I remember a day, at my Oma's house in Uruguay when she told me that she didn't cry anymore, because she had run out of tears. I never really gave the statement much thought, because I couldn't picture her crying anyways, but for some reason this statement and conversation followed me around throughout the day.
I was supposed to go to the archive today at the Prenzlauer Berg museum, however, after waking up late, I realized that I had no concrete purpose or goal for going. So I decided I would sit around and figure out what my true purpose was. I didn't find one... At around noon Colby messaged me to see if I wanted to go to the Jewish museum today, so we met up. We had a quick lunch at our Vietnamese restaurant and then headed on the UBahn to the Jewish Museum in Berlin.
I had visited the museum in 2010 with mom, but I figured it would be a helpful experience for me. The beginning focuses entirely on the holocaust, and the rest on Judaism in Germany as a whole. The museum is HUGE, and could take between 5-7 hours if you looked at most of the things. The beginning is the part that is supposed to shock. There are displays of letters, pictures, and trinkets from Jews during Nazi time. I was mostly overwhelmed by the similarities between what was displayed and what I had at home. As I read through some of the letters, I started getting a huge pit in my stomach.
As we moved to the next parts of the museum, i found myself simply walking through the building without looking at the material. I started to tell myself that it was because I had already visited the museum and because of its size, but I really couldn't focus. Once we made it to the 1920-40s part, I became interested again. I teared up as I stared at poetry books signed by kids that looked identical to the one I found at Oma's house. I stared into space as I read more and more letters. But then I just kept walking without becoming attached to what I was seeing. And then... I heard music. It was like a flashback to breakfasts at Oma's kitchen table. I don't know what it was... some classical music. But in a way I felt her with me... and I felt guilty. I felt guilty for walking through a museum with so much information and feeling no interest. The museum is wonderful and the information on Judaism is great... but I just couldn't do it... and for that I felt and feel so guilty.
Since I was little, I have heard stories about Germany and about my grandmother's life. She never highlighted the effects of the Nazis, but the effects were seen in her stories. I always pictured her streets and listened to her stories, but I've never liked movies or books about the Holocaust. This doesn't make much sense considering what I have been doing for the past 2 years now. I guess it has been my tactic to deal with the situation, and it is a bad tactic. I think in my own way I've tried to put a distance between what I'm reading in these letters and what reality truly was. Today, everything came crashing down on me.
My focus thus far has been finding her home, finding her little spots, and understanding where she lived. In a way, this has made me feel at home in her home and has brought me closer to her. Everything I see reminds me of her or the things in her home in Uruguay. But all of this is superficial. I have been doing such an amazing job of putting distance between her words and their meaning. I, in a way, have been ignoring the issue at hand. I hate to admit the issue at hand because it also comes with understanding and seeing the pain that a woman I love so much had to go through. What am I doing here? Where is my thesis going? How can I now try to write about the history I've been trying to avoid... It's silly actually, because everyone else seems to know where my research is going... Everyone is so impressed by the fact that I am uncovering history, but I just can't seem to figure out what I'm doing. I'm just chasing my grandmother around Berlin. The museum, my sense of guilt, and Colby's company today made me realize how much I need to focus on the issues to find the real effects that it had on my Oma. Her story is part of a really horrible part of history, but it needs to be told.
After leaving the museum, we headed towards the New Synagogue . The actual synagogue was closed off, but we were able to go up to the dome and look out at the city. Again, the pit in my stomach continued... When Colby and I sat down for coffee, our conversation made me feel more and more confused. His observations about my research about my own family, pushed me more and more to the realization that I truly have no defined purpose or goal for what I am doing here and it is a waste. Time is flying by already... All I want is to get back those stories that I lost with my Oma, so that they won't be truly lost... I want her story to survive like many of her family did not. But the question is how do I do that without becoming a total mess every time I start writing, reading, or deciphering or ignoring the pain and horribleness of the issue at hand altogether?
After getting back to my place tonight, all I wanted to do was ask my Oma what to do, where to go from here. Since I sadly can't do that I called Omi Hanne in Uruguay. She was her best friend and my Omi. I am soooo thankful to have her and miss her so much. I wish I had her here to guide me... Even though she is from Frankfurt, her husband Martin (Opi) was from Berlin and she came to Berlin with Oma in 1961. Talking to her reinforced how crucial it is for me to focus on the issue. As she said, "the museum wouldn't have shocked me, because I live it. I was there until 1940," my eyes filled with tears. My Oma, Omi, Opi, and most of the people that I grew up with at my Oma's house suffered through this history. They walked these streets being persecuted and chased. They had to leave the only place they called home... Their families were killed, their friends disappeared... And now I'm here chasing my grandmother around thinking that THIS place that mistreated them so horribly reminds me of home ... With this realization, my stream of tears started to flow...
Don't get me wrong, I know that my grandmother would be thrilled to see me walk these streets (and I think she is), but it is sooo strange. She herself wrote, "I confess that I harbor resentment against the Germans of that time, not against Germany." But, as I slowly start to realize the true immensity of their pain, it is hard for me to rise above and understand her understanding. So how do I do this? How do I find a guiding force to help me tell my story without getting lost in resentment? How do I go to the archive tomorrow and look through the thousands and thousands of records of people that were killed ? How do I not break down or distance myself from the reality of it all? I guess for now I'll have to keep repeating her statement to myself and use her amazing spirit to face the issue. But one thing is for sure, I now know why she said it and what she meant when she said, "I have no tears left to cry." Maybe tomorrow another of our conversations will wake me up and guide me through the day to find what I'm looking for with my research! Till then, I'm off to bed!
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