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.