Remembering June 17th 1953

Since my family fled from East Germany in 1961, we celebrated June 17^th as a National Holiday or the Day of German Unity in West Germany.  The day was marked with parades, concerts and peaceful demonstrations to commemorate the Uprising of 1953.  It was the only National Holiday in West Germany since all other holidays are determined by the Bundesländer (states).  After the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, the Day of German Unity was moved to October 3^rd in 1990.

Since my family always believed in German unification we were very gladly celebrating that holiday after we arrived in the GFR (German Federal Republic).  The first year was the most dramatic since we had just arrived as refugees and still lived in a camp in Űlzen with many other emigrants.  I never will forget the exhilaration we all felt when we sang for the first time the German National Anthem or the Song of Germany.  It was composed by Joseph Hayden with words by August Heinrich Hoffman: Unity and right and freedom for the German Fatherland….  Those words alone brought some kind of elation even for a 12-year-old.  My parents also were moved by the occasion, especially as they had coordinated our escape under tremendous stress.

They had planned a family vacation in the north of Berlin with the scheme of staying in Rheinsberg for a few days and then leaving to Berlin instead of returning to our hometown of Nordhausen.  During those last few weeks before the building of the Berlin Wall in 1961, thousands of refugees went through the camps in Marienfelde (West-Berlin) and we ended up there, too.

 

The uprising in 1953 started with a strike on June 16^th by a few hundred construction workers in Berlin who were told to take a pay-cut but still do the same or even more work.  That strike spread like a wild fire throughout other cities.  Suddenly, there were demonstrations everywhere since the citizens did not want the ‘systematic implementation of Socialism.’  It alarmed the government of the GDR (German Democratic Republic) and they brought in Russian Troops with tanks and police to suppress the protests and some hundreds of Germans lost their lives during the uprisings and the following incarcerations.  It was a troubled time for the young country which was under the suppressing rule of the Soviet Union. The Soviet Union had never allowed East Germany to form an independent or democratic government (GDR was only a fake name). The protesters chanted: ‘Down with communism’ and ‘down with the government.’  The only way to silence the crowds was with force which is always the case in totalitarian countries. 

 

Today we celebrate June 17^th as the birthday of our son Jason who was born here in the USA in 1987.  In my heart I remember the brave men and women who risked their lives for freedom and the rights for the greater good.  It does not matter which country we live in, all men want to be free and enjoy the liberty to make their choices for their families, work and their social standings.  In the end, that liberty can only be granted when we reconnect ourselves with our creator and live our lives with our God-given purpose.  Anytime that autonomy is threatened our original nature feels uneasy and wants to protest.

Looking in the Rear-View Mirror Again

On my recent trip to Germany I was part of a class reunion with men and women from my Elementary School.  Since I was the one who came the furthest way, they ask me to give a short account of what happened to me since I had left my hometown.

 

Here I was enjoying my homecoming and suddenly, I felt like looking into the rear-view mirror again.  In my younger years I had pretty much lived looking in the rear-view mirror (fortunately, I was not driving then). Have you ever wished you could have been born in another century?  I always desired I had been born in the 19th century remembering my grandmother telling me about the ‘good old days’ before WWI.  She painted her younger days in such a serene and peaceful way.

 

I was born in Nordhausen/Thüringen after WWII as the second of four children.  My parents

had been ‘matched’ by their mothers since my dad was a soldier and didn’t really know many girls.  He was 10 years older than my mother.  The mothers were part of a women’s group who used to meet regularly at the popular local Café Dietze.  My parents were married during the war on one of my father’s furloughs.  While my dad was away, our 1,000 year old home-town was almost completely destroyed.  Within two days of allied raids, the proud “Freie Reichstadt” was 85% destroyed, leaving homes, businesses and factories leveled to the ground.  When my dad returned after the German surrender, he found his parents business in rubbles.  To the credit of their undying spirit, he set up his tools and started repairing watches and jewelry in an old garage. 
 

