Mission Day 3—Saturday

For those who attended services on Shabbat morning of our mission (and there were many), colleagues David Propis and Alisa Pomerantz-Boro organized a remarkable smorgasbord of music and prayer for the morning. . . and part of the afternoon.

The service took place at the Ritz-Carlton.  Thanks to their (David and Alisa’s) planning, I believe that over 50 colleagues were able to take on one or another role in the service.  This was the first event so far in which I did NOT have a role to play, and I was content (thrilled, actually) to sit in the front row and enjoy the procession of so many beloved colleagues who had traveled so many miles to be with us on this Mission, each contributing in his or own special unique way.
I know that many who were traveling with us really enjoyed the multiplicity of voices and styles—and I know that people who haven’t spent time among my colleagues marvel at the deep affection which is obvious among people of many different ages and origins –men and women alike.

It made us think about how great it would be to have a convention that spans Shabbat—which would enable us to share things on a much deeper than our weekday gatherings do.  (A workshop about a Shabbat service is one thing.  Actually having the service take place takes us to quite a different level.)

The last time we had a chance for something like this was our Mission to Poland and Israel in 2009.  On that occasion, we were somewhat restricted because of the policies of the overseeing Polish Chief Rabbi (a complicated matter. . . let’s not go there!).

On Shabbat afternoon, we had a presentation by Eli Schleifer, a cantor-scholar of world renown.  Eli used to run the HUC cantorial program in Jerusalem, but is lately involved on the faculty of the Geiger College of Berlin.  As you have probably been able to tell by now, our schedule was quite full. . . and we “shoe-horned” him in to a spot that I was afraid might not be respectful – Saturday evening before Minchah (Shabbat wasn’t over this weekend until after 10 p.m.).  It turned out to be one of those “great problems” to have – a room that would easily accommodate 20 and could comfortably fit 40 (well, 35), but which 60+ people were trying to squeeze into.

This was followed by a walk or bus-ride to the Jewish Museum, a truly remarkable building and institution in Berlin.  We had an 8:15 p.m. lecture by Professor Berk followed by some time to see the museum, at the end of which we did Ma’ariv, a musical program and havdalah.  (Gaston Bogomolni of Needham, MA, dependably put together a joyful, multi-lingual, Jewish multi-cultural program with plenty of beat but some pathos too.)

 

Because Shabbat wasn’t over until AFTER my walk around the museum, I don’t have photos to share, but I’m sure that you could find some of the museum online.  It’s a famous place, and deservedly so.  The famous architect, Daniel Liebeskind, created a(n intentionally) confusing and disorienting  building, with three axes of inquiry and learning – of culture, of exile, and of destruction.  These axes SEEM to go in different directions—but they cross each other repeatedly.  And that has been our story, hasn’t it?!


In some ways, it feels like the design is a bit much—and that the experience becomes about the building and not its contents.  But I would say that, in the end, it is an effective and unforgettable way of getting at a difficult subject and set of experiences.  Among the most moving aspects:  small artifacts of individual victims of the Holocaust or survivors—not easily seen or read—which emphasize the individuality of the experience: it’s so important to remember that this happened to 6 million individuals and affected millions more—and that it wasn’t just something that happened to big groups of people.

Susan was particularly moved by a black hole-like chamber at one end of one hallway—a place where sound and awareness of your surroundings disappeared in a most disorienting way.  For me, although I didn’t remark on it at the time, there was a garden that I won’t forget—which was supposed to reflect the experience of those who have had to leave and start again in other countries.  There are olive trees growing—but they are growing in concrete planters many feet high, much taller than the people in the garden.  So although people do and did start again, they NEVER had the sense of home that most of us have experienced growing up in one place and being able to remain in that place as adults.  Imagine being in a place where your language no longer counts for much (except possibly in a negative way) and in which what is familiar to everyone else is pretty unfamiliar to you—and what is most relaxing and basic from the experience of your childhood is nowhere to be found.  That was the feeling effectively conveyed.

With the next posting, we’ll get on to Sunday’s events and lots of photos!