I keep on walking. Beautiful sights and places. Fußgängerzone (pedestrian zone), for example. A demonstration is now taking place here. Iranian Germans demonstrate against brutality they claim is committed by the Iranian regime. They have the pictures to prove it. Bloodied heads, and other organs, gifts of the regime to those who don’t obey or who are different. Looking at the pictures, you can’t tell if any of the victims photographed here are alive or dead. Not that it makes much difference. Given the shape these people are in, as seen in these horrific photos, death might be preferable.
I look at the demonstrators and something in them smells wrong, or foreign. I try to figure out why and what. It takes me a few minutes and then I see it: There are no German Germans here. Only Persians. All those Germans who jump to support Palestinian demonstrations against Israel, or Jews, fail to show up here. Even though these Iranians show similarly horrific pictures.
Welcome to Köln. Have a wurst and a beer, and try to forget everything else.
Köln.
•••
Tonight the Kölner Philharmonie is hosting a production of Porgy and Bess, the Gershwin opera, performed by the New York Harlem Theater.
Got to have some English in my system! I go to see it.
It’s a sold-out performance, unlike the services in the synagogues.
The opera starts. The stage has so many people on it they can hardly move.
They sing. Supposedly in English, though no human ear can actually attest to it.
Who is this New York Harlem Theater group? Where exactly in Harlem are they located? They don’t have a New York accent. Strange.
Two hours or so later I chance upon the musical director of the group.
Where in Harlem is your theater located? I ask this white man.
Well, to borrow Gershwin’s title song from this very opera, It Ain’t Necessarily So. He’s from Munich. The group’s name, you probably already guessed, is just so: a name. An excellent business idea. Maybe I should adopt it. Next year, if you happen to see the musical Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex performed by the Saudi Mecca Theater Company at the Köln Schauspielhaus, don’t tell anybody it’s me.
It’s time to rest in my wonderful suite.
There’s a nice big TV in my suite, I think I should use it.
Helge Schneider was right. I just turn the TV on and whom do I see? Yes, Adolf Hitler. Nice little program. They talk about Hitler’s sexual habits, in case we were interested to know. The learned talking heads discuss Hitler’s relationship with his niece, Geli Raubal. How did Hitler have sex? It’s an important question because it will reveal something extremely important. And here’s the answer: Hitler, surprisingly or not, had a unique sexual desire: to have his beloved urinate on him.
This story, the history books tell us, was told by Otto Strasser in 1943. Most serious historians disregard it as true. Why are we discussing it in 2010? Hitler is still good for ratings.
Other news of the day:
In the Ruhr area there’s another party going on this weekend: Ruhrschnellweg. It takes place on the A40. The Autobahn is closed to traffic, twenty thousand tables are arranged on this major highway, and three million people have shown up.
Is this just another variety of Verein?
•••
I had such a wonderful time with Paul Adenauer last time we met that I go to visit him again. Maybe he can further educate me.
Why are all those millions of Germans pouring into the streets to see –basically nothing?
“They love to be together.”
That’s it? Just looking for an excuse to be together, with as many other Germans as possible?
“Yes. We say: If you scratch a German long enough, a socialist comes out.”
I heard that one quite some time ago. With one little modification: Instead of “socialist” they used the word “Nazi.” If you scratch a German long enough—
“Perhaps it’s the same thing. There’s ‘something’ inside.”
What is it?
“A sense of ‘We belong together.’ Members of the tribe. You have to belong to a tribe.”
Is this what Hitler did, using this ‘something,’ and then defining the tribe as ‘Aryan’?
“Yes.”
Does it mean that there’s a significant chance that Nazism would return?
“Yes, but not now.”
Thanks, man! What else is German?
“German faithfulness. It’s important to be faithful.”
Wait a second: These two qualities, loyalty versus the tribal that can turn lethal and barbaric, are opposites—
“Germans’ biggest problem is that they are very romantic, totally romantic. And romanticism is very dangerous. It can be turned into its opposite.”
I mention to Paul this letter that I read years back. It’s from a Nazi warrior to his wife, on the eve of the Christmas holiday. It was a very romantic letter indeed. In it he told her that she should be proud of him. They had a contest in their camp, he told her. They threw little Jewish children in the air and shot them before they fell down. You will be proud of me, he told his beloved, because I won the contest.
Paul is not surprised at all. He “signs” the letter:
“I killed many Jews, Schatzi [Honey]. Greetings to the dog.”
He adds: “The German soul still has a Nibelungentreue [unquestioning loyalty unto death]. And this faithfulness is without thinking.”
I ask Paul if he’d had the chance to think about what we had talked about last time, the possibility of Islamic fanaticism coming to Köln and how it should be dealt with.
Yes, he did.
“We, in Germany, will wait to see what other European countries do, like France and others. They have, or will have, the same problem. We’ll let them act first and then we’ll do what they do.”
I learn a lot about Germany and Germans from Paul. If he’s right, I’ve solved my dilemma, the one I had before starting out on this journey. The horrible Nazi past of this country on the one hand and the beautiful, romantic German literature on the other are not really two opposites.
