An obscure, remote setting. An enigmatic structure. A Lost Place.

Bunkers overgrown — Imperial Russia in Europe

Walking through the bunkers on the beach evokes an eerie feeling in the stomach. Graffiti adorn the cement walls. The low waves of the Baltic Sea relentlessly thump against the steel and stone frames. In the forest, you stumble across railroad tracks and red brick walls overgrown with grass and moss. Few people enjoy the peculiar scenery.

We are in Karosta, just a few miles north of the Baltic sea port of Liepaja, Latvia.
Latvia has seen many invaders and occupiers come and go during the past centuries. Its strategic location on the Baltic Coast turned it into prime real estate for Knights, Swedes, Poles and Russians. German settlers from the Livonian Order had established their authority on the shore. The Duchy of Courland experienced a brief glorious period, even acquiring colonies in the Caribbean and Africa. The Russian Empire took control of the coastline after defeating the Swedes in 1721, without touching the German-speaking Lutheran elite’s social, economic and religious privileges.

Peter I built his new capital St Petersburg in the marshland of the Neva estuary. The Baltic lands promised a new window to the west. The Emperor was a shipbuilder, and his keen eye for ports and naval facilities fell on a small island in the Finnish Sea. Rechristened Kronshtadt and equipped with a remarkable fortress, the island was the headquarters of the Russian Baltic Fleet for several centuries. But even Kronshtadt’s waters froze in the harsh Northern winters. Peter’s Baltic Fleet desperately needed ice-free harbors.

A few hundred miles down the coast, the small town of Libau (Liepaja/Libava) was the Duchy of Courland’s main export harbor. Now under Russian control, Libau, mostly settled by Germans, grew in significance. From here, a steamboat service connected Russia with New York. For many persecuted Russian Jews, Libau was the point of departure on their way to the United States or Canada. The first Transatlantic telegraph cable tied Russia to the world. Libau was also the Russian Empire’s westernmost port, and soon turned into the summer home for the Imperial Navy’s Baltic Fleet. Its population grew from 10,000 in 1863 to 84,000 in 1911.

In the age of steam and dreadnoughts, Libau/Libava captured the imperial imagination. The only drawback was its close proximity to Germany, only 70 km to the south.

bunker covered in spraypaint — Graffiti on the Baltic

Alexander III plans a new naval port in the Baltic

In the late 19th century, a fresh initiative pushed the dreamy backwater into the foreground of imperial ambition. Turning away from the traditional Prussian alliance, Tsar Alexander III listened to French overtures. Loans from Parisian banks allowed the Empire a large-scale armaments program including railroads, barracks, ports and battleships. Reeling from defeat against Prussia in 1870-71, France urged Russia to spend more money fortifying its precarious Western border. This was where the Russian ‘steamroller’ was supposed to jump off to destroy the Hunnish hordes, in the ultra-nationalist language of the day.
Known as ‘the bullock’ because of his physical strength, Alexander III prepared for a possible war with Imperial Germany. Authorized by his imperial seal, the Russian Treasury spent millions of rubles to finance projects on the Western border. Naval construction fit the bill. In 1890, Alexander III gave the green light for an ambitious naval construction project: the building of a grand new military harbor. The Admiralty designated Libava on the Baltic Sea as a major link of the defensive ribbon around the Empire. Engineers and workers built breakwaters, canals, gunnery batteries and a wide range of barracks and auxiliary buildings. Naval engineers soon designed a long canal to allow the fleet to seek shelter. Around the port, a massive modern fortress arose. Redoubts, casemates and passageways were built in a state-of-the-art stronghold, with a ring around the port to protect it from attacking ground forces. Artillery stationed on floating platforms on a nearby lake guarded against a potential surprise amphibious attack. The Northern forts followed the designs of similar naval bastions such as the one in Port Arthur (now Dalian).

