Nov 11, 2024
I must start with this aside in my day.
This morning, after I presented my father’s story to the students and some community members at St. Georg High School in Bocholt, we were interviewed by a young man from the local newspaper. He asked how I came to be connected with this school. Of course, my response was: “It’s all in ‘Chapter 16: Monika.’” I expanded with a summary of the chapter. I used the word “beschert” to describe the experience. He immediately replied, “I have a ‘beschert’ tattoo.”
I didn’t lose a beat in asking if we could see it. Luckily, it was on his arm and he only needed to remove his sweatshirt. Beschert was written out in Yiddish. He knew that, in Yiddish, it translates as something that was meant to be, and is often used to describe one’s beloved. He told us he felt very connected to the word, even though he is not Jewish.
Beschert, indeed!
Now, back to the presentation. The school auditorium was filled with a little over 200 students, community members, and friends I’ve made here. One teacher thought the most important point I made was that nothing is black and white, that we live in the gray area, and we must make decisions to act and to do the right thing.
As always, the students’ questions were thoughtful and interesting. One student came up to me after
ward to let me know that, when I shared my family members’ names in the presentation, she was surprised that she already knew their names. She had visited their Stolpersteine and remembered.
But the question that stands out came privately, from one of the community members. She asked if I am allowed to speak freely in my country, if it is safe to make this presentation in America. I answered her. And boy, it made me wonder what people outside the US are thinking.
Next, we visited the “old” Jewish cemetery behind the St. Georg school. We read the sign that explains that, in 1941, some of the bones and fewer of the gravestones were moved to the “new” Jewish cemetery. That left over 100 souls’ bones still here, under the asphalt and school buildings. I had the same punch-gut feeling as I had six years ago, when I first visited this spot.
Then, we visited the financial company at the site of the former synagogue. Inside is a bulletin board explaining the history of the one-time synagogue. It includes the photo my Uncle Kurt had taken in 1927 and a photo of the inside after the destruction on Kristallnacht in 1938.
Our family’s Stolpersteine were next. First, Josh and Addie made a rubbing of the stones. Then, we polished them. Passersby looked at what we were doing, and a couple of them stopped to talk. One woman approached us to commend us on our important work of cleaning the stones. She gave us 10 Euro to get coffee. I was at a loss for words! A man who works across the street came to tell us about a drill buffer to make our job easier. I explained that we didn’t mind the extra work since these were our family’s stones. I was pleased that he came out of his store to talk with us. No one from the store we were in front of came to talk. The store that once had been my family’s. I have to say, that really disappointed me. (See especially “Chapter 47: Healing Hearts: Can There Be Reconciliation?” for more context about this.)
We topped off our activities with the St. Martin’s Day Parade. This year, Bocholt expected 3,000 children to participate. There were fewer probably due to the light rain. The children, organized by school, walked through the streets singing traditional melodies, often accompanied by a small marching band. They carried lanterns of all types, though traditionally they are made from a carved-out turnip. The parade leader is “St. Martin” riding on a white horse. At the end, the children receive a bag of treats. A traditional food is the Weckman. To me, it looked like a creepy gingerbread man with a pipe. It’s delicious, though! It is likely that, as a young child, my father participated in the annual parade. It is a fascinating, less-known cultural experience that I am thrilled to have had.
We ended the evening with another phenomenal meal. On this evening, we dined with friends old and new in the restaurant owned by the husband of one of our new friends. Everyone had gifts for us. I am so filled with so many different emotions. Most of all, I have immense gratitude for the gift of these experiences, and especially together with my family.
Featured photo: Beschert tattoo in Yiddish.
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