Month: October 2017

The group visited Vienna Austria for a three night trip exploring the city, opera and beautiful palaces this weekend. Some of the highlights included Schloss Belvedere with gardens, museums and a beautiful exhibit from Maria Theresa’s collections. We also enjoyed venturing to local cafes for conversation, and visiting the many museums ranging from natural history to contemporary art.

The first two pictures are of two beautiful churches in Vienna. The first is from the Baroque era and is the Jesuit Catholic Church. The next is a Gothic revival Catholic church called Votivkirche. Picture credits Michael McClurg.

This is a Holocaust memorial in Judenplatz designed by Rachael Whiteread. Below the door reads in German, Hebrew and English. Photo credits to Erica Helgerud

Zum Gedenken an die mehr als 65 000 österreichischen
Juden, die in der Zeit von 1938 bis 1945 von den
Nationalsozialisten ermordet wurden.

זכר למעלה מ-65.000 יהודים אוסטריים
שנרצחו בשנים 1945-1938
ע”י הפושעים הנציונלסוציאליסטיים ימ”ש.

In commemoration of more than 65,000 Austrian Jews
who were killed by the Nazis between
1938 and 1945.

Many of the students explored various Cafes in the city including Cafe Schwarzenberg along the Ringstraße. Heiße Shockolade und Sachertorte, a Viennese classic, tasted wonderful!

Pictures of the Belvedure Palace in Vienna. Picture Credits Paul Reich and Erica Helegrud.

Imperial Treasury from Palace Picture Credits Paul Reich.

Few other events in all of human history rival the degree and sheer scale of the callous disregard for the value of human life seen in the Holocaust. Of all the abhorrent undertakings of the Nazi regime during their twelve-year reign, the industrialized extermination of the European Jews was their token act of evil. Six million Jews were killed, amounting to two thirds of the total Jewish population in Europe. Nothing can be done to reverse the events of the past, but what we can do, and indeed must do, is hold a light to these events with the hope of learning from the past and preventing such events from transpiring in the future. Much of the world has seemingly embraced this responsibility and today there exist countless memorials, museums, and exhibitions commemorating the victims of the Holocaust. One such memorial is known as the “Stolperstein” or stumbling stone project. Originally initiated in 1992 by German artist Gunter Demnig, the project aims to immortalize individuals victimized in the Holocaust at their last know residence by adding small, brass-furnished cobblestones engraved with the names of the victims to the sidewalks outside their former residency. As of early 2017, roughly 56,000 stolpersteine have been laid in twenty-two different European countries making it the largest decentralized memorial in the world.

Ever since Demnig’s idea of the stolpersteine was first presented, there has been fierce debate over their installation. There are numerous cities, some even so large as Munich, that have banned the stones entirely. Many people share feelings of indignation over the idea that a monument for something so significant could so easily be overlooked and obliviously stepped on. However, the majority of European cities and their inhabitants have embraced the idea and enacted measures to ensure the stones are well maintained. I believe, the significance of the stones is not in what they are, but what they are not. At a glance, they provide us with names and nothing more, and in this absence of any other humanizing information we are left staring into a void. A void of life experiences left by the murder of six million innocent people. Some who had witnessed the passing of many decades, others, the passing of mere days, yet all still with something worth living for. To me, that knowledge in and of itself is something worth stumbling on.

 

 

By Ben Votroubek (’18)

Our trip to the Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp was a sobering one. It was full of painful and graphic imagery. One section of the camp really stood out to me, that being the Soviet Liberation Memorial on the far north side of the camp. To me this memorial stands as a reminder that the horrors that existed within Nazi concentration camps did not halt once the war was over. Instead these camps were often repurposed by Soviet forces in the east to house former Nazi’s and other political oponents. While the treatment of these prisoners did not employ nearly the same amount of psychological terror that their Nazi counterparts did, the death toll was quite similar. The memorial tries to give the impression that the brave Soviets liberated their fellow comrades, while ignoring the plight of the much larger Jewish population that resided in the camp during the war and turning a blind eye to the events that took place in that very location thereafter.

