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July 2003 e-NewsletterHealing the Wounds of WWII: German-Jewish Reconciliation by Leah Green, Director
Thirty-four courageous men and women gathered in late September in Germany for our first Jewish-German Compassionate Listening project. For ten days, we listened to each other, and to Germans and Jews with widely varying experiences during WWII, including a former SS Soldier. The project touched us all at depths we could never have imagined. In these challenging times, we offer this good news newsletter to you, our circle of Compassionate Listeners around the world. In a circuitous fashion, this project grew out of our Compassionate Listening work in Israel and Palestine. Almost two years ago, I brought a delegation of Compassionate Listeners to the home of my friend Ester, an inspiring Israeli woman in her 70’s. A German holocaust survivor, Ester told our group that she had made peace with Germany over the years, and returns each year to tell her story in the schools. Looking at the beautiful photos of Ester’s parents, murdered in Auschwitz, I simply could not imagine how she had come to find peace with Germany. In an emotional exchange at the end of our afternoon together, I confided to her that I did not have the courage to visit Germany. Ester smiled…it was not hard to miss the irony of the situation. I had dedicated my whole adult life to Jewish-Palestinian reconciliation – encouraging people on each side to see the humanity of the “other,” yet somehow I could not apply this to the German-Jewish wound. “Oh Leah” Ester said, her smile both kind and challenging, “It’s time for you to go to Germany.” I was horrified...and I knew she was right. The opportunity presented itself almost immediately, and three months later I flew to Hamburg to speak at the annual gathering of the European Earthstewards Network. Overcoming my fear was no small endeavor. I had nightmares for weeks before my departure. But it wasn’t until I stood waiting in the airport lobby for my friend to pick me up that the enormity of my challenge became clear. There I stood, leaning into a cold pillar, shaking. In the long minutes before she arrived, I calmed myself by looking at the faces of small children. How would I ever get through the coming days? Nothing could have surprised me more than my experiences over the next
two weeks. I felt as though the hardest stone had cracked open, and that
I could now move on with my life with the strength to face anything. And
something quite unexpected happened. Talking with dozens of new friends
in Germany, I began to glimpse the depth of their unhealed pain. Most
significant for me, I saw how deeply we needed one another to heal this
still-gaping, Jewish-German wound. Just as I had experienced with Jews
and Palestinians, the very people we hold as our greatest enemies are
ones who can be, in equal measure, our greatest healers.
Soon after I returned home, Beate and I set the project dates and circulated the announcements. I received a variety of responses. Jewish Americans and Israelis wrote to wish me luck with the project but told me they lacked the courage to set foot on German soil. A Jewish leader I know in the reconciliation field surprised me by writing, “Maybe in my next lifetime I’ll be able to participate in this project…” I pressed on, and eventually our Jewish team came together, with 11 participants 4 facilitators, and a gifted healer who wanted to support us all, emotionally and physically. Beate and I agreed that the community of Lebensgarten would be the ideal place to host the project. A beautiful ecovillage near Bremen with well over 100 residents, Lebensgarten is a former Nazi ammunition factory which housed women prisoners of war from Eastern Europe. Today, with the beautifully renovated buildings and gardens, its very existence announces the possibility of transformation and healing.
The beauty of the people and the place created a sacred crucible for our work. From the moment that the facilitators arrived for our three days of preparations, we were surrounded by a force-field of love. The first night I sat in a chair in the hallway, my bare feet cold on the tile floor. Our hostess, who did not speak English, came to me, placed a pillow under my feet and kissed my head. There were hugs, kisses, and words of support and gratitude for our presence at every turn. How could we fail in such an environment? And then the participants arrived, and our work began. Two of our Jewish participants were Berlin natives, now in their 70’s, one of whom told us, “Hitler made me a Jew.” Many of the Jewish participants were of German ancestry. The next ten days were, simply put, ten of the most inspiring days of my life. By our third day together, as fears and barriers softened, we knew we had become a family – and that nothing could come between us. The words “never again” took on new meaning for me that day… What follows are vignettes and poetry, written by the participants and facilitators, to provide you with a taste of our experience. I hope that you enjoy our stories, and that you will pass them on. It is truly an honor to share this work with you.
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