Emotional roller coaster through history

In the middle of Berlin, I set off on the trail of German-Jewish history. The best address for this is undoubtedly the Jewish Museum . As I head in that direction, the dates suddenly start to hit me. On 30th January 1933, Hitler was appointed Reich Chancellor. The Second World War began on 1st September 1939 and continued until Germany’s surrender on 9th May 1945. One thing’s for sure – it’d make my History teacher proud if he read the first lines of this blog entry. In lessons, he taught us to learn historical dates by heart, like poems. The Second World War and the Holocaust often appeared on the lesson timetable. Up to the time of my exam, I knew about all the battles and alliances. What concerned me most, however, wasn’t covered; how did people feel back then? A visit to the Jewish Museum Berlin gave me an answer to this question, for the first time.

My tour of the spectacular museum building begins on the ground floor. This is where the “Axis of Continuity”, the “Axis of Exile” and the “Axis of the Holocaust” intersect to form a complicated network of paths. I lose all sense of direction, while the asymmetric museum floor makes me feel unsteady. Street signs with slogans such as “Jews aren’t welcome here” are exhibited in display cabinets. I learn about stories of Jewish inhabitants, who were able to flee before the Holocaust. Many of them had to leave their homes while they were still children. At the end of the corridor, a glass door leads into the “Garden of Exile”, where 49 high concrete columns are erected. It feels cold and lonely to be in the middle of this concrete labyrinth.

Back in the museum, I walk along the “Axis of the Holocaust”, which gets progressively narrower as you approach the end. There’s a sense of oppression everywhere. A museum assistant takes me into a room along with several other people. She closes the door behind us – darkness. Only a small gap in the roof lets a little daylight in. At first, visitors talk amongst themselves, but things gradually turn quiet. I hear the tapping of nervous feet, and quiet whispers. –“It might be a while before they let us out again”, I think. While waiting, I remember my History lessons again. The similarity to the gas chambers, where concentration camp prisoners were unaware of what would happen next, is clear. There’s a collective sigh of breath as the door opens.

I climb the stairs to the second floor – now I’m a hierarchy level higher; the level of perpetrator is implied. In the back room, I experience strong feelings of guilt. The artist, Menashe Kadishman, has covered the floor with 10,000 metal faces. It is explicitly encouraged to walk on them. I stand on the sea of faces. On closer inspection, I can make out children, adults and old men with contorted mouths. The metallic sounds made by my shoes as I walk, sound like sad whimpering.

Fear, oppression, hopelessness, but also guilt – here at the Jewish Museum, I’ve undergone an emotional roller coaster, and within a few hours, made up for everything I was unable to grasp after nine years of school History lessons. This is history that gets under your skin.