Having said good bye to a bright sunny morning in Vienna, having consumed an obligatory coffee and having read some fresh Berlin news I was ready to bite into yet another slice on the map. A slow descent into the foggy Berlin went along the outer perimeter of the city’s east side. The sight painfully replete with vestiges of the old Soviet scheme designed to cram subordinate folk into gigantic housing projects with standardised everything including colour of one’s wall paper. Surprisingly, a number of green spaces, lakes and forests parsed the grim gridlock of the backward state. Mindful of deceiving views from above however, I was anxious to set my feet in this epicentre of many a historic drama.
Herr Buege – Shadows of Sun King
In purchasing a monthly transit pass, I happily decided not to be constrained by any lack of serendipity. I was going to be here for three weeks hence the behaviour of a local was more fitting than clueless enquiries so common of quick tourist adventures. Having made a deliberate choice of eschewing any sort of questions, I boldly proceeded down the maze of the local transit network with only a vague idea of my first port of call – apartments run by a very laconic Herr Buege. Missing the place by only one U-Bahn (underground) stop, I quickly located the desired spot on the quiet Ravenestrasse.
Herr Buege was not around, so his helping hand (Frau X) quickly installed me in a huge two-bedroom unit overlooking a green-filled inner courtyard. After brief unpacking efforts in my underwear, I was ready to give myself a treat of a shower only to be interrupted by a loud thud on the front door. Frau X paled expression gave me some discomfort. You see, Herr Buege in the course of his brief e-mail correspondences tended to reveal only the essentials – hello (spelt with A – North German style), floor plan and price. Since the price for all floor plans was the same, I was not too alarmed to be installed in these plush quarters. I guess Frau X was of the same opinion. Alas, her angst-ridden explanation betrayed an imminent arrival of his majesty – the landlord himself. It did not take long, as soon to be arriving Spaniards were about to descend on all nooks and crannies of my comfortable arrangement.
Herr Buege turned out to be a true personification of greyness and could have successfully substituted for Richelieu or Mazarini in musty pre-Versailles days of the French Empire. His receding fiftyish hairline, bent posture, beady eyes complemented by powerless chin failed to deceive on the account of his determination. My single presence in these lush quarters was a definitive nuisance to his summer revenue projections and he came to set things straight. He quickly pulled out his magic booking sheet, which clearly trumped any proof I managed to produce with copies e-mail communications in hand. By now tired and frazzled, I was terrified to discover that my name was completely missing from the Herr Buege holy script. I guess my booking fee of 30E paid three months in advance through a connection in Berlin was not a guarantee of commitment. Previously the experience exclusively reserved for dealing with fast disappearing common con folk at street fairs, the place was now firmly occupied by some Berlin landlords. Herr Buege unlike other holy men was in the business of taking and not giving. After few minutes of pointless protestations on my part, Herr Buege was in the position to offer a rather large studio with a tiny ante-room that housed a metallic baby crib of a pre-war standard to remind me of my dear family back home. I exhaled a sigh of momentary relief!
All things would have been great had this ground floor abode had been available for my entire and presumably pre-booked three weeks. Alas, it was only a week and I had to settle for 50E extra – this robber baron was shooting holes through all my defences. At least, he promised to figure something out in his nearly incomprehensible Berliner vernacular.
Dismayed but not deterred, I quickly found a nearby grocery supermarket that offered all attractions of European markets without a North American price tag. Slightly relieved I stocked up on just about any delicacy in sight – an abundance of fish and meat products marinated in mayonnaise supplemented by a litre-sized jar of first rate polish pickles at only 0.55E. Europe did not fail to deliver – contrary to some misconceptions it could be remarkably cheap as long as one bothers to find a supermarket and does not settle for fast food – 40E per person per week is ample. Nourished and exhausted I sunk into a deep mid day dreams - new adventures lied ahead.
Visiting the Past
Despite all my local bravado, I quickly resorted to using the Lonely Planet Berlin guide as my foremost point of reference. On my first night, I decided to hit it in the bull’s eye – Potsdamer Platz. This very remarkable spot lives on despite years of neglect and confrontation. Having served as one of the focal points of the pre-war Berlin, its metropolitan ambience was later obliterated and served as the most famous no-men’s land along the famed wall. When the wall finally fell, the place was just one giant barren field. Now after fifteen years after reunification it serves as an epicentre of new Germany – young, brash, multi-lingual and heavily unemployed. The place sprung back to life surrounded by glittery, uniquely shaped high-rises, extremely busy Sony centre and of all places – the Canadian embassy. In fact, the warm feeling of seeing red and white was evoked as soon as I emerged from the train station – I was not alone! In addition, to these modern delights the place also offered a good history lesson with one of the best remaining and duly painted chunks of the Berlin wall still standing right in the middle of the square. Numerous photos and narration complement the exhibit. The latter, to my endless delight, was entirely in German. One has to really admire Europeans when they trample all political correctness and proceed to use their natural instincts – screw the EU politeness, French sensitivity and Italian ignorance. Consequently, signs and announcements in various locales and events do not necessarily subscribe to a certain protocol – instead tri-lingual Belgium airlines Sabina unabashedly makes all its announcements in English, while key historic sites of global significance in Berlin or Vienna tend exclusively to the proud descendants of Teutons.
