Books & Ideas

Being Jewish in Today's Germany

January 24, 2014
Menashe Kadishman's installation, Shalekhet (Fallen Leaves), in the Jewish Museum Berlin. Photograph: iMaculate
Yascha Mounk
Farrar, Straus and Girous, $26.

“Two souls within a single body”—that is how the Israeli journalist and author Amos Elon described the tension of being Jewish and German in his 2003 book The Pity of It All: A Portrait of the German-Jewish Epoch 1743–1933. But the challenge did not end with the Holocaust. There are still Jews in Germany, more now than at any time since the end of World War II.

Who are they, German Jews or Jewish Germans? The question has been frequently analyzed and debated. Even as the “new Jew” and the “new Germany” are proclaimed and defined, the intractable duality remains.

In his new book Stranger in my Own Country: A Jewish Family in Modern Germany, Yascha Mounk explores the duality via his own identity—Jewish and born in Germany. Mounk traces his family’s dispersal from Poland after Władysław Gomułka’s anti-Semitic Communist regime took power. They went to America, Sweden, Israel, and Germany, where Mounk himself grew up. He describes how his mother Ala came to West Germany and reluctantly obtained German citizenship through a first husband before Mounk’s birth. In 1982 Mounk inherited her citizenship at birth, thanks to a 1975 law that for the first time enabled matrilineal descent. Eventually, having been treated as a Jew apart, never fully German despite his citizenship and residence from birth, he rejected his Germanness and moved to the United States.

Mounk is hardly the first German Jew to feel like an outsider in his own postwar home. There is the 1979 anthology Strangers in One’s Own Land: Jews in the Federal Republic, co-edited by the provocative German Jewish journalist Henryk Broder. The following year, the German Israeli author Lea Fleischmann wrote This is Not My Country. Judged by its cover, Mounk’s book may seem redundant or anachronistic.

But Mounk’s alienation is of his particular moment, representative of the varied experience of Jewishness that emerged after the wall came down. This is not the new Jew of postwar Germany, sorting through the rubble, but the new Jew in an era of immigration, reintegration, vigilant memorialization, and a demonstrative national quest for normalcy. Germany is considered a paragon of formalized historical reckoning, compared favorably with her neighbors Austria and Poland and sometimes with the United States’ engagement (or lack thereof) with its own particular atrocities, especially slavery and its persisting effects. In school, Germans are extensively and repeatedly educated on the history of National Socialism and the Holocaust. Museums and monuments, such as the Topography of Terror and The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, punctuate the long list of sites to be visited in Berlin.

Mounk, for a time, inhabited the space between institutionalized confrontation with the past and wider cultural conceptions of difference, belonging, and identity. Weaving memoir and history, anecdotal description and political-cultural analysis, he describes his own experience of the German-Jewish duality, ultimately opting for an identity free from both classifications.

• • •

Growing up in several “reasonably idyllic places” across Germany—never, notably, in Berlin, but in cities such as Munich, Freiburg, and Karlsruhe—Mounk experienced the seesaw of anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, neither of which leaves much “room . . . for Jews to be regarded as ‘normal’ people subject to the ups and downs of mortal men and women,” according to Jeffrey M. Peck, author of Being Jewish in the New Germany (2005). The former is often more subtle than violence or hate speech and the latter more pervasive and complex than the Jew-less European Klezmer craze of the 1980s and ’90s detailed in Ruth Ellen Gruber’s Virtually Jewish (2002).

At one moment, Mounk’s fifth-grade teacher asks “Protestant or Catholic?”and the class is in stitches when he responds, “Well, I guess I’m sort of Jewish.” The next, an acquaintance at a party describes Woody Allen as creepy and then bends over backward to defend Allen’s entire oeuvre when Mounk arrives to the conversation, despite Mounk’s assurance that he has no horse in the race. There’s Klaus the neo-Nazi, a regular at fourteen-year-old Mounk’s chess club who becomes sheepish after discovering his opponent’s Jewishness. And then there’s Markus, whose guilt-induced conversion to Judaism and obvious attempts at friendship unnerve Mounk.

