There are very few things that could have tempted me out of the country over the past couple of months. This is my home, and this is where I intend to be, regardless of – or probably because of – the dire security situation, the anxiety, ham-fisted politicians, and tension, and the torment of those who have lost loved ones or experienced indescribable horrors firsthand.
But the Tage Jüdischer Musik – aka International Jewish Days – program, which took place in Germany November 27-30 under the auspices of the Usedom Music Festival and its director Thomas Hummel, seemed like a convincing reason to get on a plane and spend a while elsewhere. The event, as the name suggests, is designed to offer the German public a taste of Jewish art and, hopefully, enlighten them with regard to the contribution that Jews have made to German culture over the centuries.
Dietmar Müller-Elmau is the philosopher-owner of the Schloss Elmau super-luxury pastoral vacation hideaway near the Bavarian Alps, which hosts numerous Jewish and Israeli artists, as well as the G7 leaders. He notes that Jews have played a pivotal role in German culture and, indeed, in German identity over the generations.
That, naturally, entails a nod or two back in the direction of the Holocaust and the catastrophic passage of Jewish history duly featured in this year’s four-day rollout. That was palpable at the first two stops in an intensive Tage Jüdischer Musik circuit – traveling over 1,200 km. across charmingly snow-laden landscapes around the country – to a couple of partially restored synagogues. The incompleteness epithet relates to the fact that the synagogues at Stavenhagen and Röbel have been lovingly and highly professionally restored to aesthetic health but have not resumed their original function. That is largely down to the plain fact that neither city is now home to any Jews.
However, they do serve as cultural centers and provide information about the historical backdrop of the local Jewish communities. The display in the tastefully refashioned temple in Röbel, for example, indicates that the first evidence of Jewish presence there was noted in 1472. Not that the local community ever scaled voluminous heights. The 1828 local population census indicates that the Jewish population there peaked at 87, accounting for just over 3% of urban folks at the time. By 1937, four years into the Nazi regime, there were just four families there – some had already managed to escape – and the final transport of Jews to concentration camps took place in July 1942.
By March 1939, what remained of the Stavenhagen synagogue – following Kristallnacht – was sold for a pittance to a carpenter. The building survived the Nazi pogrom, albeit significantly scathed, due to the proximity of a neighbor’s home and his fear that his own house would go up in flames along with the synagogue, so he doused the fire.
Decades later, the municipality assumed responsibility for the severely rundown edifice and, under the supervision of local engineer Robert Kreibig, both the building in Röbel and the one in Stavenhagen were given a thorough makeover. Teams of professionals were brought in for the restoration projects in an effort to revive some echoes of the local Jewish past and to convey that to the general public, local and foreign alike. Heartwarmingly, the restoration crew also included young volunteers from around the world, including, as I was informed by Klaus Salewski, a non-Jewish local who manages the Stavenhagen center, students from Syria, Israel, Iraq, and elsewhere.
The experience
All of which made for a solid and informative vorspeis (entree) for the main performative course in Röbel, courtesy of Israeli-born Germany-resident violinist Noga-Sarai Bruckstein and Odessa-born cellist Emilia-Viktoria Lomakova.
A compact audience gathered on the upper floor of the Jewish cultural complex, which surrounds an inner quadrangle, for a program of Jewish songs that, I feared, might be tailored for Germans with little knowledge of Jewish culture. I envisaged the repertoire might lean a little to the easily digestible kitsch side. In the event, I needn’t have worried.
The concert featured such staples as “Shalom Aleichem,” based on the traditional Friday evening melody we all know; “Kanfei Ruach” (“Wings of the Spirit”), the lyrics of which were crafted by the first Ashkenazi chief rabbi of British Mandate Palestine, Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook; and the “Mee Ha’ish” verse from Psalms, sung to the familiar score written by New York-born rabbi-musician Baruch Chait.
While that immediately made me feel at home and provided some cozy comfort at this sorrowful time, the renditions were far more soulful and inventive than one might have expected of classical musicians. That is not to say that classical music professionals do not invest their work with emotion, far from it, but Bruckstein and Lomakova took that to another left-field level.