A number of tempting tourist options did not deter from the most natural route – a walk to Brandenburg Gate and Reichstag. While covering the half-mile track I came upon one of the biggest Holocaust memorials in the world. This one was just recently erected and covers at least an equivalent of three to four acres right in the heart of Berlin! The poignant sight presented hundreds of black marble memorial tombs covering the entire area. Upon closer inspection, these globs of marble while reaching to approximately uniform common elevation were of dramatically differing depths with some reaching ten to twelve feet down creating a myriad of dark and deep alleyways in the heart of the monument. It was like a bizarre, windowless and frightening city of black buildings that got taller and taller the further into the monument one walked – extremely sobering and thoroughly contemplative experience. The further in, the harder it is to get out; it engulfs you completely, extinguishing all surrounding life, bustling and busy. Here reason and common sense give way to unending avalanche of fear and madness. Very powerful!
Eventually finding my way out of this terrifying maze, I emerged to face the famed Brandenburg Gate. Despite the seemingly unending construction all around, the grandiose bulk topped with illustrious chariot-riding maiden did not disappoint. It surely serves not only as the focal point of history but also as a natural barrier between relative tranquillity of woods afforded by the vast Tier Garten and glamorous Unter der Linden. The latter is very impressive as it starts with a large square that after 300 yards narrows to flow into the most beautiful street in Berlin. Although short in distance – probably about a mile – it is by no means short on attractions or overall expensive appeal provided by the wide boulevard that occupies its middle with traffic flowing on both sides. This magnificent pedestrian boulevard while occupied by small cafes and newsstands remained surprisingly deserted while the flanking sidewalks were bustling at the seams with perpetual tourist hordes. The main reason was that one of the key sections of the boulevard next to the famed Adlon hotel was closed for an S-Bahn station construction. Once finished this street could compete with the best of them, evoking its rather non-Germanic charms. The street owes its uniqueness to its French looks – just imagine Champs Elysses or National Mall in Washington DC in the middle of the Kaiser Empire. Not surprisingly, French embassy is featured prominently here, just a kitty corner from the Adlon – we are all friends now!
Walking down the street took me to the old memory lane of my own. Having consumed an inordinate amount of WWII stories, I could not help but feel these stories come back to life - mostly through names of crossing streets and city districts. The very name of Unter der Linden was very familiar since it had housed various Moscow-sent envoys for nearly two centuries with the expected gap between 1941 and 1945. After the war, the conquering Soviets would not settle for an old monument of conciliation that survived the war. Instead, on its old spot, they built a grandiose symbol of conquest. This one still dominates a whole city block. Now under the new banner of Russian Federation it still, to my particular delight, displays old Stalinist relics of hammer and sickle. While walking around this gigantic granite display of power I even managed to find a goodly sized profile of Lenin etched in stone for ages to come (hopefully). In fact, Germans seem to be rather tolerant of many symbols pointing to the unsavoury past. History needs to be remembered - forgetting is not an option.
Apart from embassies, cafes and trinket shops, the street heaves with luxury of first rate stores. One block houses a complete indoor auto mall. While most of the stores are just shiny and super clean versions of North American car establishments, one surely stood head and shoulders above the rest. It mostly offered temptations of scrumptious delights crammed into very slick Bentley and Rolls Roys machines. You could walk around and even sit inside these prodigies of luxurious living. You could find any sort information needed for a discerning buyer except one key aspect – the price! It seems that having to ask might automatically disqualify a careful dream builder. Just feet away, the place also displayed Buggatti of the Italian fame. This one mounted on a rotating display was off l limits – looking was the only option. The silvery grandeur of Bentleys turned awkward and worn-out in the sparkly side reflections of this specimen. Later I could not help but try to find out a likely price for one these – a tidy $1.5 million if on sale…
Emboldened by my progress alone the history lane I took a bus to the heart of East Berlin – Alexander Platz. Despite the surrounding construction that never seems to end, large crowds and general haphazard nature of the place – this is probably the most interesting spot in the whole of Berlin. On the west side of the station there is a plethora of reminders pointing to pre-war glories with old crooked stone-paved streets, spired churches and Berlin Rathaus (City Hall). These are intermingled with new shopping complexes, a nice park and East Berlin TV tower that used to thrust old Soviet propaganda high into the sky. The latter was of course erected to proclaim the message of materialism and atheism, instead as soon as it was erected people noticed that any time sun reflected in the round glass-covered core of the tower – an image of the cross would appear – they called it Pope’s revenge. We might call it glory of Jesus.
