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September 12, 2003/Elul 15 5763, Vol. 55, No. 55
Haunting images
Chandler rabbi's trip to Germany blends past and present
RABBI BONNIE KOPPELL
Special to Jewish News
Rabbi Bonnie Koppell, spiritual leader of Temple Beth Sholom in Chandler, has been an Army Reserve chaplain for nearly 25 years. She completed a month-long assignment in Heidelberg, Germany, on Aug. 13, where she served at the headquarters of the United States Army Europe (USAREUR). Below, Koppell recounts her experience.
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Rabbi Bonnie Koppell, during a tour of the German countryside, visits the Neuschwantstein castle in Bavaria, the inspiration for the Sleeping Beauty Castle at Disneyland.
Photo courtesy of Rabbi Bonnie Koppell
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It will undoubtedly take a long time to process all my experiences in Germany. I arrived with a negative attitude toward Germany and the German people, and one month later I am departing confused. As a Jew, it was emotionally overwhelming to step off the plane, to see German uniforms and to hear the language spoken. I know that it is politically incorrect to say so, but to me, German was the language of the Nazis.
Shortly after my arrival in the country, I was interviewed by the Stars and Stripes newspaper. The reporter asked how it was for a Jew to come to this country, and I told him, honestly, that it was traumatic. I was especially overwhelmed to look down and see the Star of David on my uniform, reflecting on the millions of my brothers and sisters who had gone to their deaths wearing that star. Now, almost 60 years later, I am wearing it with pride and returning the salutes of German soldiers.
What's good about Germany? Well, it is a physically charming environment. There are more than 3,000 castles and small villages that appear to be right out of a fairy tale. In these summer months, flowers are lush, abundant and omnipresent. The gardens and fountains, statues and public squares, the narrow, cobblestone streets, are a refreshing change from the strip malls and housing developments at home. Here one enjoys a leisurely cup of coffee at a sidewalk cafe, rather than a paper cup from Starbucks on the run. There's time for a three-hour dinner with friends, and Germans are granted six weeks of paid vacation each year. The law requires that a woman's job be held for her for three years after giving birth, and she receives 60 percent of her salary during this extended maternity leave.
German society is marked by a sense of politeness - even the street signs say "Bitte Warten - Please Wait," rather than our more brusque "Don't Walk."
What are the concerns? First of all, it is unbearably sad to tour places like Worms, Speyer and Rothenberg and imagine those cities as they once were - teeming with Jewish life. Most of what remains are ruins, memorials, museums and cemeteries. How could 1,000 years of history and scholarship be wiped out in a few years?
German society is wrestling with its past, and there are tremendous efforts not only not to deny the Holocaust but to actively confront it. I was taken aback, however, by an anonymous call after the Stars and Stripes article was published. The caller indicated that young people in Germany are being radicalized due to the restriction of their freedom of speech - it is against the law to deny that the Holocaust occurred. The fact that she saw this as a negative is indeed an indication that there is still much work to be done.
A Jewish woman from Mannheim attended Friday night services at the military chapel and asked me if it was OK that she had her mezuzah on the inside of her home. After 20 years living here, she still didn't feel comfortable publicly identifying herself as a Jew. Her comfort level was not helped by the comment of her 4-year-old upstairs neighbor, who informed her, "Ich bin ein Deutscher - I am a German," the clear implication to her that she is not.
When I toured the Neuschwantstein castle, the inspiration for Walt Disney, the non-Jewish tour guide confessed that a man in the neighborhood had invited her 11-year-old son into his home to view the shrine he had erected to "The Fuhrer." Walking to shul in Mannheim, my hostess suggested to the young boy who was with us that it was best that he not put his yarmulke on his head until entering the synagogue.
The Jewish community in Germany is growing, mostly with refugees from the Former Soviet Union. The population has increased from approximately 30,000 in 1990, to more than 150,000 today. When I attended services for Tisha B'Av at the shul in Heidelberg, the woman who answered the door was a new Russian immigrant. By the way, a sign at the entrance to this synagogue requests in Russian and German that one only open the door to people one recognizes. All of these experiences conspired to reinforce my initial feeling of discomfort.