It was something of a strange setting, to be sitting in a German town I’d never heard of before, being entertained by emotive takes on such stock Jewish airs. Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable and moving experience, and the rest of the audience – almost all non-Jews, one may surmise – responded to the fare with great enthusiasm. Not a bad starter to the performative side of Tage Jüdischer Musik.
After chatting with a bubbly Israeli woman named Ruhama, who has been living in the region for the past five years, we finally made the return trip down south to Berlin, where we were put up in the fabulously luxurious Adlon Kempinski Hotel, a stone’s throw from the Brandenburg Gate. The place exudes old world ambiance, style, and tasteful decor, and our every need and whim, including vegan dietary requirements, were duly and efficiently met.
I was intrigued to learn that the hotel owners are planning to open a kosher restaurant in the building in the near future. That comes across as a resounding statement of cultural-historical intent, as well as affirmation of German-Jewish heritage, and should attract Jewish clients from the world over, as well as non-Jewish Germans looking to get a handle on fine Jewish cuisine.
After a brief but moving visit to the newest wing of the Jewish Museum Berlin, imaginatively designed by Daniel Libeskind, the second day saw us make the long trek up north to Heringsdorf on the island of Usedom, shared between Germany and Poland.
The festival berth there included a screening of a documentary by South African-born UK-based director Christopher Nupen called We Want the Light, followed by a talk and a Q&A session with acclaimed British Jewish journalist and author Norman Lebrecht.
The film examines the robust yet complex relationship between the Jews and German music, inter alia looking at the rabid intellectualized antisemitism of Richard Wagner – Hitler’s favored composer.
There were also interviews with the likes of Theresienstadt concentration camp survivor pianist Alice Herz-Sommer, who died in 2014 at the age of 108; and 98-year-old cellist Anita Lasker-Wallfisch, who played in the Women’s Orchestra of Auschwitz, led by legendary violinist Alma Rosé, as well as Lebrecht himself. The title of the documentary is taken from a poem written by 12-year-old Eva Pickova at Theresienstadt. Pickova was murdered at Auschwitz when she was 14.
The film was shown in German, with a few excerpts in English; but, of course, this was aimed at the local German-speaking audience. I had, nevertheless, seen it before, in German with English subtitles, and I do have a smattering of German, so I got more than the gist of the documentary. It is a moving and enlightening work and, judging by the number of the post-screening comments and questions from members of the audience Lebrecht fielded, and the passion they conveyed, it was well received.
ONE OF the pre-trip questions I’d pondered before heading for Berlin was how it would feel to be somewhere not threatened by rockets, with no sirens, no current military funerals, and no immediate existential threats. I also wondered how ordinary Germans, actual people rather than politically targeted snippets shown on mainstream media, felt and thought about the Hamas attacks and the ongoing war.
Prior to the screening in Heringsdorf, we met an older couple and a young man who, it transpired, was their grandson. They asked questions and listened politely and empathetically, but at one point the youngster suggested that, presumably, at some stage, “You surely have to get back to normal.” How can one possibly open the eyes of a comfortably off 20-something German to the complexities and nuances of life in Israel? Clearly, he had an interest in Germany’s Jewish history but did not come across as having accrued the requisite street-level acumen to envisage how things tick in this part of the world.
I should mention that amid the challenging travel itinerary, we were right royally pampered with some rare treats, particularly the fabulous gourmet meal we were served in the wine cellar at the Seetel Hotel restaurant complex in Heringsdorf.
Each dish elicited “oohs” and “aahs” of unadulterated epicurean delight from all concerned at the finesse, flavor, texture, and sheer pleasure provided by previously unimaginable creations such as pineapple soup and baked avocado. And that is even without noting the excellent wines individually tailored to each dish. The time spent on the road betwixt events may have demanded stamina, but the perks were gratefully accepted and much appreciated.
Out-of-ordinary offering
The third day’s musical offering, back in Berlin, was the most left-field of the program.
