Immigration Equity Then and Now

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Holocaust research, immigration law, Jewish refugees, Judenhaus, refugee policy

Closure doesn’t come easily for relatives of a Holocaust victim. More than ten years ago I discovered my great aunt Meta, a member of my father’s family who was left in Frankfurt when the family escaped to America. I did a lot of research and writing about Meta back then, and helped to organize a stolperstein memorial for her, but unanswered questions still nag at me.

My dad & his sister in Frankfurt, circa 1935

Why was Meta denied a U.S immigration visa even though my grandparents, my father and his sister got theirs? What happened to Meta after the family left for New York and before she was deported? Were there any additional records about her fate that I had not yet uncovered?

I spent a good part of the last six months researching these questions (again!). I’ve contacted three museums and historical institutes in Frankfurt am Main, all of which sent prompt replies with little new information. American institutions have been less responsive. My December 2021 inquiry to the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum has not been answered. And I’ve received no reply to my request sent last August to the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Services to search for a copy of my family’s visa file. Although the agency offers this service for a fee, the average processing time is 180 business days.

The most significant new item I’ve uncovered is a photo with an aerial view of the Judenhaus (ghetto house) where Meta lived before she was deported (not for online publication though). However, I did learn a lot about U.S. immigration policies during the Nazi years and some of the changes in refugee law since World War II.

Despite great strides in protections for refugees, there are still inequities in how governments treat asylum claims. My latest article, Echoes of the Past in Europe’s Two-Tier Approach to Refugees, connects Meta’s experience with the fate of people seeking refuge during the humanitarian crises of today. Meta’s story has relevance for the thousands of displaced persons currently seeking refuge in Europe and elsewhere.

A Queer Cafe, a Dog, and German Politics

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anti-Semitism, Olivia Swarthout, Pink Peacock Cafe

It’s been fascinating to watch my daughter explore her Jewish identity as a young adult. At age 13 Olivia decided that she wasn’t Jewish, at around age 18 she started to rethink that decision, and as a university student in her early 20’s she has been actively engaged with Glasgow’s Jewish culture. I can’t speak for her, but I hope one day she will write about the evolution of her identity and what connects her to Judaism.

For now, I’m sharing Olivia’s in depth interview with the Pink Peacock Cafe that recently appeared in the Glasgow University Union’s student magazine. The social justice orientation of this novel new endeavour makes it an inspiring addition to the European Jewish landscape.

Here’s the link: Queer, Jewish, Anarchist, Local: An Interview With pink peacock

I wish we could visit Olivia and take in a little Yiddishkeit at the Pink Peacock Cafe, but it looks like we won’t be travelling beyond the borders of Berlin for quite a while. We did make a trip to Berlin’s new airport to meet our newly adopted dog from Turkey a few weeks ago. He’s keeping us smiling and entertained when we’re not on Netflix.

I’ve also had lots of time to immerse myself in reading about the field of antisemitism research. My initial impressions about the lack of a generally accepted way to define and measure antisemitism have mostly been confirmed. Aside from all the diverse approaches and controversy within the field, there seems to be a huge gap between the findings of academic researchers and the persistent headlines about how Jewish life in Europe is doomed. 

Here’s a short piece I wrote on current politics in Germany that ties in some of the recent survey data on public opinion towards Jews and Muslims in Europe: Germany’s Weakened Far Right: What’s at Stake in 2021?

And here’s Bizmark, aka Bizzy. Aside from growling at the very tall man who lives on the floor below us, he’s adapting quite well to his new home.

Stitch by Stitch, Solace during the Pandemic

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Berlin, German idioms, Shabbat

We have always been a family of knitters. It’s what we do to relax and pass the time when we are indoors. It’s just as soothing yet more enduring than a cup of chicken noodle soup. A good knitting project occupies more time than a game of Monopoly or Ticket to Ride. And the soft yarn brings relief to fingers tired from too many hours at the keyboard. Our local yarn shop, Frau Wolle, is open during this time for individual appointments and even does yarn deliveries. To knit my way through the pandemic, I’m working on my first garment, a tank top that is off to a dubious start.