Soon after that, the Russian troops moved in and my home town came under their occupation.  I grew up in East Germany until I was 12 years-old.  Even at that young age I understood that I was dealing with different ideological opinions: I was going to religious classes at the church, at school we were indoctrinated with the socialistic ideology, and at home my parents would express their opinion in a hushed voice.  By that time they had moved out of the garage and build up a pretty nice retail store with watches, jewelry and porcelain.  At one point my parents traveled to Prague for a brief holiday, and learned that in Czechoslovakia many private businesses were already socialized and taken over by the government.  Based on that experience and some other tell-tale-signs, they decided shortly after that, to flee from East Germany.  That was in 1961 when thousands of refugees escaped every day.  My parents had laid out a cleaver plan.  They had booked a vacation north of Berlin, where we stayed for a few days, and then instead of returning to our hometown, we went to register at the refugee camp in West Berlin.  For a few months we went from one camp to another, finally ending up in Southern Germany.  My father was to work there in a factory using his watch maker’s skills.  It was a strange environment for us, mainly because in that area people spoke a different dialect and the kids made fun of me in school.  They wondered if I was ‘a spy’ from the other side.  From then on I pretty much kept to myself, mainly reading books.

 

The next big event in my life was that when I turned 21, I thought, now I am grown up, I

want to see the world.  After I finished my education at a local savings bank, I had a chance to become a staggiere (apprentice) at a bank in Zurich, Switzerland.  Switzerland has very strict immigration laws and the only way I could enter the country was that I became an apprentice again.  For 1 ½ years I traveled all over that beautiful country and spend the small salary they paid me on travel and fun.  When my time was up, I realized that I was on some kind of a quest, seeking out seminars and books to find a deeper meaning in my life.  After I had returned home, I secured an exchange program in France.  Because Germany and France had been at war for many Centuries, the government gave young people an opportunity to study and work abroad.  My destination was Avignon in Southern France where I worked at a bank to exchange foreign currencies into francs.  During that time, it was the early 1970s, I met many young people there who were hitchhiking around with just a back pack and no particular goal.  I guess they were the European hippies. Conversations with them only reinforced my own internal search.
 

When I look back today, I feel grateful, that I never lost my internal drive forward.  What I didn’t realize is that I felt a lot of guilt for my past, not so much for what I did but for what my country did.  I know we can say, I didn’t do anything wrong, but I also am pretty sure that we carry our ancestors offences and one way or the other, we are responsible for them. 

How can you tell about a life-time in a few minutes?  Therefore, I leave the rest of the story for another time.

I use the rear-view mirror as an analogy to driving a car.  We have to focus on where we are going, with our eyes looking forward on the road ahead.  Yet we have to look into the rear-view mirror to see what’s going on back there, for our own safety.  When we know where we are coming from, we can orient ourselves better to where we are and most of all where we want to go. 

 

A Woman Named Dinah

While I was traveling in Germany during the past month I was reading “The Red Tent” by Anita Diamant.  I have been reading some other books about historical woman from the Bible.  That's why I read the Red Tent with great interest. 

Ms Diamant introduced me to Dinah, the daughter of Jacob or as she portraits her, the daughter of Leah, who was Jacob’s first wife.

I was moved by how she describes the lives of the women in those days.  Their roles as daughters, sisters, and wives were defined by their femininity, mainly to give birth to children and with that to continue on the lineage.  I found myself envying the women because they had a special place where they could gather and find sympathy during their difficult times when felt ill or just didn’t want to see any man.  The red tent refers to the place where they would gather and sleep during their monthly menstruation, and also where they would birth their babies and be taken care of by the mid-wives and other women.  That must have been very comforting for the women during the ages where luxury and cleanliness was not as easily to come by.

I had learned of all the sons Jacob had by the four different wives.  I was not aware that he had only one daughter.  In Genesis, Chapter 34, Dinah is mentioned as the one who was defiled by a young man from another tribe.    

 

Dinah must have had a special role among all the girls in Jacob’s tribe, since she is the only one mentioned by name (Gen 46:15).  In some accounts it is believed that she bore a daughter, Asneth, from her relationship with Shechem which was adopted by Potiphera, the priest of On, a priest in Egypt.  As by Divine Guidance, she was later given to Joseph as his wife when he became the prime minister in Egypt.  Aseneth became the mother of Ephraim and Manasseh (Genesis 41:50).  

 

As the story goes in the Red Tent, Dinah meets her brother Joseph (by the other wife of Jacob, Rachel) and his two sons after he became a high official under the Pharaoh.

