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28 junio Dry Bones Diary - Germany, May 2008Between 22 - 28 May 2008, the Jerusalem Oratorio Chamber Choir visited Germany as guests of the Zamirchor from Bayreuth, as part of a project in honour of Israel's 60th anniversary of independence. During the seven day trip, we performed with the Zamirchor two works in Hebrew, composed by the Israeli Yitzchak Tavior - Mount Sinai, a cantata for choir, orchestra and soloists, and The Vision of the Dry Bones, a symphonic poem with a libretto taken from the Book of Ezekiel. The former was particularly apt in view of the fact that it was performed shortly before the Shavuot festival, which celebrates the Giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai. It was the latter, however, that carried the punch. I don't have to tell you that to sing about the rebirth of the Jewish People, sixty years after we arose from the ashes of Nazi Europe to rebuild the Jewish State, and to perform in, of all places, Nuremberg, which witnessed the mass Nazi rallies of the 1930s and 1940s and which gave its name to the infamous Nuremberg Laws, was no easy thing.
Here is the diary of that journey.
Day 1.
We set out from Jerusalem at about 2 a.m. Our flight is due to take off at 5 a.m. but when we reach the airport, we are informed that, due to thick fog, the plane which is supposed to carry us was unable to land and has been diverted to Larnaca in Cyprus. Our flight has therefore been put back to 8:30 a.m.
Lufthansa invites us to breakfast and as we eat, we keep an anxious eye on the bulletin boards as our flight is put back yet again, to 9:15 and then to 10:15. At some stage, Elia takes out her guitar and we start to sing. (Nu, what do you expect? We are a choir. That's what we do.) Actually, I personally am unable to sing, being afflicted with a bad cold and a sore throat which I have been unable to shake off for over a fortnight.
The three and a half hour delay turns into a six hour delay, as we don't take off until 11 a.m. (Meanwhile, despite the fog, other planes do manage to take off and land.) This means we will miss our connection in Frankfurt. First black mark against Lufthansa.
(We would all have preferred to fly El Al, but the tickets were bought and paid for by our hosts and, as they say, he who pays the piper calls the tune.)
Arriving in Frankfurt, I discover that my suitcase has been damaged in flight. The retractable handle that allows me to wheel it along is stuck and cannot be pulled out. Worse, Amit's suitcase hasn't arrived at all! Second black mark against Lufthansa. I file a damage report and then we board a bus for the four hour drive to Bayreuth (well, four and a half if you count a half-hour stopover to eat a late lunch).
We were supposed to arrive in Bayreuth at 1 p.m., in time to get organized in our hotel rooms and have a rest before attending our first rehearsal with the Zamirchor at 6 p.m. We decide that, in view of the unforeseen delay, we will forego the rehearsal this evening. However, when we arrive in Bayreuth at 7 p.m. we discover that the local choir is waiting for us with "light refreshments" and Tavior, the composer, who is going to conduct his own works, wants us to come for a short rehearsal, at least - say 20 - 30 minutes. Feeling really ill (in addition to my cold and sore throat, the 4-hour flight in a pressurised cabin has caused my ears to get blocked and they haven't yet unblocked), I decide to retire to bed. However, I am lured by the promise of "light refreshment".
On reaching the Zamirhalle, however, which is right opposite our hotel, on a quiet, tree-lined street, we discover that our hosts have prepared a veritable banquet for us, consisting of home-baked pies and quiches, dips, salads, cheeses, various delicious kinds of bread, cakes, coffee, tea, soft drinks and even wine! Overwhelmed and rather touched, I decide to stay for the rehearsal. Actually, I cough my way through most of it and when it is over, several of our German friends express their concern, offer me hot tea with honey and suggest various remedies. As we have, as well as the two concerts with orchestra, two a-capella concerts, in which I am a soloist, I am ready to try anything. Honey is actually known to be a useful remedy in such cases, so I try that and do feel slightly better, but I still suffer several bouts of coughing during the night.
Day 2.
The day starts with a fairly lavish breakfast - none of your namby-pamby continental snacks here. This is Bavaria. Toast, eggs, (with or without bacon
 ), sausage, fresh vegetables, various cheeses both hard and soft, muesli and other cereals, fruit (fresh and preserved), smoked salmon, rolls and several delicious kinds of bread. Did I miss anything? (I should like to make it clear that I did not partake of the sausage or the bacon...)After breakfast, there is a short rehearsal, after which we are free till 4 p.m. Naturally, the first thing we want to do is explore Bayreuth. The old town is only a short walk away so we set out together for a bit of sightseeing. We have no set programme, we just wander aimlessly and soon find ourselves opposite the Baroque opera house built by Frederick the Great's sister, the Margravine Wilhelmina. We do not go in, as it appears there are tours at fixed times, so we now repair to the synagogue, which is just around the corner. Felix, the head of the Jewish community in Bayreuth, tells us how the synagogue was not burnt down by the Nazis on Kristallnacht, due to its proximity to the opera house, which is right next door and which would have been in danger of being burnt also. Later on, the synagogue "returned the favour" by saving the opera house from being destroyed by the allies. Thanks to Felix, we also gain free entry to the tour of the opera house, a magnificent Baroque gem (see pictures).
According to Felix, the Festspielhaus up on the hill, with its uncomfortable seats and lack of air-conditioning, is "a music factory" whereas, at the Margravine's opera house, "we cherish culture".
We have lunch at an Italian restaurant and then it is back to the hotel for a quick shower and a very short rest, before setting out by bus for the town of Hof, where we are to have our first rehearsal with the Hofer Symphoniker, the Hof Symphony Orchestra.
After rehearsing the two works by Tavior, we have some time in hand while the Zamirchor rehearses a piece by Mendelssohn which they are to perform at the concert with the Bayreuth Philharmonic Choir, so we go off to do some sightseeing in Hof. What most sticks in my mind is the lilac. You don't often see lilac in Israel, but in Europe, May is lilac time - and it was everywhere. It's a pity the photos can't capture the intoxicating scent...
Then it's back to Bayreuth and bed. My ears are still blocked and I can't hear properly. Tomorrow is the first of our two a-capella concerts. I have to be well.
 Day 3.
Alas, morning dawns and I'm really feeling no better. Ronen, our conductor and Musical Director, has arrived from Israel and joined us. We have another rehearsal in Hof with the orchestra this morning, after which we return to Bayreuth, where I borrow a kettle from the Zamirchor clubhouse, with the intention of cossetting myself with chamomile tea and honey. Unfortunately, I can't close the lid or figure out how to make the thing work.
At 6 p.m. we set out for nearby Speichersdorf, where we are to give a benefit concert (I'm not sure in aid of what) together with the Zamirchor and, as it transpires, a local string ensemble. Tonight, I have a solo. I am plied with various types of chewing gum (for my blocked ears, you understand) and boiled sweets (for my sore throat) which, so my fellow choir members assure me, taste disgusting but will open up my sinuses in a way that is nothing short of miraculous. They are half right, anyway. The proferred candies, do indeed, without exception, taste disgusting. However, they produce a mere illusion of open sinuses and a temporary one at that. When the time comes for me to sing my solo, I feel as hoarse as ever and my ears are still blocked, so I can't hear myself properly. Perhaps it's just as well...