Mounk’s alienation is representative of the varied experience of Jewishness that emerged after the wall came down.

A coming-of-age heavily peppered with such encounters makes connection with non-Jewish Germans fraught, self-identification uncomfortably imposed. “For me personally,” Mounk writes, “it wasn’t primarily violence or hatred that made me feel that I would never be a German. It was benevolence. . . . The effect of their pity and their virtue was to leave both of us with the sense that I couldn’t possibly have anything in common with them.” As a result, “the simplest interaction between Jew and Gentile [can] degenerate into a politically correct comedy of errors.”

In addition to careful philo-Semitism, Mounk identifies “resentment against the country’s supposed obsession with the past—a resentment that is voiced especially loudly by younger Germans.” During a recent trip to Berlin, I met a twenty-four-year-old non-Jewish German who attributes this, at least in part, to years of history class without much discussion of personal or familial connection to the events studied.

“What you really do not address is that there probably is something like a third-generation trauma,” Christian told me. Christian has worked for the local office of the American Jewish Committeeand, within his community, discussion of this trauma is common. But in school, he says, for the most part “you don’t even talk about the question of collective and individual guilt.” He identifies “latent anti-Semitism” among many contemporary Germans, often unconscious and born of a rebellion against guilt that they perceive as forced upon them.

Mounk sees this urge to be done with historical reckoning as a “fast-spreading movement” that became increasingly mainstream in the 1990s and 2000s. Its goal is to reach a “finish line” demarcating a new phase in Germany’s ties to its history. Although the intent to recognize Jews as regular people is laudable, Mounk argues that this finish line movement has instead cast German Jews as extras “in the country’s increasingly aggressive attempt to prove that it has finally left the past behind.”

Mounk looks to idealization of the 1968 protests in order to make sense of the finish line movement. Citing Hans Kundnani’s Utopia or Auschwitz: Germany’s 1968 Generation and the Holocaust (2009), Mounk argues that the ’68ers were fueled by anger and unease concerning their parents’ generation and by a simplistic reading of Frankfurt School theory that linked capitalism to fascism. To the ’68ers, this meant that the Federal Republic was a Nazi regime. Their anxiety around making a “clean break” from the past perversely drove the German left’s increasing violence.

The concept of the finish line was publicized by historian Ernst Nolte in his 1986 essay “The Past That Will Not Pass,” which, in turn, triggered the Historikerstreit, a year-long debate between historians and public intellectuals on the subject. This was followed in 1998 by a controversial speech from the novelist Martin Walser, who declared, “Auschwitz is not suited to become a routine threat . . . or a moral cudgel.” Soon after, opinion polls revealed that 63 percent of Germans were in favor of “drawing a finish line under discussions about the persecution of Jews.”

Mounk was sixteen at the time of Walser’s speech and remembers watching it on TV with his grandfather Leon, the man who’d had him memorize Jewish German poet Heinrich Heine’s work in his youth. Mounk realized that finish-line resentment underlay the philo-Semitism he often encountered. “It’s not that my classmates grew hostile,” he writes. “Nor did they start hurling anti-Semitic slurs at me. What they did was subtler, though, over time, equally alienating: they came to see me as a strange and slightly mysterious outsider who wasn’t bad, necessarily, but who also most definitely wasn’t really a part of their community.”

• • •

Some 15,000 German Jews survived the Holocaust, 8,000 of them in Berlin. After the war and before Israel was founded in 1948, displaced persons, many of them Jewish, found temporary residence in displaced persons camps built by the Allies. Some stayed.

