On our train ride to Berlin from Nuremberg, spans of green and tan fields flashed by my window, decidedly different from the expansive sand-colored mountain landscape of my home in southern California. Fluffy, verdant green trees lined the tracks and began to thin out as the train approached smaller cities and towns on the way to Berlin. As the train carried our group further north, I found myself curious about the Jewish history of these places our train passed through, outside of the central urban centers. The landscape outside my window invited questions, like what communities might have lived there before the war, and who and what might remain now? Could these communities date their history back to the medieval period, similar to the Jewish presence in Nuremberg that we learned about yesterday? Were these Jewish communities also expelled or limited by their Christian rulers in where they were allowed to live, and the work they were allowed to do?
During our time in Munich I was reminded of the role of WWI and the destruction of the German economy in setting the stage for the rise of the NSDAP to power. Our time in Nuremberg yesterday underscored the long history of Jewish people in the region now called Germany. The Jewish figure depicted in the tympanum of a medieval church we visited on our city walking tour, recognizable as a Jew by the depiction of the pointed hat Jews were forced to wear in the Middle Ages, illustrated the presence and persistence of antisemitism within German society and culture over the centuries. So what might the city of Berlin bring, and what might this city show me about the present and future of Jewish life in this place? While I know and I expect many discussions of the Second World War and postwar life during our time in the capital city, I am curious and hopeful that I might mine deeper in the layers of history in this place. Or, perhaps this visit is an opportunity to challenge the linear approach to history that I have been trained in—I am continually learning that history, particularly Jewish history, can perhaps be better understood in the form of a spiral, spinning round and round.
Our tour of Berlin this afternoon made this spiral form of Jewish history even more clear to me. Visiting the site of the old city synagogue, built in 1714, now all that remains is the stone outline of the structure’s foundation. Our knowledgable guide, Ben, also pointed out the stumbling stones, the small, polished golden square plaques installed on the ground outside many buildings. The “stones” indicate the presence and lives of victims of Nazi persecution. Ben also took us to the old Jewish cemetery, which was destroyed by the Nazis in 1941 and then was used as a deportation ground. What remains is a peaceful open space for visitors, covered in ivy and surrounded by the windows of neighboring apartments. We visited the Neue synagogue, built in 1866. Following the war, the space of the ornate Moorish-style building is also empty inside. Our guide shares with us that as the building is located in the former East Germany, the interior was not rebuilt. The empty synagogue, which now houses a small museum, is punctuated by the posters of Israeli hostages hanging outside. The delicate vines growing between the images are a signal of how many months these signs have been affixed in front of the synagogue structure. Among so much emptiness, our group is here. Walking, looking, questioning, talking, laughing, and learning together in this country that has become our classroom.
After my journey so far and upon arriving in Berlin, I am living inside of history.