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.

Flipping the Jewish Narrative

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American Jews, anti-Semitism, German Jews

Despite a resolution to spend Passover in Berlin this year, a decline in my mother’s health caused us to schlep the kids across the Atlantic for a family vacation in Los Angeles. We missed celebrating our freedom with Ohel Hachidusch, but enjoyed the community seder at my mom’s current residence, Sunrise Senior Living in Studio City. When Rabbi Mitzi asked if any of the residents wanted to share a personal liberation story, there was no response. I’m not sure if the residents felt too enslaved by their circumstances to think of one or if they just wanted to move on to the beef brisket that was about to be served. During the long silence, my kids all looked at me, waiting to see if their mom would seize yet another opportunity to talk of reclaiming our Jewish roots in Germany. To the family’s relief, I decided to keep quiet.

But while I’m here I do have a chance to tell people of my frustration with the chorus of Jewish American voices calling for the Jews to flee Europe just as they fled from Egypt long ago. These pundits have such an easy fix for the rise of anti-Semitism in Europe, never mind the fact that the Anti-Defamation League found a 21 percent increase in anti-Semitic incidents across the U.S. in 2014. I hope European Jews will support efforts to combat anti-Semitism in the U.S. instead of urging American Jews to run away from it.

I just picked up a copy of the Jewish Journal and was surprised to see publisher and editor-in-chief Rob Eshman proclaim “Let my people stay”! Based in L.A., Eshman was writing about the Jews of Europe and argued that we need to overcome our narrative of flight and instead ask the question: “What do European Jews need to do to stay?” Eshman’s more thoughtful perspective emphasizes using the tools we have to build alliances within and beyond our Jewish communities to fight all forms of extremism. I can’t think of a better message to advance the freedom that we celebrate on Passover.

“Home Sweet Home”

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American Jews, Berlin, German Jews, Israel

Coming back to Berlin from Israel last month was a journey back home, a journey to a familiar and comfortable place, but one that is not my native land. My strong connection to Germany wavers at times. Like the other day at the grocery store when I patiently waited behind a woman as she went through the stack of baskets looking for one that met her hygienic standards. When I finally reached in to take one for myself, she snatched the basket out of my hand and let slip a rude remark. I stifled the urge to call her a bitch and calmly walked away. Perhaps this could happen anywhere, but I’ve never before encountered such aggression over a grocery basket.

People in Israel were more open and relaxed than I expected. I felt a kinship with all those short women with wild and frizzy hair and the older women with bright lipstick and flashy jewelry transported me back to my childhood on the East Coast. I also agree with my daughter that a lot of the men were “smokin.” But beyond these fleeting impressions, I developed a better understanding of Zionism through Simon Schama’s excellent BBC series The Story of the Jews, which we watched during the trip. I now have a connection to Israel, not so much as a Zionist, but as another place where I feel at home and where a cherished part of my family lives.

My feelings about Israel were refracted through the triplicate lens of my German-American-Jewish self. I’m glad that I finally made the trip that so many American Jews call upon us to make, if only to gain a better footing in political discussions about Israeli policies and the Middle East. As a German, I also felt proud to be among the many tourists who are promoting close cross-cultural ties between the two countries.

I hope to go back to Israel before long, but it probably won’t be for Passover. Stay tuned for a piece on The Jewish Writing Project with a few further reflections on that topic.

Punch Card Judaism

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American Jews, Bar Mitzvah, German Jews, Jewish identity

The journey back from Berlin to Bozeman meant going back to being Jewish in America. This raised questions for me of whether I am more of a German Jew or an American Jew. I’d never found a congregation in the U.S. where I felt fully comfortable, but taking part in Jewish life in Berlin gave me a stronger connection to Judaism. My return to the States put the brakes on my Jewish identity journey for the time being.