The existence of this monument allows the space to give us a very broad and unified picture of its history. We can see the concentration camp for what it is and what it represents, a short horrific period of war and a genocide that will haunt Germany for years to come. We also get to look into turmoil that surrounded Germany following the war, evolving around the Soviet and Communist influences in East Berlin. Finally, we can see how the town of Oranienburg has formed into a quiet suburb and the site has turned into a tourist attraction less than 30 years after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Therefore causing Sachsenhausen and the Soviet Liberation Memorial to fit right into the fabric of Berlin and Germany as it exists today.

Jan Palach, als einer der bekanntesten historischen Persönlichkeiten von Prag, hat viele Denkmäler, die ihm gewidmet sind. Nach dem Prager Frühling hat Palach durch Selbstverbrennung gegen die Invasion der Sowjetunion rebelliert. In einem Brief, der Palach vor seinem Tod sowjetischen Beamten geschickt hat, hat er die Abschaffung der Zensur und kein sowjetische Propaganda mehr fordert. Wegen der Inspiration, die durch seine Überzeugungen verursacht wurde, wurde seine Beerdigung zu einem Massenprotest gegen die Besatzung der Sowjetunion. Sein Grab wurde auch ein nationaler Schrein und die Sowjetunion hatte viel Angst vor einem leidenschaftlichen Volk. Daher wollte die tschechische Geheimpolizei jede Erinnerung an die Handlungen von Palach zerstören und sie haben heimlich seinen Körper eingeäschert und an seiner Mutter geschickt. Anlässlich des zwanzigsten Jahrestages des Todes von Palach haben die Proteste, um sein Gedächtnis zu ehren und die Regierung zu kritisieren, eskaliert. Die tschechische Geheimpolizei hat die Proteste, Palach-Woche, streng unterdrückt. Wegen der grausamen Reaktion der Sowjetunion war Palach-Woche ein Katalysator für den Zusammenbruch des Kommunismus in der Tschechoslowakei.

Nach der Samtrevolution wurde auf der Straße vor dem tschechischen Nationalmuseum ein dem Jan Palach gewidmetes Kreuz gebaut, um den Mann und seine Maßnahmen zu ehren. Wenn man Jan Palachs Geschichte kennt, kann das Denkmal viel Einfluss haben. Die Erzählung der Selbstverbrennung von Jan Palach gegen die sowjetische Besatzung und Kommunismus ist eine starke Triebfeder und daher ist der Ort im Wenzelsplatz, wo er Selbstmord begangen hat, mit einem genauso starken Symbol gekennzeichnet. Ähnlich den Stolpersteinen von Europa unterbrecht Jan Palachs bronzen Kreuz den Alltag der Passanten/innen, um tiefes Nachdenken über Palach und die Geschichte des Kommunismus und der Unterdrückung in Prag zu inspirieren. Das Kreuz erzwingt man, darüber nachzudenken, was an diesem Ort passiert ist und warum es hätte passieren können. Aber, es ist in der Straße eingelagert, auch wenn es die Augen der Menschen fängt. Deswegen könnte das Kreuz als „integriertes Icon“ beschreiben sein, obwohl er ein etwas oxymoronischer Name ist. Palachs Kreuz ist nicht genauso ostentativ wie das sehr große Denkmal des St. Wenzels nur wenige Meter weg und daher ist es eine bessere Darstellung der Erinnerung von Palach. Statt des Getues eines riesengroßen Denkmal hat die Einfachheit des Kreuzes eine ruhige, mächtige und wichtige Bedeutung ohne Ablenkung. Obwohl Jan Palachs Kreuz physisch im Platz integriert ist, zeichnet es durch seine historische Bedeutung und wirkungsvoller Sinn aus.

