Thursday, November 2
I had to be sure not to oversleep so that my group didn’t miss the first bell. Yeah… it was back to high school for me and the others in the AJC program, and we were assigned to four schools participating in the “Hands Across the Campus Program.” It wasn’t something for me to look forward to – to say that my time in high school wasn’t a highlight for me would be an understatement. Nevertheless, I approached the activity with an open-mind and I was curious to see how different the experience might be in Germany.
As we waited for our assignment to a classroom at the Walter Rathenau School, my initial question was almost immediately answered. The students’ style of dress, posturing, and occasional teasing brought me back to my high school experience nearly seven years ago. The only difference was that I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. As soon as we made it to the classroom, the students split us into even smaller groups in order to take us on personalized tours. It just so happened that all of the students who elected to guide me were female, which meant that either high school students’ attitudes had matured – or I did.
Our tour began at a monument dedicated to the school’s namesake, Walter Rathenau. His story is quite fascinating and can be read in greater detail here. I could summarize by stating the following details: Jewish son of very successful industrialist, participant in the negotiations of the Versailles Treaty, liberal politician and German Foreign Minister, assassination victim by right-wing politicians only a few blocks away from the school. Our tour highlights included portraits of students who had perished in concentration camps, a young tree that had been planted in their memory, and a student exhibition on a Protestant theologian who had rescued Jews and lost his life in the process. The school certainly took some effort to recognize the past.
When I asked my trusty guides about the student-body, one explained that the school was well-regarded and that several students traveled there from outside Berlin. Another said rather nonchalantly that there were a significant number of Jewish students because the school was located in a wealthy neighborhood. Although the statement seemed rather innocuous, it made me feel uncomfortable. Was she aware that the association of Jews with money was a frequent anti-Semitic trope applied by the Nazis? Or that the majority of Jews living in Germany were in fact immigrants from the former Soviet Union, who were far from wealthy? Or had I become hyper-sensitive and paranoid during the course of my stay in Berlin?
Our visit concluded with a presentation by one of the school’s history teachers. Nearly twenty years ago he had combed through files that had been saved from the Nazi Period. He explained in detail the process by which over a couple of years the school became Judenrein. His presentation included: lists of students divided among several classes (full Jews, half-Jews, Jewish children of veterans, and foreign Jews); letters from Jewish parents that included requests for equal treatment and refunds (neither of which were granted) and notification of their students’ withdrawal; and a list of the graduating class that was almost entirely non-Jewish.
Thus within only couple of years, hundreds of students had been purged from the classroom. But rather than focus on the fates of those who faced extermination, the teacher told the stories of a few of these students who had achieved remarkable success. They included: Michael Kerr, the first judge since the 12th century to be appointed to Britain's High Court and not to have been born in Britain, and his sister Julia Kerr, author of When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit. This put an unusual spin on a familiar story, one that probably did not need to be retold to us or the students.
The presentation concluded with several quotations from non-Jewish students who had attended the school at that time. The consistent theme was: “the Jewish students were leaving the school, and one day we noticed that they were no longer here.” Not only had they failed to do anything to prevent their classmates’ dismissal, they had not even expressed the faintest interest in why they were disappearing. The teacher challenged his students to take an interest in the welfare of others and to act when injustice is being perpetrated. His final plea was for his students to attend a ceremony on November 9 at Track 17, the railroad station nearby the school, where the first Jewish Berliners were sent to concentration camps on that day. I wonder how many of them would actually heed his request.
After our session at the school, we visited a Yeshiva being constructed with funds from the Lauder Foundation. This visit only served to reinforce our view that Jewish life is returning to Berlin, and that much of the community hails from Eastern Europe. Today’s German Jewry stands in contrast with many of the country’s former occupants, whose lives are well-documented in Berlin’s Jewish Museum.
That afternoon, we made our much awaited trip to the museum designed by the acclaimed architect Daniel Liebeskind. The architecture itself is as much a testimony to the German Jewish experience as the artifacts it displays. Its most important feature is the set of axes that run across its basement. The axis of extermination highlights the stories and personal items of those individuals who were murdered in the camps. It culminates in the Holocaust Tower that allows those who enter to experience a sense of darkness, coldness, helplessness, and even fright that we often associate with the Holocaust. Running perpendicular to it is the axis of exile, which lists the locations to which German Jews fled and leads to the Garden of Exile. Although the garden’s design is also cold and almost unwelcoming (its terrain features a number of inclines), the tress planted atop the gray slabs point to a glimmer of hope.
The museum’s exhibition was interesting, but not overwhelming. It covers the breadth of German Jewish history, without an emphasis on any one period, including the Holocaust. Due to this omission, the museum has become subject to criticism, though I respectfully disagree. If anything, this decision amplifies the devastating effect of the Holocaust by humanizing its victims, who shared not only a common history with the rest of Germany, but also contributed greatly to its civilization. The museum also demonstrates that the Holocaust was not an isolated incident of anti-Semitism, but rather the culmination of anti-Jewish and anti-Semitic attitudes and acts in Germany over a millennium.
To wrap-up a somber and sobering day, Jordan and I enjoyed a tasty meal at Borchardt's, a favorite restaurant of the political establishment. I don’t know how they all manage to stay so thin, with schnitzel so good. From there we headed to Kreuzberg to a cramp bar called the Ankerbar. There we rendezvoused yet again with several of the attaches, and enjoyed an evening filled with conversation, and dancing on the most crowded and tiny dance floor I have seen. The music was eclectic, and people bopped the night away to music ranging from Indie Rock to Stevie Wonder to what sounded like circus music, which in some strange way, couldn’t have been any more appropriate.
