A Place They Called Home: Event Photos

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German citizenship, German Jews, Jewish identity

A Place They Called Home. Reclaiming Citizenship. Stories of a New Jewish Return to Germany was introduced at the Leo Baeck Institute’s Center for Jewish History in New York on December 10th. Yale historian David Sorkin gave introductory remarks, I spoke about the development and significance of the book, and we had a lively panel discussion moderated by William Weitzer, LBI’s Executive Director.

Here are some photos from the book launch which was attended by over 100 people, including seven of eleven co-authors. We missed having Nancy, Ruth, Yermi, and Pippa there for the celebration.

from left: Rabbi Kevin Hale, me, Carole Fabian, Maya Shwayder, Peter Meyer, Sally Hess, Sylvia Finzi (not pictured: Dena Romero)

Carole and Donna

Introducing the book — a special moment for me.

Donna and Sally

panel discussion with David Sorkin (L) and William Weitzer (R)

And here’s our first news coverage: British Jews claim right to German Citizenship before Brexit.

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

German Jewish Welcome Committee

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Berlin, German citizenship, German Jews, Jewish identity

We hit the jackpot with German Jewish visitors this summer, so many that one of our new friends referred to our family as a German Jewish Welcome Committee. We met in Berlin’s cafes, restaurants and wine gardens. Sometimes I shlepped the whole family along and sometimes I ventured off on my own, arriving early at a cafe so I could try to pick out the person I was virtually acquainted with through my blog or book project.

Each encounter revealed a nexus in our family backgrounds and stories. A fellow Montanan with an adopted son faced the same challenges that we faced with our adopted son’s German citizenship application. We had an instant rapport with the daughter and grandchildren of a long-time follower of this blog who, upon arrival in Berlin, felt as drawn to the city’s eclectic multicultural landscape as we were in 2010. Over coffee and cake at the Literaturhaus Cafe in Charlottenburg, we made some surprising discoveries with a visitor from the Bay Area, including common employers and similar paths from secular to Renewal Judaism.

Our trip to Riga, St. Petersburg, and Helsinki was another highlight of our summer. It wasn’t the sunniest of vacations, but the compensation for bad weather was that our kids shared lots of secrets about their private lives with us during all the time we spent in pubs and cafes seeking shelter from the rain. Little did we know that our visit to St. Petersburg coincided with the 320 year anniversary of the Russian Navy, an occasion that brought thousands to the banks of the River Neva for a parade of vessels.

It was as difficult as I expected to find time to work on my book project on restored German citizenship during the last two months, but I did manage to submit one grant application, complete some research, find a few more contributors, and begin a new draft of my citizenship story. And a few days ago I was pleasantly surprised to hear from a literary agent who accidentally stumbled upon this blog and was interested in the book. However, she’d like a manuscript “auf Deutsch” so if anyone would like to offer translation services, please be in touch!

German Jews and the Brexit

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Article 116, Brexit, German citizenship, German Jews, Jewish identity

The uptick in applications for restored German citizenship from German Jews in the UK has begun. Prior to the Brexit referendum, UK citizens of German Jewish descent might not have felt a desire to have their German citizenship restored. But loss of an EU passport casts Germany in a new light. Thomas Harding expressed the sentiments of many others in his recent article for the Guardian, Brexit Drove me to Embrace my German Roots. Thanks to a reader for sending me this article in which Harding also cites Germany’s humane refugee policy as another factor that inspired him to seek German citizenship. A host of other recent articles report on Jewish fears of rising extremism and xenophobia in the post-Brexit UK.

Headed to the UK but for how long?

Our own disappointment in the Brexit vote hit home on a personal level. Our son Avery just met the rigorous requirements for acceptance to the mechanical engineering program at University of Southampton. He’ll still be able to enroll as an EU citizen for the next two years, but his tuition would more than double if he is reclassified as an international student so he’ll need to have a contingency plan for completing his degree. Our daughter Olivia hopes to study environmental science in Scotland where a potential new referendum on leaving the UK might still make that possible as an EU citizen. We’d love for our kids to pursue their undergraduate degrees in Germany, but as German and EU citizens we also value the freedom they have to choose among the member countries.

British Jews eligible for German citizenship may not be ready to fully embrace Germany, but does this matter? The fact that Germany offers them an avenue to membership in a more integrated European society is reason enough to clasp the hand of the German state. Despite pressures from its own anti-immigrant forces, Germany is still the country with the world’s best passport. British Jews of German descent who reclaim German citizenship will have some complicated identity issues to untangle. I’ve been in touch with a few applicants and hope to include some of their Brexit-related stories in my book on the German Jewish citizenship experience.

The Push-Me Pull-You of Israel

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Diaspora Jews, Israel, Jewish identity, Passover

It will take some time to unravel the twisted knot of emotions that wove its way through me over the nine days we spent in Israel. My sensory delight in the sweet smell of jasmine, the warm and inviting limestone architecture, the abundant sunshine, and the rich tastes of hummus and falafel expanded during each day of the trip. While my senses enjoyed this daily barrage of gifts, my brain was constantly working overtime to fill in the multi-colored canvas that is Israel. Each day the land and the people drew me in, but not without moments when my buttons were pushed and I drew back. I felt a bit like Dr. Doolittle’s pushmi-pullyu, the gazelle-unicorn whose two heads try to go in opposite directions whenever it moves.