“Germans’ biggest problem is that they are very romantic, totally romantic. And romanticism is very dangerous. It can be turned into its opposite.”
Is he right? Like Sister Jutta-Maria of Munich, I want to look into it more deeply.
Maybe it’s time to go back in history, to see what’s what and how it all originated. Perhaps a little examination of the Dom will be helpful. That’s history, after all, long history. If Rabbi Schmidt taught me anything, it’s this: Check history first!
I go to the Dom to meet Barbara Schock-Werner, the Dombaumeisterin (master of cathedral architecture), the first woman in Köln to hold this job. Wilhelm Luxem of the Excelsior, who introduced Paul to me, introduces me to Barbara as well.
“This section,” she says, pointing somewhere outside, “was damaged in World War II.”
I thought that the Allies spared the Dom, didn’t they?
“Most of it. But most of the area next to the Dom was bombed. The British actually wanted to bomb here as well.”
Why?
“Köln Nazis held on until the end.”
Thinking back to what Paul taught me about the nature of the Kölners, I say to her: I thought that Kölners were not into the—
She cuts me off: “Yes, of course. And there were no Nazis in Germany at all . . .”
She laughs as she says this. This woman has sarcasm, a sense of the ironic.
“A Swastika was hung in the Dom,” she goes on.
It doesn’t comport well with the stories I’ve heard thus far while in this town. But facts, I guess, are stronger than fiction.
“Six million visitors come here yearly,” she says, switching topics. I have to store all these numbers in my head: six million Jews, six million visitors. My head is exploding!
Barbara is a practicing Catholic, which helps her much
in this job. There are five services a day here, she tells me. Sounds to me like a mosque. But I don’t mention it. Instead, I ask something much more important:
Where are the nudes? I like my church with nudes.
“The Dom is from a later period. Even Adam and Eve, originally done in the nude, were ordered to be covered, and this is how you see them here.”
She shows me. But I insist: No nudes in this church at all?
“Interesting question. I have to check into it. I never really thought about it. Oh, there’s one nude I know, a depiction of hell. You want to see it?” Of course. It’s free! We go there. But what we see is not very erotic. I ask: Any more? “I’ll look into it,” she says. “Now I’m interested!”
She shows me some treasures that tourists usually don’t get to see. For example, the architectural design of the Dom, done on parchment and beautifully detailed. This is from 1270. “A woman dried her peas on it in Darmstadt,” she tells me, illustrating the journeys this historical document took before it arrived back at its home.
Barbara knows a lot, there’s no denying it. It’s a pleasure to talk with her. She’s vivid, straightforward, funny, and highly intelligent. And after a while we’re going outside to talk some more, where I can also have a cigarette. As we schmooze I notice that the Kölner Klagemauer is missing from sight.
What happened to the Köln Wailing Wall? I ask Barbara.
“They’re off on Mondays.”
Barbara tells me of the time the Wall’s people practically lived here, right at the entrance to the Dom. “For years they had a tent here, they lived here.” It took time, but the Dom’s lawyers eventually succeeded in evicting them, only because the tent was on church property.
What do you think of those people, of the Wall?
“It’s plainly anti-Semitic and racist. There are some rich people in Köln who sponsor Walter Herrmann [founder and maintainer of the Wall]. Also, when he’s in the square here, I see people giving him a lot of money. A Jewish organization recently tried to move them out, but Köln legal authorities decided otherwise. They said that it’s an issue of free expression.”
Will a similar Wall against the Turks be allowed on grounds of free expression?
“No way!”
The Befestigungssteine, the stones that serve as a foundation for Köln’s Wailing Wall, are very heavy. Without them there’s no Wall. But where are they now? I don’t think that Herrmann, or his friends who stand there when he “makes,” take them along with them when they leave in the evening. The other day I saw one of them, who was manning the Wall that day, returning from “work,” and he had no Befestigungssteine with him.
Would you know where they store the Befestigungssteine?
“Not with us!”
Do you know where?
“You want to know?”
Yes.
“At WDR.”
This is hard for me to believe. I try to think of an equally powerful American news organization, such as NBC, that would ‘help out’ a similar activity, but I fail to come up with a name. In America, news organizations of this magnitude would rather close shop than even think of doing such a thing.
Maybe I didn’t get her right. I ask:
Are you telling me that the WDR—
“They help him.”
They help this group distribute anti-Semitic propaganda?
“Yes.”
Why?
“Ask them. You want me to show you the Befestigungssteine?”
Yes.
Barbara walks with me down the street and shows me where Herr Herrmann puts the heavy Befestigungssteine every night before going home. Right next to an Eingang door (entrance door) of WDR, an Eingang that’s pretty close to the Wall.
This is a media company. Are they so dumb?
“Ask them.”
I take Barbara’s advice and walk into the WDR building. Try to, would be a better way of putting it. WDR is a high-security building, with electronic gates, red lights, and guards.
The woman sitting in front of the security entrance comes out to talk to me. She says she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “What stones? What wall?”
