Out of Germany

My last day in Germany was pretty damn spectacular; it's amazing how spontaneity allows you to experience moments as they come, instead of trying to anticipate them. After my formal tour was over, four of us realized we all had an extra day in Frankfurt. Someone came up with the idea of going drinking on or near the Rhine. We asked around and found out that a mere hour away was a picturesque town called Bacharach.

It had it all: vineyards, castles, and as it turns out quite a sordid history involving the killing of Jews-even in the tiniest of towns, we couldn't get away from Jewish death memorials...anyway, we chose to focus more on the castles and vineyards, well more specifically, the Riesling.

So after a lovely lunch of wine and cheese we headed back on the train. Our next destination was either going to be Bingen or Mainz. Just because. And with no plan or rational reason, we hopped off the train in Mainz. 

Initially unimpressed, we left the train station area and headed towards the shores of the Rhine. Suddenly, we found ourselves in a quaint medieval town. In the town center there was a massive sculpture of a man. The name the sculpture bore: Johannes Gutenberg! We had stumbled upon the hometown of a man who had changed the world and is credited with ushering in the modern era. This revelation left my designer bits tingling. I whipped out my phone and found out that there was a Gutenberg museum. We headed over and by some miracle it was 4:45-the museum closed at 5, so we were told we could only stay for 15 minutes, free of charge. I made a B-line for the large vault on the second floor and beheld with my own two eyes THE GUTENBERG BIBLE.

Maybe it's because I knew the impact moveable type and the printing press had, or maybe it was because the book was so perfect, so utterly new looking I nearly wept. Here was a tome from 1452, a copy of a book that allowed people to access to history and knowledge on a massive scale and I was seeing it, right where it was printed. After the tingling wore off and my 15 minutes were up, we headed to the river and enjoyed a perfect view:

We then ran back to the train-which wasn't easy in the heat with Riesling in our bellies-and made it back to Frankfurt a bit sweaty but feeling amazing.

A Jew in Berlin

 I confess I've delayed writing about Berlin. It's hard to know what to make of it. I signed up for an organized trip- Germany Close Up-a chance for Jewish professionals to learn about German (past and present) it's heavily subsidized by the Germany government. I've dubbed the trip Birth Reich (if you have never heard about Birth Right, the trip that sends Americans to Israel for free, the joke will be lost on you, so never mind).

For years I've been told that I would love Berlin- it's artsy, the design capital of Europe. And maybe I would if I were here on my own or with a local, but the city left me underwhelmed. Maybe my expectations were too high, maybe I expected something charming, or grand, but Berlin buried me under the weight of its past, inventing and reinventing itself so quickly that you'd hardly notice that next to the shiny new buildings lay the old ones, pock-marked with bullet holes, survivors of a bygone era. But I did notice. Berlin forces you to notice (so did the organizers of the trip).

In the center of town there's a overwhelmingly large memorial to the murdered Jews of Europe. Across from cafes and the American Embassy, near Brandemberg Gate, is a massive reminder of the past, and you are forced to live with it. You are forced to look and and confront that you are in the heart of the of the place that created modern genocide, that pridefully documented the killing of millions, including members of your own family. And Berliners are forced to remember that their family members were the perpetrators. And while it's laudable, it's also incredibly painful. I don't envy them; no one should be made to feel guilty for crimes they didn't commit, but the memorials are everywhere, and while they're important, it's hard to be in the present when you walk on tiny gold plaques reminding you of the past again and again.

I've never felt so much like an outsider, so unwanted in a place. And while I'm a completely secular Jew, the fact that still, 70 years later, religious Jews choose not to self identify with a kippah for fear of being targeted in some way, or that entering a synagogue meant going through airport style security did nothing to make me feel any better.

But here's the thing- I did love the people and the spirit of a country devastated by war and poverty and more war and then division that kept trying to make something beautiful. The "alternative" scene felt forced and mostly reminded me of the ungentrified parts of New York, I did, however, enjoy everyone I met here. And maybe that's what my struggle is- how the hell do you balance the burden, the weight of the past, and still move forward freely? I fully recognize that this trip with its visits to concentration camps and old Jewish cemeteries (which were eerily beautiful and peaceful-see below), and villas where the final solution was discussed over cigars will obviously put my head in a very Jew as victim/ outsider space, but still there it is. And I hate to admit it, I'm glad to be heading to Heidelberg. A medieval castle will be a nice change from soviet-chic buildings.

Last Days in London

I spent my last week in London going to yoga, museums, dinners, and drinks. And here's what I know: I know I am ridiculously, stupidly, overwhelmingly lucky. I have managed to surround myself with incredible humans. Friends who will take you out for a dinner cooked by the queen's personal chef, friends who will stay up all night talking, just to catch up, even though they have to work the next day. I have friends who will open their home to me for three weeks, cook up incredible feasts, then complain of having empty nest syndrome an hour after I leave. And friends who will walk me to the subway, then ride all the way to the airport cause my bags are heavy and we get an extra hour together that way. 

I have friends who love me unconditionally, who make me feel more special than anyone ought to. I feel so humbled, so joyful, I miss them already. And no, you can't have them-they're all mine.

Here's what I've learned: 

"There's a lot of undoing that needs to be done."

A few days ago, while holding a sweaty yoga pose, the instructor said those words. While normally I ignore the touchy-feely, pseudo-guru babble that most instructors spout, this statement actually made sense. As she explained it, we spend our days "doing." We have things we need to do, we're always trying to do more, we go go go, do do do. Undoing what needs to be done is just the opposite- we have to take the time to not do, we owe it to ourselves to be in the moment, breathe, and enjoy. We have to take the time to appreciate where we are, what we've achieved, instead of going to do something else. 

Yes folks, I had a clichéd "ah ha" moment in a yoga class. My Eat Pray Love moment happened this week; it one statement this teacher crystallized what my entire trip is about: undoing what I've done. I want to undo 12 years of constant stress, deadlines, lofty goals, upward movement, bar-setting, tension, New York City, crowds, food eaten at my desk, checking boxes, never having enough time, hours spent indoors, trying to shed those "last 5 pounds", trying to impress, more better now, go go go.

So I'm off now to my next adventure. Eyes forward, but feet planted firmly in the present.