In addition, the acoustics in the hall where we are to appear are very poor. All in all, not a very successful concert, as far as I am concerned, although the audience appears to enjoy it and the review in the local press the following day is wildly enthusiastic.
And since champagne is served during the intermission, I suppose I shouldn't complain.
Day 4.
Today, we are going touring in Fränkische Schweiz - Franconian Switzerland. The sky looks rather overcast but the weather forecast is promising. In fact, the day turns out to be perfect. My ears have unblocked themselves. It does not rain, and the temperature is over 30 degrees Celsius.
The woods and meadows of the aptly named Franconian Switzerland are beautiful, green and inviting. There are wild flowers everywhere. Babbling brooks and sparkling streams beckon, lakes are alive with fish, birds are singing in the trees. We discover a kind of mountain railway, of the kind I have never dared ride on. Jan goes for it, then Ronen and afterwards, almost everyone else. Finally, after the others have gone down to the cafe, and there is nobody left to laugh at us, Orna and I decide to give it a go. It's great fun, especially feeling the wind in my face as we gather speed (but not too much speed). Why did I never try this before?
The next item on the agenda is the Teufelshöhle - the Devil's Grotto, a cave famous for its stalagmites and stalactites. The guided tour is something of a Sound and Light show. The various formations have fanciful names such as Barbarossa, the Three Kings and so on. The largest chamber is called The Cathedral. We just have to test the acoustics. After a lively discussion of precisely what it would be suitable to sing here, Ronen decides on Bruckner's Ave Maria (Oy vey Maria as it's affectionately known to us
 ). Personally, I feel dubious. The soprano line is very high. But, glory be, I actually manage to sing it. As an impromptu rehearsal for tonight's concert, it's not bad and the other visitors to the Devil's Grotto seem to like it and applaud when we finish. I'm somewhat surprised the reverberations don't cause stalactites to fall.On the way back to Bayreuth, we stop in a town called Gößweinstein, where there is a very beautiful church or cathedral. We arrive just as they are finishing Sunday morning prayers. We are not the only tourists there and I am not the only person jostling to photograph the procession that wends its way down the central nave, followed by a brass band. Somehow, one of our number, Naomi, gets splashed with holy water and wonders, does this make her a Christian? I tell her we shall have to consult Michael, one of our tenors and a Roman Catholic priest, when we get back to Bayreuth.
Although pressed for time, we also want to visit a ruined castle that towers high above the town. There is a splendid view from up there, but only Romy and Ilan actually go in.
In the evening, we appear in our second a-capella concert, this time in the Zamirhalle in Bayreuth. I have been feeling much better, but it appears that I have been overdoing things. I am still hoarse. I can at least hear myself, this time, but I am not happy with what I hear. Still, I manage to perform my solo without actually croaking, including the highest notes, which is something anyway.
The concert ends early enough for us to go out to supper at an Italian restaurant (again!) where our waitress, who speaks excellent English, turns out to be, in fact (surprise, surprise!) Italian. After an excellent meal, we return to the hotel where Naomi invites us back to her room to help her drink the three bottles of champagne given her by an Internet acquaintance of hers whom she met today in person (and who joined us on our trip in Franconian Switzerland). Elia brings her guitar, someone else brings more liquor, and the evening doesn't end until almost 2 a.m.
As I said, this has been a perfect day...
Day 5
Today we are going to face the ghosts of the past. We set out in the morning by coach for Nuremberg, where we have a rehearsal with the Hofer Symphoniker in the Stadttheater. The place is huge and it's easy to get lost backstage although someone has thoughtfully pinned up signs marked Chor pointing the way for us up to the top floor, where there is a huge choir rehearsal room. Our rehearsal is actually onstage, of course. When we get down there, the orchestra is already rehearsing Hatikva. Here, in this auditorium, where Hitler and his minions used to listen to Wagner's operas, we will be singing the anthem of the State of Israel.
Did I say we would be facing the ghosts of the past? More than that - we are going to triumph over them.
After rehearsal, it's time for more sightseeing - the Hauptmarkt with its famous fountain, the Frauenkirche, the Albrecht Dürer House, the Castle. The last time we were here, in November 2006 (see my previous blogs, "Project Elijah"), it was snowing heavily. This time, however, we lunch outdoors at the same restaurant where, a year and a half ago, we took refuge from the blizzard. The waitresses are in traditional Bavarian costume, the food is tasty and filling and the beer (from which I abstain!) flows freely.
By 6 p.m. we are back at the Stadttheater where, in a couple of hours, the concert is due to start.
I have been informed by one of the Zamirchor members, that it is not the custom in Germany to stand for their National Anthem. However, since Hatikva is to be played first, we can't very well sit down again for the German anthem. That would appear discourteous. I don't know how I'm going to feel standing for this anthem which has such associations for us, even though I understand that the words sung today are no longer those sung under the Third Reich. In the event, while Hatikva is sung enthusiastically by the Oratorio Choir, and I can see that members of the audience are joining in, the singing of the German anthem is more restrained, and appears to begin only mid-verse. At any rate, I try to preserve an attitude of courteous indifference. Protocol must be observed.
As we sing the first of the two works by Tavior, Mount Sinai, I find myself articulating (in Hebrew, of course) the words: "For I the Lord your G-d am a jealous G-d, visiting the sins of the fathers on the children, unto the third and fourth generations of them that hate me," with more than usual force. Do our hosts - and the audience - understand the meaning of the words, I wonder. This is, after all, only the second - or at most, the third generation. How can I help but ask myself, what were their grandparents doing 65 years ago?
I try to push this thought to the back of my mind, however. Our hosts have shown us nothing but kindness and it is clear that they are trying to make amends. I am not a Christian and therefore am under no obligation to turn the other cheek. That does not mean I have to reject overtures of friendship, nor will I do so.
The second Tavior piece, The Vision of the Dry Bones, ties in not only with the resurrection of the Jewish People after the Holocaust, but also with the establishment of the State of Israel. The final, triumphal lines speak of how G-d has kept his promise. "Thus saith the Lord G-d: Behold O my people, I will open your graves, and cause you to come up out of your graves, and bring you into the Land of Israel. And ye shall know that I am the Lord, when I have opened your graves, and brought you up out of your graves, O my people. And I shall put my spirit in you, and ye shall live, and I shall place you in your own land; and ye shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken it and performed it; thus saith the Lord."
Impossible not to be moved, impossible not to remember where we are, impossible not to sing directly to the balcony (where, so the leader of the local Jewish community tells us in his speech after the concert, the Nazi High Command used to sit), with a feeling of victory. Because Hitler and his minions are now dust and ashes, but we are here. In the end, the Triumph of the Will was not theirs, but ours.
Day 6
Tonight we are due to give our second concert in Bayreuth, but before that, we have civic and ambassadorial duties to perform. There is to be a mid-morning reception at City Hall. At 11 a.m. therefore, we duly repair to the Neue Rathaus to meet the Deputy Mayor and various municipal dignitaries, and drink champagne (for those so inclined) or orange juice, and listen to speeches. Afterwards, we are free until the late afternoon for more sightseeing.
