Posts tagged Germany
A Young City with an Old Soul

Leipzig is a city of monikers. It is called the City of Music, Little Venice, City of Heroes, Trade Fair City, even Hypezig. What wonders would Leipzig hold for me? I had no family connections with the town, so it was a blank slate. I was looking forward to meeting up with our Omaha friends, Denise and Rich, and reimagining my travels with a lighter touch. After all, Leipzig is a lively city with a university vibe. But once you’re wearing those historical lenses, there’s no ignoring what’s in front of you. And what was in front of me, time and again, harkened back to the past.

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Just Below the Surface...

And then I looked at a map – a beautiful old map with detailed drawings of Frankfurt residences, stately churches, elaborate gardens, and the Main River winding through its heart. Only then did I see it: the wall built to keep the Jews confined, the narrow lane that had to accommodate every Jewish resident from 1462 to 1811, when the ghetto was formally abolished.

The street, I soon learned, was only nine to twelve feet wide, leaving the community vulnerable to devastating fires. The walls extended for a fifth of a mile, the length of three football fields. In the early years, there were about a dozen structures, housing 100 inhabitants. By the 16th century, there were 195 houses. As the population grew, Jews had to build up, to divide and subdivide their homes into tall, narrow sections that could accommodate nearly 3,000 people. Dwellings were built behind dwellings so there were four rows of houses; upper stories were built over the lane until they almost touched each other. The smallest of homes was less than five feet wide. Jews and Christians could visit the other’s community during the day, as craftsmen and laborers often did, but three gates, locked at night and on Christian holidays, kept Jews in “their place.” For some inexplicable reason, the map made me viscerally understand.

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Discovering Frankfurt

I know. Discovering Frankfurt sounds like the title of a tour book. But it was a journey of discovery because my husband, Pat, and I had few pre-conceived notions other than an undercurrent of fear, a feeling that I should not wear my Jewishness on my sleeve. After all, this was the place my parents were forced to flee from the Nazia. But Frankfurt embraced me in ways I did not expect. My preeminent hope was that I would have a chance to meet Tilman Ochs, a local historian who lives outside of Frankfurt in a hill town called Kronberg. Tilman is an octogenarian and retired schoolteacher who volunteered to decipher my grandparents’ old-fashioned handwriting, allowing me to translate dozens of poignant letters from the tumultuous 1940’s.

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