artillery bastion covered by grass — Nature reconquers the coastal batteries

Kara-osta: Karosta (War Port) emerges

Detailed blueprints outlined the ‘Libavskii Voennyj Port’, a veritable Russian outpost: Housing for officers and their families, conference quarters, watch-towers, exercise spaces, and a large onion-domed church: the St Nicholas Maritime Cathedral. Offering space for more 1,500 worshippers, the Cathedral was built in the old Muscovite style, symbolizing the revival of medieval shapes and forms. For other buildings, metropolitan architects borrowed liberally from the styles of the turn of the century: art nouveau, historicism, national romanticism. Latvians called the place Kara-osta (military port) or Karosta. It became an eclectic mix: a small Russia away from home for sailors and officers and their families.
The best surveyors came from St Petersburg to turn Libava into a modern naval port. Special dredges made in Marseille cut the canal deep enough for the battleships. Plans allowed for the entire Baltic Fleet of 50 ships to find refuge inside the port. A few years later, the first Russian submarines would ply the waters off the port. Two long breakwater walls protected the harbor from storms. They are still visible today. Somewhere in one of the cement blocks is a time capsule from 1894 containing gold coins and the Tsar’s personal standard. Characteristically, the ‘bullock’ named the harbor after himself ‘Port of Alexander III.’.

A blue cross on a white background – the St Andrew’s flag of the Imperial Navy flew over the bold project. Within a few years, Russia had constructed a fresh ‘window to the West’. It bore testimony to the rapid industrialization between 1890 and 1913, the era of Russia ‘catching up’ to the other modern industrial nations. The naval port at Libava, finished in 1906, symbolized the growing pride of the Russian Navy.

Demolition begins in 1908

But only two years after work had subsided, Nicholas II ordered demolition crews to begin blowing up parts of the fortifications again. Cannons were moved to other locations or melted down. Since that time, several bunker structures have been ‘melting’ into the beach. Why did the Emperor reverse course? Was he convinced that the maintenance of the fortress was too costly? Did he want to appease his German relative, the Kaiser? No one knows for sure.

massive concrete fort — Stark reminders of naval fortifications covered in spraypaint

Kolchak Commands the Sea

Libava’s most prominent commander was Alexander V. Kolchak. As a boy, Alexander had always wanted to be a naval officer, joining the navy cadets at an early age. Kolchak served in the Russo-Japanese War and spent several months as a Japanese Prisoner of War. Reaching the rank of Admiral, Kolchak served in Libava/Libau from 1909 to 1912. Kolchak might also have seen the ‘Akula’, one of the first Russian submarines in 1912. His headquarters, today known as ‘Kolchak’s House’, allowed the senior officers to follow the ships’ movements in the port and signal orders from the roof.
The viewing area on the roof is more than 3,000 square meters. It is easy to imagine naval officers in their summer whites looking through binoculars and signaling turns and twists to their cruisers, frigates and battleships.
Running the Navy’s western outpost was prestigious and came with social responsibilities. Gala dinners and receptions drew the local and regional elite as well as courtiers from St Petersburg: Proud Russian officers in uniforms full of ribbons and medals and ladies in the latest French fashions dancing in the long white nights of Northern Europe.

orthodox church — The Orthodox Cathedral of Karosta

Paintings shipped by ship…

Money was not an issue for the Imperial Administration. Estimates for the total cost of the Naval Port construction range from 45 to 83 million gold rubles. Facades were modeled after the edifices of the Imperial Capital and carried glorious heraldry motifs. Crimean marble adorned the staircases and halls. A small park reminded visitors of Versailles but more importantly, the Russian copy of it in Peterhof. Large paintings of Alexander III and later Nicholas II were commissioned for thousands of rubles. They had to be literally shipped to Libava since they were too large to fit into a train carriage.
Alexander’s son Nicholas continued to shower favors on Libava/Libau. The Royal yachts were berthed here, ready to provide the court with a delightful outing in the calm Baltic waters. In 1901 and 1903, Tsar Nicholas II visited Libava on his inspection tours of the Baltic Fleet. These summer visits were a grand affair. Nicholas took his entire family. Pictures show his daughters strolling around the ships in their finest dresses. From Libava, the unfortunate Nicholas may have spent happy days sailing the sea on his yachts ‘The Standard’ and ‘The Polaris’.