Not long after the wall fell, the federal government passed the 1991 Quota Refugee Law whereby it agreed to accept Jewish migrants from the former Soviet Union. What followed was an influx of more than 200,000 people of Jewish background, mostly Russian-speaking. This massive change in the numbers and demographics frames any discussion of Jewishness in Germany today, especially in Berlin. The capital’s Jewish population grew from about 6,000 in 1990 to an estimated 50,000 by 2008. According to a recent report by American journalist Toby Axelrod, who has lived in Berlin since 1997, in Germany today there are “more than 240,000 people of Jewish background,” close to a third of the Jewish population when the Nazis came to power.

“Do you think that my son, two generations after the war, should feel as guilty towards Jews as I do?” 

“Today’s younger generations will not forget, but they are not dwelling on the past,” Axelrod writes, reporting that religiously and culturally, the Holocaust serves less and less as a definitive theme in Jewish life in Germany. “With all its neuroses, its ambivalences and lurking threats, Germany is home.”

Not home for all, Mounk might say. But perhaps in Berlin, with the largest and most diverse Jewish community in Germany, there exists a freer and more varied Jewish experience than the one he reports. The capital has 11,500 registered members of the federally recognized and funded community, the Central Council of Jews in Germany. Approximately twice as many Jews unaffiliated with the official community also live in Berlin. Many of these are young and are among the 10–15,000 Israelis that have flooded the capital in recent years. Growth, fragmentation, and plurality characterize communities within and beyond the Central Council, which itself struggles to accept the diversity of Jewish identification.

To demonstrate this living diversity, last spring Berlin’s Jewish Museum unveiled the exhibition “The Whole Truth . . . everything you always wanted to know about Jews,” which included the controversial “Jew in a box” installation that sat a Jewish volunteer on a platform bearing the caption, “Are there still Jews in Germany?” Whether you find the conceit offensive or applaud the self-critical engagement with the complicated nature of Jewish-Gentile relations, a showcased Jew answering visitors’ questions certainly forces one to consider issues of authenticity, identification, and representation.

Bill, a 27-year-old Jewish American who’s lived in Berlin for four years and has no plans to leave, sat in the box three times. “On some level [Germans] know Jews live in the world,” he told me, “but they don’t really see Judaism as a living, breathing, evolving culture with real people. It’s either the Holocaust or Israel, neither of which I’m so thrilled being represented or identified by.”

Linda, 29, who was born and raised in Cologne, sat in the box only once. She figured since she’d been answering Germans’ questions about Judaism her whole life, she might as well do it officially. “It was always a problem for us in German schools to be a kind of Jewish ambassador for the entire community,” she told me. Most visitors approached her tentatively.

When one German man asked his four-year-old son to sit next to her on the bench, Linda knew things were about to get interesting. “So, Linda, do you think that my son, two generations after the war, should feel as guilty towards Jews as I do?” the man asked. “This was not a question I was prepared for,” Linda recalled. “I asked, ‘What do you mean, why would you feel guilty?’ and he said, ‘The media tries to tell me day by day that we Germans still need to feel this.’”

But when Linda asked what he knew about Jews or Judaism, the man was unable to give much information beyond stereotypes about ruling financial classes and undeserving German guilt. “He just didn’t want to leave,” Linda said, describing their twenty-minute conversation, in which she felt the man used her as a sort of shrink to parse the guilt around his own family’s involvement in the Holocaust, which he admitted and apologized for. “I can’t give you this approval,” Linda told him, “I think you should try to get clean with your past and not with me.” He agreed, but, Linda said, “it seemed like he was kind of relieved after talking to me.”

Linda’s grandparents, who’d fled to Bolivia and then to Israel during and after the war, returned to Germany in the 1950s. “My great grandmother said that she want[ed] to go home.” Like her grandmother, Linda tried living in Israel. She also spent a year in the United States. But she, too, “wanted to come home” so she moved to Berlin. “That’s why I feel, unlike maybe other Jews of the community, a very strong connection, maybe not to the German people, but to the country,” Linda said. “I actually never struggled with the feeling of not being part of this place.”

• • •

One’s own sense of Jewish identity, like other aspects of self-conception, can be sculpted by internal feelings and actions—adhering to Jewish cultural norms, observing the holidays and rituals, believing in a higher power—as much as it can be influenced by outward perception—the repeated experience of being treated as Someone Who Is Jewish.