We split up into small groups. Some of us discover a small Catholic church. Michael (the tenor, our resident priest) feels the urge to try his hand at conducting and so we sing a couple of songs from our a-capella repertoire. One of them is "Eli, Eli" to words written by Hanna Senesz, a young, Hungarian-born Jewish woman who settled in the Land of Israel but parachuted back into Nazi-occupied Hungary in order to help rescue Hungarian Jews. She was captured, tortured and eventually executed. We sing her most famous poem in this Baroque jewel of a church in the town inextricably associated with the antisemitic Wagner, in her memory and in memory of six million others.
It is very hot, somewhere in the 30s. I have not yet seen the famous Festspielhaus, up on the hill. I can live without it. I suppose, however, that to come to Bayreuth and not have even a glimpse of Wagner's villa, Wahnfried, would be unbecoming in one who considers herself a serious lover of music. In the event, I make do with the gardens and grounds, which are very beautiful, before heading for the relative cool and shade of the Hofgarten, where several of us wilt under the trees by the lake, causing Shlomo to decide that what we need is a lesson in Feldenkreiz.
On our way back, we pass the Stadthalle, where we are to perform tonight. The main entrance is decorated with a gigantic Israeli flag - in stark contrast to the Stadttheater in Nuremberg, where there were no external signs to indicate that a choir from Israel was to perform there or that a concert in honour of Israel's 60th anniversary was to take place. (In spite of that, I am told, there was a small demonstration outside the hall of very Aryan-looking young Germans, demanding an end to Israel's "oppression of the Palestinians." As well for them - and for my own blood pressure - that I didn't see them, and only heard about this afterwards.)
We lunch at a vegetarian restaurant in the old town of Bayreuth - the first such restaurant we have seen in this land of beer and wurst - and return to the hotel with barely enough time to shower and change, before setting out again for the Stadthalle.
The Stadthalle stage is decorated with the flags of Israel and Germany, as well as the municipal banner of Bayreuth. As in Nuremberg, the auditorium is full and the audience includes the leaders of the local Jewish community, as well as the Israeli cultural attaché, who also attended the concert in Nuremberg. The concert, no need to ask, is a resounding success, ending, as it does, with "Jerusalem of Gold" performed by all three choirs.
After the concert, we are all invited back for refreshments in the Jewish community's garden, outside the synagogue, where speeches are made and gifts are exchanged. At the request of our hosts, we sing a few songs from our Hebrew repertoire and then it is time to take our leave of them. It is hard to tear oneself away. E-mail addresses are scrawled on paper napkins and everyone promises to keep in touch. How did Shakespeare put it? "Good night. Good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say goodnight, Till it be morrow."
Day 7 - 8
The day begins promisingly enough. After the usual substantial breakfast, a large group of us take the train for Bamberg, which, we have heard, is a very beautiful town. And so it is. The old town centre boasts a myriad of entrancing little shops, colourful old houses line the River Regnitz in the area known as Klein-Venedig (Little Venice), the lilac is in bloom and the sun is shining. The first place we head is, naturally, the Cathedral where (as I'm sure you've guessed
) we test the acoustics by singing a psalm in Hebrew by Salomone Rossi, a contemporary of Monteverdi. From there, we head for the Neue Residenz, home of the bishops after the seventeenth century. The Residenz has a famous Rose Garden, from which there are spectacular rooftop views of the city.After that, we wander without any particular destination in mind and end up in a cafe by the river. There is just time for cappucino and apple strudel before we have to rush back to the railway station in what I consider to be undignified haste, in order to catch a train and be back in Bayreuth by 4 p.m.
Back at the Zamirhalle, our hosts have prepared a farewell party for us. There are a lot of very rich cream cakes. I mention this, as I partly blame the cakes for what comes later.
By 4:30 p.m. we are on the road to Nuremberg Airport. En route, a bottle of champagne is passed round, from which we swig as if it's a bottle of water. The champagne, too, might have played its part in later events.
The flight from Nuremberg to Frankfurt International Airport takes about 40 minutes. At Frankfurt, I start to feel queasy. Not really surprising, when you consider that I have been running around in the sun, not drinking enough, and that since breakfast, I have eaten nothing but apple strudel and cream cake. And let's not forget the champagne, (although I barely had a sip). I feel if I can only be sick, (jettison the load, so to speak), I will feel better - but I cannot, try as I might. Not, at least, until the plane is actually taxiing down the runway. Bad timing...
The cabin crew cluster around me, with paper bags and glasses of water and assure me this is nothing to be ashamed of, it happens to at least one passenger on every flight! A cabin attendant takes my blood pressure and announces that it has dropped so low, it has completely disappeared. Meanwhile, the plane has come to a halt. A paramedic appears. I am quizzed on what I have eaten/drunk today. The general consensus seems to be that I have food poisoning, probably from the vanilla cream that came with the apple strudel, or maybe from the cream cakes. The crew decide I must disembark - not as a punishment, they explain, but for my own good. When I beg to remain, as I have nowhere to go, they reassure me that they will take me to be examined by a doctor and from there, to a hotel and will bring me back to the airport for tomorrow's flight. Having "cast up my accounts" as they say, I now feel perfectly all right and assure them that this is totally unnecessary. I have just managed to persuade them that this is indeed the case, and signed (at their insistence) a waiver absolving them of responsibility, when another member of our group chooses this moment to vomit. The Captain is now convinced we are carrying some contagious disease and insists on removing the entire group from the plane.
Back in the terminal, we discover that the ground crew has been instructed that we requested to leave the plane, even though the complete opposite is true! They therefore insist that they have no responsibility to provide us with accommodation. They have also been instructed that we asked to see a doctor - again, a blatant falsehood. In the event, since there is a clinic at the airport, I decide to avail myself of the "invitation". Another mistake on my part. It turns out that I have to pay for the examination, to the tune of 51 Euros. The medical orderly who receives me is abominably bad tempered, as it seems I have disturbed his game of solitaire on the computer, and mutters loudly and lengthily to himself in German. He might be cursing, for all I know. As for the doctor, he has no more idea than anyone else what is wrong with me. He says that it is most probably a virus, but in the medical certificate he gives me, he writes "gastro-enteritis". He also gives me some medicine to drink, and a prescription for more of the same to be purchased when the airport pharmacy opens at 7 a.m. Since the immediate effect of the medicine is to make me throw up again, I decide that this is one prescription I can do without.
When I get back to the rest of the group, it is almost 1.30 a.m. and I find them sleeping - or rather, trying to sleep - on chairs and on the floor of the departure lounge. There is nobody from Lufthansa (or the Airport Authorities) to talk to, we have no food, no blankets, no water even (since we had to throw away our water bottles for security reasons prior to boarding the plane from which we were so unceremoniously removed), except for a large bottle of mineral water which a cabin attendant had given me on the plane, telling me I needed to drink a lot. The security personnel want to take this from me on my return from the clinic, (because to get back, I have to pass through Airport Security yet again) but I wave the doctor's certificate under their noses and the bottle comes through with me. Third, fourth and fifth black marks to Lufthansa. In fact - strike out.