Aside from knitting, I scour the news each day for a sign that there is “Licht am Ende des Tunnels” (light at the end of the tunnel). This weekend I came across an item on German idioms for getting through a crisis. The one that stood out for me was “In Der Ruhe liegt die Kraft” (Strength lies in serenity). Berliners, who can come across as dour and grumpy in an average daily encounter, mostly exude a sense of calm in the face of the coronavirus. Toilet paper doesn’t seem to be as scarce here as it is in some places, though recently we’ve had a hard time finding flour. Not known for hugging and kissing, Germans also seem to have no problem following social distance guidelines. Cooperation and Ordnung, along with trust in government and the health care system, are generally the norm.

Berlin’s calm atmosphere is reflected within my household where four of us have been mostly secluded for the past two weeks without having any family arguments. On Friday night our older son Avery who is stuck in Southampton joined us for Shabbat via Zoom, something we never did before the pandemic. As we lit the candles and recited the blessing, his presence felt almost more real than virtual, bringing us together in peace for a few transitory moments. Like our daughter Olivia, he may also rejoin the family in Berlin if the crisis continues to disrupt his engineering work.

Our family harmony is bound to be disrupted as we work, study, teach, and do everything else from home in the coming weeks. But we are fortunate to be healthy and we’ll knit our way through the crisis, stitch by stitch, not to mention keeping the fridge stocked with wine, baking bread, taking long walks, and staying connected with loved ones online.

Places to Call Home

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anti-Semitism, German citizenship, German Jews, Jewish migration, third generation

Winterfeldtplatz, December 2010

Nine years ago I was learning not to pet peoples’ dogs or smile at strangers like we did back in Montana. Parenting took up a lot more of my time than it does nowadays with only one very independent tenth grader left at home. And I was obsessed with eating giant cheesy brezels with pumpkin seeds on top.

Every year since we moved to Berlin seems to bring as much change as continuity. Retirement planning was a big focus this year, and though it sounds boring, the outcome of our efforts was to swap our house in Montana for a pied-à-terre near my sister in California. We won’t be using it for a while though since Brian and I are both still working full-time, in my case in a new position at a small private international university. But, as I wrote in my essay Reflections on Inhabiting Two Cultures, family ties exert a strong pull and keep me rooted in the U.S. as well as Berlin.

Cutting back on writing this year after A Place They Called Home was published gave me a chance to discover and contribute to other projects documenting a Jewish return to Germany. I especially enjoyed meeting Aaron Lucas, whose forthcoming documentary, I’ll Be Frank, traces his journey through the recorded and animated memories of his Opa who fled Germany in 1939. Aaron is one of the many third generation descendants of German Jews who have moved to Berlin, in his case from Sydney, Australia.

Although 2019 was marred by continuing reports of anti-Semitic incidents and far-right political gains in a number of German state elections, Berliners still turn out regularly in record numbers to oppose the forces of hate that seek to undo the democratic advances of the last 70 years. It’s disappointing that the sensationalised headlines that sow fear and evoke outrage are often followed by scant analysis, a theme I explored in my recent piece, How the Media Distorts Public Perceptions of anti-Semitism.

Each year we put our German passports to good use and are fortunate that the big kids still like to take family trips with us. My dream destination for 2020 is Ethiopia, our son Sam’s birthplace. But if Avery moves to Italy as planned and Olivia continues her studies in Scotland, we won’t be lacking for European getaways either.

January News

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Obermayer Awards, Stiftung Zurückgeben

My recent ‘featured’ Times of Israel column, I’m Jewish, American and happy to live in Berlin, sparked some outrage and hateful messages from people like Nanette (“I spit on your post!” she screamed into my inbox). Ah well, naysayers like Nanette can’t seem to digest positive reports from Jews who live in Germany. All the more reason to keep writing and seeking to promote understanding of the different ways to lead a Jewish life.

Nasty comments aside, the year is off to a wonderful start. Though this blog is on the back burner, I’ll continue to post occasional news and announcements. So here’s the latest:

Shortly after last month’s book launch at the Leo Baeck Institute, the New York Post published an in depth story, Why American Jews are moving to Germany, that explores the reasons why my family and some of my co-authors chose to reclaim our German citizenship. It’s refreshing to see an American newspaper (a tabloid no less!) provide coverage of Jewish topics that diverges from the usual narrative.

We had fun at the photo shoot in front of the Brandenburg Gate.

My new book, A Place They Called Home, got stuck in a major holiday distribution backlog, leading me into endless and ultimately fruitless communications with Amazon customer service reps. It has finally started shipping and a couple of book reviews are in the works.