By Adam Berkebile (’19)

In the Southern corner of Nuremberg stands a testament to the grandiosity and perversity of one Germany’s darkest periods, the Nazi party rally grounds. Used as a gathering point to showcase the might of the Nazi party, with spacious marching grounds, large amphitheaters and halls, and scared relics from the Nazi past, such as the blood-soaked flag of the Beer Hall Putsch, these grounds became the home for party rallies for the years preceding World War II. During these rallies, Hitler would make speeches to crowds of hundreds of thousands, Nazi pseudo-soldiers would march line by line saluting their Führer, and other forms of Party entertainment would be showcased. The grounds consisted of a completed Zeppelin field, as seen in the propaganda film Triumph of the Will, other marching grounds, a massive Congress Hall, and a mile long stretch of road known as the “Great Road,” all, save for the Congress Hall, designed by one of Hitler’s trusted architects, Albert Speer. These Party Grounds played a major role in Hitler’s Nazi Germany, showing not only the unquestioned authority of the Nazis, but also bringing together the entire nation of Germany under the banner of Nazism. From 1933 to 1938, the Grounds held six major party rallies, however at the onset of World War II the rallies ceased and all focus was shifted towards the War effort.

One of the most striking features of the Rally Grounds, in my opinion, is the “Great Road” that stretches from the Congress Hall towards the Zeppelin Field. This road, made of massive granite blocks, is specifically designed for the Nazi soldier, with each block measured to be about two Austrian goose steps long and comprised of alternating colors so the soldiers can stay in formulated and segmented lines. The road, along with the other parts of the Party Grounds, forms part of a massive arrow pointing out from the city of Nuremberg itself and extending towards the West as a symbol of the Nazi Party expanding itself and pushing through towards the World. I was most taken aback by the scale of the road which could easily have fit hundreds of soldiers marching in unison. However, the road was never actually used by any Nazi rally due to the onset of World War II, so it serves as an example of the massive scale of the Nazi imagination. The road today fits in well, albeit a little odd, with the modern landscape of Nuremberg. The road is primarily used as a parking lot for the people of Nuremberg and helps house the massive numbers of people that attend the yearly German People’s festival that invites all people from around Germany to come and celebrate their diversity and drink beer in the warm spring months. In this case, the intended use of these grounds has totally backfired. At first being a bastion for a racially segregated, destructive, and utterly abhorrent political party, and now being used to bring together all of the peoples of Germany in united defiance against the past.

Ben Schwartz ’20 on the Festival of Lights in Berlin

As I was walking through Berlin, I knew that the Festival of Lights was currently underway. The festival transformed important sights in Berlin into illuminated scenes of art, so I decided to visit the Brandenburg Gate, the symbolic landmark dating back to 1791, and one of the most picturesque sights in Berlin.

On this beautiful Berlin night, rather chilly but normal for autumn, these projections included a segment titled #freiheitberlin, which gathered responses from Germans to answer the question: What is freedom?

With such an open-ended question you can imagine a plethora of answers. Just which freedoms are we talking about? Some may think about political freedoms, some about social or economic. There are many options, but within this diverse, edgy, progressive city, there were a few answers that really stuck out of the crowd, one being, “Freiheit ist, wenn es egal ist, ob du Star oder Klempner bist.”[1] But, there was one answer that screamed out ‘This is Berlin.’  It said, simply, “Rockin’ in the free world!” Homage to Neil Young, it seems like it isn’t exactly the most intricate or well-thought answer, but this song, released on November 14, 1989, became an anthem for communism’s collapse, the ability to play whatever music you wanted, something that was not allowed within the Soviet Union. Freedom of music, of expression, of personality. An answer which at first isn’t eloquent; this is exactly Berlin, which, after looking past the beautiful museums, cathedrals, and government buildings, is not exactly the most intricate city, but that’s the beauty of Berlin. There is some beauty in the impetuosity, some rhythm within the chaotic beat of everyday life, a place for anyone, regardless of their background.

[1] Translates to: “Freedom is when it doesn’t matter whether you are a star or a plumber.”

On Oct. 12, our class had a chance to visit the Jewish Museum in Berlin, which is designed by the famous architect Daniel Libeskind. It consists of two buildings (the old, baroque-looking building and the new, modern one), and covers basically the rises and falls of Jewish people in Berlin and Germany from the 9^th Century till now. Our friendly tour guide mainly showed us the section about Jewish life in the Nazi period (roughly from 1933 to 1945), which briefly illustrates how National Socialism gradually and systematically implemented its anti-Semitic policies (separation-expulsion-extermination), and how Jewish people were persecuted because of these inhumane actions. He particularly mentioned Jewish people’s struggle about the vital decision, whether to stay or to emigrate before 1939, and explained how that struggle would affect their lives afterwards. Through official documents, dairies or daily-life records and artworks, we gained a relatively comprehensive understanding of the mental and material conditions of the Jewish people under National Socialism. After wandering around the museum by myself, I also learned about the struggles of the Jewish people during the medieval ages, while traditional/religious anti-Semitism was the main reason behind the persecution of the Jews. Overall the museum gives a thorough representation of Jewish history.

