Chilling walk down memory lane in Berlin

A view of the ‘fallen leaves’, dedicated to victims of violence. [Photo: Njoki Chege/Standard]

The Judisches Museum in Berlin is one of the largest museums in Europe. It holds within its wall memories of the Holocaust and has become a must-visit for anyone touring the city of Berlin. NJOKI CHEGE was there

It was a Friday afternoon, hours before my 5pm train to Amsterdam. The entire group was tired from shopping at a big mall, Alexander Platz, but I knew I had one more place to visit before I took my train to the Netherlands.

I was in Berlin for six short days, which really were very hectic but enjoyable. When our host Anna gave us a booklet outlining the places to visit in Berlin, I was crest-fallen at the fact I would never have enough time to visit them all.

Nevertheless, I felt it would be a crime to come to Berlin and miss the world-renowned Judisches Museum.

Joined by my two Nepali friends Sama Thapa and Santosh, we took a bus to the neighbourhood, got lost several times until we finally found the museum. To say that there was immense human traffic is an understatement, but what would you expect in the summer?

After paying €5 (Sh543) entrance fee, my two friends and I began a journey through what Jews in Germany had trekked decades before, as the wrath of Hitler came down upon them.

Walking through, I could almost feel a cold breeze at the nape of my neck, but maybe it was just my imagination.

Sitting on 15,000 square metres the museum consists of two adjoining, yet uniquely designed buildings that will leave you wondering exactly what inspired the architect.

It is made up of two buildings; the new museum adjoining the old museum and sits on what was formerly known as West Berlin before the fall of the Berlin wall.

Zigzag

Its design is a twisted zigzag and its shape, resembling a warped Star of David, probably with good reason, with three underground passages and tunnels leading to various corners of the museum.

You must be wondering why the building is designed in such a unique manner. But first a little background: In 1988, the Berlin government announced an anonymous competition for the new museum’s design.

A year later, the zigzag design by architect Daniel Libeskind was chosen by the committee. Records note that while other entrants proposed cool, neutral spaces, Libeskind offered a radical, zigzag design, which earned the nickname ‘Blitz’. The museum was officially open to the public in 2001.

Between the lines

According to information provided by the museum, Daniel Libeskind called his design for the Jewish Museum Berlin ‘Between the Lines’. The floor plan is shaped like a zigzag line and is intersected by a straight line. Empty spaces called voids extend the height of the building at the interfaces. The zinc-clad facade is covered by diagonal slashes, which I discover are window openings.

As I later find out, all three of the underground tunnels, or axes, intersect and could be representing the connection between the three realities of Jewish life in Germany, as symbolised by each of the three spaces: Continuity with German history, emigration from Germany, and the Holocaust.

Of the interpretation, Libeskind says: “What is important is the experience you get from it. The interpretation is open.”

Inside the museum, you will see the Void, an empty space, 20 metres tall, that slices linearly through the entire building. It represents the absence of the Jews from the German society.

Holocaust tower

An underground tunnel that leads to the Holocaust Tower, a 24-metre high empty silo that ought to be the loneliest place in the world!

Like every other conventional tourist, I hang my camera around my neck, eager to take photos of the empty silo. Unfortunately, one of the museum attendants strictly warned us in German not to take pictures of the silo. We were only allowed into the tall empty silo for a few minutes, a silo whose only source of light was a small slit in the roof.

This silo, I am told was similar to where the Jews were kept for days during the Holocaust.

When the huge doors slammed shut, I felt a chill in my spine, probably the same feeling the poor Jews felt when they were locked in those silos — condemned, the only hope of escape from the horrible fate before them an unreachable slit high up, unreachable, only allowing one to dream, but just dream.

The door slamming shut must have been with a sense of foreboding finality. Going through the zigzag building is interesting and eye-opening.

The Axis of the Holocaust presents personal documents, photographs, letters, and keepsakes that were donated to the museum. These tell of the donor’s murdered parents, relatives and friends.

On the walls are photos and artefacts dating back to the early 1930s depicting the life of Jews in a hostile Germany. I saw photos of happy, yet desperate Jewish families that suffered the annihilation.

I saw letters from Jews in camps — writing to their families in Europe, some asking them to take care of their children for them, and pray, that God may have mercy upon them.

Also on exhibition are dishes and cutlery used by Jews, some dating as far back as the 18th Century.

And whoever noted that ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ was spot on. You can tell a story by just looking at the photos on the wall, and carefully studying the expressions on the faces of the Jews pictured.

The pain in their eyes, and the haste in the wording in their letters tell a lot about a generation that was almost entirely wiped out of the face of the earth. A window into their last moments, heart wrenching, but still hopeful.

Fallen leaves

Somewhere inside that museum lies a beautiful artwork by a celebrated Israeli artist and sculptor Menashe Kadishman. When you walk into the big, well-lit room, you wonder why there is so much rattling noise, until you get inside and see the ‘fallen leaves’.

There are 10,000 faces punched out of steel that are distributed on the ground. The Israeli artist dedicated this artwork not only to Jews killed during the Shoah, but also to all victims of violence and war.

Visitors are invited to walk on the faces and listen to the sounds created by the metal sheets, as they cling and rattle against one another.

Visitors are also given a rare treat of listening to audio testimonies of Jews who survived the annihilation and are now living in other parts of the world.

Just listening to these voices ushers you to a world of a people discriminated against on basis on their religious affiliation.

You will hear stories of people who changed their names and religion for survival, Jews who have never seen their kin in years, and some who wish they’d just get a chance to go back home.

Wish tree

The last place you will tour in the museum is the wish tree. It is a tree resembling a Christmas tree with colourful balloons and little red papers stuck in between the branches.

The task is simple; you get a little red sheet of paper, write a wish and hang it on the tree. It is optional, and you can hang it wherever you like, as a small ladder is provided if you’d like to pin it higher.

My wish? I wished I’d had more time in Berlin.