I pass what remains of the night on a sofa in one of the airport cafes, using my hand luggage as a (most uncomfortable) pillow. My own, inflatable pillow, has disappeared - I think I was sick on it. Apart from us, and the cleaning staff, the airport is apparently empty. Being used to the round-the-clock bustle of Tel Aviv's Ben Gurion Airport, I am astounded by the fact that one of the largest international airports in Europe seems to be deserted at night!
By 6 a.m. we are all up and about again. I head for the bathroom and try to freshen up, but without my washbag (which I had packed in my suitcase, in order to avoid the hassle of having to argue with security personnel about what liquids I can or can't take onto the plane with me), this is not easy. For one thing, I have no toothbrush and no toothpaste. For another, as we have been separated from our suitcases, I have no change of clothes and am still wearing the vomit-stained trousers I wore the day before, and in which I slept. Fortunately, Orna travels light and instead of a suitcase, has only her carry-on hand luggage. She lends me a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Meanwhile, the Lufthansa desk has opened and the powers-that-be deign to provide us with breakfast vouchers. Even more fortunately, there are seats still available on this morning's flight to Tel Aviv (a matter of some doubt which had troubled my attempts to sleep). Despite the fact that we were removed from the plane last night on the grounds that we represented a health hazard to the other passengers, nobody bothers to ask how we are feeling today, our health seems to be of no concern to anyone and, as far as Lufthansa is concerned, we are free to infect the passengers and crew of today's flight with whatever deadly virus we were carrying yesterday!
We repair to a cafe, where everyone but me has a hearty breakfast. I decide that it's better to be safe than sorry and make do with dry toast and tea without milk.
We take off at 11 a.m. and the flight is mostly uneventful, except for the failure of the sound system which makes it impossible to hear the soundtrack of the in-flight movie. To those who complain forcefully and frequently enough, the cabin crew offer, as compensation, a 25 Euro voucher to be used for duty-free purchases on board. There is actually very little on offer for 25 Euros, nor do I feel inclined to add to Lufthansa's profits by adding any of my own money, incensed as I am at their behaviour to us last night. I therefore buy a small Elizabeth Arden skin and lip balm set for 24 Euros. Okay, so I "lost" one Euro. We are planning on suing Lufthansa for a great deal more.
We land at Ben Gurion in the late afternoon. I arrive home at around 7 p.m. and crawl into bed. I haven't slept for 36 hours. Possum and Pixie curl up beside me and I go out like a light.
28 enero Project Elijah - Part 4 (Conclusion)Day 9
The weather is somewhat more promising today. Our first stop is Berlin's Jewish Museum. After checking in our coats, umbrellas and large bags, we climb a steep flight of stairs (this is part of the Museum's "concept", so I understand, but I am not certain what that concept is), and find ourselves face to face with "the Tree of Wishes". Visitors are asked to inscribe a wish on a coloured card shaped like a pomegranate and hang it on the tree. I can't remember exactly what I wished for - no doubt something about Peace, either for the Jewish people or for the whole world. Not very original, I know - I am sure that there were many similar wishes hung on that tree.
The museum is very well laid out. It is a museum about, rather than for, Jews and Judaism, geared to explain to non-Jews the history of the Jews in Germany, our customs, way of life and so on. It is also designed to educate, and at the end of each section, there are interactive "tests" designed to discover whether or not the visitor has assimilated the lesson. The museum is also "tourist friendly". Exhibits are clearly labelled, in both German and English.
One thing becomes painfully obvious. The history of the Jews in Germany was never a bed of roses and the long tale of pogroms, discriminatory legislation and antisemitism clearly demonstrates that the seeds of Hitlerism lay far from dormant, long before the Nazi Party swept to power in 1933.
But it shouldn't have taken a visit to the Jewish Museum to make that clear. On the bus ride to Berlin, Haggi, the administrative director of our choir, had already read us extracts from a book about the life of Moses Mendelssohn, the philosopher and grandfather of the composer. When he came to Berlin in the 18th century, Jews still required a special licence to enter the city.
After the visit to the Jewish Museum, our group splits up and I go, with the same friends as the day before, to visit the Reichstag building. Another rather loaded occasion, I would say. The building is surrounded by super-modern architecture, all steel and glass. But the main Reichstag building, which now houses the Bundestag, the German Parliament, was built in the late 19th century and above its western portico - from which visitors enter - is mounted the dedication "Dem Deutschen Volke" (To the German People). Somehow, the dedication, which is now claimed as a declaration of the democratic nature of German government, sends a chill down my spine.
One of the great tourist attractions of Berlin is the great glass and steel cupola on the Reichstag roof, from where one has a 360 degree view over Berlin. (See pictures!) As I understand it, the glass is supposed to symbolise transparency of government.
After the Reichstag, it is only a hop and a skip to the Brandenburg Gate, where enterprising Berliners have devised various money-making gimmicks. For example, just as painted lions ornamented the streets of Munich, it is painted bears that are scattered over Berlin and represent the city. In tribute, a man/woman/who knows, dressed in a bear costume, awaits visitors desirous of being photographed with a bear, against the backdrop of the Brandenburg Gate. Likewise a tall, monk-like figure. And then there is the buggy drawn by dogs...(Once again, pictures are attached...)
Having "done" the major sights of Berlin and been duly photographed, we just have time for a quick snack at Starbucks (yes, they're to be found in Berlin too) on Unter den Linden, before heading back to the hotel to pick up our luggage for the drive to the airport.
At the airport, we discover that this very day, they have once again changed the regulations governing what you are (not) allowed to carry in your hand luggage. Whilst waiting in a very long line for the obligatory security checks, I open and close my suitcase several times, as I remember yet one more forbidden object in my hand luggage that must be transferred to my suitcase. It occurs to me that at Ben Gurion Airport, there are far fewer hassles and yet the feeling of personal security is much higher. Frankly, I trust the "nose" of our Israeli security personnel, who, without calling it by that name, have "passenger profiling" down to a fine art.
The actual flight is uneventful and we arrive back in Tel Aviv at an ungodly hour of the early morning. Were it not for the damage to my suitcase, which must be reported before leaving the terminal, I could go straight home and to sleep. Still - what's a few minutes more?
Conclusion
So, have my feelings towards Germany changed, in the wake of our tour?
As I said before, I do not really hold the present generation responsible for what their grandparents did.
I do, however, feel that, while today's generation of Germans is not to be held responsible for the unforgivable crimes (yes, I did say unforgivable) of their parents and grandparents, this generation - and the coming generations - are most definitely responsible for ensuring that history does not repeat itself. There is plenty of anti-Jewish feeling in Germany today - as, indeed, there is throughout Europe - and it is thinly disguised as anti-Zionism. I went to Germany, somewhat sceptical of the motives of our hosts. I left, convinced that their desire to atone was sincere, even, as I already mentioned, feeling slightly ashamed for being less than completely forgiving. But all in all, the impression I receive from what I read in the newspapers and see on TV, is that our hosts, and people who think like them, are still, sadly, in the minority and that those who hate us are daring, more and more, to raise their heads once again.
About which, in my next blog.
26 enero Project Elijah - Part 3Day 6
Today is the big day. We are bound for Leipzig. For most of us, this will be the climax of our tour. We are to perform at the Gewandhaus, where Mendelssohn himself founded and conducted the world-famous Gewandhaus Orchestra. For me, there is an additional reason. This is the city where my own father was born.