Germans are very focused on law and order. My friend, Master Sergeant Nancy Hadley and I were lost and pulled over on the side of a cornfield to study our maps. A bicyclist came by, and rather than asking if she could help, she felt the need to reprimand us and inform us that we are not permitted to park there. This was not atypical. This helps me to understand how Jews were so comfortable in Germany for so long. The stereotype of the German Jew as being rather rigid, becomes clear. This inflexibility and inability to think "outside the box" emerges, as well, in talking to progressive German Jews about ways to create religious alternatives.
There is a great need for teachers and rabbis, and the Hochshule for Judische Studien, which has a relationship with Heidelberg University, is working hard to meet that need.
The concept of the separation of church and state is different in Germany. German citizens pay a church tax of 8 percent of their income tax, which goes directly to the religious body of their choice. Various religious groups then form a central organization that acts as the liaison between the religious body and the government. The consequence for Jewish life is that it has been very difficult for progressive Jews to get a piece of the pie.
When I arrived in Germany, I was completely haunted by images of the past. I couldn't enjoy the picturesque villages. I could only imagine Jews being forced to leave them. I looked at the railroad tracks, and I wondered how many Jews had traveled to their deaths along these routes. I encountered Germans, and I speculated as to what they and their parents were doing during the war. And I was fairly determined to hold onto this hurt and anger.
From a theological perspective, I don't think that it is my place or my right to forgive. "Murder," writes Cynthia Ozick, "is irrevocable. Murder is irreversible. ... Forgiveness is pitiless. It forgets the victim." Forgiveness of the crimes of the Holocaust is not an issue for me. The personal challenge is not to visit the sins of the parents on the children, many of whom struggle valiantly to confront the evil of the past and to stand vigilantly on guard against anti-Semitic incursions in the present.
I must acknowledge the efforts I have seen and experienced toward this end. Every village has a memorial to its Jewish population, and museum exhibits routinely refer to Jews who were relocated and tragically killed.
Each year, German communities invite former Jewish residents who survived the war to return and visit their former homes at government expense. Ray Berman, a member of Temple Beth Sholom, participated in such a program in Mannheim three years ago and has remained in contact with Manfred and Brigitte Nagler, who acted as his hosts. The Naglers made it their mission to be my special guide during my time in Germany.
Manfred Nagler personally gave me a tour of the Jewish sites in Worms and Speyer. He arranged an appointment for me and Col. Kenneth Leinwand, the USAREUR Chaplain and also a rabbi, to meet with Prof. Manfred Oeming at the Hochshule. Manfred Nagler introduced me to the work of an incredible organization called the Gesellschaft fur Christlich-Judische Zusammenarbeit, an organization founded after World War II to foster Christian-Jewish understanding. This is a group of lay people who are dedicated to building bridges of understanding between Jews and Christians. They provide a very impressive program of events, including a community service in commemoration of what the Germans call "Pogromnacht", what we call "Kristallnacht." About 10 years ago, there was a consensus that somehow the term Kristallnacht was "too nice," as Manfred Nagler put it, and a harsher term was needed to convey the horrible reality of that event. Thus, Pogromnacht.
Manfred Nagler and I dined with a representative of the German-Israelite society, whose focus is on bettering relations between Germany and Israel. They do this through their work in the community here and through exchange programs between German and Israeli students.
At dinner we spoke about Christian groups that specifically target Jews for conversion. I explained that the same phenomenon exists in the United States, and that I usually try to ignore them and understand that they think they are acting in my best interests, trying to save my soul.
My dining companions shook their heads vigorously, "No, that's not OK here because of our special history." I was really touched that they were more offended than I was.
All in all, it has been an overwhelming experience. I have been blessed for the first time in my military career to work with Col. Kenneth Leinwand, a splendid rabbi, officer and human being. He brings great joy and uplift to his Shabbat services, and I wonder if it is by design that he includes songs such as Am Yisrael Chai, "The People of Israel Live," and V'yehuda L'olam Teyshev, "Judah Will Dwell Eternally," each week. Whether this is conscious or coincidental, it is unbelievably moving to sit in a congregation of Jews - in Germany - and celebrate our enduring presence.
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