A town in Germany

Foggy Rhine valley

They hadn’t had rain for months here in the Rhine valley, the hotel owner said. But on this August-Monday, the clouds at last were heavy with rain, the outline of hills and woods blurred by foggy greys.

 A suitable day for a city-trip to Worms – with its Romanesque Dom a long standing feature on my art historical “places  to see “list. 

City of Religions

A perfunctory stop at the tourist office yields a city map and a brochure marketing Worms as a “City of Religions”.   Some more “500-years since the reformation” city-marketing, I assume (too quickly, so it turns out).

In the dripping rain I crane my neck to look up at the towering towers of the Dom – stark und stabil – impressive, certainly, but somehow its sturdy symmetry fails to move me.  The interior is vast & confusing, with its dual choirs (with one of them lavishly baroque).  A lot of rebuilding & restoring has taken place throughout the ages  – following both accidental fires and war-linked destruction. The Dom has suffered from successive wars (with the French apparently inflicting most damage, first under Louis XIV’s  command, then by ferociously anti-clerical French revolutionary troops).        

900 years of History

Reading further on in the (by now damp) “City of Religions” brochure, I once again realise how pitifully superficial my grasp of European history is.  Of course I knew that there were Jews in Europe since the Middle Ages, and even before.   But all the same,  I am startled to read that “The Jewish community of Worms existed from the eleventh century right up to 1942.” 

“Already in 1034 a synagogue was built in the city”  

 

900 years of history ….  wiped out.  

 But not entirely. The contemporary city map carefully indicates the streets of the former Jewish quarters. The burnt-down synagogue   has been reconstructed in the 1960s.  A small Jewish community of eastern European and Russian immigrants has settled again in Worms.

Holy Sands cemetery ("Heiliger Sand")

And there is the very old Jewish cemetery, one of the oldest in Europe, …  which has escaped major destruction (why - so  I wonder - perhaps because no one felt like vandalising graves while they were destroying  the living?)

In the soaking rain I wander along the cemetery paths – gazing at these ancient stones, half buried in the soil, slanting, scattered throughout the yard. 

At the far end one can look out over the graves and see the Dom towers in the distance.  

“Martin Buber view”

There’s a sign, mentioning this is the “Martin Buber view”  and with a lengthy quote, from 1933 (so still before, I can’t help to think)

I slowly decipher the German –  its graveness seems more suitable than English for these theological-ontological thoughts.  Alien thoughts of which I’m unworthy – but which are profoundly moving. 

Ich habe da gestanden und habe alles selber erfahren, mir ist all der Tod widerfahren: all die Asche, all die Zerspelltheit, all der lautlose Jammer ist mein; aber der Bund ist mir nicht aufgekündigt worden. Ich liege am Boden, hingestürzt wie diese Steine. Aber gekündigt ist mir nicht. Der Dom ist, wie er ist. Der Friedhof ist, wie er ist. Aber gekündigt ist uns nicht worden. (1)

 

An   English translation can be found on this blog