Last days of Pesach

Day 1: Chabad Berlin; Day 2: Or Tzion Joachimsthaler Strasse

BERLIN, GERMANY: Normally I write this blog just about my experiences on Shabbat, but the last days of Pesach were so special in Berlin that I believe they deserve a special blog entry. 

Before arriving, I had contacted the main Chabad Centre and through several email exchanges, they assured me that I would be welcome to eat with their community, but no further details were forthcoming. On Tuesday evening, when I walked through the doors, the shule’s senior rabbi made a beeline for me and before I knew it, he was giving me a big bearhug. Then in his American English told me that he had spent two years in Melbourne as a student and felt very fondly about my country or anyone visiting from there. He then invited me to his family’s home for lunch the following day and as promised, introduced me to a Russian-speaking man who in turn introduced me to another Russian-speaking man but someone who also spoke English. He became my translator.

He explained that in Berlin currently there are at least 300 Jews from Ukraine who for more than a year have been staying in a city hotel – about a 20 minute walk from the shule – and though on any given Friday night the Chabad Centre hosts meals for visitors, since it is a little complicated to cater for Pesach, I was invited to join the Ukrainian community at their hotel, which was providing meals to all the Ukrainian Jews every Shabbat and festival, and all of it under the auspices and supervision of Chabad.  

On behalf of the Ukrainian Jews, Chabad had in fact taken over an entire hotel. There were signs in Russian throughout, Mezuzahs on most doorpost and a sense of Jewishness. In the dining hall an entire banquet was being set up for the more than 250 hotel residents and some guests, who were due to dine there that evening. My translator explained that whilst all the people were Jewish, their observance levels were varied – like in all communities – but many of them like to partake in communal meals and celebrations even if they aren’t so religious. Some even brought their phones to the table whist other were wearing the garb of the Chabad movement. I was also surprised to see so many men – nearly half the room – since I had heard that men weren’t allowed to leave, but my male host explained that the rule about men not leaving Ukraine came into force a month or so after the start of the war and most of these families escaped within the first few days. Moreover, any family with 3 or more kids was allowed to leave as a unit, which applied to most in the room. In fact, there were multiple families of not just two generations, but three. It was very convivial and homely, and as one of the speakers said during the meal, although most people didn’t know each other before, they have made a community for themselves, and it was a privilege to be part of it.

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The following morning, after a service where many of the Ukrainian refugees from the previous night where in attendance, I joined the rabbi, his family and many guests at his home for lunch. During the service he had given the sermon in German and translated it into Russian as well. Though originally American, he has been the senior Chabad rabbi of Berlin since the mid-1990s and speaks almost like a local. That theme of language continued at the home. Between the 30 or so people at the table, there were at least five languages. Whilst there were no recent Ukrainians with us, there were Russian speakers who had arrived within the last 20 years as well as Israelis, a family of German born Jews, as well as a Canadian and a Belgian couple.

The German natives explained that it is unsurprising that the rabbi has learned Russian as well as German, since without the influx of the Russian speakers over the last few decades, the Jewish community would have struggled, and though there are now between 15,000 and 40,000 Jews in Berlin depending on who you ask, less than 5% are German natives, with the rest largely Russian-speaking or other immigrants. However, now some of those original Soviet immigrants are second or even third generation German. At the table for instance there was a German-speaking couple who at one point answered one of the Russian speakers in their native tongue. All in all it was a fascinating experience with a cacophony of sounds in a beautiful home and an inviting atmosphere.

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Later that evening I joined the Ukrainians again for another three-course banquet where the alcohol flowed freely and the atmosphere was lively and joyous. Despite being refugees and in limbo politically and socially, most of the people seemed determined to make the most of their time in Berlin. One of the only other English speakers explained that many of them are working, studying or learning the language. They receive a stipend from the government and donations from the Jewish community – all of which is just enough to live off – but most of them don’t want to waste their time in Berlin whilst contemplating their futures, so they engage themselves in productive activities.

The following morning, though the rabbi invited me back to his home, I decided to find another shule in the vicinity of my hotel, having read about one before I arrived. The shule I was looking for – named after the street it sits on – is called the Joachimsthaler Strasse synagogue. The truth though is that it doesn’t actually sit on the street. It sits behind a non-descript building on that street and sits essentially in a courtyard surrounded by other buildings on all four sides. This is actually the reason why it was not destroyed during the War. As such, given it is from 1902, it is now considered one of the oldest shules in town and reminds me of a mix between St Kilda and East Melbourne shules at home, with a Charedi (but not Chabad) rabbi.

I entered the building from the street, passed through security and did this at the same time as an older Ashkenazi-looking gentleman. I knew the shule was behind the building, but he began to climb a flight of stairs so I followed, not quite sure where he was leading. Eventually, after passing signs for Jewish organisations ranging from WIZO to the Jewish agency, we got to the fourth floor and stepped in what looked like the foyer or someone’s apartment. The man turned towards a room, with me still following, where we were greeted by a smiley, older Sephardi man speaking Hebrew who offered us both a coffee. I was bemused and surprised, having not quite realised where I was, but I agreed to accept his offer and started looking around. He came back almost instantaneously with a cup of hot coffee and then gave me a prayer book. In the meantime, we were led into a room that was once probably a loungeroom of an apartment but is now a small Sephardi, and specifically Yemenite, synagogue. The dwelling is where the Sephardi rabbi of Berlin lives, and though he runs another shule up the road, the small shule in a side room of his home, known as Or Tzion, is Berlin’s secret shule, according to some of the regulars.

I thought about going back down to the shule I had intended to go to – which ironically we could see from the window of the room in which we sat – but the atmosphere was very inviting, and there was only just a Minyan. Not only that, I was the only Kohen, which very much excited the older Sephardi men as it meant that I could perform the priestly blessing. So I stayed for the entire service, after which the rabbi returned and invited all of us to a lunch that was quickly set up in the adjoining room. This apartment, it turns out, is the extension of the rabbi’s, and though he lives with his family on the same floor, this part of the apartment has been designated for the use of the shule, which is his secret joy. As for me, though I did see the main shule in the square later, coming to this shule was a happy accident, as the German-native man said during lunch. He is Ashkenaz but feels more comfortable in this small, friendly Sephardi shule than anywhere else, though later that evening I did see him at the final meal of Pesach back at Chabad, but that is only because the Sephardi shule wasn’t offering such a meal.

Two days of Yom Tov is sometimes overbearing and over indulgent, but these two days in Berlin were some of the most eye-opening, fascinating and exhilarating days I have had in a long time. I learned a lot, I was inspired, I was able to make a Minyan, I enjoyed the company and the food, and I saw some of the inner workings of a lively Jewish life in Germany that I didn’t expect. The Ukrainians and the Russian speaking immigrants over the least few decades have certainly bolstered the once fledgling Jewish community and have given it new life. Let’s hope Poland is just as fascinating.