Interlude

Hello!

It's been about two weeks and I am happy to report that I am in California, enjoying the beautiful sunshine and relatively warm weather :)

Last week was intensely busy, as I was dancing with the Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company from about 11:30 - 6 everyday. I can unequivocally tell you that I have never been as sore in my entire life as I was last Wednesday. The program was fantastic and I got to learn from two incredibly knowledgeable and inspiring teachers, and I made some new dance friends along the way. This week has already been filled with family dinners, wonderful friends, three Chanukah parties and my guilty trips to the gym following said parties and dinners.

I mostly wanted to write this post so I could formally sign off until Paris. I leave for France on January 5, and I have a lot to do before then :)

Wishing you all a wonderful holiday season with joyous celebrations of every sort!

D

Auf Wiedersehen

A recurring theme in all my classes this week has been ,,Was bedeutet Heimat für Sie?" or "what does home mean to you?" Heimat is not necessarily home, though. If we were to go back a few decades, there was a serious nationalistic bent to the term meaning something like 'homeland' or 'fatherland.' Today in Germany, there is much conversation over definitions of the term and what it means for specific people and groups.

In each of my classes, there was a specific spin to the question. In my German conversation class, the challenge was, obviously, to convey our personal thoughts in German. My "Jewish and Muslim Berlin (JaM)" class visited an exhibit on Heimat at the Jewish Museum, which explored the notion of Germany beginning to embrace its relatively new immigrant culture, and grappled with the meaning of and creation of home for minorities in this country. PoM (Politics of Memory) discussed the place of memory in one's Heimat - how important is collective memory in creating a narrative and shared heritage for a country and a people? Is it important at all?

When asked to draw my Heimat, I ended up with a picture of the Golden Gate bridge in the background with a larger outline of California layered over it. Next to California was my abstract representation of the coastline of Israel. I drew five hearts on my paper - two in California, two in Israel, and one in between. My two CA hearts, as one might guess, were placed in San Francisco and Stanford, while the Israeli ones were in Jerusalem and in Etzba HaGalil (the region of Northern Israel where I've worked for the past two summers). The one in the middle, was intentionally smaller, and was placed in Germany. I drew it smaller because I feel like Germany and I are still getting to know each other. The 12 weeks I've spent here have been incredible, and definitely warrant Germany having a huge place in my heart. That said, there is so much I still want to explore here - so much I want to learn and see. My language skills have, admittedly, improved, but my German is far from fluent. I've made wonderful friends here with my peers from Stanford, yet my German friends are much more distant. I drew my German heart smaller than the rest because I expect it to grow so much more in the coming years. I know that I will be back and I hope Deutschland is ready for Doria, Part II. Indeed, Berlin has become one of my homes and I look forward to see how both it and I change in the future.

Because I really can't believe that my time here has run out (I'm actually not even finished packing), I don't feel like I can clearly reflect on my experience in Berlin as a whole. For that, you'll have to stay tuned for later posts. What I can say, is that by the time you read this, I will likely be back in California. My winter break consists of a workshop with the Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Collective, numerous appointments, work, relaxing, and, of course, burritos.

I hope that my plans for the next three weeks will also include you, and that we can find time to sit down to see each other before you and I go in our separate directions once again. The Blackberry will be up and running in about 36 hours (hallelujah!) and you know how to find me, should you be so inclined to look.

With heartfelt appreciation for traveling with me throughout this incredible quarter,

Doria

Geschichte

In German, the word Geschichte means both "history" and "story." I don't really know why that fascinates me or surprises me, but I find this word and its two definitions represent my academic discipline very well. I am of the camp that in order to accurately understand history, you must understand people. Each of us writes our own story and, to me, historians are those who are willing to delve deeply into the lives of others, even though such stories are often marred by painful pasts, and act as editors -- sifters of memory and creators of narrative.

Today, I heard the stories of two Germans. I wanted to share them with you because I feel as though my encounters with these people today will be ones that I look back upon years from now, but for each for very different reasons.

As I was walking through a park on my way to school this morning, I saw an elderly gentleman and a woman, who I presume was his aide, walking towards me. I was prepared to smile and nod and brush past them rather quickly, as to make it to my warm classroom a little sooner. As we approached each other, I realized the man was holding out his hand to me. Rather startled, I shook his hand and proceeded to wish him a good morning. I am guessing he presumed I was an American, due to the Stanford sweatshirt I was wearing, and so he spoke to me in English right away. The conversation was pretty standard - I learned all about his children, his grandchildren and his great-grandchildren. His aide was very helpful in translating those rather tricky words like "toddler," for example. I told him about my studies and that I was from California on a study abroad program. Pleasantries. He asked me about Berlin, and I told him how much I really love it here. He was delighted to hear that. The man told me that he had lived in Dahlem (the neighborhood where my school is located) for a very long time. I asked him how long, and he replied, "I moved here, to Berlin, in 1935. And I'm 95 years old, so that's most of my life. It didn't look like this then, though..." After doing some quick mental math, I realized that this man was born in 1916 and moved to Berlin when he was almost my age. I am ashamed to tell you that I could no longer listen to his stories. For the rest of our conversation, all I wanted to know was what he wasn't telling me. What was he doing in 1935? What wasn't he doing? How many of his neighbors "disappeared?" Did he make them disappear? All I could hear was, "...it didn't look like this then..." I freaked out, made up that I was late for class, and dashed off through the park anxious to get inside and try to get rid of the chills that were running up my spine. I am not proud of my reaction. I wish I could tell you that I had the courage to ask him about his experiences during the war, but I was too afraid of what his answer might be. I will remember this story, though, because I felt how the gnawing pains of ignorance turned into unfounded anger against someone I had just met. I will remember how it felt to sit in class afterwards and desperately want to find the man, even though I have no idea what I would say to any of his possible responses. I will remember this story because I realized that knowing the truth, no matter how painful or horrific, is too important to be sacrificed by cowardice and self-preservation.