While Mounk was in Germany, it was the latter that shaped his Jewishness, as well as his Germanness. “My family’s Jewish identity has never been strong,” Mounk writes in a New York Times op-ed anticipating the release of his book. “I had neither a bris nor a bar mitzvah. When I was young, my mother gave me Christmas presents so that I wouldn’t feel left out. Even so, as I grew older, I felt more and more Jewish—and less and less German.”

At the heart of Mounk’s alienation is the historic conception of a national identity inextricably tied to ethnic Germanness and Christianity. Within this purity-based notion of German identity, there is no room for diversity or multiple allegiance. Leitkultur, or “leading culture,” a conservative concept introduced in the late 1990s, still frames national political discussions about immigration, integration, and multiculturalism. “Germany’s debate about the past is ultimately about much more than memory politics, or even relations between Jews and Gentiles,” Mounk writes, “it is about the policies Germany should pursue in the present.” 

 Mounk’s call for Germans to rethink their conceptions of who is and is not German is not only ethical advice but also economic.

In large part, what he has in mind are policies and attitudes with respect to immigration—especially Turkish. Invited legally as contract workers in the 1960s during Germany’s Wirtschaftswunder (“economic miracle”) and afforded permanent residency in response to corporate lobbying, people of Turkish or Arab descent—as well as Tunisian, Moroccan, South Korean—even those who are German citizens, are still thought of as guests. Words such as Gasterbeiter (“guestworker”) and Auslander (“foreigner”) are commonly used to describe them. While laws have changed, conceptions of identity are more rigid: Germanness is still associated with ethnicity, religion, and monoculture rather than civic membership.

At a time when Germany’s population is decreasing and anti-immigration lobbyists are advocating “zero net migration,” Mounk’s call for Germans to rethink their conceptions of who is and is not German is not only ethical advice but also economic. Rapid depopulation will shrink the economy, make the welfare state unaffordable, and escalate social tensions. “Germany’s prosperity, the fate of immigrants already in the country, as well as—last and probably least—the long-term future of Germany’s Jews now depends on” a new vision of German identity, Mounk argues.

Mounk also draws a parallel between the experience of Jews in contemporary Germany and that of black Americans. He is not naïve about the historical, cultural, and experiential differences (phenotypic being the most obvious), but he focuses instead on broad similarities of philo-exoticism and liberal guilt to link his experience as a Jew in Germany with “the situation of middle-class African-Americans in predominantly white, self-consciously politically correct circles.” But while finish-line resentment may resemble the pernicious notion that slavery’s effects are over—both speak to an aggressive desire to, impossibly, separate history from the present—the comparison doesn’t quite line up.

Mounk considers the white appropriation of hip-hop culture analogous to philo-Semitism and cites “the false tones of self-conscious admiration for African-American culture.” But hip-hop, originally created in black and brown communities, has altered mainstream popular American culture—like German Leitkultur, alsowhite, Christian and invested in exclusion—in a process very different from recent philo-Semitic curiosity or two millennia of Jewish-German mutual influence. And while the German-Jewish relation is a historic dichotomy, issues of race in America are more complex, since other groups of color inflect the black-white dichotomy. But any oversimplification about race on Mounk’s part takes place within a much broader context in which he is self-conscious about the limits of his knowledge.

Apart from this critique, there is the issue of the rose-colored glasses through which he views America, specifically New York City, his current home when he’s not in Boston or Italy, where his mother now lives. It reflects the gap between German and American understandings of multiculturalism. What Germany calls multiculturalism is a post–Word War II phenomenon for the most part, and it remains at the center of active political debates. The United States, by contrast, was built struggling with its multiplicity. It continues to do so—clumsily, violently, and under the cover of euphemisms. In the United States, “multiculturalism” and “diversity” have become buzzwords with which the establishment disingenuously champions the melting pot, a metaphor Mounk actually invokes. The terms are often meaningless propaganda; one finds “post-racial” not far behind. Perhaps more masterfully shrouded in conservative concepts of “respectability” or “family values,” our own national sense of Leitkultur—of who is and who is not deserving of civic membership—is alive and well.