Homing pigeons for a ruble

Maybe the most unusual legacy was the special station for homing pigeons. Eight staff members took care of the messengers, with exactly 1.29 rubles per pigeon ear-marked in the naval budget. In training exercises, the birds impressed everyone. In 1907, 90% of the pigeons shipped to Copenhagen and released there found their way back to Libava – a distance of over 700 km (430 miles).
It was in the magnificent St Nicholas Maritime Church that prayers were said in 1904, when the ill-fated Baltic Fleet stopped by en route to Japan. Libava was the last Russian port on their journey to defeat at Tsushima.
The shock waves of this humiliating defeat reached the shores of Libava quickly. Sailors mutinied against the Tsar’s commands. Just like in other garrisons and fortresses across Russia, soldiers and sailors refused orders to fight. In June 1905, about 4,000 sailors rebelled. The authorities regained control, and 8 of the rebels were shot. Many others were exiled or demoted.

Russian Cathedral — Restored to old glory: St Nicholas Maritime Cathedral

German occupation

In the end, the fortress did not serve its primary purpose: to stop the advancing German army. When the First World War broke out, the port was evacuated. The chandeliers, the contents of the wine cellar and other precious goods were brought to safety. German troops turned the headquarters into a war hospital and recreation space for officers.
The fortress was far away from the turbulent events of the February and October Revolutions in Petrograd. Some of the batteries then saw a bit of action when Latvia declared its independence and White Russian and German militias, the so-called Bermont troops, tried to take over in November 1919. The former Commandant Kolchak, an ardent foe of the Bolsheviks, led the White Armies against Lenin and Trotsky. But he was unsuccessful and eventually captured and executed by the Bolsheviks.
The new independent Latvian state had difficulty making sense of the huge military infrastructure it had inherited from the now-defunct Russian Empire. In the 1920s and 1930s, the Latvian army stationed several infantry regiments on the territory of the former port. The Red Cross converted some buildings into a sanatorium for tuberculosis patients.

Soviet takeover

Then, the Russians came back. As a result of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, Latvia was taken over by the USSR. The Red Navy smoothly settled in where its Imperial predecessors had left off twenty years ago. Red sailors now recuperated in the Naval Hospital and relaxed in the spacious gardens. The Soviet 67th riflemen’s division took up in the old barracks. The entire port facility was sealed off hermetically, and even inhabitants of Liepaja could not enter the military zone without special permission. Karosta now was a Soviet military base in the Latvian Soviet Socialist Republic.
Only one building did not see a return to the heydays. St Nicholas Maritime Church became a movie theater. The Red Navy bricked up the central cupola bricked up to improve the movie sound. A ‘red corner’ listed exemplary servicemen and commemorated Soviet festivals and anniversaries.
Soon after, Karosta again changed hands. When Nazi Germany invaded the USSR in 1941, the fortress offered a heroic but short-lived defense. Five days were enough for the Germans to capture the stronghold. The Nazis used the guardhouse for the court-martial cases against deserters and suspected spies. The nearby burial ground contains about 90 victims. (No effort was made during Soviet times to commemorate these victims. The tourist brochure simply states that ‘the place was evened’ in 1957. Instead, the Soviets built a football pitch for the sailors).

porous stone — The massive cement blocks slowly disintegrate

Cold War in Karosta

When the Soviets returned victoriously in 1944, Karosta returned to be a Soviet outpost in the Baltic. During the Allied negotiations, Stalin made the argument that the Soviet Union deserved an ice-free port in the Baltic – and received the Prussian city of Königsberg (today Kaliningrad). Neither Churchill nor Roosevelt or Truman were aware that Libava/Libau already offered this opportunity for Stalin. Moscow could argue that Liepaja ‘returned’ into the fold of the Mother country as the city had been part of the Russian Empire since the time of Peter the Great.
In the soon developing Cold War, Karosta resumed its significance as a major naval port and became a missile proving ground for the Soviet Navy. Soviet officials saw Liepaja not only as an asset but also as a potential liability. The Iron Curtain had to be without loopholes. Latvians with ties abroad had to be checked carefully. Many were exiled. Fishing trips had to be restricted. The beach was also monitored for signs of foreign agents landing ashore. After 9 pm, a curfew prevented anyone to step on the beach. Karosta, an area of about a third of the city’s territory, was off limits to the local population. Soviet maps did not show the base.
The garrison numbered between 20,000 and 25,000 sailors. 30 nuclear submarines and more than 100 naval vessels called the port home. In-migration from other parts of the USSR meant that Liepaja had a majority Russian-speaking population by 1979.