My second encounter occured while I was eating lunch at the cafe near the Center, working on my final presentation for my German conversation class. A middle-aged German woman sat down next to me, glanced at my computer, and proceeded to ask me whether I was a student at the F.U. (Freie Universität). I responded to her that I was not, in fact, I am an American and have been studying here in Berlin for the past few months. We ended up talking for about twenty minutes about everything from what I am studying (Geschichte - ok, Jüdische Geschichte, to be precise) to her life, her brother's English-speaking girlfriend, her children (Viktoria, 12 and Christoph, 9), her Dutch-speaking best friend, Viktoria's dance classes - I think you get the idea. She was delighted to hear that I have two Sprachpartners (Language buddies) and that I am finally reading German newspapers (I didn't mention that I don't get much beyond the headlines). After she finished her soup, she stood up to leave and said, "You truly are a German student!" and then she left. It took me a second to understand that she meant I was not a student of German, but a German student. It was only then that I realized that I hadn't spoken English the entire time.

I spoke with two strangers today. One conversation highlighted an unavoidable part of life here in Germany - the tragic past that doesn't remain in the past, it made me uncomfortable, and reminded me why it is so important to learn the whole story before crafting a narrative. The other made me feel more proud and more authentically German than I have ever felt. Both of these stories, though, are ones for the history book...

the other Germany(s)

Dear Friends,

I apologize. I've been too busy with my other "major" adventures to tell you about the ones I've had right here in Germany! #firstworldproblems

I have loved having the opportunity to get out of Berlin and explore a little more of my host country. In the past three weeks, I've been able to see Leipzig and Dresden - the two most populated cities near Berlin. Both cities are very beautiful and historical, and my visits there successfully reminded me that when one thinks of Germany, one cannot think only of Berlin. As I've heard many Germans say, Berlin is an anomaly. While I cannot attest to that statement per se, I have found that Berlin is unique among its German "peers." From my admittedly limited experiences in other German towns, Berlin is much more diverse in many senses of the word - in terms of people, art, food, architecture. That said, I've found it much easier to forget that Berlin is a German city. It is a very tourist-oriented city, and it's definitely possible to get around only speaking English. Berlin is no less authentic than these two cities, don't get me wrong; however, I found it really interesting and rather gemütlich (friendly, cozy, charming) to be truly immersed in a German setting that is at once so similar and different from my daily life here in Berlin.

I visited Leipzig back in the middle of November with three other friends of mine. We hopped on the regional train and got there in about two hours. The town was incredibly quaint and we had a great time going on the self-guided walking tour of the city. The Weihnachtsmarkt was just being set up and there were a lot of people mulling about the center of the city all trying to get the first Glühwein (German mulled wine sold at these Christmas markets) of the season. Leipzig is known for its churches and as the place where Bach conducted many an organ concert in the St. Thomas Church. We meandered about the town, admiring the beautiful buildings and enjoying lunch at Kartoffelhaus #1 (Potato House 1) and just taking it all in. Leipzig looks like this:

A large and in-charge art museum

The library at the Universität Leipzig

"Das Weiße Haus" (The White House) at Occupy Leipzig. Please note the large crowd.

I went to Dresden last Wednesday, and frankly, found it much more interesting than its Saxonian counterpart. My whole German conversation class (three of us) plus my Politics of Memory class (a different three) went with my German professor for the day, courtesy of Hans George Will (wealthy sponsor of the Berlin program). Those of us in the German conversation class were each delegated to choose a location in Dresden to give our final referat (formal, memorized presentation). My friends chose the New Synagogue and the Military History Museum, while I chose the Frauenkirche (Church of Our Lady). Because the Military History Museum is closed on Wednesdays - random - we did not go there, but we did visit the Synagogue and the Church. Both were so fascinating and impressive to see. The Church that I presented about was completely destroyed in the Allied bombing of the city in February 1945 and was essentially left in complete ruin until the end of the GDR government. After German unification, there were many massive grassroots efforts to rebuild the church and restore its pre-war glory. The church was only finished in 2005 - 60 years after its destruction. It is now a very prominent symbol of peace and reconciliation in German society. The church also raises issues in terms of remember the German suffering during the war. Many scholars question the validity or morality of memorializing the innocent German victims of the war, including a professor of mine who asked, "At what point is it no longer appropriate to acknowledge that, in comparison to the suffering the Germans inflicted, their (non-military) hardships are relatively minute?" I would love to have a long conversation with you about such issues in person, but not over the interwebs. Instead, here are some photos from Dresden, including the medieval Christmas market in the center of the town.

The dome of the Frauenkirche

Wines made from various fruits (from Strawberry to Lingonberry) at the medieval market

The New Synagogue of Dresden

Wooden Stacking Dolls at the Christmas Market

In light of all these adventures, I am not surprised by how quickly the time has flown. Next week, I'll be back in California (weather permitting, fingers triple crossed!) with only some gingerbread, stollen (traditional Christmas bread), and some photos to remind me of my non-Berlin adventures :)