Could I speak with higher-ups? I ask her, since she so freely admits that she knows nothing. She goes inside and calls whomever she does, I have no clue whom. Meantime, I have to wait outside. Of course.
After fifteen minutes of what seems like a frantic call or calls, she comes out and says that “The chef said that this is all false.” Never happened, never is. No Befestigungssteine here. Never were, never are.
I should be satisfied with the answer and go.
Good-bye.
Well, I don’t really feel like walking away.
I saw them, I tell her. I can show them to you. Would you like to come along and explain them to me? I also have pictures, in case you cannot leave your post.
“You took pictures of—”
Yes.
“Excuse me,” she says, and goes back to her phone.
I am waiting. About forty minutes.
At the end of this very hospitable introduction to WDR, she gives me the telephone number of one Herr Krenke, in charge of security. I should call him directly.
Can I talk to him now?
“No, he’s in a meeting. Wait fifteen minutes and then call him. Not from here.”
I stick around. Another fifteen minutes won’t hurt. Just in case something funny develops.
And something does.
A man in a suit comes out and explains to me everything I should know. He says:
“Herr Herrmann has not been around for quite some time. In the past, those stones, the Befestigungssteine, were put in the nearby café. It’s the café owner who allowed the Befestigungssteine in. But that was in the past. Now there’s nothing to talk about because that Wall, you can go to the Dom’s Square and see, is not there anymore.”
WDR could change its name to WDT, We Dislike Truth.
Why are you lying to me? I ask this nameless, tailored WDR man. Monday is off for them. Herr Herrmann, or whatever his name is, and his group don’t stand there on Mondays. But they’re there the other days. What, you think I just came to town? Well, I’ve got news for you: I saw them every day last week.
“Really?” says the man. “I didn’t know.”
He disappears into the building. He should go to Marxloh, have lunch with the imam.
I pay a visit to the café and have a talk with Heinz-Josef Betz, the man in charge.
Is it you who helps Herr Herrmann with his Befestigungssteine?
“Me? I sell cakes and ice cream.”
WDR people told me that you’re the one who let Herrmann leave his stones here—
“Come, let me show you where he puts the stones.”
We go there and Heinz says:
“You see, this is my business and it ends here. You see the stones? That’s not me, that’s WDR. They don’t like to admit it, but they are the ones doing it. That place is not mine. I can’t tell anybody what they can or can’t store there.”
He’s totally right. The stones are far away from his fence. I go to the main entrance of WDR. Impressive entrance, I must say. Just beautiful. An attractive lady sits at the reception desk. I start talking to her and the Beauty turns Beastly.
“I know who you are,” she says. “Go to the Dom. The church supports those people, not us.”
Really? Is this the official response? Because I have pictures and I already spoke with the Dom people and also with the guy from the café—
“Wait!”
The Beastly Beauty makes a call, just as the other lady did, but this one hands me the phone. Tanja Luetz, assistant in the p.r. department, is on the other side of the line. She wants to know my telephone number and email address. She promises a response but cannot guarantee it will be in the next hour, because “people are on lunch.”
They must be on a long lunch. It’s now si
x hours later and no one has called or written yet.
After so many lies, I wonder what’s next.
Germany. Anti-Semitic still.
Oh God! This is the last thing I wanted to see or find! I hate everybody, myself included, and leave Köln.
Before we began talking about the Wall, Barbara pointed at a lady, a beggar sitting next to the Dom, head covered and shaking. “Look at her legs,” Barbara said. “Do you see how young she is? She’s not an old lady; in real life she’s not shaking. And that old man on a wheelchair, you see? You have to see him at night. He gets off his chair and goes to the pubs to drink.”
Looks are so deceiving.
And news companies even more.
•••
Chapter 20
Fact: When Two Jews Meet, Anywhere in the World, They Immediately Connect
Well, if this is still a Nazi country, then as long as I’m in Germany I want to live here like the best Nazi ever! Whatever the Führer had, I should have as well. Don’t you agree?
I am in Weimar, at the Hotel Elephant. Suite number 100 used to be Adolf Hitler’s room. And now I am here. A great feeling!
Yes, they changed the room somehow, the furnishing is different, the bathroom is bigger, and they made some other such modifications. But this is it. His suite. Heil Tuvia!
Forget Rabbi Helmut. Forget Half and Half. Forget Sheikh Jens. Forget the Jewish Bride. Sieg Heil! Heil Tuvia! Let the Three Ravens see this and report it to the world. Heil!
At the time, when beloved Adolfy was staying at this hotel, people outside were shouting the most brilliant, most poetic line ever composed in the German language:
“Lieber Führer komm heraus, aus deinem Elefantenhaus.” (Dear Führer: Come out, out of your Elephant House.) And the lovely Führer, in recognition of his followers’ genius, would then go to what has become known as the Führer Balcony on the other side, the one pointing at the square, greet them and wave at them. Kind of Heil Hitler them. And if he could do it, why not me? Yes. Which is exactly what I do. I go to the balcony, stand there as he did, and look down.
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