Unfortunately, having been forced to spend the night in Dresden, there is going to be very little time for sightseeing in Leipzig, and certainly none to search for the street where my father's family used to live.
Before leaving for Leipzig, we are taken on a whistle-stop tour of Dresden, the driver pointing out the sights from the bus. At one point, he stops where he should not, to allow us to get out of the bus and take photos. I can understand, therefore, that he is somewhat agitated when the photographers take rather more than two minutes to return to the bus, but one can't help feeling - under the circumstances - that to shout "Juden, schnell" is, to put it charitably, somewhat lacking in sensitivity...
We don't reach Leipzig until 11 o'clock. Since we are to attend a welcome party at the local branch of the Gospel Forum at 15:00, and then proceed directly to the Gewandhaus, this leaves scarcely any time at all for sightseeing in Mendelssohn's own town. I ask Brigitte, our redhaired guide, about Berlinerstrasse and explain that my father's family lived there. As we are at the Hauptbahnhoff - the main railway station - Berlinerstrasse is, in fact, not far away. However, Brigitte tells me that most of the houses have been torn down and that it is now mainly an industrial area. Furthermore, as soon as she learns that I am the daughter of a Leipziger, she puts an arm around my shoulder, embraces me as a long-lost friend and tells me all about the annual reunion organized by the Leipzig Municipality and how many Jews have come back to visit. I must be sure to tell my father about it, she is sure he would like to come.
Time being so short, she then leads us off at breakneck speed in the direction of Mendelssohn's house. Obviously, having come here to sing Mendelssohn's "Elijah", we want to see the great man's home. On the way, we pass the Gewandhaus and are delighted to see the poster advertising our concert. It is slightly disconcerting that Brigitte, who, as she tells us, is usually well-informed about Gewandhaus events, as any good tour guide should be, had not previously heard about the German-Israeli performance that is to take place this evening.
At the Mendelssohn House, we find the original manuscript of "Elijah". It is open at the start of Part 2 of the oratorio, the soprano aria "Höre Israel" , which I immediately start humming. I am then asked by one of my colleagues from the choir to sing it, while he zooms in on the score with his videocam. The idea catches on and I am obliged to repeat the same few bars over and over again.
In one of the rooms, a cellist and a pianist are playing a piece I do not recognise. But it is a wonderful feeling, to hear music in Mendelssohn's own home. I am sure he would be pleased.
From the Mendelssohn House, we proceed to the Church of St. Thomas. Nobody with any pretensions to being a music-lover, could possibly come to Leipzig and fail to visit the grave of Johann Sebastian Bach, now could they? So we dutifully trot off to pay our respects to the man who, in 2000, was voted : "The Composer of the Millenium".
Next, it's off to the local branch of the Gospel Forum for coffee and cakes and a surprise - presents for everyone. Little statuettes representing "Peace on Earth", "Sisters", "Wisdom", etc. A statuette is placed on the table in front of every chair, but we are free to choose any of the statuettes we like. I choose "Peace on Earth". It is rather touching - the more so, because our hosts now explain that their earnest wish is to try to atone for the horrors perpetrated on the Jewish nation by the German People. This is where we come back to what I wrote before, about visiting the sins of the fathers on the children. The thought occurs to me, seeing how very sincere they are, how awful it must be, walking around feeling such a crushing weight of guilt. It is all rather embarrassing, actually. Because I really, truly, do not hold this generation, born after the war, in many cases, to parents born themselves after the war, guilty of the crimes of the Nazis. And yet... maybe I do, deep in my heart.
After the speeches, the coffee and the cakes, we return to the Gewandhaus, for a rehearsal and an early supper. The place is huge, intimidating even - and after rehearsal, we get lost in the endless corridors looking for the artistes' restaurant.
Then it is time to get dressed up in our formal togs for the concert. While the soloists and - apparently - the orchestra, have changing rooms allocated to them, we are left to fend for ourselves, and make use of any empty space that remains. We are given a pep talk, reminded that the concert is being recorded, with a view to producing a CD, and that we must on no account whisper, cough, sneeze or fidget once "on-stage", as the famed acoustics of the Gewandhaus will make it possible for the microphones to pick up the least noise.
Behind the scenes just before the concert is due to start, we line up in rows. Breathe deeply. Enter the huge auditorium.
The first half does not, to my ear, go well. There are no actual mistakes, but the choir sounds hesitant. There is none of the confidence that characterised the first two concerts. I suspect that the "pep talk" actually had the opposite effect. People are intimidated by the very fact of being here, in this almost hallowed place, where the composer himself conducted the work we are performing tonight. To make matters worse, the fact that the choir sits in a huge gallery above the stage and the conductor is way down below us, with the entire orchestra between us, means that a good deal of the connection between the Maestro and the choir is lost. True, we can still see him as he waves his arms about down there below, but we can no longer catch his facial expressions which, to those of us who know him well, play a big role in the way we react to him. This too, to my way of thinking, contributes to the loss of confidence.
After the interval, Part 2 at first seems to be going better - until the wonderfully dramatic moment when, after Queen Jezebel orders her supporters to arrest Elijah, the choir (representing the Queen's cohorts) joins in with a magnificent chorus about how Elijah must die (Section 24, for those who know the oratorio in question). Somehow, things start to come apart and the choir and orchestra are no longer together. I don't know how my fellow choristers react, I only know that I feel a few moments of sheer panic! How he does it, I do not know - but Ronen manages to pull us back together. Can I breathe again? Well, not quite. There are a couple more "near misses" before the end of the evening, but the audience is very sympathetic tonight, and demands an encore before we are allowed to leave the stage/gallery. I think, for most of the choir, this makes up for what went before and I too, heart still pounding wildly, join in the final chorus with a feeling of elation. Come on! We've just played the Gewandhaus!
Outside, further disasters await us. One of the buses has broken down again. Since we are to sleep tonight in Halle, some 60 kilometres away, those of us who are not on the broken bus, are sent on our way. Unfortunately, when we arrive at the hotel, it turns out that, in order to save time on arrival at the hotel (which was to have been after midnight, under any circumstances, due to the distance), the rooms have already been allocated and the keys are in the hands of one of the tour organizers - who is still in Leipzig with the other bus!
After what seems an interminable argument with the reception clerk, we are given the duplicate keys.
Can I now get to sleep? Oh, dear me, no! That would be too easy. They have given me a room in a smoking wing. Down again I go, to request a room change. I don't get to sleep till almost 2AM.
Day 7
After breakfast, we set off for Berlin. On arrival in the capital, we are driven around the city and shown the main sights - the Brandenburg Gate, Potsdam Square, the Reichstag building, the Ku'damm etc.
Then it's straight on to the Berliner Dom for a rehearsal and back to the hotel for supper and a short rest, before it's time to dress for the final concert of our tour.
On the bus to the Dom, I am asked by one of the members of the German choir, how I feel now towards Germany and Germans. I think for a minute, then ask if it's okay to be completely honest. "Of course" is the expected reply.
"You tried to get rid of us, but here we are anyway," I say.