 

The Old Testament is very clear about lineage.  God wanted to raise a pure family tree where the descendants would be obedient to God and his laws.  That’s why Ephraim and Manasseh are often mentioned as example of integrity and obedience; they were raised in Egypt, but with the values and traditions of their tribal father Jacob.

 

One thing I didn’t like about the book was how Ms. Diamant portrayed Jacob.  As Father Moon relates to us in his historical sermon on Jacob’s Course and Our Life in Faith from 5-27-1973, Jacob is the position to represent God.  With the help of his mother Rebekah, Jacob obtained the birthright from his brother Esau (Genesis 27)  and with the blessing of Isaac left for Haran to get married. 

 

Jacob agreed faithfully to serve Laban, his uncle for 21 years.  He was deceived by Laban who promised him to give him Rachel, the younger daughter, but as it turned out, Laban gave him Leah, the oldest daughter (Gen. 29:15-30).  He had to work another seven years to get Rachel, and finally another 7 years to qualify to inherit some of the herds he had tended and multiplied.  Because of Jacob’s endurance God could bless him with 12 sons and daughters, a total of 33 children (this included some grandchildren).  He also inherited animals and other goods before the whole tribe went back to Canaan. 

Jacob was in the position of Abel, restoring the position of the younger brother.  After he fulfilled his 21 years of service in Haran, he wrestled with an angel and was given the name Israel, the victor (Genesis 35:10).

 

It seemed that God was guiding Jacob’s family all the way.  When he returned to Canaan he met his brother Esau (Gen. 33:1-14) and they embraced and united.  Even after the tribe made the mistake regarding the revenge of Dinah (Gen. 34:18-31) God would blessed them again.

 

It seemed that many cruel things went on, when we think of the selling of Joseph into slavery by his own brothers.  But God has a longer vision for the lives of his children.  When Joseph arrived in Egypt (Gen. 39-41) he was able to interpret the Pharaoh’s dreams which gave him favors, and soon he was elevated as the ruler of Egypt because he had proven himself as a man of integrity.  When the famines came to Canaan, Jacob brought his whole tribe to Egypt and they lived there for a while in plenty under the protection of Joseph.

 

Only when we see our lives from a higher (God’s) point of view, can we make some sense of our lives.  Even that may take a lifetime, or even go beyond one generation, since restoration takes a long time.

My Own Memorial Day 2013

As we as we are celebrating this Memorial Day in these United States of America, as we are honoring our brave soldiers who served in foreign lands, I want to add reflecting and praying for those men and women who became heroes by default.  I am thinking of those whom I wrote about in one of my last blogs, those who lost their lives working in concentration camps.  We often hear about the 6,000 Jews who perished in the gas chambers of Auschwitz, Buchenwald or Sachsenhausen.  It was the most cruel and senseless crime ever committed on humans.  None-the-less let us not forget the other captives, who came from more than 21 countries who died working in the dark tunnels of the Kohnstein mountain.  They didn’t commit any crime; they became prisoners of war, many of them educated engineers and highly qualified men who were used by a brutal regime.  Or the many other humans who have fallen into slavery or tyranny at the mercy of bullies and dictators.  All of them had families, lovers, children, who often didn’t know how their loved one died.  They also deserve to be mourned and celebrated for their sacrifices.

 

If God listened to the prayers of men, all men would quickly have perished: for they are forever praying for evil against one another.
~ Epicurus

I build this small memorial in my back yard

 It is my own reflection as I am listening to the patriotic songs and hear stories of valor and service.  Wherever men and women give their lives for a higher purpose, they are worthy of our admiration. 

Stranded at one of the Far-corners of Europe

While visiting my brother in Spain, we took one excursion to the Southern edge of the Iberian Peninsula which is the British territory of Gibraltar.  Beside the military operations it contains the famous rock of Gibraltar which rises over 400 meters above sea level. 

 

We went there on a breezy day in May and since I wanted to see into Africa, we decided to take the cable car to the top of the mountain.  In the early 12^th century, the Southern Iberian Peninsula was conquered by the Mores who left fortresses and castles including one on the lower part of the Rock of Gibraltar.  We were able to see it as we ascended in cable car. 

