The Synagogue That Survived Kristallnacht
Several reasons persuaded my sister Mona and me to attend morning services at Vienna’s historic Stadttempel.
Usually, whenever we return to our hometown of Vienna, we pray in our beloved Stibl in the Grünangergasse, where our father z”l served as Baal Tefila for so many years.
But the Stadttempel, the magnificent synagogue in the Seitenstettengasse, has always occupied a special place in the history of Viennese Jewry.
On November 9, 1938, during the terrible night known as Kristallnacht, 130 Jewish houses of prayer in Vienna were destroyed, desecrated, or burned to the ground.
Yet the Stadttempel remained standing.
Sandwiched between residential buildings in the heart of the city, its destruction by fire would have endangered the surrounding structures. And so, while the other synagogues burned, this magnificent house of prayer was spared.
The extensive renovation carried out over the past two years was one reason for our visit. We were eager to see the restored interior in all its splendor.
But there was another reason, perhaps the more compelling one.
The date.
November 9 had just passed, and the memory of that dreadful night seemed to linger in the very stones of the building.
“They left the original staircase intact!” Mona exclaimed happily as we climbed the steps leading to the women’s gallery.
I looked around in admiration.
The twelve Ionic columns had received a fresh coat of Venetian stucco in warm shades of brown. The walls were adorned with rich walnut veneer, and I allowed my hands to glide gently across the polished wood, caressing its beautiful surface.
My eyes traveled upward toward the highest point of the sanctuary.
There, above us, stretched the magnificent cupola, painted in heavenly blue and sprinkled with twinkling golden stars.
High above the Aron Kodesh, the Ten Commandments were engraved in stone. Below them rested the sacred Torah scrolls, sheltered within the magnificent ark, crowned by soaring golden ornaments that seemed to reach toward the heavens.
It was breathtaking.
After exchanging warm embraces with old friends, we settled into our seats and opened our siddurim.
But I must confess that I found it almost impossible to concentrate on my prayers.
My thoughts wandered.
I looked at the columns, the walls, the magnificent ceiling, and tried to imagine all that this building had witnessed.
Generations of Jews had stood here in prayer. Weddings had been celebrated, children had been blessed, and countless voices had risen toward that star studded dome.
And then came November 9, 1938.
How much sorrow had these walls absorbed?
The synagogue had been spared destruction, but so many of its worshippers had not escaped the horrors that followed.
Eventually, Mona and I quietly decided to leave.
As we descended the original staircase, I turned around for one last glimpse of the magnificent sanctuary.
The Stadttempel had withstood the darkest chapter of Jewish history in Vienna, and its golden stars continued to shine above generations of worshippers.
And we, two Jewish sisters, daughters of Holocaust survivors, had returned to pray beneath that very dome.
We continued on to our beloved Stibl in the Grünangergasse, where our father’s voice still seemed to linger.
One synagogue had escaped the flames. The other preserved the echoes of our childhood.
And both reminded me of something the Nazis had failed to destroy.
The Jewish soul of Vienna.