Detail of church facade — St Nicholas Maritime Cathedral (detail)

Dark Tourism and Brutalist Soviet Relics

But with the end of the Cold War, the Soviet Navy had to leave independent Latvia. In 1994, the area was returned to the Latvian administration, and today, about 8,000 people live here. Karosta ceased to be sealed off. Housing conditions are poor: Soviet apartment blocks are not known for aesthetic or practical comfort. Still, St Nicholas Maritime Cathedral has been restored and its shiny golden domes are the perfect motif for plein air painters. A sign warns visitors not to enter the Cathedral with evil thoughts.
Karosta is what remains of the prestigious Imperial ‘Libavskii Voennyj Port’. It provides a rare opportunity to visit the legacy of the Russian Empire within the boundaries of the European Union. Karosta is one of the most intriguing ‘memory spaces’. Massive concrete blocks shift in the sand and threaten to collapse at any moment. Munitions supply tunnels dot the landscape. Water seeps through the cracks and creates eerie stalactites in the dark bunkers. Young men gather here to spray-paint the walls or conduct shady deals. On Sundays, tourists come to contemplate the ‘fortress falling into the sea’. The ancient protective architecture has become a spot on the Baltic tourist trail.

soviet apartment building — Soviet apartment blocks are still inhabited

Now, fortress aficionados tour the grounds, with the detailed guidebooks of their passion tucked under their arm. Dark tourism flourishes as visitors can book to stay a night in the guardhouse, under the watchful eyes of ‘Soviet’ officers. For several years, artists found refuge in some of the abandoned buildings.
Just like other monuments, Karosta’s journey shows that the past is never truly forgotten. Society keeps interacting with history – sometimes a site is vandalized, sometimes it is adapted. The remains of history can be neglected and sink into oblivion, or they can be renegotiated and re-visualized as something entirely different. Karosta’s future is unknown, but the traces of its fascinating history are clearly visible. Today, the ruins of Karosta are a stark reminder of the enormous resources spent on military hardware before the First World War. They offer an insight into forgotten places.

orthodox Christian cross on onion dome — Freshly gilded: the orthodox cross on top of the Cathedral

Additional detailed information contained in the brochure ‘Karosta’, written by Gunars Silakaktins.

‘Pretend to be stupid, then nobody will identify you as Jewish!’

February 9, 2018

DBOS

Germany History Jewish History No Comments

Holocaust Memorial Day, TV discussions, new monuments – not a single day passes without Germans commemorating and debating their darkest chapter. Not all Germans, of course. But authors like Götz Aly mobilize the crowds – the gallery of the Haus der Geschichte in Bonn was packed. The historian gave a lively off-the-cuff talk on his most recent book ‘Europa gegen die Juden, 1880-1945’ [‘Europe against the Jews, 1880-1945’], proving to be a bit of a maverick even if he has surpassed the age of seventy.

Aly participated in the student revolt in 1968 and supported Marxist views in his early career. He remains in rebel mode and challenges conventional narratives. Right from the start, he emphasized that nothing in his remarks should be construed as minimizing German responsibility. During the years in which they organized the killing of more than 6 million people, the Nazis controlled the intensity of the violence and terror. But the Berlin elite was by no means able to control the execution of the Holocaust alone. The Nazis bribed ordinary people by shrewdly turning them into accomplices; what their racial propaganda could not achieve, greed and envy managed to accomplish. In his book, Aly focused on ‘Bildungs- und Sozialneid’ (envy of social status and better education).

