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Some of the most vivid descriptions come from Berliners who witnessed the destruction of the largest synagogue in Berlin, the Fasanenstrasse Synagogue, as well other temples in the capital. Firefighters stood and watched the Fasanenstrasse Synagogue burn. The reader of the synagogue, a man named Davidsohn, pleaded with the captain of the fire fighters to put out the fire. ‘Turn on the hoses,’ he cried to the fire chief, who stood dumbly watching the spectacle with his men. ‘Get out of here. You’ll get yourself killed,’ the captain snarled. ‘I’m afraid I can’t help. We’ve come to protect the neighboring buildings.’ ‘For the love of God, let me at least bring out the sacred objects.’
Just then there was a sound of pounding and Wolfsohn, the porter, staggered into the courtyard in bloodstained nightclothes. He had refused to surrender the keys to the sanctuary and the doors had been forced. The 78-stop organ was heaved over a balcony. The bronze candelabra was taken down and the scrolls of the Law and their appointments torn and broken. Rabbinical garments were cut to shreds and prayer books were mutilated. Then the SA and SS commandos drenched the wooden benches in petrol, and fire leapt through the building. Davidsohn vainly tried to enter. At five o’clock, when the fire had subsided to smoldering ashes, the mob began to disperse, the firemen rode off and the man who for twenty-seven years had led the community’s prayers bowed to recite the Kaddish, the prayer for the dead, before the smoking rubble.”
One of the witnesses was Selma Schiratzki. As she left her Berlin home on the morning of November 10, she saw a woman who seemed upset. When Selma asked her what was wrong, the woman answered with tears running down her face, ‘Something so horrible has happened, I can hardly tell you. Just think – all the synagogues are burning.’”
Selma lived in the western part of Berlin and used to take the train to school. “When the train passed the synagogue in Fasanenstrasse, I saw with horror the smoke rising from the ruins. Then I heard a man next to me say to his son: ‘There you can see what has happened! And remember, if I should ever find out that you have had a part in things like these, you would no longer be a son of mine.’”
When Ernest Günter Fontheim went to school he didn’t notice anything unusual. “When I entered my classroom, some of my classmates were telling horror stories of what they had seen on their way to school, like smashed store windows of Jewish-owned shops, looting mobs, and even burning synagogues. A fair number of students were absent….When our teacher, Dr. Wollheim, entered the room and closed the door, all talking stopped instantly, and there was complete silence in the class….In a tense voice Dr. Wollheim announced that school was being dismissed because our safety could not be guaranteed. This was followed by a number of instructions which he urged us to follow in every detail. Number one, we should go home directly and as fast as possible without lingering anywhere or visiting friends so that our parents would know that we are safe. Number two, we should not walk in large groups because that would attract attention and possible violence by hostile crowds. He concluded by saying that there would be no school for the foreseeable future and that we would be notified when school would reopen again.
I quickly walked back to the Tiergarten Station and decided to look out the window when the elevated train would pass the Synagogue Fasanenstrasse where I had become bar mitzvah. It was a beautiful structure built in Moorish style with three large cupolas. I literally felt my heart fall into my stomach when I saw a thick column of smoke rising out of the center cupola. There was no wind, and the column seemed to stand motionless reaching into the heavens. At that moment all rationality left me. I got off the train at the next stop and raced back the few blocks as if pulled by an irresistible force. I did not think of Dr. Wollheim’s instruction nor of any possible danger to myself. Police barricades kept a crowd of onlookers on the opposite sidewalk. Firefighters were hosing down adjacent buildings. The air was filled with the acrid smell of smoke. I was wedged in the middle of a hostile crowd, which was in an ugly mood shouting anti-Semitic slogans. I was completely hypnotized by the burning synagogue and was totally oblivious to any possible danger. I thought of the many times I had attended services there and listened to the sermons all of which had fortified my soul during the difficult years of persecution. Even almost six years of Nazi rule had not prepared me for such an experience.
Suddenly, someone shouted that a Jewish family was living on the ground floor of the apartment building across the street from the synagogue. Watching the fire, the crowd was backed against the building. Someone else shouted: ‘Let’s get them!’ Everyone turned around. Those closest surged through the building entrance. I could hear heavy blows against the apartment door.
In my imagination I pictured a frightened family hiding in a room as far as possible from the entrance door — hoping and praying that the door would withstand — and I prayed with them. I vividly remember the crashing violent noise of splintering wood followed by deadly silence, then suddenly wild cries of triumph. An elderly bald-headed man was brutally pushed through the crowd while fists rained down on him from all sides accompanied by anti-Semitic epithets. His face was bloodied. One single man in the crowd shouted: ‘How cowardly! So many against one!’
He was immediately attacked by others. After the elderly Jew had been pushed to the curb, a police car appeared mysteriously; he was put in and driven off. I left this scene of horror completely drained, incredulous, in a trance and went home….
What has remained and will forever remain in my memory is the image of the thick column of smoke standing on top of the center cupola of that beautiful synagogue and the bloodied bald head of an unknown Jew.”
More tesitimonials and stories in The Cutting Edge, or in the book. The sites mentioned in this excerpt could be integrated in the Jewish West Berlin tour, or in customised Jewish tours in Berlin.
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