The design of the museum particularly catches my attention. The irregular and linear exterior and the monotonic and sharp interior of the new building were designed by Daniel Libeskind with special intentions.

(A Look of the Museum from Outside)

He calls the design “Between the Lines,” since the floor plan is shaped like zigzag that is intersected by a single straight line. The intersection points are marked by “voids,” which Daniel claims to represent the absence of Jewish people in German history. When we walk around inside the museum, we often encounter black walls with small windows which provide us with a view into those voids, further emphasizing this feeling of “absence”—you see through the window to look for something, but find out that there is nothing to look at. The cross shape of the windows was also noteworthy.

The Garden of Exile is also a very special place in the museum. In this “garden,” there are only rectangular-shaped pillars with vegetation on top. The sharp shape of the pillars and the tilted ground together create an uneasy feeling for the visitors. Walking between these pillars, you are rarely able to see any other people around you. It demonstrates the loneliness, struggle and sadness of the Jewish people who were forced to leave their homeland because of National Socialism. You could not find any feelings of hope and brightness here, but only pressure and desperation.

 

(A Look of the Garden of Exile from Below—in Black and White)

The design and the exhibitions determine the important role played by the Jewish Museum (Berlin). It integrates both physically and mentally the Nazi past into German people’s consciousness and the collective memory of Berlin and Germany. The strong sense of “absence” in its design always reminds people of the catastrophic and inhumane Holocaust, therefore preventing the same crime from happening again, and promoting contemporary Germans to protect the Jewish people and their heritage as introspection. It serves as a symbol of remembrance as well as reconstruction of the Jewish history, since besides the Holocaust exhibitions, the museum also covers other important part of the Jewish past in a nice chronological order. Visitors from all over the world are able to experience and learn this brief history comprehensively in just one museum. After all, the physical presence of this museum itself in Germany’s capital city Berlin is a sign to the world, that Jewish history is definitely important for Germany’s past, present and future, and will never be excluded from the collective memory of the German people.

By Sam Terwilliger (’20)

Upon first seeing Charlottenburg Palace, I was struck by the grandiosity of the palace and its grounds. It extended from one end of the large park to the other, with no obvious direction on how or where I should enter. As I walked, it soon became apparent that there were actually two museums in the palace itself, one encompassing the initial palace, and one for a newer wing that was added a few years later. Just as impressive were the picturesque gardens hidden behind the palace.

The first part of the palace was initially completed in 1699 after being commissioned by Sophie Charlotte, the wife of Friedrich III who would later become King Friedrich I in Prussia. After Sophie Charlotte’s death in 1705, the palace was named Charlottenburg in her honor. Soon after, a newer wing called the Orangery was added to store foreign plants. Later in 1740, Friedrich II continued to expand the palace, adding a second wing in the east. The palace was then maintained until World War II, when it was severely damaged. Luckily it was rebuilt in the 1950’s, and now also contains many paintings from the Stadtschloss which was completely demolished after the war.

As I walked around the front of the palace, the outside seemed relatively plane. There weren’t many decorations except for a few statues at the front gates. This contrasted dramatically with the interior of the palace. Judging by every room that I entered, it appears that Sophie Charlotte had a love of both art and splendor. Many rooms were lavishly decorated with painted walls and glass chandeliers. Others had portraits of Sophie Charlotte, Friedrich I, and others who reigned in Prussia. The room that stood out the most was called the “Porcelain Cabinet”. Each of the four golden walls was completely covered with fancy porcelain tableware and beautiful silverware. This must have left quite an impression on any guest invited to the palace. By having much of the palace on display, visitors are able to get a sense of art and design in the 1700s.