He smiles, somewhat sadly I think and says that he can understand that. Suddenly, I feel somewhat guilty. They have been trying so very hard and after all, he can't be more than about 25. I try to reassure him that of course, I don't hold his generation responsible. But why am I feeling guilty, for heavens sake?!
The Dom is packed tonight, from wall to wall, including all the galleries. Before we begin, there are speeches and then we sing, a capella, the song "Eli, Eli" by Hanna Senesz, the Hungarian-Palestinian* Jewish parachutist executed by Hungarian Nazis in WW2. At the end, there is dead silence in the huge cathedral.
We perform the Oratorio without an intermission, except a short break (more for the soloists than for the choir, I suspect). All two and a half hours of it - greeted, at the end, by thunderous applause.
And now it's back to the hotel, for it's party time. More speeches, gifts, farewells. Tomorrow, our German friends head back to Stuttgart and we have a day and a half to see Berlin.
*In the days of the British Mandate, "Palestinian" meant anyone with a Palestinian passport. The Jews of Palestine mobilised to help the Allied war effort and it was for this purpose that Hanna Senesz was parachuted into occupied Hungary. The Palestinian Arabs, on the other hand, did all they could to sabotage the British and Allied war effort.
Day 8
It's a mistake to try and see a city like Berlin without a proper game plan. This becomes painfully clear as, with 2 friends and their sons, I wander around in the pouring rain. We come unstuck on the U-Bahn. For some reason, although the instructions are clearly given in a variety of European languages, we are unable to purchase the tickets we want at the vending machine. Then we can't find the site we are looking for and when we do, we decide it wasn't worth the effort.
We salvage what is left of the day with a visit to the Pergamon Museum. The 10 Euro admission fee seems, at first, rather steep, but it does include a rather good audio-guide, which proves very user-friendly. The museum itself is (to someone used to the dimensions of the British Museum) quite small, but well-laid out and, unlike the British Museum, not easy to get lost in. True, the British Museum contains a great many more artefacts and is, moreover, free (for the most part). However, I would certainly recommend a visit to the Pergamon Museum for a first-time visitor to Berlin (especially on a rainy afternoon, such as this was). The reconstruction of the Pergamon Altar, which occupies the whole of the immense first room, is magnificent. There are also reconstructions of the processional gates of Babylon. All in all - not to be missed.
At the end of the day, we decide to treat ourselves to supper at a good restaurant. After tramping around in the rain, I decide to ask the locals for a recommendation. I choose a couple of what look to be well-heeled Berliners and thus we find ourselves dining at a restaurant, the name of which, alas, I have forgotten, but which, I later discover, is actually a part of the Hilton Hotel complex. The food is excellent - and, frankly, the prices are quite reasonable, all things considered. All in all, a good end to a day which started rather badly.
To be continued...
29 diciembre Project Elijah - Part 2Day 4
Today, we are bound for Munich. The weather forecast predicts a dramatic fall in temperature and according to the Internet, which I checked before arriving in Germany, it should start snowing. Accordingly, I am wearing a long, hooded coat and boots and am carrying an umbrella.
Arriving in Munich, we head for the Marienplatz and the Neue Rathaus, where there is a famous glockenspiel to be seen in the clock tower. On the way, we are particularly struck by the many statues of lions, scattered all around the city, each one decorated differently. They remind me of the painted lion statues which graced the streets of Jerusalem a few years ago, placed on street corners, the entrances to buildings, places where one would hardly expect to see statuary and suddenly, there they were.
The Carillon Tower at the Neue Rathaus proves to be impressive indeed. Clearly, the large crowd of tourists waiting in the square, cameras at the ready, agrees with me...
Afterwards, we wander around in small groups, without any fixed programme, simply soaking up the atmosphere. We look in on the Residenz, where we are to perform this evening, and are tickled pink to see a huge poster in the courtyard, advertising our concert. To my utter consternation, my camera appears to be on strike. First, I can't open it. Then, I can't close it. As a result, my pictures of Munich are few and far between.
Our hosts have invited us to lunch at a traditional Bavarian restaurant. We arrive in twos and threes. I am pleased with the decor, the heavy wooden furniture, the waiters and waitresses in traditional Bavarian dress. I am less pleased by the remark of one of the staff (translated for me by a member of our choir who happens to speak German) when, on arrival, we ask the way to the toilets. "They've taken over the bathrooms already." Am I being over-sensitive or do I detect a tinge of antisemitism?
Lunch is filling, but hardly exciting. If this is Bavarian cuisine, it's nothing to write home about.
From the restaurant, we are taken to our hotel. Since, by now, we are a group of over 200, including the German choir and the orchestra, room allocation takes what seems like an eternity. There is barely time for a quick shower, before it is time to leave for the Herculessaal at the Residenz, where we are to have a rehearsal before the concert.
The rehearsal starts with a surprise we have been planning for Maestro Ronen. Today is his birthday. As he raises his baton to begin the rehearsal, choir and orchestra break into "Happy Birthday To You." I'm not sure whether or not he expected it. He says he thought we might do something of the kind, but not so late in the day.
Well, it's the thought that counts, isn't it? ;-)
The Herculessaal is much smaller than the Beethovensaal in which we performed yesterday, with room for an audience of only 800 or so. Still, the hall is full this evening and the concert is a success. At one point, I feel an irresistible urge to cough. The effort to refrain almost chokes me and brings tears to my eyes. I don't think, however, that anyone has noticed. How fortunate that I am not a soloist!
Upon leaving the hall at the end of the evening, one of our drivers tells us that it was snowing earlier on in the evening. It is certainly very, very cold - but I see no sign of snow now. I go to bed, still snowless.
Day 5
I awaken the following day, November 1st, to a white world. It has been snowing all night and a light layer of snow has covered the ground. It is still snowing, but not very heavily. It is sufficient, however, to make the loading of our suitcases rather an unpleasant task, as we are forced to drag them down snowy paths to the buses.
Today, we are going to see Regensburg and Nuremberg. By the time we reach the former, the snow has stopped and the sun is shining. There is no snow to be seen in the university town of Regensburg, but it is bitterly cold. My friend, Carmiya, is wearing her "Santa Claus" hat and we are all of us bundled up as warmly as possible against the biting wind.
Regensburg is on the Danube. It doesn't appear very blue to me - at any rate, I am sure my extremities are bluer, due to the cold. My camera continues to make problems, but I manage, nevertheless, to take plenty of pictures of this very pretty, typically German town.
Shortly after leaving Regensburg, the snow starts again. By the time we reach Nuremberg, with its loaded history, it is coming down quite heavily. In Nuremberg, we have no guide and we are left to our own devices. Quite a few of our number opt for the nearest restaurant, but others, myself included, feel that since we are here, it would be a pity to spend the little time at our disposal gorging ourselves.
Thus it is that find myself exploring the old part of town in a snow blizzard. In fact, there is plenty to see. There is, for example, a church, severely damaged in the last war, rebuilt by the congregation, which now houses an exhibition, whose declared motive is to see that history doesn't repeat itself. There is a Citadel, to which we battle our way against the weather. Having made it this far, however, we decide to forego the visit inside and make do with a few photos taken from outside its walls. Then there is the market-place. Amazingly, there are quite a few stalls open. Some of us just can't resist. I can. However, towering over the market-place is the Frauenkirke, built in the 13th century on the site of a synagogue which had been burnt down in a pogrom just a few months before. The Germans wasted no time. As I said, Nuremberg has a loaded history as far as the Jewish People is concerned - and it goes back a lot further than the Nazi era.