Stepping back into Bozeman also meant a difficult decision about whether to rejoin our local congregation where we felt only partially at home. One of the first discussions I had with our rabbi after returning to Bozeman was about my daughter’s bat mitzvah. Olivia had been struggling for quite some time to decide if her coming of age ritual would be a bat mitzvah or something outside the Jewish faith. As I listened to the rabbi recite the long list of official guidelines, I was stunned to hear that she would be required to keep a punch card to mark her attendance at shabbat services. She would need to have ten punches on the card during the year leading up to her bat mitzvah, with no free coffee or hot chocolate to reward her at the end!  Since this discussion took place, I can’t seem to erase from my mind the image of my daughter holding up her punch card to the rabbi after Friday night services. 

Would my daughter really be more Jewish when the card was full? If she learned her Torah portion and the requisite prayers, why couldn’t she carve her own path to her bat mitzvah and Jewish adulthood? Wouldn’t a single profound experience at services be worth more than half a dozen boring ones? Judaism in America feels formulaic to me at times and the punch card rule symbolized a structure within which I often feel more constrained than inspired.

For now, Olivia has decided to postpone her bat mitzvah and that’s fine with me. She and I each have to find our own individual paths to a meaningful Jewish life, whether we live in Bozeman or Berlin.

Mapping the Future

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American Jews, Article 116, Berlin, German citizenship, German Jews, Holocaust

Since I’m on hiatus from my Berlin adventures (for just a little longer!), I’ve been engaged in a frenzied effort to synthesize my Full Circle experiences into some new communication endeavors that will target a broader audience. What does that mean? Applications for Speakers Bureaus, proposals for book chapters, the beginning of a first draft of a memoir, making connections with the German media (more on that later), and the preparation of my first talk on the relationship of American Jews to the Holocaust that I will give at Congregation Beth Shalom in Bozeman for Holocaust Memorial Day.

In the midst of my self-induced state of combustion, I’ve heard from quite a few blog readers lately with questions about our experiences in Germany and the hidden mysteries of the German citizenship application process. These electronic missives from afar remind me that I would like to set up a web site to offer some advice and guidelines for diaspora Jews about moving to Germany and obtaining restored citizenship. Instead of paging through my blog, people might then have easier access to information. Article 116 applications from American Jews are on the up-swing and the trend is likely to continue.

The coming end of our second year in Germany has also brought significant questions about the future for our family. Are we ready to give up our life in Bozeman to live permanently in Berlin? What about our family and friends in the U.S.? We are starting to plan a move for my mother from Bozeman to California, the kids want a break from living in our cramped Berlin apartment, and my husband and I are facing some big career questions and choices. We are working on a road map for the future. Change is afoot, but one thing is certain: Germany will remain an integral part of our plans.

Willkommen, добро пожаловать, ברוך הבא

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American Jews, Berlin, German Jews, Juedische Gemeinde zu Berlin, Russian Jews

So you’re going to Berlin and want to experience that vibrant Jewish life you’ve heard about? What should you know ahead of time? Since I’ve put out the call for American Jews to step inside the door of a  transformed Germany, I feel obliged to point out a few caveats.  Berlin’s Jewish community doesn’t focus much on American Jews. After all, the vast majority of the city’s Jewish population is from Russia and Eastern Europe and a substantial network of programs and services is geared towards this population.  That is as it should be.

But as an American it can be daunting to get a foothold, let alone find a niche, in the Jewish community. It’s heavily guarded, leans conservative to Orthodox, and is tightly structured compared to American Jewish communities.  A Jewish friend of mine ran into trouble at a Berlin synagogue’s security checkpoint when the guard asked for identification and saw that her husband’s first name was Christian. If she had not been able to speak Hebrew they might not have been allowed to attend services. When I sought assistance with my German citizenship application from the Jewish Community of Berlin, I discovered that there were people who could help me get on welfare but no one to help me have my citizenship restored. The beautiful monthly magazine Juedisches Berlin offers a gateway into the city’s Jewish life but only for those who speak German, Russian, or Hebrew. A multilingual Jewish publication of such significance could at least offer a few English entries!

As a European center for Jewish life, the Berlin Jewish community could do more outreach to show that it’s doors are open to the diaspora. The influx of Russian Jews to Germany has slowed; though integration challenges remain, the future will bring more diverse groups to experience Jewish life in Berlin. Nearly half of the global Jewish population resides in English-speaking countries. While I don’t mean to suggest that there are no resources for this population, the welcome mat could be a little more visible for them.