The palace grounds were just as eye-catching as the palace itself. Rows of flowers and precisely clipped shrubs lined a pathway to a fountain and a small pond. A variety of trails and bridges were also scattered throughout the rest of the garden and the woods. Hidden deep within the garden was a building called the Mausoleum which included the grave of Friedrich Wilhelm III. Fewer tourists ventured there due to its distance from the palace, but it still conveyed the same sense of grandeur.

Today in Berlin, Charlottenburg palace is both a museum and a meeting place in the Charlottenburg district. Its 18^th century artwork gives visitors an insight into an older Germany from that of the 20^th century depiction of many other museums and memorials. Visitors can experience the magnificence of the interior, while viewing countless works of art decorating the walls. The peaceful gardens contribute this same magnificence, but also give the palace another role in Berlin. Unlike the palace, which requires a ticket for admission, the gardens are open to the public, so both locals and tourists can go for a jog or a walk with their family at any time. This gives the palace and its grounds much more of a connection to the Berlin community around it. It is a unique place that brings both locals and foreigners together. There you can spend time away from the busy city life, while taking in the beauty of the art and design of an older Berlin.

A Reflection and Interpretation by Eavan Donovan on our October 12th 2017 trip to the Jewish Museum Berlin

How do we remember the past? In what ways should the visitor interpret a memorial? These questions were pondered during the construction and continue to be an important part of the Jewish Museum in Berlin. This museum gives a modern perspective on the history of Jews with interactive activities, videos, personal audio biographies, and art from every time period.

By creating the 166,840 sq. feet environment for reflection, contemplation, questioning and remembrance, the museum invites guests to an experience they are sure to remember past their exit of the museum.

The outside of the building is just as impressive as the inside. Finished in 2001 by architect Daniel Liebeskind, the modern, jagged building is attached to the 1735 Baroque style building of the previous Prussian Court of Justice. Now when a viewer comes to the Jewish Museum, they can’t guess what is to come from the experience. The large building, with shiny metal and windows at odd angles does not allow the contents of the building to be seen. I particularly appreciated this aspect of the architecture as it leads to remembrance in a subconscious way. In some ways, we feel anxious about entering the dark building with no sign of a clear entrance or exit. Liebeskind purposely designed the building to remember the Holocaust victims, the importance of Jewish contributions to German society and finally the various paths of the millions of Jewish Germans throughout history.

One of the things that stuck out to me about this museum was the entrance/exit. The guests of the museum must go down a set of concrete and metal stairs to start into the basement of the museum. There are three axes to symbolize the three paths of Jews in Europe during the 1900s, with small plaques explaining small objects along the walls. The first is to the Holocaust Tower, a dead end with a dark, cold room. There is a small amount of light in the room but the overwhelming emptiness, and harsh walls remember those murdered in the Holocaust.

The next is the Garden of Exile and Emigration which is used to remember those who were forced to leave Germany. This is the only exhibit outside, perhaps exemplifying the freedom of those who emigrated. Yet at the same time, the uneven ground and tall concrete pillars remind us that the path was no easy and not all of those who emigrated survived. Finally, the staircase I have pictured is called the Stair of Continuity which leads to the exhibition spaces above showing how history and remembrance continues on. These axes set the mood of the museum at the beginning and helped to show that the history of millions of Jews can not be attributed into one particular storyline.

Finally, this is a museum that is highly acclaimed for both families, locals and visitors. Its location allows for the large outdoor space to have benches as reflection memorials, and beautiful gardens, while also being centrally located in the city. The museum was informational on the facts of Jewish life but most importantly plays a vital role in remembrance of the horrible atrocities endured by the Jews through remembering the contributions of an incredible people and their lost souls. This museum has influenced guests for almost two decades and is sure to continue this legacy for many more decades of remembrance.

Sources:

“Jewish Museum Berlin.” Libeskind, libeskind.com/work/jewish-museum-berlin/.http://libeskind.com/work/jewish-museum-berlin/

“The History of the Jewish Museum Berlin.” History of Our Museum | Jewish Museum Berlin, www.jmberlin.de/en/history-our-museum.