It is now time for something to eat. Even the most dedicated tourist can't carry on indefinitely on an empty (and grumbling) stomach. We find a lovely, warm, typical German restaurant, with heavy timbered beams and waiters and waitresses, once again, in traditional dress. A delicious, filling bowl of hot potato soup, with as much bread as you want, comes to a mere 2.90 Euros. There couldn't be a better choice for this type of weather...
Our next destination is Dresden. We were supposed to be spending the night in Leipzig, where we are due to perform tomorrow, but there was no hotel that could accommodate so many of us and so Dresden it is. It is a very long drive. My neighbour on the bus now is a violinist from the German orchestra, one of the buses having broken down and all its passengers having transferred to the remaining three buses. As we drive into the rapidly descending darkness, she tells me of how her newly-found Christian faith saw her through a terrible crisis in her life, illness, the breakup of her marriage. Somewhere along the way, she stops to point out the lights of Beyreuth, somewhere off to our left. I can see nothing and wonder how she can, but she has been there before, many times, has even performed there and, possibly by instinct, possibly by some homing device possessed by musicians who are drawn, irresistibly, to the shrines of that art, is able to show me where the famous Festspielhaus lies, up on the hill.
It is late by the time we reach Dresden. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, for we are to perform at the world-famous Gewandhaus in Leipzig. I fall asleep almost as soon as my head touches the pillow.
To be continued...
08 diciembre Project Elijah - Germany 2006I can't believe I have failed my faithful readers so shamefully! Here we are, a month after the end of our concert tour of Germany, and I still haven't written it up.
Well, time to make amends...
As a brief introduction for those who have not read my previous entries, I should explain that the choir to which I belong, the Jerusalem Oratorio Choir (http://jerusalem_oratorio.tripod.com/index.html), recently took part in a joint project with the choir and orchestra of the Christian Academy of Music and the Arts from Stuttgart, in which we performed Mendelssohn's oratorio "Elijah". The first part of the project took place in Israel, during the month of September this year. The two choirs performed the oratorio twice at Jerusalem's Henry Crown Auditorium and then at the Performing Arts Centre in Rishon-le-Zion, all three times with great success. In addition, members of our choir hosted the members of the German choir and orchestra in their homes over the weekend, in order to enable the Germans, members of an evangelist Christian church, to experience a Jewish family Sabbath.
The second part of the project involved a tour of the Jerusalem Oratorio Choir in Germany, where we performed all over the country - in Stuttgart, Munich, Leipzig and Berlin - together with the German choir and orchestra.
What follows is a journal of that tour.
Day 1
Saturday October 28th. It's 22:30 PM. We have a bus waiting for us outside the Jerusalem Theatre to take us to the airport. Our flight is at 5:30 AM. (In point of fact, it doesn't actually take off until well after 6:00 AM.) For the first time in my life, I buy absolutely nothing in the Duty Free Shop.
After an uneventful flight, we land at Frankfurt, where buses are waiting to take us to Stuttgart. On the way, we have a stopover at Heidelberg, where a tour guide is waiting to show us the town and where we are to have lunch.
I am somewhat surprised to discover that nobody else from the choir seems to have heard of "The Student Prince." The tour guide, however, tells us that it is performed in Heidelberg every summer and is very popular there.
Heidelberg is actually very pretty - see the attached photos! I take a number of what I call "postcards".
It is then time for lunch. We wander around the Old Town, eventually settling down in various cafes and restaurants (each to his or her own taste). After all I have heard of the exhorbitant prices in Europe, I am delighted to find a little cafe serving coffee and cake for a mere 3 euros. While the coffee is not particularly good, the cake turns out to be an enormous slab of pastry with raspberries and cream, enough for two people.
Clearly, this trip is not going to be one for skimping on calories...
From Heidelberg, we proceed to Stuttgart. After arrival at our hotel, where we are to stay for three nights, there is barely time to unpack our suitcases before leaving for the Gospel Forum, which is where we are due to have supper with our hosts and then hold our first rehearsal on German soil.
Arriving at the Gospel Forum, we are warmly greeted by our German friends. This is the time to confess that I have had my reservations about visiting Germany at all. There is, of course, no need to explain why. The reasons should be obvious. However, the deciding factor in my decision to take part in this trip was the fact that we are to perform in Leipzig, where my father was born. My feelings about Germany and Germans have therefore been put on hold, temporarily. In any case, the members of the host choir were almost certainly born after the war, and I hold no grudge against their generation. Nevertheless, our German friends are all devout Christians and I cannot help but wonder what is going through their heads as we sing Section 5 of the oratorio: "Denn ich der Herr, dein Gott, ich bin ein eifriger Gott, der da heimsucht Väter Missetat an den Kindern bis ins dritte und vierte Glied derer die mich hassen..." (For I, the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children, unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me.)
Tonight's rehearsal is with Monica Meira Vasquez, of the German choir, ( who, as her name attests, is of Brazilian origin), and takes place in a room known as "The Blue Chapel". Meanwhile, in the main hall, our own maestro, Ronen Borshevsky, is working with the orchestra. We work till 22:30 PM or thereabouts. (Don't forget, we haven't slept for over 25 hours...)
Finally, we are taken back to our hotel. It has been a very long day.
Day 2
Today, we are going sightseeing. The weather is still quite pleasant - 15 degrees Centigrade or so - and the sun is shining. This morning, we are to visit Würzburg and Rothenburg. We arrive at the fortress of Würzburg mid-morning. Our (unofficial) guide is the father of Nuki, from our choir, who was a tour-guide in Israel and now lives in Germany. He tells us a great deal of local history. We then wander about the fortress, where I take lots more pretty pictures, before moving on to the Old Town. There, we while away a pleasant hour or so in the market. I love markets, but never buy anything. It does, however, provide further photo opportunities - beautifully arranged fruit and vegetable stalls, flower sellers, and who could resist the dancing dog?
The trouble is, Würzburg is a very long drive from Stuttgart, where we are supposed to be back by about 17:15 PM for supper and another rehearsal with our hosts. Perhaps it would be better to skip Rothenburg - but no. It's on the programme and to Rothenburg we shall go.
At Rothenburg, Haggi, our indefatigable general manager, hands out the lunch-boxes provided by the hotel. (I don't know why they call them "lunch-boxes". They are actually paper carrier bags, each one containing a carton of mineral water, two sandwiches, a Granola bar and a piece of fruit.) We are pressed for time so it's "eat as you go."