This is not to say that the differences Mounk experiences as a Jew in Germany and in New York are insignificant. Thanks to his move, Mounk discovers freedom in identity. New York allows him to realize, unexpectedly, that being Jewish is not especially important to him. “New York has given me the same liberty it has afforded generations of immigrants: the freedom to be true to myself,” Mounk writes in the Times. “In an age of identity politics, we assume that this must mean the freedom to proclaim one’s identity. But, for me, it has just as much to do with the liberty to shed an identity to which I’d long been reduced.” His Jewish identity, built up from the outside in Germany, is allowed to recede from within in New York.

Mounk’s story is one of globalized identity-formation: of multinational allegiance and dispersal of home, where a sense of belonging can be found and allegiance chosen, not imposed. Mounk could not find this sense of belonging in Germany, but he allows that things have greatly changed there, especially since the fall of the Berlin Wall, and others have found what he could not. “Smaller [German] cities are seeing their ‘new’ Jewish communities dwindling,” Axelrod writes. “But there is definitely a much livelier, more diverse and ‘in-your-face’ Jewish life in Germany’s major population centres today than in 1989.” Mounk would have to agree.

If this trend is to continue, and if German citizens who are not Christian or ethnically German are to stay, the country must take a hard look at what it means to be German. This will involve not just a superficial tolerance or conditional inclusion, but rather an uncomfortable grappling with and acceptance of multiple identities within a national culture ever in flux. Germans will have to acknowledge multiple allegiances on the part of any one individual. This necessitates not only changes in individual interactions, but in state policy. One such change is now underway, as public schools have begun to offer an official curriculum in Islam, in an attempt to better integrate the country’s large Muslim minority. Another much-needed education reform could eliminate the tracking of children as young as ten, some bound for university, others for clerical work, still others for manual and technical jobs. The tracking is less a measurement of potential than an assured disadvantage for children from less-educated, lower-income backgrounds, many of them not ethnically German.

“For real integration,” the Turkish-German scholar Zafer Şenocak writes, “one must cultivate, in encounters with others, a sense for multiplicity and contradiction. In the process one would have to analyze sources of knowledge beyond preconceived opinions and identities.” We would do well to heed these words on both sides of the ocean.


It would be interesting to consider the question of being Jewish in Germany also in the context of nationalism and religion in Europe, particuarly the members of the EU.  For decades it has seemedthat religion and national identity were deliberately submerged a bit in order to strengthen the alliance.  Perhaps that is reversing itself now, especially in the wake of the severe economic troubles.  

Mounck seems to emerge, representationally, from a family of that has no real roots of identity in any sense. His mother's multiple marriages, his lack of mention of his father, or brothers or sisters, or cousins. A family that nomadically sought the best economic milieu in which to encamp, perhaps in some ways exploitively. Since American society has afforded him educational and voctional possibilities he isnow here in New York capitalizing on his self imposed, self defined otherness to create a pseudo-uniqueness that pales in juxtaposition to authentic African or other non-Westerners thrust uncomprehendingly into the maelstrom of urban New York City life.
I suspect if he can extract some sympathetic mileage from the Jewish community he will do so, though I do beliee it will be limited; they have seen and heard everything and are somewhat jaded regarding such self defined "others."  Maybe his next step will be to approach a Catholic University for a job as a resident "Complex Jew." Or perhaps have a spiritual awakening in the company of evangelical Christians, Buddhists, or Hindus. Maybe he can garner 15 minutes on a local NPR afiliated radio station talk show to ply his identity book. 