Aly dismisses racism as the main force behind the Holocaust: Based on a lifetime of studying the documents of the perpetrators of the ‘Final Solution’, Aly concluded that jealousy of Jewish success in society, business and education turned into hate. ‘Ordinary Germans’ resented the speed in which Jews climbed the ladder to power and status. Nazis tapped into people’s secret wish to deprive successful Jews of prominence and property. For Aly, this was the true motivation behind the violence – and the reason for silence. Because the Nazis succeeded in turning millions of ‘ordinary people’ across Europe (not only Germans!) into accomplices of theft and humiliation, many societies chose to stay silent after the war – a powerful mixture of guilt and shame.

In 1945, when the Red Army liberated the Auschwitz concentration camp, only 2,000 inmates were still alive, and many died from exhaustion and disease shortly afterwards. Aly pointedly remarked that it took the Allies to open the camp gates – the Soviets at Auschwitz and Maidanek, the British at Belsen, the Americans at Buchenwald and Dachau. Most Germans considered May 1945 a defeat, not a liberation.

Aly’s main thesis centers around the significance of anti-Semitic and racist feelings among German, and indeed European society in the 19^th and 20^th century. He is not convinced that racism is the key to understanding. ‘My grandfather was a small anti-Semite,’ Aly remarked. ‘He also was a very nice man’. Aly claims that racial anti-Semitism, emerging in the late 1800s, did not catch on in modern European societies. Only a few fringe demagogues peddled this brand of hateful propaganda, and only a few isolated groups signed on.

Racism, Anti-Semitism, or Greed?

There were other emotions involved, Aly claims. Since the Prussian reforms of the early 1800s, Jews in Germany enjoyed civil rights unheard of in other parts of the continent. There were no pogroms In Germany. There was no wave of anti-Semitic outrage like in France during the Dreyfus affair. German Jews could send their kids to excellent schools and universities. They could establish businesses, and the legal system protected their property. Although they represented a small minority, they were quite visible in the major urban centers: Department stores, banks, businesses demonstrated the arrival of Jews in the heart of Herman society. It is not wrong to say that Jews made their mark in the legal and cultural spheres: Attorneys, doctors, writers, journalists – there were few areas where Jews did not contribute to the flourishing of German society. Historians have recently pointed to the significant role of Jews in establishing Fussball as Germany’s favorite sport.

Jews took advantage of the opportunities presented by urbanization and industrialization. As a group, they were perfectly suited for the modern age: Practically all Jewish kids could read and write. Many of them were multi-lingual. Education proved significant for public health: Jewish families had a much lower rate of infant mortality than Christian families, up to 25% less. Jews were ‘upwardly mobile’ in Prussia and Imperial Germany.

Aly described the growing ‘small hatred’ (‘kleiner Hass’): Not racial or religious fears, but social jealousy. Christians witnessed Jews making swift progress through the ranks of society. Moving up the ladder to significant social status took regular families several generations. Jews had accomplished this transformation in record time.

Hatemongers regularly pointed out Jewish successes as warning signs. These resentments, Aly claimed, had little to do with racist categories. Envy, he stated, is an emotion that requires social proximity. We are not envious of the super-rich with their mansions and private airplanes. But if we witness someone whose parents started out on a level below our family, and they suddenly become wealthy, envy creeps into our heart. Now conspiracy theories can take hold.

Aly outlined that the outbreak of the war remained crucial for understanding the Holocaust. War undermined moral standards. Fear and survival instincts took over. Locals witnessed the plight of their Jewish neighbors with a jaundiced eye, more concerned for their own family’s well-being. In many areas of Eastern Europe, Soviet terror had preceded Nazi occupation policies, and therefore aided the steady erosion of humanitarian values.

Seizing Property

To strengthen his argument, Aly examined several case studies of occupied countries. These are complex issues, with no easy answers. Some governments protected Jewish citizens they regarded as fully integrated but eagerly handed over Jews considered foreigners or those encountered in annexed territories. In Budapest, authorities also refused to deliver the city’s Jews to Eichmann, albeit at a time when the Allied success already seemed inevitable. The same government had no problems delivering rural Jews to the Nazi butchers. We can find similar circumstances in Bulgaria and Romania. In some cases, annexed territories or resettlement issues provided the cover for large-scale expropriations. Greek authorities razed the Jewish quarter of Salonika to resettle refugees from Asia Minor. When they crossed the Soviet border, Romanian troops massacred 250,000 Jews on their march to Odessa, Aly writes. How many history books cover this chapter?

