numerous paintings by no less an artist than Lucas Cranach the

Elder (1472-1533). Cranach was the court painter of Count Friedrich

the Wise (1486-1525), and had served as the town’s mayor. This

church also perpetuates one of the vilest, most disgusting slanders

ever committed in the long history of Jewish persecution in

Germany.

At this point, I believe a word or two about what brought us

here in the first place might be in order. Sixty years ago – almost

to the day – my wife and her family left her native Berlin, leaving everything behind in their flight to (relative) safety in Palestine. They left, she remembers, the day after Rosh Hashana, in 1935.

An invitation from the City of Berlin had arrived earlier this

year, a gesture of reconciliation to former Berliners to spend a

week as guests – a spouse or other companion were included in the

invitation – of the unified city. The date for the visit in late

September coincided with Rosh-Hashana.

That eventful week was typically well-planned, but since we were in Germany for the first time after reunification, we wanted to see the eastern part that was inaccessible before. We mapped out an itinerary which included many medieval towns and walled cities of historical interest that, according to our literature, had not been reduced to rubble during the war, as was for example Dresden. I suppose it was inevitable that our journey along those cobbled byways, in use since Roman times, should turn into a retrospective of antisemitism. For it is an unfortunate fact that one does not have to look very hard, no matter where, for not only traces of this social malady, but indeed for its active presence today.

In the early phase of his religious activities, Martin Luther

advocated universal tolerance and brotherhood, and condemned the

long-standing practice of persecuting the Jews. He nevertheless

nurtured the belief that after hearing his message, many Jews would

convert to Christianity.* Some Jewish theologists sympathized with

Luther’s reformist philosophy, even to the point of hoping it could

lead him to a return to Judaism.

With the passage of time, however, and to Luther’s chagrin, the opposite occurred: the “Stiff-necked Jews” (Am ksheh oref; Luther

had an excellent command of Hebrew) refused to abandon their faith and accept his message. His kindly attitude towards them gave way to increasing impatience and irritation, and eventually to open hostility, culminating in vituperative attacks in sermons and

pamphlets published in his later years. Never known for subtlety,

Luther at this point had become a common rabble-rouser, resorting

to medieval polemics altogether out of keeping with his previously

attained stature as a respected theologian. This is most painfully

evident in a pamphlet entitled “On the Shem Ha Mphoras(h)of 1543.

A sandstone bas-relief had been placed in 1305 on the south-east

corner of the St. Marien Evangelical Church in Wittenberg. It depicts

a Jew copulating with a sow suckling her young, the scene surmounted

by the words “Schem Ha Mphoras”, the Name of God, which may not be

uttered by pious Jews.

This ancient mockery of the Jews has a long and shameful

history. Since the 12th century, the ugly sow theme had been widely

used inside and on the exteriors of European churches. Not only was

every tourist who passed through Wittenberg made aware of it; Martin Luther elaborated on it extensively in his 1543 polemic, using its very existence as precedent and justification for his vile outpourings.

Shortly before his death in 1546, Luther preached a sermon

called “Admonition Against the Jews”, recommending measures ranging

from forced labor to confiscation of property and outright expulsion. Since Luther was an influential force in Protestant ruling circles, his advice was heeded and widely implemented. Through the ensuing centuries, his vicious denunciations have provided fuel for antisemitism, culminating in Nazi Germany”s “Final Solution”.

In November of 1988, a memorial was unveiled on the south side

of the church, roughly at the foot of the “Jewish Sow”. An explanatory pamphlet available at the church reads in part: ANIMOSITY TOWARDS THE JEWS HAS HAD A LONG TRADITION IN OUR CHURCH…HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT THIS (SHAMEFUL) BAS-RELIEF HAS REMAINED UNTOUCHED FOR SUCH A LONG TIME?

The modernistic monument by Mecklenburg sculptor Wieland Schmiedel is a plaque placed on the ground, to signify that something

shameful is buried underneath. Two intersecting lines form a cross,

so devised that when it is stepped upon, something akin to molten lava appears to be oozing from the crevices of the cross. Psalm 130

(Mima’amakim kra’aticha) in Hebrew lettering runs the length of two

sides, and the entire is surrounded by the following text, the work

of author Juergen Rennert of Berlin: THE TRUE NAME OF GOD, THE REVILED SCHEM HA MPHORAS, HELD BY JEWS UNUTTERABLE FOR CHRISTIANS, DIED WITH SIX MILLION JEWS UNDER THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.

It is perhaps significant to note that both artist and author

belong to another generation, having been born in 1942 and 1943,

respectively. A mini-exhibit inside the church shows a close-up of

the bas-relief and events surrounding it, sparing visitors the

trouble of craning their necks to see it up on the wall outside.

For there it remains. It is, after all, a tourist attraction.

*During our tour of the city, our guide, a very intelligent and

sensitive young German lady who spoke fluent Hebrew, having studied

at the University of Jerusalem, pointed out to us the Berlin

Marienkirche. She told us the following: On a certain date during

the 12th century, it was discovered that the Host had been stolen

from the church. Perhaps the theft was merely a pretext, but a

large number of local Jews were rounded up and collectively accused

of the crime. They were all condemned to be burned at the stake in

front of the church. Two of the Jews who agreed to convert were

granted the privilege of being beheaded as Christians.