By Jianxiong Zhang (’20)

Unlike the Museum Island in the central Mitte District always busy with tourists and students from all over the world, the Deutsch-Russisches Museum (German-Russian Museum) stands lonely in Berlin’s eastern suburb of Karlshorst. In contrast to the cozy upper-middle class neighborhood today, the location possesses great historical significance in its influence on Germany and East Europe from World War II till today. The museum, which was built to be the office of the German Armed Forces’ Pioneer School, witnessed Germany’s signing of unconditional surrender to the Allied Forces on May 8^th, 1945. From then to the founding of DDR in 1949, the building served as the seat of the Soviet Military Administration in Germany. In 1967, it became a museum of surrender, but it was only accessible to members and their relatives of the complex – the KGB headquarters in Germany. Since 1994, the museum became open to the public, but it has never been well-known to visitors of Berlin.

The museum first attracts visitors with four national flags of the countries of its Board of Trustees: Germany, Russia, Belarus, and Ukraine. Although the museum, named German-Russia Museum, documents World War II not only in today’s Russian Federation but the USSR, it was coincidental that the latter three countries were of the four founding republics (except the Transcaucasian SFSR) of the Soviet Union. The T-34 tank on the left of the building tells visitors that it’s a war museum. Indeed, this neighborhood served as the Soviet’s frontline headquarters for the battle of Berlin. It became more obvious that the museum was about the Soviet victory, or the German surrender seeing the gate with the years 1941 and 1945 underlined by слава Великой победы (the glory of victory).

Passing the gate, visitors enter the hall where the German field marshal Wilhelm Keitel signed the unconditional surrender to the Allies on May 8^th, 1945. Copies of the original documents were on display next to the desks. The documents were written in English, Russian, and German, with the last point stating that only English and Russian, not German, are languages of authority. The room next to the hall is the office of Marshal Zhukov, who ruled the Soviet bloc of the conquered Germany from 1945 to 1949.

 

With the founding of East Germany, the building became less useful to the Soviets, and the regime turned it into a museum in 1967. Unlike a normal museum in most people’s minds that are open to the public as a tourist or educational destination, the museum was then only open to the officers working in the neighborhood – the KGB headquarters in Germany. We don’t know whether the objects on display were the same as they are today, but it tells us what a secret and guarded place the surroundings were as the frontline where the KGB and the Stasis collected information from the west. Ironically, the headquarters was turned into a living complex after the German reunification. If you want to enter the building 26 years ago, you need numerous permits and pass strict checkpoints. Today, you just walk in.

Compared to war museums in the city center and Nürnberg, the German-Russian Museum displays World War II with a more Soviet perspective. Hearing the radio recording of then Soviet Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Molotov’s speech on the German invasion on June 22, 1941, we can feel the anxiety and uncertainty from his tones even without any understanding of the Russian language. The speech marked the beginning of the Soviet struggle with millions of civilian deaths. The museum documents another kind of crimes the Nazis committed to the civilians, starvation. People living in Soviet territories were classified as Untermensch (subhuman creatures) under Hitler’s race theory. The strategy the Nazis used was holding up food supplies for a winter and starving most civilians to death. The ones survived the first winter, as Hitler theorized, were the strongest and should be used as slave labors. Forbidden to reproduce, these races would eventually die out. There are also propaganda posters putting the blame of starvation on Stalin for resisting the Germans.

However, the museum also lacks some part of the history, for example, the German-Russian Nonaggression Pact which the two countries divided Poland into their occupation. It reminds me of a recent law passed in Russia forbidding questioning the result of World War II which actually aimed to avoid talks about this pact. At the exit of the museum,  there’s a quote from Stalin: „Die Erfahrungen der Geschichte besagen: daß die Hitler kommen und gehen, aber das deutsche Volk, der deutsche Staat bleibt“, I translate as: “the history’s experience says: Hitler comes and goes, but the German people and the German nation stays”, shows us Stalin’s pragmatic approach to the ruling of Germany that he tried to separate the Nazi’s crimes with the German society and to depict the Soviets as the savior of Germany from Nazi’s rule.

The visit to the Deutsch-Russisches Museum has been a great experience for me to understand World War II from the Soviet perspective. As the country with the highest per capita mortality rate during the war, the Soviet’s struggle deserves to be remembered. The subsequent history, as shown in the different usage of the building, tells us more about what happened after the war than objects displayed in the museum.