Few government institutions and legal systems protected Jews, for example in Belgium. 70% of Jews in Flemish-speaking Belgium were deported, but only 30% of Jews living in the Walloon part of the country. Why? The mayors of the Brussels region refused to order their police to round up Jews. In their simple but bold statement to the German occupiers, they protested this violation of the dignity of man and declared they would not participate. Nothing happened to the mayors, and the German occupation forces found themselves unable to round up the Jews themselves. Consequently, more than half of the country’s 90,000 Jews survived. Belgium was one of the few countries which prohibited banks to seize Jewish assets, and to confiscate property without the owner present. But Belgium was an exception.

In several countries, governments seized Jewish property eagerly. In France, the assets of the country’s 350,000 Jews were swiftly confiscated, without the German occupation authorities putting any pressure on their French counterparts.

For Aly, the property component is the key to understanding the Holocaust. For him, the Nazis enabled the largest mass theft of history. Several reviewers disliked this focus and accused him of carrying some baggage from his student days as a radical Marxist. Does he still cling to a materialist explanation of history? Aly certainly dismisses the significance of anti-Semitic notions among European societies. Is this a relic of the Marxist opinions of his twenties? Critics have pointed out that Aly’s analysis sounds more convincing at first glance.

But he seems to have a point. In Germany, Greece, Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary, Lithuania and other countries, people envied Jews and snapped up jobs, real estate, even down to personal effects. Hungarian documents list clothing from Jewish families distributed to Christian families. When Germans deported Jews, their neighbors saw an opportunity. Grabbing what they could, regular citizens, banks, corporations and governments benefitted from the Holocaust. Jealous of the Jews, societies participated in a massive redistribution of property. For Aly, protecting the loot after the war constituted the main reason why Europeans kept quiet about the mass murder in the postwar period.

A Difficult Debate

But what do we make of this terrible chapter? Aly pointed out that evil can spring from good policies. He cautioned against underestimating the potential challenges of investing in education. Emancipation and liberal immigration policies allowed Jews to quickly succeed in European societies. Many felt left behind. Democratic activists, often invoking the example of Jews, called for supporting the majority population. Learn from the Jews, so you can eventually replace them, the slogans went. Aly called these activists ‘christliche Gleichstellungsbeauftragte’ (‘Christian affirmative action advocates’).

Governments began legislative action to support the majority population. Starting in Russia, quotas restricted Jewish enrolment in universities. The Tsars also banned Jews from certain occupations. After 1918, several new independent states followed suit. Quotas reduced the percentage of Jews at Kaunas university in Lithuania from 30% to 15%, all in the name of helping Lithuanian peasant children ‘catch up’ with the more advanced Jewish students. Aly found similar arguments in Hungary, Poland and Romania. Regular people, conscious of their own flaws, resented Jews, begrudging them the speedy social climb they themselves were incapable of. When the Nazis opened the floodgates to violence, this resentment turned into action. Jews were aware of these emotions. In one case, a mother told her boy: ‘Pretend to be stupid, then nobody will identify you as Jewish!’

Did the success of Jewish emancipation, a worthy and ‘good’ policy, cause jealousy among the majority that ended in hatred, greed and violence? Hitler and Goebbels certainly believed that distributing Jewish property was very helpful. In a conversation, they agreed that handing out Jewish goods demonstrated one of the material ‘advantages of anti-Semitism’.

Aly’s key emphasis has found its critics. They lament that Aly’s book lacks a discussion of counter-arguments. Some reviewers also dislike the categorical style. His ‘social jealousy thesis’ has not been integrated into Holocaust historiography. It is even less accepted in popular narratives as it Aly’s analysis touches a nerve. If greed constituted a major motivation to participate in the physical destruction of fellow citizens, what does this mean for societies today?