The concert at the Raum für Kunst und Diskurs cultural facility in the capital’s trendy Charlottenburg district was performed by Israeli-born soprano vocalist Tehila Nini Goldstein, partnered by Jewish Soviet-born pianist Jascha Nemtsov, a leading light on the local cultural scene. The repertoire appeared to be a cherry-picked showcase rollout of Jewish and Israeli musical bedrock nuggets, crafted to offer the Berlin audience a taste of this country’s cultural and musical heritage. The playlist included works by such venerated tunesmiths as Kurt Weill, Paul Ben-Haim, David Zehavi, and Mordechai Zeira.
However, the stylistic line followed a steady path through the world of German lieder. There were, it must be said, some glimpses of more contemporary colors from this part of the world, particularly in Zeira’s “Layla Layla” and, most poignantly, in “Ma Omrot Einayich” (What Your Eyes Say), which Nini Goldstein introduced in English and referenced the war here.
The lyrics describe a soldier serving in an outpost pining for his girlfriend and wondering how he will feel when he returns home from battle. Visibly moved by the circumstantial juxtaposition as the violence continues to rage over here, Goldstein broke down mid-song and was unable to complete the number. Israelis may relocate geographically for all sorts of reasons, but it is another story when it comes to taking Israel out of Israelis.
The final leg of the Tage Jüdischer Musik circuit took us southeast to the quaint town of Görlitz on the German-Polish border for a bona fide ethnic Jewish musical outing at the sumptuously restored local synagogue. There, we were treated to a largely Ladino-based program courtesy of Israeli composer, scholar, and musician Ariel Lazarus and his quartet. The Art Nouveau styled synagogue provided a fitting setting for the concert, and the audience duly applauded with gusto.
The future
This year’s festival cast an eclectic net across Jewish music, albeit to limited audiences; but, as Hummel noted, and with the continued support of the German Interior Ministry and a broad cast of commercial enterprises, plans to up the catchment ante will hopefully take off in years to come.
That will certainly be the case if Felix Klein has anything to do with it. For the past five and a half years, Klein has served as Federal Government Commissioner for Jewish Life in Germany and the Fight against Antisemitism. A musician himself, Klein is keenly aware of the importance of putting the riches of Jewish culture out there, particularly in Germany. When we spoke, he had just returned from an official trip to Israel as part of the solidarity visit entourage of German President Frank-Walter Steinmeier.
He says he was appalled by the sights he caught at Kibbutz Be’eri.
“You could still smell the smoke there,” he notes.
“And I discovered something I didn’t know – that the terrorists from the Gaza Strip looted as well. It was so disgusting to hear those kinds of stories.”
Klein adds that he also got some idea of the civilian response to the situation.
“On the other hand, I saw the Israeli spirit. That was something very impressive for me, to observe the sense of resilience that Israeli society is now developing.”
Klein says he was taken aback by antisemitic activities in Germany and elsewhere in the wake of Oct. 7.
“It is a very clear situation in which a terrorist organization attacks innocent civilians of the democratic State of Israel, and the consequence of that is the rise of antisemitism in Europe. It is hard to understand, and it shows an unfortunate general disposition in many European countries.”
The commissioner for Jewish life in Germany believes that ventures like Tage Jüdischer Musik have an important role to play in combating such detrimental lines of thought, and action, by spreading the word of Jewish culture and the plain basic fact that German culture is all the richer for the centuries of Jewish creation across all areas of the arts, philosophy, and other spheres.
“We have to make Jewish life [in Germany] visible,” he declares. “We have opened synagogues and Jewish cultural centers, and that will continue.”
That’s where Tage Jüdischer Musik comes into the picture.
“Cultural events, particularly with music, touch people’s hearts,” Klein says.
He is hopeful the event will, indeed, continue to prosper and spread its wings.
“Thomas [Hummel] is a great example of this. I am so grateful he is so engaged, and I hope his example will inspire others to do similar things,” Klein observes. That, and increased budgets, might very well do the trick.
For now, it is heartening to attend concerts of Jewish music in Germany 85 years after my Viennese-born then six-year-old mother heard the sounds of military music and witnessed Nazi troops being welcomed into the Austrian capital.