Hilde Schramm

The foundation that supported my book project, the Stiftung Zurückgeben, was chosen for a 2019 Obermayer German Jewish History Award, along with Hilde Schramm, one of its founders. Last week I was honored to attend the awards ceremony and see Hilde and the foundation receive the recognition they deserve for supporting the creative pursuits of Jewish women in Germany. Hilde is the daughter of Hitler’s chief architect and one of his key ministers. You can read about her amazing life story here: Reinvented Legacy: Nazi’s Paintings Fund Foundation for Jews

Chasing Memories in Washington Heights

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German Jews, Jewish identity

The last time I was in Washington Heights, New York, I must have taken the familiar drive with my parents over the George Washington Bridge from our home in White Meadow Lake, New Jersey. That was (I have to admit) almost fifty years ago. This time I took the uptown #1 train to Dyckman Street with my sister, cousin and daughter. Our mission: to find the building where our grandparents used to live on Thayer Street, the site of many happy childhood memories that linked me to my German Jewish heritage.

Despite encountering the largest number of garbage bags I may have ever seen on a city street, we strolled along in a bubble of nostalgic enthusiasm trying to identify the building where Nana Irma prepared mouth-watering meals for our extended family on all the Jewish holidays. Could it be number 54 or 56, we wondered? The similarity of most of the buildings complicated our search, necessitating a focus on the most minute differences in walkways, window ledges, and brick patterns. Suddenly cousin Debbie shouted out “98!” and two seconds later, there it was.

Looking slightly less care-worn than some of its neighbors, we immediately knew we’d found the right place. Approaching the front door, we peered in to the lobby and practically squealed over the familiar elevator and tile floor. Before we could even consider our next move, the front buzzer rang as if Nana Irma herself had seen us and granted us entry. We stepped inside and I remembered the excitement of rushing around the corner and up the few steps to the ground floor apartment where my nana and papa lived. We’d gotten this far so the next step was to retrace those long ago steps, and, yes, ring the doorbell.

The doorway to the past was literally opened by an incredibly gracious family who allowed the four of us to walk through the small, simple two-bedroom apartment. Fighting back tears in order to make polite conversation, I learned that they too felt at home in this rather humble setting. We stayed only a few minutes, just long enough to indulge our desire to touch the past and feel the presence of those long gone. The apartment was mostly as I remembered it, validating the mental images I’d clung to since I was a little girl.

We can’t travel back in time, but we can hold on to the past if we try.

Photos courtesy of Olivia Swarthout

One Loss, Many Celebrations

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Bar Mitzvah, John F. Kennedy School Berlin, Juedisches Waisenhaus, Ohel Hachidusch

This year began with the death of my mother. My sister Andie and I are still adjusting to the fact that we no longer have parents. In April we brought mom to her final resting place next to our father in Bozeman, Montana.

In the middle of the year Olivia graduated with Honors from the John F. Kennedy School of Berlin and we celebrated at the Abitur Ball in Wannsee. She’s now headed to California for a gap year internship with Yosemite National Park. In September she will begin her studies at the University of Glasgow. She’s going to study Statistics!

In August we splurged on a family vacation in Gran Canaria to celebrate Andie’s sixtieth birthday. Everyone needed a break from work and studies so we stayed at a resort and spent a lot of time at the pool. We squeezed in a little bit of sightseeing too.

Sam’s bar mitzvah, led by Cantor Jalda Rebling at the Jüdisches Waisenhaus Berlin, was the biggest family event of the year. Andie had just moved to Santa Barbara when one of the worst fires in California history broke out. She left in the middle of the Thomas fire to be with us for Sam’s coming of age ceremony on December 16th. We’re also grateful that my brother-in-law Todd and his wife Barbara who live in Malawi took time out from their family vacation in Amsterdam to join us.

Another special bar mitzvah guest was my friend Mike, who I met through this blog. He drove all the way from Chalon-sur Saone, France in his rather ancient VW van to celebrate with us. Mike is a phenomenal photographer and human being. Please have a look at his photo-essay, Samuel Brian Swarthout Becomes a Bar Mitzvah, a beautiful gift to our family.

Thanks for reading my blog this year and best wishes for 2018.

Fragments from Shanghai

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German Jews, Shanghai Jews, Sonja Mühlberger

An entry in an address book: Goldstein, Erich, Oppeln, Plakatmaler, 153 Lisoyang.

