It was not my first visit to Berlin since our emigration in 1939; I had seen the remnants of the city shortly after the end of the war. My memories are of ruins, a population living in cellars, with the smell of brick dust everywhere. During the following years I had made further visits, but always for very short periods. Now, for the first time I would spend a whole week at leisure, as part of the programme to invite back all old Berliners, i.e. all those of us who managed to escape into exile before the outbreak of the war. Altogether our party numbered upwards of 90, mainly oldies. They came from the USA, Canada, Australia, Britain, Israel, Argentina and Brazil, a veritable Diaspora.
The city treated us royally. […] The activity programme was quite punishing, especially for those who could only walk slowly or with the help of sticks. Two young Red Cross guardian angels accompanied us wherever we went.
The first afternoon was taken up with general orientation, sorting out paperwork, after which we were free for the rest of the day. I wanted to show my wife Hedy where I had spent most of my Berlin life, in Dahlem suburb. Our former house survived the war undamaged and the street brought back many childhood memories. The trams, which I loved as a young boy, long ago gave way to buses, but otherwise the neighbourhood has kept its character, even to the cobbled streets. Eating dinner at an outdoor restaurant nearby brought back so many childhood memories that had lain dormant, hidden in the attic of my mind. I was quite overwhelmed when I remembered friends and family members with whom I had spent a childhood as carefree as my parents could make it, while all the time black clouds were gathering on the horizon for all of us.
The visit proper began the next morning, with a coach drive through the city. The first scheduled stop was at the memorial to the many officers who were executed after the somewhat belated, but failed 20 July 1944 plot against the life of Hitler. This event is given much prominence in the new Germany. Apart from individual brave efforts of German individuals against the Nazi tyranny, it was the only organized attempt to rid the country of the perverse regime. It is perhaps understandable that such emphasis is nowadays placed on this act of bravery. It might serve as a warning to future generations. It was hard for me to recognize the city centre. Here and there I saw buildings that I remembered, or thought I remembered. We were shown remnants of the Wall, now full of graffiti and looking not nearly as threatening as it did in the past, with its barbed wire, observation towers and minefields.
“Stadtmitte” was almost completely unrecognisable to me. The baroque Cathedral and the Pergamon Museum were the only two landmarks that I could easily identify. An army of cranes covers vast building sites, formerly given over to memorials of Imperial splendour, Nazi megalomania and latterly, Socialist grandeur. There is so much tearing down and rebuilding in progress, that one must wonder how a city that is said to be financially on the brink of bankruptcy, will pay the bills. By dinner time we had sufficiently recovered to search the neighbourhood for a congenial outdoor restaurant. During the meal I suddenly realised that we were sitting in the street where my mother was born in 1897. And there were other streets which brought back memories of grandparents, uncles and aunts and cousins. […]
On Saturday afternoon Hedy and I were invited for a “Kaffee und Kuchen” visit in the home of Frau Irmela Rietz, who has for several years welcomed Jewish ex-Berliners. In this way she has also received reciprocal hospitality by her guests and has visited Israel and America on several occasions. Our visit gave us a glimpse of present day family life in Berlin. […]
Much has been done to maintain a memory of the city’s Jewish heritage and its bitter end. We were taken to several memorial sites that recalled the horrific happenings during the years of the Holocaust. We find such modest memorials more impressive than mammoth statues and extravagant Holocaust museums. But then our views are probably coloured by a childhood spent in the midst of those happenings. That is also why our three visits to the Jewish Museum were the highpoint of the week. There I felt at home; the displays coincided with my own childhood memories of school and home. Altogether it was a bittersweet experience, and I did not feel that I had returned to a place that was “home”, although I do realise that it was home at one time, so many years ago. I was glad that I had accepted the invitation to visit the city, if only to show my wife some of the Berlin that had been home to my family for several generations and to me during my early childhood.