 

When we arrived at the top we were greeted by the rare Barbary Macaques, the only free living “monkeys” in Europe.  Even though they have their feeding places, they like to sneak treats from the tourists.  They jump unto the cars or buses and playfully show off their tailless bodies.  We were watching one older Barbary enjoy a box of crackers, while a younger monkey was eyeing him and trying to get his share.  Anytime the younger animal got close to the older one he would hiss at the young creature and scare him off. 

 

We went to the observation plateau and marveled at the beautiful scenery below and above where seagulls took pleasure in the currents of the wind coming up the mountain.  I was thinking of “Jonathan Livingston Seagull’s story.”  While I was trying to take a picture of a seagull above my head I notice that my balance wasn’t so steady, considering that I was standing with pretty much only air around me.  The wind was blowing hard and I had to hold on to the railing of the observatory.

 

After we had seen all the pretty flowers, saw some more monkeys and took pictures of the “other continent” on the other side of the strait of Gibraltar ( the separation is only about 20 miles, and on that clear day we were able to see the mountains of Morocco) we decided to take the cable car back down.   We were lucky as one car was just leaving and the operator even opened the door again for us, only to learn a few minutes later that they had to close down the operation due to high winds.  We were told to wait in the coffee shop for a bus to transport us down the mountain.  Since all the roads up the mountain are only one-way, we had to wait 3 hours for our turn, with the number 3 printed on our tickets.  While waiting we enjoyed free coffee, water and finally were given a certificate that showed us being present at the “Top of the Rock.”

 

Even though we were never in any danger, I was very glad when I had solid ground again under my feed when we arrived safely by bus at the bottom of the cable care station.

How can a Thousand-year-old City Re-invent Herself?

I was born in Nordhausen, a city in the state of Thueringen (Thuringia) in Germany. When I lived there we always would refer to the Harz-Mountains which are north of the city.  I lived there when Nordhausen was part of the DDR or East-Germany.  My dad owned a Jewelry store which he had built based on his training as a watchmaker and his drive to be a business owner.  When in 1961, he was notified, that he would have to surrender his ownership to the state, he decided to close the doors himself, and leave his business as well as all other personal property, except for a few suitcases, behind.  With four children in tow he and my mother managed to bring us all safely through Berlin into the Western sector where we registered as refugees. 

 

For many years I had dreams, roaming around my hometown.  We had left quite suddenly, not telling anyone, leaving our friends and neighbors without a clue.  At the time I didn’t understand why we had to leave. Then on August 13, 1961, a wall was built in Berlin, which created a more permanent separation between the two countries. I could only be grateful to my parents to have the foresight to bring us to freedom and give us a better future.

 

In the meantime, I have gone back to Nordhausen several times.  First, I just wanted to see all familiar places, like the house we lived in, walk the well-known streets, and see the locations where we played.  I even could share some cherries from the garden my parents cultivated with my children.

 

Nordhausen is in many ways a significant city.  It was first mentioned in a document on May 13, 927.  A distinctive landmark is a Roland statue, which represents a middle-age knight and symbolizes freedom, power, and jurisdiction.  He is holding a sword in one hand and the coat of arms with a crowned black eagle in the other.  Since the statue was one of the few remaining landmarks surviving WWII, we celebrated in the 1950s each year the Roland with a parade. 

 

Nordhausen was over many hundred years an important economic region of the South-Harz Mountain.  The city experienced many devastating catastrophes including fires, famines, and the difficult years of the plague. None of them were as bad as the damage of the bombing at the end of WWII.  With the destruction of 85% of the city the whole city image was changed.  Not until the re-unification of Germany in 1989 came the city to new life.  In 2004 Nordhausen became the center of the “2^nd Thüringer Landesgartenschau.”  Through this event Nordhausen was transformed into its new glory with flowers, landscaping and restoring many of the old ruins into beautiful works of art.
 

 

Nordhausen was once known for its tobacco industry, especially chewing tobacco. It is still famous for the distilled spirit “Nordhäuser Doppelkorn” which is made from fermented rye, containing more than 37% alcohol. 

 

Nordhausen has one other secret: during WWII it became the center of the V-2 rocket production.  In the nearby underground tunnels of the Kohnstein the Nazis used slave laborers and prisoners to build their defense.  Statistics mention that during the last years of the war 60,000 prisoners from over 21 nations were working day and night underground of Mittelbau-Dora in the tunnels never seeing daylight.  About one third of these captives were either killed or died of malnutrition and the work circumstances.  Some of these laborers came from other concentration camps to speed up the production and to replace the dying.  Today, the former crematorium is the center of the museum for the Mittelbau-Dora Concentration Camp.

