Germany: Roots & Remembrance

In Alsfeld, we were fortunate to meet with good people who work to preserve Jewish history. Among them are Joachim and Claudia, who took two days off work just for us. They have been interested in Jewish history for decades and have been helping me for years.

Joachim arranged for us to meet Vice Mayor Berthold Runner, as the mayor (Bürgermeister) was in Washington, D.C. In addition to Kaffe and Kuchen and a warm welcome, we were presented with a gift!

The Rathaus was built in 1536, 240 years before our Declaration of Independence. A metal strip was used as a standard to measure cloth in the town square.

Last year, I saw my grandfather’s name (Adolf Steinberger) on a curious box in the local museum. This year, I asked to see it up close.

Sascha Reif is an archivist with a PhD—and tools! He opened the glass case (not easy) and let me hold this Aliya box bearing my grandfather’s name. I couldn’t suppress my tears.

What was the box used for? It seems to be one of a kind, made of wood and paper, with seven holes. My mother told me years ago that this box was used to call up Jewish men (in those days, only men) for a public reading from Torah on the Sabbath. The first one came from the priestly class (Cohenim, descended from Aaron, written in Hebrew on the top right). The second was from the Levi’im class, descended from the tribe of Levi. Then came five men from the general public, the Israelim. My grandfather, synagogue president, was one of the Israelim. I’ve indicated his name in the red box below.

We walked to the doorstep of my mother’s house, 28 Alicestraße, now occupied by three families.

The house faced the yellow railroad station, topped with a clock.

Nearby was the home of my great aunt and uncle at Grünbergerstraße 30. They were murdered. Their gorgeous house, across the street from the site of my grandfather’s clothing factory (which burned in 2007), remains.

In front of the house are two stumbling stones, Stolpersteine, for Aunt Therese and Uncle Markus. Murdered. I could hardly breathe.

We met with Norbert Hansen, Alsfeld’s chief archivist. He greeted us warmly and was ready for us, showing us my grandfather’s 1922 and 1929 construction permit applications for his factory building. The applications’ calculations and details would spin your head.

I wish I had known my grandfather Adolf.

We walked to the site where the beautiful synagogue stood. Only a plaque remains.

In the 1930s, Alsfeld lost its Jewish community with its culture and contribution to daily life. But for fascism, I might have lived here. Gott sei Dank, thank God, for those who work to preserve that community’s history.

There is another building I wanted to see.

My mother (born when her grandmother was 74) said her grandmother was strict but loving. Isaak and Johanna are buried in Alsfeld.

In Alsfeld, our long time family friends, the Dittmars, always invite us for coffee and cake. On my right is a family friend who introduced us to the schools in Alsfeld, greasing the skids for my presentations to students.

Tomorrow we head south to Frankfurt, where we hope to have some time to decompress. We shall see.

To read prior essays, click HERE.