Paul decided that he wanted to visited the Berlin Jewish Museum today. At the start of the 20th century, Berlin was the largest Jewish city in the world. One third of the 100 richest Prussians were Jews. By 1945 Hitler had destroyed Germany's rich diversity, making it both poorer and more homogeneous. Berlin's Jewish Museum – with its extension by Daniel Libeskind – explores two millennia of German Jewish history. But far from being locked in the past, the museum looks forward.
Built in 1999 and opened in 2001, it’s an attempt by architect Daniel Libeskind to express not only the horrors of the Holocaust, but also to examine the broader history of Jewish life and culture in Germany.The museum’s striking zinc clad structure, with its violent slashes for windows and unsettling zig-zag form, is intended to resemble a “dislocated” Star of David when viewed from above, readily indicates to visitors that they are not in for a comfortable experience.
The entrance to the museum is via an adjacent Baroque building, built in 1736, that originally housed the Prussian chamber court and later the City Museum. This all feels normal enough.
However, once you’ve passed the security check, things change quite dramatically. A steep black staircase descends into the heart of the main building, and what Libeskind describes as his ‘Trio of Axes’ – three lengthy, geometrically skewed corridors that crisscross to represent different aspects of the Jewish-German experience.
Along the Holocaust Axis, visitors pass a series of eerily lit display cases that showcase anti-Jewish Nazi propaganda, and personal mementos from those who either survived or were murdered in the Holocaust; an embroidered Star of David and phylacteries from Leo Sheuer, who spent 15 months hiding in a hole in the ground; letters between “Aimee and Jaguar”, two female resistance fighters and lovers who were separated by the Nazis and never saw see each other again.
At the end of this series of heartbreaking personal stories awaits the Holocaust Tower. Entered via a heavy metallic door, the tall, cold, strangely-angled structure is relieved only by a thin slit at the top that lets in a tiny amount of light and the muffled sounds of the outside world.
At the end of the Axis of Emigration lies another disorienting experience; the Garden of Exile. This installation comprises 49 concrete columns that on first appearance look weirdly crooked, until you realise that the columns are in fact straight. It’s the ground that’s askew. This sudden perceptual shift causes a feeling of nausea that increases as you stroll in and around these towering, specifically built by Libeskind to provoke the alien, unnerving experience of exile.
The final Axis – the Axis of Continuity – winds its way through the rest of the building and, with the exception of the occasional deliberate dead-end (including one right at the top of the main stairs), thoughtfully-placed void, leaves behind the darker expressions of absence and disappearance to enter more familiar museum territory.
The broader story about the Jewish relationship with Germany comes almost as a relief, especially given the enjoyably innovative and varied nature of the exhibition. Spread over two vast floors, visitors find oil paintings, reproduced texts, films and touchscreen presentations, a coin minting machine, and lots of personal histories of the famous (Einstein, Rathenau, Liebermann) and the forgotten, such as the journal of Glikl bas Juda Leib, which gives rare insights into 17th century Jewish life for Jewish women.
We also learn of how anti-Semitism was a part of the Jewish-German relationship pretty much from the offset - at first based upon religious prejudices and later political/pseudo-scientific ones. Of course, the events leading up to the Holocaust are also covered, with further eruptions of the museum’s overarching themes of loss and absence.
It was an art instalation, Fallen Leaves (Shalekhet) by Menashe Kadishman, the cut the sharpest. When first viewed from above it looks like an interesting space with objects on the floor. When you focus on those objects you realize you are looking at faces with their mouths frozen open in a scream. These 10,000 open mouthed faces are coarsely cut from heavy, circular iron plates cover the floor. The text panel in the museum said that this exhibition dedicates it to all innocent Jews victims of violence and war. Also the title “Fallen Leaves” raises suggestion of both negative predestination and of hope for new life in the coming spring.
When I was last in Berlin I was a bit rushed going through the museum - it was great head back and see exhibits and displays that I had missed.
It was about 1:30 when we left and our stomachs were telling us it was time to eat. Retracing our steps we got off the subway at Alexanderplatz and went to the Galeria Kaufhof dining hall. I had had a great lunch there when I was last in Berlin and was eager to show Paul how Europeans do cafeteria food. Sure enough it did not disappoint!
Great German food done cheap!
We wandered around a bit but with our colds being what they were we really did not feel much like shopping.
On the way back to the subway we passed a pharmacy where a lovely pharmacist sold me some cold drugs.
Back at the apartment I got drugged up and lay down for a nap.
When I woke up from my cold drug induced nap I still felt shitty but also felt the tug of going out. We walked around the corner to a wine bar that we have passed a few times. Instead of passing we went in and had a lovely time sipping amazing wines and nibbling on snacks. I am so glad that I forced myself to go out because it really was a great evening.
We made our daily run to the grocery store to pick up a few essentials (which at this point seems to consist mostly of candy, chips, wine, and beer :-) ) and it was back to the apartment to relax.
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