That was the one fragmentary detail about my husband Brian’s family that we discovered during a pleasurable Sunday afternoon with Sonja Mühlberger. Sonja and Brian’s mother Maude were both born in Shanghai just a few months apart in 1939. Both girls were in utero during the passage to Shanghai, born into families who took refuge from the Nazis in one of the last available havens for German Jews. After looking through many photos to see if Brian could recognize a young Maude Goldstein (he couldn’t), Sonja showed us her copy of the 1939 address book where we found a listing for his Papa Erich.

Maude died when Brian was young so he never had a chance to learn much about her early childhood in Hongkou, Shanghai’s designated area for Jews. Sometimes referred to as the Shanghai Ghetto, it was a ghetto without walls, inhabited by Jews, Chinese, Russians, and a broad assortment of misfits and adventurers. Sonja told of a relatively happy childhood within this two and a half square kilometer area far from the land her parents missed and would return to after the war. Her recollections gave Brian some reassurance about his mother’s childhood and insight into what it must have been like.

Thanks to Sonja for sharing her stories with us, for opening a window into the life led by the mother-in-law I never met. We enjoyed visiting Sonja at her home in Friedrichshagen, the southeastern community of Berlin where she has lived since 1961. Her deep roots in the region were evident from the many people who greeted her when we strolled down to the Müggelsee after our Kaffee and Apfelkuchen.

If you’d like to learn more about Sonja, her story of survival in Shanghai is featured in the same Deutsche Welle German Jewish Cultural Heritage Series that our family participated in.

Jewish Voters: Were Your Families Divided?

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American Jews, German Jews

Are there other American families of German Jewish descent who found themselves on opposite sides in the U.S. presidential election? I’m still trying to wrap my head around how one of my relatives who fled Nazi Germany in 1938 supported the president-elect. I’ve pored through many articles to gain an understanding of what seems so incomprehensible. Why did nearly one third of Jewish voters support Trump? Will voter remorse settle in after the deportations begin? How will Jewish supporters react to the already growing number of hate crimes? And how will they explain away the appointment of a chief White House strategist with ties to white supremacists?

The quest for a rational answer to these questions is unnerving, but it doesn’t compare to the emotional pang of discovering that a member of your family is spreading false, hate-filled, and racist news stories and memes. As one relative’s steady stream of offensive social media posts grew, my sister and I ultimately realized that we were looking at a hard right member of our family who was overtly xenophobic if not outright racist. Ideological differences that had been simmering under a covered pot for years were suddenly exposed in the glaring light of Facebook. “What now?” we keep asking ourselves and each other.

Like millions of others I am seeking constructive ways to move forward. Attending Berlin’s anti-Trump protest over the weekend and making a donation to the Southern Poverty Law Center were first steps. My sister has also become politically activated and engaged. But I’m not quite ready to reconcile with family members who expressed views that I believe are immoral. I need some more time before taking that step.

A few weeks ago I wrote a Holocaust-related piece titled Why Don’t We Talk More About Reconciliation? I wasn’t thinking about family relationships at the time, but the sources I consulted may offer guidance for finding a path towards peaceful coexistence with parties who face each other across a deep chasm —  families included.

L.A. Dispatch

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elderly care, Germany, Vintage Burbank

I’ve been in Los Angeles for over a week now and can’t seem to stop talking to strangers. I guess my extroverted nature has been bursting for air, leading me to shed the artificial reserve that serves me well for daily life in Germany. I also find myself wanting to board the occasional bus that I see pulling up to empty street corners with nary a smoker waiting to get on board. I’ve had my fill of crime stories, entertainment news, and sales tax, but can’t get enough of pumpkin scones, iced drinks, and free toilets.

Sami has to move too.

I’m here because of an urgent need to move my mother to a new residence. It seems that Vintage Burbank, the upscale facility that we chose for her just over a year ago, cannot currently provide the level of care that we were assured she would be able to receive when we signed a contract and paid their hefty entrance fee. Her monthly expenses have now tripled due to a decline in her health and the outside care we have been required to obtain. The emotional strain of wrenching her out of her new home combined with the financial stress of our situation have made this trip to sunny California something less than a vacation.

I am convinced that the corporate “bottom line” is behind the facility’s lack of effort to help find a workable solution for our family. Would this have happened in Germany? Something to look into after my return to Berlin next week.