Elayne Klasson: Questions from Berlin

One of the first people I met when my husband and I moved to the Santa Ynez Valley was Doris Holzheu. We met at the Y swimming pool. Doris, being the friendly soul that she is, welcomed me to the area and asked me about myself.

When we both spoke of our love of travel, she wanted to know if I’d ever been to Germany. I said I had not. Doris, a still-beautiful woman approaching 90, and who speaks with a German accent, was surprised.

“You must go,” she said. “It is beautiful.”

There was something about Doris’s kind eyes that made me reply with honesty. “I’m Jewish,” I said. “I just don’t feel comfortable going to Germany.”

“You must go,” she repeated.

For many reasons, Doris among them, as well as my husband’s desire to see the amazing art and antiquities of Berlin, we’ve been in Germany nearly a week.

I was curious about whether I would be able to make peace with coming here. Could I begin to forgive the people whose ancestors were responsible for the deaths of millions of my ancestors? More importantly, could I begin to understand what led to the hatred resulting in this genocide? How could the systematic killing of 6 million human beings have happened?

Yesterday, we made our way to the center of this beautiful city, where we walked through an entire square block that Berlin has designated as a memorial “to the murdered Jews of Europe.” That’s an exact quote.

To their great credit, Berliners have not prettied up the language. They use the word murder. The memorial consists of thousands of somber stone columns of varying height, representing the millions of Jewish victims of the Holocaust.

We silently walked among them.

Along the edges of the memorial, we heard guides giving information in a variety of languages to people from all corners of the world. Teachers spoke to teens and pre-teens who were on school trips. Young and old listened soberly. How could you not? People wiped away tears.

Down the street was another memorial honoring disabled people: the blind, those physically and mentally handicapped, as well as homosexuals who have shared the same fate as the Jews.

Up the street was yet another memorial. This one to the Roma, or Gypsy people, who were also slain methodically and horrifically in the concentration camps of Germany, Poland, the Czech Republic and other European nations.

The Germans have taken responsibility for this horrific period in human history, which began in the 1930s with Hitler’s rise to power. The extent to which they have admitted this responsibility is truly impressive.

All through Berlin there are brass stepping stones on which appear the names of Jews who perished in the Holocaust. These stones are placed in front of their last place of residence before they were taken to concentration camps. 

These stones, called “stumbling stones,” are purposely placed so that pedestrians will metaphorically stumble and remember that Jewish people, whole families, had once lived their lives in Berlin until they were taken from their homes and forced into death camps to perish.

I am truly grateful for these acts of responsibility. No one could live in Berlin and forget that the Holocaust happened. Yet, so many questions remain for me.

I agree with Mrs. Holzheu, Germany is a beautiful country. Its people have been uniformly kind to us. Berlin is a lovely and vibrant city with a peaceful river flowing through it. The lilacs are blooming right now and tulips are on every restaurant table.

How could it have happened here? What made the Eastern European people, under Hitler’s leadership, turn on Jews, the disabled, homosexuals, gypsies? Hating them and exterminating them? How do we deal with the hatred that bred the Holocaust? Can we prevent it?

Today, our guide, an Israeli historian named Yoav Sapir, considered my questions. He said it was a perfect storm. There were many reasons the Holocaust happened at that time and place. I won’t recount them all here, but he gave us a lot to think about.

However, what did seem clear to me, is that this kind of hatred for others could happen again. Humans are capable of it. Primo Levi, a Jewish philosopher, writer and Holocaust survivor, said, “It happened, therefore it can happen again.”

In the remaining time we are in Berlin, in between the gorgeous museums, the smell of the lilacs, and tasting the delicious schnitzel and sausages, I will continue to ask questions. How can we deal with the kind of hatred that bred the Holocaust? And, can we prevent it?

Unfortunately, it feels all too real in our own time and place.

Elayne Klasson, PhD in psychology, is a writer and recent transplant to the Valley. She was formerly on the faculty at San Jose State University. Her new novel, Love is a Rebellious Bird, will be published this November.