Rothenburg is a town of considerable importance in Jewish history, being the home of the "Maharam" (Rabbi Meir ben Baruch) of Rothenburg. Rabbi Meir, a famous scholar and halachic authority of the 13th century CE, was held to ransom by the Emperor Rudolph, in an attempt to extort money from the Jewish community, but refused to allow them to buy his freedom, foreseeing that this would only lead to further such demands. He therefore died in captivity in 1293 CE. However, we see nothing that would connect the town with Rabbi Meir. Instead, we discover a town almost entirely given over to Christmas. While there are still shops decorated for Halloween, many more are already bedecked with the tinsel trappings of Christmas. This is a town that takes Christmas very seriously. It boasts a Museum of Christmas, and next door to that is the Käthe Wohlfahrt shop, a shop devoted exclusively to all things to do with Christmas. The shop looks small from the outside, but inside - it is a veritable Aladdin's Cave. Narrow aisles lead ever onward, inward and downward. Shelves are covered with Christmas decorations, toys, bells, artificial snow. In the centre of the shop is an enormous Christmas tree, decorated with hundreds of twinkling fairy lights. The sales personnel are garbed in dirndl skirts and embroidered blouses. In short - a child's paradise. And as far removed from Rabbi Meir as could be.
We get back to Stuttgart at least an hour and a half later than scheduled. We arrive at the Gospel Forum, where we are to have supper and then a rehearsal, to find that our German friends have already eaten and Ronen is working with the orchestra. I gobble down my supper - not really a good idea when one has to sing for a couple of hours, but there you are... Tonight's rehearsal also goes on till about 22:15 PM.
Back at our hotel, it's party time. Michael, a Roman Catholic priest and a member of the Jerusalem Oratorio Chamber Choir (one of our component choirs, to which I also belong) has invited some of us - mostly from the chamber choir - back to his room to celebrate his birthday. Celebrations, whenever Michael has a hand in them, usually involve a fair selection of - let us say, liquid refreshment. I accept the invitation, but decline to partake of the alcohol and declare my intention of making do with orange juice. When, later on in the evening, I ask for some wine, someone reminds me of this. I point out that, while I did indeed say that, I didn't actually make any vows. For some reason, everyone seems to find this hilarious.
Our birthday greetings to our host include the wish that if and when he ever becomes Pope, he may adopt the name Oratorius the First.
Another long, long day...
Day 3
Today is the Big Day, our first concert. We spend the morning in rehearsal at the Beethovensaal in the Liederhalle, a huge auditorium, seating about 1,600 people. The stage, too, is huge - with seating for the choir in a spacious gallery above the orchestra, which puts quite a distance between us and the conductor.
For tonight's concert, in the host choir's home town, Monica will be that conductor.
After rehearsal and lunch, we go back to the hotel for a rest. This will turn out to be the only one of the four concerts where we actually get to rest beforehand.
We arrive at the concert hall shortly after 19:00 PM, already dressed in our concert finery, which, in my case, means a full-length formal evening dress in black velvet and chiffon. Backstage is something of a rabbit warren (although not nearly as much as a labyrinth as the Gewandhaus will prove to be).
To cut a long story short, the concert is a great success. We are rewarded with enthusiastic applause and return, "tired but happy" to our hotel. It has been an excellent start to our concert tour.
To be continued.....
01 diciembre A Peace Activist? Who? Me?I would like to make it clear, first of all, that I never set out to be a peace activist. It is a term with which I feel vaguely uncomfortable, being associated in my mind with well-meaning left-wing women in black, demonstrating on street corners against the Israeli "occupation" of the West Bank, or with anti-Israeli students from abroad, who really understand nothing about the situation here except what they see on viciously biased CNN or BBC news reports, lying down in front of bulldozers in protest against our security fence.
When I went to France in May with my choir and with other musical ensembles from Israel, the West Bank and Gaza, to take part in the concert tour known as "D'Une Seule Voix", it was with no real hope that we could make any difference. The only good that might come out of it, to my way of thinking, was that we might manage to convince one or two Palestinians taking part in the tour, that Israelis are not demons with horns and a tail. Or, as one of the Palestinians put it: "Today, we'll say Good Morning to each other. Tomorrow, it will be How are you? and after that will come How is your family? and so on."
Relations with the Palestinians - especially the group from Gaza - were rather chilly at first, reaching their lowest point when, during the finale of one of the concerts, the Palestinians started making "V" signs, associated in our minds with the reaction in the Palestinian street to suicide bombings in Israel. But the very next evening, everything changed. During the interval between the two halves of the show, a spontaneous celebration broke out backstage, with the Palestinians playing their traditional instruments and all of us, Israelis and Palestinians, Jews, Christians and Muslims, joining in the dancing. Our own conductor, Ronen, even proved himself to be a dab hand on the darbooka. Jean-Yves, the organizer of the tour, was so delighted, that he decided to add the hafla (party, celebration) to the programme and it became part of the show's finale.
I won't say there was no more friction after that but what there was, was mostly focussed on the Gazans' habit of smoking anywhere and everywhere, even back-stage and in front of signs clearly prohibiting smoking.
We tried to teach them the Israeli song "Heveinu Shalom Aleichem" (We have brought peace to you), although it seemed they could not - or would not - learn it. Until the last night, that is. At the finale of the concert, two of the girls from Gaza were spotted coming off-stage singing it. And at the apres-concert dinner at the La Coupole restaurant in Paris, I saw two little girls from the Taybeh choir (Taybeh is a village in the West Bank, near Ramallah) also singing it. And as we boarded the bus to take us to our hotel, one of the girls from Gaza jumped in after us and began spontaneously kissing the Israelis. As one of our number said later, that one moment made the whole trip worthwhile.
Back home in Israel, we found ourselves swiftly overtaken by events - first in Gaza, then on the Lebanese border. I do not know what has become of the musicians from Gaza. But in the north, one of the members of the Karawan group, a Christian Arab, Habib Awwad, fell victim to a Hezbollah rocket. Earlier this week, we travelled up to his village, the mixed Christian-Muslim village of Ibillin, to take part in a concert to honour his memory. The musical part of the concert was preceded by a prayer service (Greek Catholic) and the participants included the Melkite Metropolitan, the French Ambassador, and various other dignitaries. And then there were speeches - in three languages, Arabic, Hebrew and French. The thing that sticks in my mind, most of all, is the heartfelt cry of the mayor of Ibillin. Nothing will ever bring back Habib, he said. But we owe it to him to make our cry be heard by everyone, all the governments and all the leaders in our region, to put a stop to this madness. And then, we sang. And after we sang, after the concert was over, they invited us to supper at a local restaurant. It was 11 PM. We had a two and a half hour drive back to Jerusalem ahead of us. But we couldn't refuse. So we went and ate with Habib's friends and family and they welcomed us and made us feel we belonged with them.
We got back to Jerusalem at 2:15 PM. I didn't get to bed till 3:00 AM. I had about four hours sleep before getting up at 7:00 AM, as I had to be in court at 9:00 AM. And when I got home from work and was finally able to digest what had happened, I realised that there is a kind of peace activism which has nothing to do with demonstrating on street corners or lying down in front of bulldozers. "D'Une Seule Voix" was all about building bridges - and that's what we started to do. Slowly. Brick by brick. And I realised something else too. It isn't the politicians and the religious leaders who will make peace. It is the People who will make peace. And they will do it step by step, slowly, painfully, with joint projects such as ours, which allowed us, Israelis and Palestinians, Jews, Christians and Muslims, to see each other as people. They will do it - if the politicians and the religious leaders and the foreign powers who have a vested interest in playing off both sides against each other will let us. I only pray that, slow as the process inevitably will be, there is still time before the madness engulfs us all. |
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