Cologne’s Jewish Past

January 30, 2018

DBOS

Holocaust Medieval Europe Uncategorized No Comments

Like many cities in Germany, Cologne suffered major destruction during the Second World War. It was the target of the first attack with more than a thousand bombers. Allied air raids turned more than 80% of the city center into a wasteland of rubble. The area around the famous Cathedral became a symbol of the price to pay for the Nazi dictatorship. Today, postwar reconstruction and decades of prosperity have almost removed the traces of annihilation. Sure, gap-toothed buildings remind the careful observer of bomb hits that were merely patched up. German bomb removal squads still defuse a bomb per week when construction crews notice a certain dangerous shape. But the average tourist will have trouble discerning the traces of war. For sixty years, the cathedral sported a bricked-up part where bombs had hit the magnificent church. It was meant to be a reminder of war. Recently, the makeshift filling replaced by fresh stonework, removing the scars of war. Long overdue or a worrying symbol of a desire to forget?

Drawing A Line Under The Past?

As is common in Germany, there are multiple voices. The recent electoral success of the AfD (Alternative für Deutschland) has brought voices into the public that demand an end to the ‘German guilt’ debates. They describe as ‘self-flagellation’ what the majority still believes is a necessary cathartic process. Most people are shocked by what is now being said in public. Is it really time to draw a line under the Nazi past? Maybe it is helpful to remember the process in which Germany addressed the Nazi legacy.

Dealing with the past has a long history in postwar West Germany. Journalists coined the term Vergangenheitsbewältigung to express society’s efforts to ‘come to terms’ the dark days of the Nazis. In Cologne, the Nazi Documentation Center (NS-Dokumentations-zentrum) has long played a pioneering role in demanding transparency and discussion. It was an effort ‘from below’ as the city council only reluctantly recognized the need to face its brown chapter. Local activists contacted Jewish survivors and invited them to visit their home town. They also reached out to former slave laborers in Poland and the USSR.

Trying to piece together a comprehensive picture of the city that was lost was a complicated and arduous process. Using the guidebook for ‘Jewish Cologne’ is a walk down memory lane, with many surprises along the way. With the help of many dedicated associates, Barbara Becker-Jákli collected the documents and images that provide a fascinating glimpse into centuries of Jewish life in Cologne, including the Nazi-era destruction of the community and its continued existence today. (Barbara Becker-Jákli, Jüdisches Köln. Geschichte und Gegenwart. Ein Stadtführer. Emons Verlag 2012.)

Stumbling Stones

Visitors will likely ‘stumble’ upon memory stones placed in front of houses. The Cologne artist Günther Demnig has long been active commemorating the Nazi crimes in a creative fashion. He painted the path that Roma and Sinti had to take through the city on their way to deportation. Then, he started to place brass cobblestones with the name and death dates of Jewish individuals in front of their last recorded place of residence. Throughout the city, and indeed, throughout many cities in Europe, these shiny brass ‘stumbling stones’ arrest the wandering tourist and force him or her to remember that the Holocaust happened right here, not in some far away camp.
In this way, visitors recognize the vibrant Jewish life in Germany’s fourth-largest city.

According to historians, Jews settled in Cologne as far back as the fourth century AD. In 321, Emperor Constantine allowed city councils to nominate Jews. At the time, this was not seen as a privilege as public office came with onerous costs for representation. Cologne’s Jews were well organized and wealthy, and the Christian councilors resented that their fellow patricians were exempt from these expenses.

Medieval Cologne

In medieval times, Cologne was Germany’s largest city and the most important trade center. Guilds ruled the day. Artisans occupied small alleys named after their specific craft. Not all trades were male-dominated – one street was reserved for female silk traders. The streets along the Rhine river teemed with warehouses. Cranes moved cargo from the barges. One sector of the old town center became the hub for Jewish life, right next to city hall. Some walls of the city council building needed the adjacent Jewish houses for architectural support.

As was common in Christian society, Jews were subjected to special legislation. They were protected only if they paid special taxes and fees, kept to their small territory and were distinguishable by special hats and other items of clothing. At the same time, their success in enterprise and scholarship benefitted the city enormously. In many instances, their well-being depended on the mood of the local princes, in the case of Cologne the local Archbishop. Periods of relative peace and quiet could be dramatically ended by murderous pogroms. The religious fervor of the Christian crusades left an imprint on Cologne as well. In 1096, crusaders raided the Jewish quarter and killed most the town’s Jews. The community recovered, and subsequent archbishops proved more successful in protecting the Jews from the next bunch of crusading marauders.

