Running through family history

Running through family history

I registered for the Berlin Marathon which will take place in 2024 on September 29^{th. The reason for it} is really not only because running has become part of my life. I actually started running only when I turned fifty and I have never run a marathon outside Israel. So why Berlin? I was born in Holland to two non Dutch parents. My mother was of Danish and my father of German Jewish origin. His way to Holland was not exactly crossing  Germany’s western border. Rather was it in the opposite direction, meaning a train ride from Berlin to Vienna which could have been trivial was it not for the fact that this train ride took place in 1943 when for a Jew to use public transport could mean a death sentence.

The Feinberg family in 1922 (Image courtesy of author)

My father (1922-2006) was born in Wurzburg as a fifth child to a German Jewish family. His father served as Modern Orthodox Rabbi and as such the family moved every few years to different places in Germany where he was invited to serve as congregation leader. Modern in my grandfather’s generation meant that German Orthodox Jews valued academic education in addition to religious studies. As other German Rabbis my grandfather had completed his studies at the Rabinnical Seminar located at the Tucholskystraße (km 9 of the marathon) and like most German Jews of the 19^th and beginning of the 20^th century my grandparents took pride in considering themselves Germans as well as Jews. Many Jews of their generation had no doubt that as World War I veterans even the Nazi’s would honor their loyalty to Germany. However as the Nazi’s took to power, life for German Jews resembled more and more that of animals trapped in a cage that seemed to narrow in by the day.

Berlin had been my father’s home since April 1937. Their first apartment and high school were close to the Levetzowstrasse (km 3 of the marathon) and a five minute stride from Tiergarten. The city seemed refreshing and welcoming compared to the unbearable life in remote antisemitic Gross Strehlitz where my grandfather had served as local Rabbi. Berlin citizens respected privacy and lived and let live, as long as you were not recognized as a Jew. Off went the yellow badge and on his bicycle my father started touring the city. His ever growing interest in chemistry drove him to search for new materials to experiment with. On one of these search expeditions the manager of a chemical company which my 16 year old father was attempting to visit, decided that this suspicious youngster had better be taken to the nearest police station in the Chausseestrasse. The police officer at place was ordered to take him to Alexanderplatz, a 3 km ride mainly on Torstrasse (km 8-11 of the marathon) were he went through an hour long chilling interrogation by the Gestapo. He could not believe it when he was set free with only a warning never to visit any chemical or other industrial facilities. Back on his bike he literally raced the Berlin streets to make sure he was not being traced by who knows who. What a dissonance: as 21^st century marathon runners and mobile phone users we agree just like that to be traced by race chips and gps locators!

After Jews were banned from schools and even the only remaining Jewish high school in Berlin was closed, my grandfather registered my father at the Meinekestrasse (km 35 of the marathon) for emigration to the Promised Land. This was far too late. The waiting list was long and my father was sent meanwhile to work as a laborer on a farmland in Steckelsdorf, about 80km west of Berlin, which fulfilled a double end: German farmers were short of labor force and for young Jews this was an opportunity to gain experience in farming as preparation for their future life in the Promised Land. One day in 1941 the entire group of which my father was part (some 90 youngsters) received the order from the Gestapo to be ready for ‘transportation’ within 2 days. The order detailed the amount of very little clothing and bags they could bring with them. My father dashed to the closest available public telephone to update his parents of the news. His father’s reaction to this was in Hebrew: leave your friends right away and without saying goodbye. Come ‘home’ to Berlin. This call saved my father’s life and from that moment onwards he became one of a few thousand Jews living illegally in Berlin, the U-boote.

Soon after, my father’s oldest brother Isaac was ordered to be ready for ‘migration’ to the East. He took his violin with him and was never again heard of. A Stolperstein in his commemoration is to be found at Claudius Strasse 6 (close to km 5 of the Marathon). A few months later it was my grandparents’ turn. Their call was so abrupt that there was no time for a proper last farewell. They were forced on a transport to Riga in Levetzowsrasse. Stolpersteine in their memory have been laid in the Solinger Strasse, both locations approximately at km 4 of the marathon. From that moment on my father, his brother and sister and the brother’s girlfriend went completely illegal, hiding mainly not far from Tiergarten.

Eventually my father found a job as a messenger for a small mechanical shop not far from Hardenbergstrasse (km 2). After a while when feeling completely trapped he found the courage to reveal his Jewish identity to the shop owner Dr. Helmut Sell who provided him with all the necessary paperwork to send him on a mission to Vienna. He left Berlin by train from Tiergarten Station in the middle of 1943. The full story is told in my father’s memoirs (David: Aufzeichnungen eines Uberlebenden).

The marathon ends in the beautiful Tiergarten not far from the Zoologischer Garten where my father spent long days in the company of reptiles who could be trusted for not handing him in to the authorities, providing for some heated space and scarce peace of mind. What a dissonance to the full peace of mind and satisfaction we as marathon runners experience when crossing the finish line. What a contrast between welcoming and friendly Berlin of 2024 and that of 90 years ago. I would like to dedicate this marathon to the memory of my Grandparents Gershon and Sarah Feinberg, my father Ezra and my uncles Isaac, Dora, Moni and Hannah. Like my father, Moni and Hannah also survived.

Since October 7^th, 2023 Israel is experiencing difficult times. Though there are major differences between the two events, the atrocities committed on that day remind many Israelis of the Holocaust and have undermined the general feeling of personal safety any citizen should have in his home country. It comes as no surprise that many Israelis seek a few days of ‘normalcy’ outside the country. How ironic that normalcy in our times can be found in Berlin.

For runners, running is a form of ultimate freedom. May as many as could be run as an expression of freedom rather than having to run for freedom.

David BenGershom, Jerusalem