Jews for Elizabeth

Whatever experience I am having in the moment, I always seem to have it twice, often simultaneously: once while it is happening, and again as I tell the story to a specific person in my head, while it's happening. For instance, when I was riding Abi’s bike through Mitte and Prenzlauerberg, I realized I was now finding my way as Berliners do, keeping the television tower at Alexanderplatz in my sights. I was so thrilled I found myself telling Abi the story (in my head) like a child who finally masters bike riding, squealing with delight, “Look at me! I'm doing it!”.

During dinner with the Berlin Jews last night, I was committing detail to memory so that I could tell the story to Elizabeth later (you are all welcome to listen, too, of course). Elizabeth, New York Jewess in whose class on 19th and 20th C women writers (at Queen's) I found my voice. She has remained one of my dearest friends.

My Berlin friend, Eric, connected me with the Jewish community (this particular piece of it anyway) through the website, NetJewsishBerlin. The dinner, called Schmoozeday, was arranged for an Indian restaurant, which I found confusing, because I thought traditional Jewish food was Chinese!

Typical me, I almost decided not to go when I realized that if it was at an Indian restaurant, it would mean sharing food, and that reality panicked me for two reasons: one, Indian food is fattening and Germany has already expanded my waistline; and, two, I’m ashamed to say, sharing food likely meant sharing a bill beyond my budget. In the end, thankfully, my shameful cheapness shamed me into going as I asked myself, like a good Jewish mother would, what are you waiting for to start living? Another fire??? Turns out, I needn’t have worried. Everyone had either eaten at home already (to save money?), so they were just ordering appetizers, or else they were getting main dishes for themselves and not sharing (to save money?) I should have known! A table of Jews!

(I make such a bold statement because, as a Jew, I can get away with it; and let me tell you, nothing feels better than to reclaim a stereotype with humour.)

So, last night I broke (naan) bread with such a range of people – Igor, Russian Jew who spoke no English (in his 50s), Jeremy and Lina who also spoke little English (in their 40s, from somewhere east of here), Johan – Berlin Jew born in Scotland but returned to Berlin in his youth, now in his 60s, with whom I spoke French, and whose grandfather also studied at the Bauhaus, like mine; Asaf, Isreali Jew, 34 years old, training for a marathon, moved to Berlin because he fell in love . . . with Berlin, but travels all over the world doing sustainable development stuff; Lewis, filmmaker in his 40s, Swiss who speaks like a street Londoner; Devora (late 30’s, early 40s?), Berliner encrusted with jewels, but tastefully, from the west part (“of course you think NeuKolln is exotic but you must come to my neighbourhood and go shopping!” yet she is nothing like the Westmount Jewesses I met in Montreal), she is a dancer; Raquel, young Connecticut/New York Jewess in her 20’s who is here working on American films and lamenting the fact that she can’t apply for a German passport because the US does not allow its citizens to hold two citizenships; and, last but not in the least, Irene, whose story I wanted to tell Elizabeth.

Irene’s parents fled Berlin in 1938, restarting their lives in New York where Irene was born, I believe. But after the war, being communists, the family returned to Berlin . . . to EAST Berlin . . . by choice! So, Irene grew up an east Berliner, committed to the socialist cause. Since all I know about east Berlin is a tangle of stereotypes and propaganda, I went straight into interviewer mode and asked as much as I could. Irene was more than obliging. Imagine a woman with all the speech mannerisms of a New York Jew, “you want I should tell you a story? Sure, I’ll tell you a story!” but now laced with a German accent. She told me that living in east Berlin had been wonderful, that she had fascinating jobs and freedom of movement (relatively speaking) with the ability to travel to other countries, but she had zero interest in going to west Berlin. She was a journalist of sorts, I'm still not clear on what that means. She told me about how she met rabbis in the US who told her to form Jewish groups in Berlin. As a socialist, she was not an especially observant Jew. But “the good rebbe in New York,” she explained, “predicted east and west would soon no longer be divided, and then the socialist Jews would go searching for their Jewish heritage, so I had to start an organization to help them find their roots.” Irene did not believe the wall would come down anytime soon, but she started her organization for Jews anyway. A year later, the wall came down, and Irene’s group – Judischer Kulterverein Berlin — thrived.

She told me the organization is in the process of winding down. When I asked why, she said its members, if alive, are now 120 years old! I asked about the next generations. I can’t remember what she said, to be honest, (must have been all the sag paneer pooling in my stomach, sapping the energy required for my synapses to fire) but I believe it's because my generation is active, and, therefore, does not need to be reconnected.

Irene also told me that she finds the orthodox Jews in Berlin the most welcoming and friendly. She said it’s because they think it’s more important that people reconnect to the Jewish heritage than how they do it. So, the orthodox synagogue turns a blind eye to reform behaviour and welcomes you. It helps that the rabbi is from New York, I think.

Irene tells me there will be a huge Rosh Hashanah celebration at a fancy hotel on September 29. Fifty euros to get in, but no cost for anyone who is poor. I am not poor. I realize this. And I want to go. To be able to celebrate Rosh Hashana, the first day of the Jewish New Year, marking the ten days of the year when God opens the Book of Life and gives mortals a chance to reflect on the past year, on the future as we would like to create it, and to atone for our sins – what a gift!

Irene asks me if I’ll be going to the event. I respond in the enthusiastic tones of my generation, and the generations after me, “I’m SO there!”

(p.s. This morning I e-mailed Irene to see if she wanted to have dinner with me on Friday night. This is the response I got:

Friday I will be at the film night against Neonazis – starts at 6 pm, ends at midnight. “Babylon” movie Rosa-Luxemburg-Platz.

Of course you will be there, Irene, of course!!)

http://judaism.about.com/od/roshhashana/qt/when08rh.htm