 

I believe that the city had to pay a high price for the atrocities happening before their very eyes (maybe hidden in the underground of the Kohnstein Hills).  To restore this, the city faced not only the bombings of WWII but also 40 years (from 1949-1989) under the East-German regime. 

 

When I met my class mates at the class reunion on May 4, 2013, I became very inspired that I saw people who were not only survivors but even at their advanced age believed in their city.  They were people who still had spunk and were proud to have lived through it all by reinventing themselves many times, by adjusting to new work environments, different ownerships, and even retraining in a different branch of occupation.  They didn’t take anything for granted but rather were willing to work hard and to roll up their sleeves many times, just like their parents did after their city was destroyed.

 

Even though I didn’t live there for the past 52 years, I feel like I have taken away the same willing spirit in me.  We sure can never forget where we came from. 

 

 

A look in the Rearview Mirror

This past weekend I participated in a class-reunion with my elementary school friends.   It was the second of such gatherings of which I didn’t make the first one since it happened in Germany.  This time, I made special arrangements to participate in the meeting which took place in my home town Nordhausen in Thüringen.

I was part of that class b from 1955 until 1961.  I loved going to school, and I remember many of my schoolmates’ names, but after 52 years I certainly couldn’t remember my colleges’ faces.  Of the almost 40 children in that original class (many were added later while some went to a different parallel class), 32 had gathered around the “Roland”  which is the symbol of the 1,000 year-old city Nordhausen and represents its power, freedom and jurisdiction.

I am using the analogy of the rearview mirror, one of which we cannot avoid to look into when driving through life.  In the past I was so much looking forward and sideways, focusing on the ideals and avoided looking back because of some difficult times.  For one thing I didn’t feel proud of my hometown, country or my heritage.  Allowing myself to look back and rebuild friendships and relationships has enriched my life tremendously.

The class reunion has brought me one more step ahead. 


From the “Roland” we walked to the Tabakspeicher which is an old tobacco storehouse turned museum dedicated to craft trades, commerce, industries, and archeology.  In the small theater we watched an original news-reel from 1956.  One of our classmates is a volunteer at the museum and was knowledgeable about all the exhibitions.  At the end we had coffee and cake in the large meeting room.  That gave us the first opportunity to warm up to new/old relationships. 

From there we were guided by a professional tour guide through the historical old town.  When we arrived on the outskirts of the city wall along “Neuer Weg,” we learned of a legendary story which is symbolized by a cross in the old city wall.

 

As the story goes, in the original home across from the location lived a couple who has been waiting for many years for the return of their son.  Junior had gone out into the world and unbeknownst to his parents acquired a few riches.  He wanted to surprise his parents the next morning by sneaking into the house.  The old folks were frightened by the nightly invasion and killed the intruder, only to learn the next morning that they had killed their own son.  Upon his burial they requested to add the stone cross into the city wall.
~ Prof. und Heimatforscher E.G. Förstemann, Nordhausen (1788-1859)

 

Following the wall down the "Lesserstiege" and across the Rautenstrasse, we started to climp up the hill to the Petersberg.  There we greeted our old school which in the meantime changed its name back to “Petersbergschule” (in our days it was called Theo-Neubauer Schule).  From there we walked down “Am Petersberg,” Töpferstraβe and marveled at the new shopping center being build across the Blasikirchplatz.  Along the way our guide had all kinds of interesting information about the history and the people of our hometown.

I believe that the guided city tour was interesting for many of us since not everyone resides yet in Nordhausen. When we finally arrived at the restaurant “Alt Nordhausen” im Aldendorf, we were ready for dinner or at least a drink.

The rest of the evening passed with testimonies, anecdotes and even a presentation in the original language of Nordhausen which is special dialect related to “Thüringisch.”  By that time some of us had drunk some of the “Nordhäuser Doppel Korn,” and we all had a good laugh.

The past is like your rear-view mirror, you look back just to make sure you're okay, but in the end, you're still in your car moving forward.

 

When I look now at my 2^nd grade photo I am not only looking for names but rather trying to figure out the faces which have grown old like mine and look forward to put a story with at least a few of them.