Mounk came to NY on a scholarshio of the German DAAD and he is now at Harvard on a scholarship of the German Krupp foundation. His mother is no more nomadic than other artist playing in her league and having ' no real roots' , as you write is part of what Sartre called the existential lonelyness of the intellectual. He is struggling with the question of identity, however. He is honest about not beeing rooted anywhere. This is better than pretending roots. His rejection of Germany is a bit unfair. He might have to re- consider some things after experiencing the real difficulties of making a living in the US. Having read his book I have the impression he is really more German that he wishes to be, Many German intellectuals are somewhat alienated from their country - imagining the big wide world in NYC etc, to be much more open minded than their narrow home town...His Jewish lineage is very useful to add spice to his feeling of differentness which kids from his kind of cultural elite background often have - no matter what their religious or ethnic backgroung may be. Maybe as he develops he will become a more mature and intersting observer of whatever country or community he will end up belonging to in end...i do not share his analysis of German society as I know the real life of common folks there - but it is still interesting to read the intellectually challenging way in which a smart young guy of Jewish cultural elite background sees the country where he lived from his birth in 1982 to his departure 18 years later. The review in the Boston Review also shows he is not isolated but one of the Jewish intellectuals who have similar problems and ideas - a bit strange ways of seeing things, but why not....

SURE of course he has to be sponsored by the greatest company and get a scholarship at harvard. It's funny how you're DESTINED to be rich if you're born in a jewish family.

Mounk's book is well written, informative but from the particular perspective of a young Jewish person from a cultural elite background - his mother an outstanding musician and conductor of orchestras. As such it offers an interesting insight into the way members of his small minority group might see the country. Mounk, I think,underestimates the number and importance of the 'new' Germans (Turkish, Russian-German etc) and he overestimates the awareness of most Germans for Jews. In major cities, for example, immigrant kids represent between 30% and more than 50% of elementary school kids. Frankfurt: almost one third of thr population Turkish origin, 55% of kids born 2011 migration background.Munich little less than half of 15 year old students descendants of families immigating after 1960..Mounk experienced an ethnically homogeneous Germany which is rapidly disappearing in the big cities. This was so because Mounk entered a school for the top 20% achievers when he was 10 years old back in 1992. He writes he did not meet many immigrant kids there. He took off for Cambridge university at the age of 18 in 2000, then Columbia U, now Harvard - on a German funded scholarship (Krupp). Many German big city schools, however, are multinational envirionments where teachers have to struggle with the problem of integrating students from all kinds of backgrounds. Jews as individuals are at best marginal in this context if present at all. Normal Germans are usually not preoccupied with Jews at all and usually polite when they realize they meet one. The real problem is the integration of other groups of lesser educational background. In general, however, Germans are doing better in integrating migrants than their neighbours. The extreme right wing NPD party got a low 1.3% in the last elections - in France e.g. opinion polls show 24% for the extreme Front Nationale. A recent study of the Anti-Defamation League of anti-semitic stereotypes in European countries shows 67% in Hungary as the highest rate and the second lowest rate of 20% in Germany. Only the Netherlands (10%) had a lower level of stereotypes about Jews. This explains in my opinion Mounk's observation that Germans are very poor at realzing somebody is Jewish. Anti-semites would be obsessed with the question of whether somebody is Jewish, Germans normally are not. Most Germans - not the college educated elite, maybe - have never met a Jew and they go on for months and years without thinking about them apart from history classes.

I am a second generation German. I had a cousin in the Waffen SS and other cousins and uncles who fought in the German army. Yet, cousins of my mother hid a Jew and a Frenchman in their barn for two years. If they would have been discovered they would have been executed. They had a son that was on active service. He probably would have been killed too. It was a shameful thing that the Germans did.
I was a frontswein (front pig----grunt) in Vietnam in '68. Although it was not state policy, I saw many instances of murder and I am sure that every one in Murder Incorporated were well aware of it.  It made me sick and I sick of it today. Hatred is a sickness of the human soul. Peace, Love and Harmony are the Three Eternal Truths. Today we are on a roller coaster of hatred and it will result in the extermination of not a people but of all humanity.

