No Words

How do I begin to describe the last two days? Yesterday, there were simply no words. In the morning, we toured the the monument at the old train station from which Jews were deported to the concentration camps. Lists of names, and railway tracks, were so powerful that most people broke into tears. There were simply no words to describe what I had seen or what I had experienced.  In the afternoon we toured one of the concentration camps. Although this was not considered to be an extermination camp but rather a work camp, it was clear that the expectation was death by work. One does not dig in the clay and water with bare feet and minimal clothing and food in the winter for very long without dying.As I walked through the grounds I thought about those who walked the same steps and those who died there.

Today we  attended a luncheon at City Hall hosted by the deputy mayor of the city of Hamburg. The place cards read  "Senate lunch for  persecuted former citizens of Hamburg  in Hamburg City Hall. "   The deputy mayor made a beautiful speech, a very sincere speech, talking about the atrocities that had occurred and welcoming us back to the city that had so betrayed our families.

 Afterward, a Rabbi, a lovely gentleman, asked me for my father's name and said that he would say Kaddish for him during Shabbat on Friday. The tears fell again. None of us have cried so much in front of strangers in our lives.

All of us met for dinner tonight for the last time. Tears flowed again as we hugged and exchanged email addresses and added each other to Facebook. We have truly journeyed together. We do not want it to end. We are bonded. I learned another new vocabulary word: Jekke. It means "German Jew".

I am a second generation Jekke. And I am proud and grateful to finally understand what that means.

Hamburg day 2....The discovery

It is impossible to encapsulate all that I have seen, done, and discovered today in one blog post. There are two "first gen " in our group. One does not speak of his time in the camps. One  stood before us and sobbed as he told of coming back to Hamburg at 14 years of age, looking for his mother and finding no one. He described how he asked someone if there were any Jews left, and how he was directed to an apartment in which he found a relative who cared for him.

I listened to the Rabbi describe the return of the Torah to Hamburg and the mixture of joy and sorrow on that day.   I walked the halls of the Jewish schools and saw the pictures of the children who were deported and murdered. I have developed new vocabulary: My father's immediate family "fled".  They "survived." Those who disappeared were "murdered." My mother/father/uncle was "not right afterwards."

I spoke to gentile high school students, one of whom confessed in a whisper that his grandfather had been taken from his home at 16, and forced to guard one of the camps, and how he had never recovered from what he had seen. I tried to offer some sort of forgiveness nearly 90 years later.

In the early twentieth century there were over 20,000 Jews in Hamburg. There are today about 2000. And....none are "German Jews." They're all immigrants from other countries. The Rabbi commented that Hitler was successful in that way. One of the first gens remarked "Well I wish old Adolf could see us now!" And there was laughter in the midst of sorrow.

I have befriended a woman whose father and grandparents lived in the same apartment building as my father and my grandparents. They surely knew each other, as they were the same age. I believe we are now connected forever.

In the streets I believe I see the shadows of all who came before, and I am grateful for the opportunity to honour them.

Hamburg day 1....

As I flew in over Hamburg yesterday, I was overwhelmed to be entering the city of my father's birth. I thought about him as a young child, walking the streets of the old city centre. I became teary-eyed, but I couldn't decide if it was due to exhaustion or emotion. As we were taken from the airport in to the hotel, we rode with another couple who had arrived for the same program. I realized then how different it was to be able to  share this experience. This had never been a shared experience for me. Arriving at the hotel and meeting 30 other people who also were here to share this, was an unbelievable opportunity. Isn't that what life is  about? Shared experiences. After five decades of keeping this a secret, it seems strange and almost dangerous to speak so openly.

This morning, we came together for a meal and  introduced ourselves. As people told their  stories, I watched grown men and women just like me cry from the pain which had permeated their lives. Our stories were so similar, and yet most of us had endured in solitude. Stories of lost lives, lost homes, of exile and relocated families. Of living with damaged parents, of silence and secrets.  As I write this we've spent approximately 9 hours together and have bonded in unimaginable ways. We've come to realize that our parents and grandparents may have lived on the same street, or that they may have done business together. Puzzle pieces being put together, connections made. In 24 hours I have spoken more about my father and his life than I ever have in my life. What our parents could not do, we have begun. Like a Phoenix from the ashes.

The Journey Continues

 

Late in 2016, I was approached by a representative of the government of Hamburg Germany, the city from which my father’s family fled. I was invited to attend something which roughly translated as “The Welcoming”. In the past years, the city of Hamburg has invited small groups of Holocaust survivors and/or their descendants to come to Hamburg for a week, and to attend several events. The visit culminates with a dinner with the city council and mayor, and includes a reconciliation of sorts. I of course immediately accepted, even knowing my father would have hated the entire thing.

We leave in 3 days for this exciting journey. At the end of the week in Hamburg, more than a dozen of my family members will descend en masse to the same hotel in which we’re staying for an impromptu reunion. I am deeply touched and blessed by their enthusiasm and generosity in welcoming me to Europe. I haven’t seen many of these folks for more than 30 years.

This month has been a very tumultuous and trying time in my life. Everything I have held near and dear (with the exception of my husband) has changed dramatically and quickly. My only child graduated from college, and accepted a job 2400 miles away. In a great whirlwind we helped him pack up and move. Amazing, exciting times for him. I remember that time of life when the entire world was filled with possibilities and I rejoice for him. How hard it is though to be so far away.  Then this past week I was forcibly early retired from a career which has spanned my entire adult life. As I sit here, I am still reeling from the shock and hurt that accompanies such a thing. In one week, my entire reality has changed dramatically through no action of mine and without my consent.

I am reminded of my father, as I struggle to make sense of my world on the eve of a very important journey to the place where he began. I am reminded of his resilience in the face of losing everything familiar to him. I am reminded of his pain, and his rage, and his perseverance and his survival. How very poignant his journey appears as my own journey begins.