Time for an Identity Update

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American Jews, German citizenship, German Jews, Holocaust, Jewish identity

I’m currently in Montana spending some time with my mother. It’s funny how when I come back to the U.S. my mom has a better appreciation for why I am so drawn to Germany. She’s happy to have me home. Yet on our first dinner outing she bristled when I got a little too enthusiastic about being a new German and EU citizen. It still doesn’t sit well with her. I can understand….not only is she among the generation that fled the Shoah, but she was stunned when her own parents returned to Germany in the 1970s. Now her daughter and grandchildren are there as well.

I’m still disturbed by the hostile attitude of some American Jews toward my claim on the country of my heritage. “Go back home where you can be truly yourself,” said one reader of my recent Tablet article.  The Holocaust still has such a firm grip on American Jewish identity that some refuse to acknowledge the renewal of Jewish life and culture in Germany. How do the naysayers reconcile their blanket rejection of a nation with the choice that many have made to once again be Jewish on German soil? There must be a Judaic principle about having respect and compassion for finding our own path to a Jewish life. 

In a March 2005 publication for the American Jewish Committee (AJC), Rolf Schuette wrote that “…Germany, in the eyes of the average American Jew, is the least popular European country—with the notable exception of France.” Schuette based this statement on AJC’s 2005 Annual Survey of American Jewish Opinion.  Haven’t American Jewish attitudes towards Germany improved in recent years, especially given the fact that Germany has the fastest growing Jewish population in Europe?  Do American Jews  recognize that Germany is a thriving democracy with deep and enduring ties to Israel?  I contacted the AJC and learned that they have not surveyed American Jewish attitudes towards Germany since 2005 and have no current plans for additional surveys. That’s too bad.

A pillar of American Jewish identity since WWII has been rejection of the land where the genocide occurred. But what about our own need for reconciliation and a more affirmative Jewish identity? Schuette and other observers have noted that the identity of Israelis is less deeply tied to the Holocaust than that of American Jews.  I wrote a previous post about the need for American Jews to update their image of Germany (see Time for an Image Update).  Perhaps it’s time for an identity update as well.

German Jewish by Adoption

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American Jews, Article 116, German citizenship, German Jews, Kidane Mehret

He speaks German with no trace of an American accent, plays soccer like he’s destined to join Germany’s top-rated Bayern-Muenchen Fussball Club, and knows Berlin’s vast train system better than most Berliners.  He seems almost more German than the rest of us, and yet Sam does not share any of our German Jewish heritage.   He was born in Ethiopia and joined our family in Montana when he was one year old.  Now seven,  Sam has already lived on three continents.  At his age I had barely ventured beyond the borders of New Jersey.  

Since finding out that we needed to jump through more hoops to get Sam’s German citizenship approved (see More Bureaucratic Sludge at the Finish Line), I’ve had a sinking feeling that we are in for another bureaucratic battle.  I wonder if we are the first Jewish American family with an internationally adopted child to reclaim German citizenship.  If we are unique in this regard, I dread the level of scrutiny that may be in store for us.

Imagine my lack of surprise when I discovered that the German government will not accept an apostilled copy of Sam’s adoption decree as proof that he was legally adopted.  No, the German authorities feel they must do an independent review of our entire adoption record to determine if we legally adopted Sam in 2005.  To win their approval we must submit a list of eleven items, including information about Sam’s life before he arrived at Kidane Mehret Children’s Home in Addis Ababa.  Whatever standards of reciprocity exist between the U.S. and Germany, they clearly do not extend to the field of adoption!

Perhaps Sam will grow up and decide that his greatest affinity is for Ethiopia, or perhaps the U.S.  But as our son he is entitled to become a German citizen just like our two biological children.  I feel a little too burnt out right now to get started on the list of eleven items.  After all, Sam is still too young to even understand the concept of citizenship.  But I’ll get started pretty soon.  You never know, his destiny might be to play for Germany in the World Cup finals.