Dear Mr. Driessler,
I too am a Viet Nam veterant.
We Jewish and about to leave for a tour of Germany. I was last there in August of 1968.
I think you're comment best addresses the dilemma I feel about Germany the home of Beethoven, Kant, Heese, Schopenauer, Einstein and Adolph Hitler. The apex of Good the nadir of Evil.
You're family's split loyalties speak eloquently to my attempt to reconcile my thoughts and feelings.
Never forget? Yes. Never forgive? Perhaps.
I suppose the most accurate of assessment of Germany is that it is the land of Beethoven and of Hitler.
To Repent in Jewish law requires the offender to seek out each offended person and (AA style) ask for Forgiveness. Given the magnitude of Germany's war crimes the "enough already" attitude of some Germans toward Guilt for the Holocuast is shallow and unacepptable. That stain is something that does not wash off so easily.
I travel with an open yet trepidatious heart knowing that in Germany at least one can count on the best beer in the world.
Thank you for posting your thoughts.
Noel Anenberg

Answer to John: John, sorry for Your Vietnam experience. War is horrible and we should all pray our children and grandchildren will be spared the experience. BUT: Look into the faces of young people today and most of the time you will not see hatred but cheerfulness and optimism. The story of Germany after 1945 shows that it is possible to start again and build a stable and basically tolerant Western society no matter how bad the starting point may be. Many parts of the world are indeed in what you call ' a roller coaster' of hatred. However I disagree with Your pessimism about the future of mankind. As far as the Jews in Germany are concerned: their main problem is not anti-semitism but the threat that in a liberal society. They might first lose their identity and then disappear by intermarriage. One thing that disturbed me in Mounk's book was the almost complete absence of any positive content or meaning connected with the word 'Jewish' . Germans did not realize he was Jewish - so he told them he was Jewish. Then, however, he did not communicate what it meant to be Jewish. He just used the word as some kind of name dropping. So what is really Jewish about him except for his lineage? There are many initiatives in Germany promoting a dialogue between Jews and the non-Jewish Germans. Mounk does not mention any of this. He had no connection to German synagogues etc. and thus no connection to efforts for building bridges between Jews and others. It is, however, this attempt. at bridge building which we need if want to promote what You call "peace, love and harmony' . Shalom to You and Your folks no matter what theiy or their ancestors may have fone or not have done...


Other than not being born in Germany, I am about as German as you can get. Both of my parents were born and raised in Germany and emigrated pre WW II to the USA with their families. I was raised Catholic, bi- lingual, with two cultures, German and American. I studied The German language throughout high school, majored in German in college and obtained my secondary education teaching certificate for German. My career followed with my employment as a German teacher, bilingual translator, German-English, and an Executuve Bi-Lingual Secretary at the American headquarters for a German company for almost 8 years. I even taught their American employees the German language, culture, communication skills to further a more cohesive and better work environment. I had also spent time abroad living with my relatives in Germany and as an exchange student studying at the Goethe Insttut and a German Teacher's College.

With that background, I traveled to Germany with my husband. He was born in Germany, but emigrated to the USA when he was one year old and became an American citizen. We met with the mayor of his home town. My husband was introduced as a " German"... I was introduced as a " German-American". Needles to say, I was offended. First of all, I considered myself as an "American" of German heritage at the time and did not distinguish myself as a " German-American". At the very least, I felt we should both be considered American or German in their eyes. I have no other blood flowing through my veins for generations that stretch back centuries. My husband studied German in College and High School, but that was the extent iof his involvement in the language and the culture. My first reaction was why did I put all that effort into studying the people, the language, the culture, promoting better understanding, communication, etc. It was frustrating and very disappointing...

I picked myself up and decided it was not a waste if in any I had promoted better communications and understanding throughout my career. As I always had done, I decided to promote the best aspects of both cultures to promote better cultural integration, tolerance and understanding. My hope is that education, global travel and awareness will help future generations of Germans and Americans to accept diversity along with its richness. Learning about different cultures, religions and integrating the best from all, can only enhance our lives and our world for futre generations to come.