In 1266, Archbishop Engelbert von Falkenburg issued a special privilege to protect Jews. Fascinatingly, the massive stone plaque has been preserved inside the Cologne Cathedral. He reaffirmed his right to regulate all issues relating to Jews under his jurisdiction. The Archbishop also promised to reinstate ancient rights to the Jewish community, such as the right to bury their dead in the Jewish cemetery and the right to continue their economic activity. Visitors need to seek out this impressive slab as there are no markers inside the church. It measures over two meters in height and reminded Christians of the special protection the Jewish community enjoyed, apparently very necessary at the time.

But at the end of the 14th century, the plague sparked yet another round of persecutions. In August of 1349, Cologne’s Christians set fire to the Jewish district, killed the inhabitants, destroyed the synagogue and distributed the property of the victims amongst themselves. This was not enough to end Jewish life in town. Indeed, records indicate repeated conflicts between city council and archbishops about the spoils: collecting fees and ‘protection money’ remained a lucrative business. In the dynamic relationship between church and city, the Jews became a political football.

Hatred and Envy

As one of the first cities of the Holy Roman Empire, Cologne expelled its Jewish community formally in 1424. By this time, Christian merchants had become prosperous. Commercial activities and banking had ceased to be sinful, or at least the church turned a blind eye. Power and confidence shifted to the city’s ruling elite, and they used their power to turn on the Jewish competitors. For many centuries, Cologne city laws prohibited the settlement of Jews – until 1798, when the French occupied the city and brought emancipation.
Today, the medieval Jewish quarter is the subject of archeological research. Right in the city center, plans for a Jewish museum are underway. The city’s coffers are notoriously empty but eventually, the Jewish museum will see the light of day. It will be a major step for demonstrating the city’s Jewish heritage to a larger audience. Once it is finished, it will become a focal point for understanding the complicated Christian-Jewish relations in the Rhineland region.

The excavations have unearthed religious structures like a synagogue and a mikvah. The experts also found many household objects including coins and jewelry. Scholars estimate that at the height of the community, around 800 people or about two per cent of the city’s entire population, lived in the Jewish quarter. Some experts even claim to have discovered the only ancient synagogue north of the Alps. The main synagogue served the community for centuries. After 1424, it was converted into a Christian chapel which was used as the city council hall of prayer until it was destroyed in the Allied bombings. Interestingly, when workers removed the rubble from the area around city hall, two fully intact gravestones from medieval times turned up: Sara – died in 1302 – and Rachel – died in 1323 – are now among the city’s oldest known Jewish inhabitants.

The Cologne Cathedral is also an interesting venue to study the prejudices of Christians. Along the outside of the venerated shrine of the Three Kings, Jews are depicted as caricatures with pointed hats and an ugly face. Inside the choir, carvings depict the ritual murder legend and a ‘Jewish sow’. Interestingly, no commentary or plaque explains these Anti-Semitic depictions. Most visitors of the ‘Dom’ will exit the church without any idea of them. They will also walk past the gargoyle depicting a ‘Jewish sow’, commemorating the nasty Anti-Judaism of the Catholic Church.

Jewish Traces in the Cathedral

Curiously, the emancipation of Jews led to a dramatic imprint of the community, even on the Catholic Church. As the ‘Dom’ was left unfinished for centuries, the completion became a national undertaking, famously led by the (Lutheran) Prussian monarchs who became German Emperors. Money from the entire Reich flowed to continue the and finish the cathedral. It was eventually completed in 1880. By this time, Jews had long resettled in Cologne and had rapidly become a mainstay of the successful bourgeoisie. The Oppenheim family actively participated in the efforts and financed dozens of stained glass windows. As was common for prominent patrons, their name can be found inscribed on the bottom of the windows. The Cologne Cathedral therefore displays all the contradictions of remembering and forgetting the past in one building. Furthermore, it showcases these cleavages underneath a façade of magnificent splendor and awe-inspiring architecture. Scratching at the surface will uncover dark chapters. But efforts continue to honestly face the demons of the past.