New Citizenship, New Responsibilities

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American Jews, Article 116, diaspora, German citizenship, German Jews, Holocaust, Judith Kerr

Now that the woes of my long quest for German citizenship are behind me, I realize how fortunate I am. At the age of 52 I have become a citizen of a new country and have much to learn and look forward to about the responsibilities and benefits that go along with my new status. But lately I’ve been thinking about other German Jews from the diaspora who also want to reclaim their German citizenship, but can’t. These are people whose families fled Nazi Germany but do not qualify to have their citizenship restored.

The descendant of a Holocaust refugee is more likely to win back their German citizenship if they are German Jewish through their father rather than their mother. This is because German citizenship could only be derived from the father until 1953.  My friend Wendy was initially told that she did not qualify for German citizenship because her mother, born before 1953, was German, not her father.  When Wendy told a consular official that her parents were never married, she found out that an exception was made for children born out-of-wedlock!

Bess Rothenberg, whose mother was born in 1944, wasn’t so lucky. When Rothenberg learned that she did not qualify for restored citizenship, she complained that the German government was perpetuating sexism in its attempt to redress racism: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/bess-rothenberg/a-german-law-rectifies-ra_b_794993.html.  I find it especially ironic that a German Jew must rely on their father to reclaim their German citizenship, while traditional Jewish law confers Jewish identity through the mother.

Another sad irony is that descendants of Jews who fled Germany before Hitler was sworn in as Chancellor are ineligible for restored citizenship.  Families that had the foresight to flee before January 30, 1933 are considered to have left “voluntarily.” I’ve met a few people who did not qualify for restored citizenship because their families were smart enough to get out early. Judith Kerr’s novel, When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, is based on the true story of her own family’s terror over Hitler’s impending rise to power and early escape to safety.

Mary Beth Warner’s recent article, Jewish American Families Reclaim German Roots, reveals that citizenship applications from such families are on the rise. As a new German citizen, perhaps I can help others who experience delays and mishaps as I did, or are just bewildered about how to proceed. Or maybe I will lobby to strike the pre-1953 gender-based citizenship standard from German law……..that oughta keep me busy!

Choosing our Rites of Passage

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American Jews, Bar Mitzvah, Berlin, German citizenship, German Jews, Judaism

A stroll through the Britzer Gardens in southern Berlin was the aesthetic highlight of a weekend filled with bar mitzvah tasks, household chores, and the usual mishaps and disputes between the kids.  With over 200 types of dahlias in full bloom, we were treated to a spectacular show of color that soothed our jangled nerves.  I think we can now handle the home stretch of bar mitzvah planning and clothes shopping without a full family meltdown.

Avery's bar mitzvah kippah

Avery will become a bar mitzvah in less than three weeks and I feel a sense of pride and wonder that he is on the threshold of such a significant event.  As a “son of the commandments” Avery will be well prepared to lead a Jewish life and to make responsible adult choices.  By choosing to have his bar mitzvah in Berlin, Avery will help a new generation of our family take its place in Germany’s growing Jewish community (see Becoming a Bar Mitzvah in Berlin’s Jewish Orphanage).  His bar mitzvah, on the anniversary of my father’s, will forge a link to the past and lead our family on a new path to the future.  Coming at the same time as the approval of our German citizenship, I feel a greater sense of comfort as a resident of the country that my parents were forced to flee.

I’ve always been a little jealous of people who have had a bar or bat mitzvah, mostly because of their ability to read Hebrew and to accurately recite the prayers that sound so beautiful and that I still struggle with.  I envy their participation in a rite of passage that I never went through.  Maybe I am not religious because I just don’t know how to be religious, was never properly initiated into my own religion, and still feel somewhat like an outsider when I sit with my community in a synagogue.  Getting older only increases my sense of discomfort (I should know this stuff by now!).

Perhaps I will be inspired by my son and decide to have my own bat miztvah. Perhaps not.  At least I will feel comfortable choosing to have this rite of passage either in the U.S. or Germany. And I will admire my son for the courage he’s shown in making his own choices.