The highlight of our trip was spending time with our cousins who we first met in 2011, but with whom we already share a deep bond (see Shrinking the Family Diaspora). That bond was strengthened as we picked up where we left off three years ago and wrote a new family history into the moments we spent together. But sadness and even anger bubbled up within me while trying to make sense of the ultra-orthdox Jews whose demeanor and conduct sent a loud message that said “keep away — you are not one of us.” Driving through the Mea She’arim area and provoking the rage of its residents was probably a bad idea, but even worse was the feeling we had while walking around Jerusalem of being invisible in the eyes of those who are a part of our history but who reject us as Jews.

Visiting Israel during Passover made it more challenging for us to connect with Jewish life since our family is fairly secular and does not keep kosher for the holiday. We often found ourselves gravitating toward Arabic areas and had our most spiritually uplifting experience at the Ethiopian Orthodox Church in Jerusalem on Easter Sunday. Although we spoke with no one during our brief visit, we felt not only welcome and accepted, but also a sense of peace that spoke of the human potential that has yet to be achieved in the Middle East. I hope to share some further reflections as I unravel my thoughts and emotions and try to get my head pointed in just one direction.

Finding my Niche in Cyberspace

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German Jews, Jewish community, Jewish identity

Last fall I attended my first PechaKucha Night in Bozeman. If you’re not familiar with PechaKucha, it’s a model for delivering presentations in a 20×20 format. The presenter shows 20 images for 2o seconds each, and gives remarks that are paced to match the length for each image on display. One of the presentations was on Robert Pirsig, author of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Amidst all the fascinating facts about Pirsig, I was stunned to learn that he got 121 rejections for Zen before William Morrow Publishers accepted it. I was awed by Pirsig’s perseverance and chided myself to be more vigilant in seeking new outlets for my writing.

Fast forward to the 2012 holiday season. I spent a good deal of my spare time crafting pitches to publications that seemed like a good fit for my work. Then I spent too much time checking my email for responses that never arrived. Perhaps publishers took more time to actually write rejections in Pirsig’s pre-electronic age. Nowadays we’re so bombarded with e-communications that the ease of sending a reply just may not be worth the bother.  Zillions of online media sources do increase a writer’s chances of being published, but the difficulty of getting an editor’s attention in cyberspace is still an enormous challenge.

Eventually I did hear from both the Jewish Women’s Archive and Tikkun. The result is two short pieces about my search for a Jewish identity and sense of community in both the U.S. and Germany. Here are the links: Jewish Identity: A Round Trip Journey and Finding and Building Jewish Community in Germany.

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.

Writing Girls

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AVIVA-Berlin, Berlin, German Jews, Holocaust, Jewish identity, stolpersteine

Back in April an interesting message caught my eye among the many that land in my electronic inbox each day: “AVIVA-Berlin Seeks Participants for Jewish Women’s Histories in Berlin Writing Project.” My eyes quickly devoured the two page call for proposals while my brain was already churning out possible story ideas. There was just one apparent glitch — AVIVA was looking for Jewish women writers from Israel and the former Soviet Union. This wasn’t the first time that I felt a little left out as an American Jew in Germany. But there was no need for wounded feelings. I contacted Sharon Adler, publisher of AVIVA-Berlin, and she eagerly agreed to include me in the project.

According to Sharon, there are currently 10 Writing Girls who range in age from 16 to 61. Their stories are about Jewish women in Berlin, from the present and the past, with a special emphasis on “forgotten stories.” My article is a follow-up to an earlier piece I wrote about the discovery of my great-aunt Meta Adler. Although Meta was not from Berlin, her story has become intertwined with my own life as a Jewish woman in Berlin. Many thanks to Sharon Adler for her support of Jewish women writers!

Here is the link to my story:
http://aviva-berlin.de/aviva/content_Juedisches%20Leben_Writing%20Girls.php?id=141266

Time for an Identity Update

Tags

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.

What A Woman Needs…..

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Berlin, German citizenship, German Jews, Jewish identity, Virginia Woolf

During a brief visit to the Baltic Sea last week I sought inspiration for my nascent writing career from Virginia’s Woolf’s classic A Room of One’s Own.  Books can remain on the “must read” list for a long time, sometimes years, until there is an event that triggers the impulse to slip them off the shelf and onto our nightstand.  In this case it was the sense of being smothered by my three boisterous kids and my XXL husband in our small apartment.  Since I can’t seem to pluck my eyebrows or put on my pajamas with any measure of privacy, it seemed a good time to seek guidance from a great writer who didn’t shy away from touting the material needs of a woman who has creative aspirations.

Money and privacy are what a woman needs to produce great works, says Virginia.  This was no trivial claim to make nearly 100 years ago, especially as she looked back through the years and pondered why so few women had been writers. These days I struggle to find the physical and mental space to express myself.  And when I do create a written work, I face one of the other great challenges Virgina Woolf wrote about  — “the world’s notorious indifference.”  The world “does not ask people to write poems and novels and histories; it does not need them,” she says.  Yes, I sometimes succumb to moments of doubt and discouragement about whether my voice will be heard in the world.

But writing about my experiences as a German American Jewish woman in Berlin has inspired me to discover and share the stories of others who have reclaimed their German citizenship.  I hope to put a book proposal together in the coming months.  I derive courage from Virgina Woolf and her assertion that “a thousand pens are ready to suggest what you should do and what effect you will have.” I am also fortunate that the Jewish Writing Project has been a great source of encouragement and has graciously offered to share some of my work with its readers.  Here is a link to a recent essay about my evolving identity: http://jewishwritingproject.wordpress.com/2011/10/17/the-tapestry-of-self/.