I'd not be surprised if the only information that mayor got was "husband born in Germany" and "wife is daughter of German immigrants". That makes him German and you American. Pretty straight-forward, nothing to be offended by.
Taking a closer look, you still don't become German (or any other nationalitiy) by studying the language and spending a year or two in that country. Your husband, on the other hand, is no more German than you, he spend almost all of his life in the US, so he's American.

I'm glad he's enjoying New York. It's a lot more interesting and fun than any German city.

The "party" responds to decency like hornets from a disturbed nest or spiders to a webbed fly.

NYC is not better than any German city to many people. That is a matter of opinion by the individual.
Leaving out the anti-semetic attitudes of course.
I myself self am of Irish/Jewish descent.
Many Jews I know and have known still feel a connection to Germany the country not so much the people but the country itself.

I was in germany for first time last year with my new girlfriend who is german.
I am jewish.
I saw a culture of simplicity and beer gardens, it has not changed, not evolved with times, seems that the people dont want change, certainly not cultural diversity, jewish, black, muslim, oriental, a comment she made to me that she heard that Jewish people began takng over and changing a look to their beloved germany whch may have given rise to the holocaust.

Well, if true, they stopped that change, the society hasnt budged a bit in look or feel.

I am sure the schools should be teachng not about the holocaust, but about the positives of a blending society, the good things that different faiths and ethnicities bring to the table, open discussions not on guilt but on the improvements cultures have brought, the foods they eat that are from jews , the nobel prize winners, the musicians, the positives of details of the different religions.

The real problem is how people manage to describe themselves. People who fall under a Different religion manage to lable themselves as different to begin. Example. Jewish, Muslim or Islam, Hindi, Indian, Budhist, Christian.

At the end of the day all the religions have the same message. The same principle and the same God. They only have different prophets, and different ways of worship. It has to do with the way you carry yourself as a person. How you treat others. That defines you as a person.

Your religion does not define you. Race does not define you. It is circumstance how you handle certain circumstances and what you have learnt from that. That is what is suppose to count.

Germany in WW2 went through alot. The Jewish went through alot, the Gypsies everyone went through alot. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. But those who do not learn from the past are the ones who will forget.

Stop enphasizing on one group of people. Aloth of men, women and children died of all races and all religions during WW2. That is what happened. If you keep on labeling yourself to be different then you will be different.

At the end of the day if we were all the same, life in itself would be completely boring. I am absolutely fascinated by WW2 but specifically about the Nazi-Jewish war of the war. I am fascinated with the history behind Adolf HItler and Anne Frank. I have been reading a book
called the Book Theif. And when ever I can I do some research. The experimentation, the mental implications how they did the things they did. And how they could live their lives afterwards.

That is why I can say what I have said.

Be who you are as a person. Feel free to lead your own lives, forge your own history and be proud of of what you have done. Live your life with no regret. Be free in your heart and in your soul. We do not live for this life. We live for our life that comes after this.

In order for you to grow in spirit you need to suffer in this world.

I believe in God. I do not believe in any religion in specific.

I believe that one day when I die I will be rewarded in the next life.

  Nuclear weapons delivery mechanisms should be aimed and ready to fire with in seconds at all known enemies of jews and isreal , past and prestent. 

Add new comment

Filtered HTML

  • Web page addresses and e-mail addresses turn into links automatically.
  • Allowed HTML tags: <a> <em> <strong> <cite> <blockquote> <code> <ul> <ol> <li> <dl> <dt> <dd>
  • Lines and paragraphs break automatically.

Plain text

  • No HTML tags allowed.
  • Web page addresses and e-mail addresses turn into links automatically.
  • Lines and paragraphs break automatically.
This question is for testing whether you are a human visitor and to prevent automated spam submissions. CAPTCHA is not case sensitive.
Enter the characters shown in the image.