down
to a summary. It’s an award of recognition of survival from the many
generations of pogroms. It’s an awkward obsession almost viewing us as zoo
monkeys. It’s the thickness in the way the tour guide in Budapest explained
what Jews wear in contrast to the potency of what Amos says in the café tonight.
As a photographer, he wanted to make the stumbling stones of the Jewish names
come to live. As a non Jew, he wanted to create a practical tradition to turn
Kristallnacht into another teaching opportunity. He speaks about the fine line
between guilt and responsibility. Eyes on him.
It’s really hard to be a German and learn about the
Holocaust. The educational system here layers on the Holocaust education year
after year. I can understand how some students grow to become annoyed by the
topic and some to obsess. I can empathize with the desire to move on as well to
hold on. The country has been through so much and I don’t think I could have
ever understood Germany how I do now if I didn’t spend this time here. The wounds
from bombings of the wars did not heal completely. The war is not over for the
memories on this land. In my ignorant mind, we survived the Holocaust, so
clearly Hitler didn’t win. But he did capture more than I was willing to
recognize. Most young Jews in Germany are Russians that moved here. Because
even though my people aren’t solely a museum exhibit, I feel like we did get
extinct. The once vibrant Jewish community is now a somber Kabbalat Shabbat,
barely a minyan. The old age home is now dorms for students. The yeshiva is now
housing other residents and the names get walked on every day. The country has
tremendous strength to commemorate each location, each family, each event but
my eyes can’t read each sign and name and remember it all and feel it all and
absorb the hit and continue to walk. Tonight 79 years ago was a nightmare
coming true. But the news from this year in other parts of the world share
similar headlines. My mind plays through the conversations with the 20-year-old
who calls for ethnic purity, the German who truly recognizes why I moved to Israel,
the strangers asking me about my very personal relationship with my people and
the gut feeling that this is never going to change. I am walking down the
street near a movie theater that screens movies in English. I watch people
stopping to note the candles, read the names and I smile with hope, desperate
hope that I can make sense of these thoughts and discover a way to put it all
to action.
