First impressions of Munich leave me wanting more- a European city, seemingly devoid of hoards of tourists, (very at odds with other places I have been) with fun markets and restaurants intermingled with remnants of old city walls. In our afternoon walking tour I was most struck by the repetition from our tour guide that much of Munich is not very old. The bar here is very different though, as there are still buildings from the 15th century along with rebuilt markets and clock towers that were destroyed in World War II.
According to wikipedia, 42% of Munich was decimated during this time, which looking around modern day Munich you would never be able to tell (without a tour guide). Who decides on these specific percentages? Is it by square footage? Only the parts of the city that were targeted by allied bombs? How does one decide on such a number? If you take into consideration the cost of such a war, the loss of families, the hundreds of names on the wall that are mourning and commemorating the murdered Jews of Munich in the Ohel Jakob Synagogue- was the cost not priceless? Was it not irreparable damage to this community and these families for generations to come?
According to Rabbi Shmuel Aharon Brodman, there are only around 80 Jewish communities left in Germany. In Munich alone, he estimated that more than 90% of Jews are not orthodox. I did not grow up orthodox, nor do I think it’s a requirement of Judaism to be religiously observant, but in comparison to the once vibrant and diverse communities that lived here- it is difficult to reconcile that image with what remains.
In my introduction to the group today, I mentioned that I received my German citizenship and passport a few years ago. My maternal grandfather’s immediate family left Germany to go to Palestine before the Holocaust in 1933, but I have never once felt connected to my German heritage. I grew up not mentioning it, not once thinking about what that could mean culturally. I called my mom to ask her what cities our family is from and when I mentioned them to Ulrike, our Program Coordinator from Germany Close Up, I was not even able to pronounce them properly. I signed up for this trip to experience Germany for the first time. I want my experience to both focus heavily on the Jewish experience my family went through in the early to mid 20th century, and also on what Jewish life in Germany looks like today.
From the outside, Munich is an incredibly lively city. Walking back from dinner to the hotel, the restaurants and bars are full on a Monday night (at 10pm!!) and the streets are very busy. Earlier today, the markets were packed, the row of butcher shops were all filled with customers (which I have more questions about because how on earth do they all stay in business??) and the city felt completely alive. However, in the basement of the synagogue, with a kosher restaurant attached, the names on the wall are haunting. They tell a much darker story, one of generations cut down at the knees. A Jewish community stifled, choked and snuffed out.
I found my own parents’ original surnames on the wall. Munich is not the part of Germany I can trace my ancestry to, but seeing their names (common Jewish last names as they may be) still stops me in my track. This is the dichotomy of Germany to me, and one I am eager to explore more in the remainder of the trip- can a city truly be alive when it’s built on top of bones?
