For this second Friday in Frankfurt we had learned from the restaurant what others had done in the past regarding food. Therefore, instead of having the food delivered to the hotel, we and the Rosenbergs took a taxi to the restaurant and ate the Shabbat meal there, although it was not yet Shabbat.
Earlier that week we had talked with the Bambergers about which shul they were attending Shabbat morning. They told me about a small shul on Baumweg that they go to. Baumweg was one of the streets we as boys drove through on our way to school and walked through on Shabbat on our way to the Boerneplatz Synagogue. Although in the back of my mind I thought it was on Hermesweg, a street immediately parallel to Baumweg, where the shul was in which I had been bar mitzvah in 1940, I agreed to meet with them so that we could go together. The Rosenbergs joined us too. As soon as we entered the courtyard I knew that this was not the place where I had my bar mitzvah. This courtyard was on the left of the building, and the building I was looking for had the courtyard on the right side of the building. The moment we entered the shul my eyes confirmed that this was a different shul—it had no women’s balcony.
As a boy, when I had attended the shul I was looking for, I had sung in the choir of the Boerneplatz Synagogue, which had also been transferred there. The choir always sat in the balcony. So the question remained—where had I become bar mitzvah? Gabriella Bamberger, who worked for the Jewish Community Center, had never heard of a shul on Hermesweg and we also questioned some of the older people in shul. Nobody had ever heard of another shul there.
I asked Gabriella to research the question in the Stadt archives, and a few days later she confirmed that there had been a shul on Hermesweg, identifying the block it had been on, but not the exact location. All the buildings on the block had either been bombed or torn down so that there were no identifying marks left. I asked Gabriella to see what is in the archives regarding the location of the services of the two burned-down synagogues after Kristallnacht. That information would have to include what I was looking for.
On Sunday morning, July 16, the whole group went on a boat trip on the Main River. The boat left from near the Eiserner Steg, a bridge across the river well known to any Frankfurter. Several representatives of the city council and other municipal authorities joined us. We had, joining us at our table, Herbert Kasper, representative on the city council. We talked about Frankfurt and what had been there, and what was now. As the ship floated up and down the Main River, he explained the landmarks to us. Just before turning around to go back to the point of origin, a city fireboat ahead of us spewed jets of water into the air, arranged for by Herr Kasper on behalf of the city council.
The group had been given tickets for the afternoon for a performance of “Anatevka” (“Fiddler on the Roof ”) at the Volkstheater just around the corner from our hotel. We had been informed that if the weather was good the performance would take place in the open instead, at the Dominikanerkloster, about a 10-minute walk from the hotel. The musical quality left a lot to be desired, but considering that it was in the open air it was understandable. The performers were generally excellent and judging from the names were all Germans. When talking about the performance afterwards, we came to realize that this was really an amazing irony. Here we were in Germany, watching a play written by a Ukrainian Jew, Sholem Aleichem, telling a story of a Jewish family in Anatevka, Russia, who end up being driven out of their home by the Russians. The play was watched by 100-150 people, no doubt mostly Germans, who applauded wildly with numerous curtain calls at the end. I wonder how many of them afterwards realized the irony of it.
The following day, Monday, the only item on the schedule was a visit to the Henry und Emma Budge Stiftung, a home for senior citizens and nursing home on the outskirts of the city. The interesting part was that the home was for both Christian as well as Jewish residents, in accordance with the conditions set by the original donors, the Budge family, in 1920. The Nazis evicted all the Jews, but after the war the Stadt reestablished the Heim again in accordance with the original conditions, aiming to have 50 percent Christians and 50 percent Jews living in harmony during their final years.
Since the Nazis had confiscated all the funds of the foundation, the city government took over the financial responsibility. A few years ago, the structure was completely rebuilt into a modern glass and stainless-steel building with all possible conveniences for the residents. They have two separate kitchens, with the kosher kitchen under supervision of a permanent mashgiach, as well as a rabbi. It was with this rabbi that I had corresponded by e-mail before we came to Germany to determine the kosher status of the place, which was finally confirmed to me also by Rabbi Klein, the Gemeinderabbiner of Frankfurt.
(To be continued next week)
By Norbert Strauss
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