As we waited for our assignment to a classroom at the Walter Rathenau School, my initial question was almost immediately answered. The students’ style of dress, posturing, and occasional teasing brought me back to my high school experience nearly seven years ago. The only difference was that I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. As soon as we made it to the classroom, the students split us into even smaller groups in order to take us on personalized tours. It just so happened that all of the students who elected to guide me were female, which meant that either high school students’ attitudes had matured – or I did.
Our tour began at a monument dedicated to the school’s namesake, Walter Rathenau. His story is quite fascinating and can be read in greater detail here. I could summarize by stating the following details: Jewish son of very successful industrialist, participant in the negotiations of the Versailles Treaty, liberal politician and German Foreign Minister, assassination victim by right-wing politicians only a few blocks away from the school. Our tour highlights included portraits of students who had perished in concentration camps, a young tree that had been planted in their memory, and a student exhibition on a Protestant theologian who had rescued Jews and lost his life in the process. The school certainly took some effort to recognize the past.
When I asked my trusty guides about the student-body, one explained that the school was well-regarded and that several students traveled there from outside Berlin. Another said rather nonchalantly that there were a significant number of Jewish students because the school was located in a wealthy neighborhood. Although the statement seemed rather innocuous, it made me feel uncomfortable. Was she aware that the association of Jews with money was a frequent anti-Semitic trope applied by the Nazis? Or that the majority of Jews living in Germany were in fact immigrants from the former Soviet Union, who were far from wealthy? Or had I become hyper-sensitive and paranoid during the course of my stay in Berlin?
Our visit concluded with a presentation by one of the school’s history teachers. Nearly twenty years ago he had combed through files that had been saved from the Nazi Period. He explained in detail the process by which over a couple of years the school became Judenrein. His presentation included: lists of students divided among several classes (full Jews, half-Jews, Jewish children of veterans, and foreign Jews); letters from Jewish parents that included requests for equal treatment and refunds (neither of which were granted) and notification of their students’ withdrawal; and a list of the graduating class that was almost entirely non-Jewish.
Thus within only couple of years, hundreds of students had been purged from the classroom. But rather than focus on the fates of those who faced extermination, the teacher told the stories of a few of these students who had achieved remarkable success. They included: Michael Kerr, the first judge since the 12th century to be appointed to Britain's High Court and not to have been born in Britain, and his sister Julia Kerr, author of When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit. This put an unusual spin on a familiar story, one that probably did not need to be retold to us or the students.
The presentation concluded with several quotations from non-Jewish students who had attended the school at that time. The consistent theme was: “the Jewish students were leaving the school, and one day we noticed that they were no longer here.” Not only had they failed to do anything to prevent their classmates’ dismissal, they had not even expressed the faintest interest in why they were disappearing. The teacher challenged his students to take an interest in the welfare of others and to act when injustice is being perpetrated. His final plea was for his students to attend a ceremony on November 9 at Track 17, the railroad station nearby the school, where the first Jewish Berliners were sent to concentration camps on that day. I wonder how many of them would actually heed his request.
After our session at the school, we visited a Yeshiva being constructed with funds from the Lauder Foundation. This visit only served to reinforce our view that Jewish life is returning to Berlin, and that much of the community hails from Eastern Europe. Today’s German Jewry stands in contrast with many of the country’s former occupants, whose lives are well-documented in Berlin’s Jewish Museum.
That afternoon, we made our much awaited trip to the museum designed by the acclaimed architect Daniel Liebeskind. The architecture itself is as much a testimony to the German Jewish experience as the artifacts it displays. Its most important feature is the set of axes that run across its basement. The axis of extermination highlights the stories and personal items of those individuals who were murdered in the camps. It culminates in the Holocaust Tower that allows those who enter to experience a sense of darkness, coldness, helplessness, and even fright that we often associate with the Holocaust. Running perpendicular to it is the axis of exile, which lists the locations to which German Jews fled and leads to the Garden of Exile. Although the garden’s design is also cold and almost unwelcoming (its terrain features a number of inclines), the tress planted atop the gray slabs point to a glimmer of hope.
The museum’s exhibition was interesting, but not overwhelming. It covers the breadth of German Jewish history, without an emphasis on any one period, including the Holocaust. Due to this omission, the museum has become subject to criticism, though I respectfully disagree. If anything, this decision amplifies the devastating effect of the Holocaust by humanizing its victims, who shared not only a common history with the rest of Germany, but also contributed greatly to its civilization. The museum also demonstrates that the Holocaust was not an isolated incident of anti-Semitism, but rather the culmination of anti-Jewish and anti-Semitic attitudes and acts in Germany over a millennium.
To wrap-up a somber and sobering day, Jordan and I enjoyed a tasty meal at Borchardt's, a favorite restaurant of the political establishment. I don’t know how they all manage to stay so thin, with schnitzel so good. From there we headed to Kreuzberg to a cramp bar called the Ankerbar. There we rendezvoused yet again with several of the attaches, and enjoyed an evening filled with conversation, and dancing on the most crowded and tiny dance floor I have seen. The music was eclectic, and people bopped the night away to music ranging from Indie Rock to Stevie Wonder to what sounded like circus music, which in some strange way, couldn’t have been any more appropriate.
posted by Louchheim at 7:25 PM
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