The east side of the station is unmistakable – you have just taken a time machine back to the 70s somewhere in the USSR. I felt an acute sense of nostalgia churning inside. I just walked into my youth adorned with featureless rows of nine-story concrete blobs, wide unremarkable avenues and large squares with no meaning, descriptor or uniqueness. In fact, the main artery rushing from Alexander Platz in the direction of Stalin inspired architectural delights is still fittingly christened Karl Marx Allee. It used to be called Stalin Allee before the ominous name fell into disrepute in the early 60s. In any case, this was a heavy stifling gust from the past – a highly recommended adventure for any curious soul. Well, enough for the day, I still had almost two full days before the Jews for Jesus campaign was to start and I intended to continue filling up to the brim with memory juggling history walks, good local coffee and mayonnaise saturated herring.
Spandau and Wannsee – Ominous Beauty
A transit pass in Berlin is fantastic as it gives you an easy hassle-free opportunity to taste many city delights that tend to be scattered all over the map. So when the next morning I felt an urge to try something quaint and calming – I had my choices. You see, the crowd effects of the central Berlin were bearing their unnerving weight on my peaceful soul. To fight back I boarded the train to Spandau that promised to give some momentary peace inevitably mingled with its darker past. The sleepy town once served as the last enduring abode for Rudolf Hess – one of the closest, oldest and most fervent Hitler buddies. He was the last surviving part of the Nuremberg trial bunch and lived well into his 90s. He died in Spandau in 1987. After the demise of its last customer, Spandau prison was demolished to resist any renewed attempts by neo-nazis to create some sort of a shrine. In addition, the demolition has brought more calm and much desired obscurity to this quaint Berlin suburb dating back centuries. Once there, my tired feet were only too happy to be content with a lonely bench placed in shadows cast by the six hundred-year old church – good coffee, fresh breeze and a German novel were all what doctor ordered.
The next stop Wannsee - a beautiful spot with a darker side once more – you get the drift. Reinhard Heydrich held the infamous Wahnsee conference here in 1942. This meeting dealt with some key implementation points of the Final Solution – simple and chilling misnomer for Holocaust. Today this place hardly bears any obvious reminders of its murky past instead it lives to its reputation as a plush lake-side Berlin suburb. Having arrived at the lakeside I discovered two piers – one served by a private tour operator offering 45-minute lake tours for something like 10E while the other was a regular city boat stop that was a part of the transportation network. My pass was still valid and the choice was easy to make. Having waived to the tourist suckers I joined the locals on the ride to the beautiful lakeside town of Kradlow. The ride was just great as it took us along mansion-strewn shores and people-infested beaches with a full complement of boisterous school children onboard. While their loud exclamations caused some grief among elderly passengers I totally enjoyed the banter of these little tykes who despite their early age already spoke fluent German – imagine that!
Kradlow turned out to be just a cosy little sleepy spot similar to what White Rock must have been like fifty years ago minus the railway tracks. Quietly lapping gentle lake waters landed right on the doorstep of perfectly landscaped gardens, well maintained villas and picturesque leafy streets. The quaint tourist area offered a couple of very appealing restaurants and a small comfortable looking hotel. I wandered around, basking in the tranquillity of the place and recharging to deal with little madness that is central Berlin. So close and yet so far…
Back in the City
Once back in Berlin I had no time to waste – the history had to be attended to. Berlin is a lot like Rome and other great old cities. The reminders of historic events of varying significance spring up at you from all over, at times without a slightest warning. Such as the scars left by the Berlin Wall. Some most visible parts of the city such as Potsdamer Platz, Check Point Charlie and Brandenburg Gate have almost completely managed to obliterate its ugly reminders leaving only palatable morsels for measured consumption. However this is only a bright façade that obscures some more abrupt testimonials. As an example, since my arrival at the quarters of Herr Buege I wondered whether his business rules were a result of his Stassi influenced upbringing or general rules of old staunch German capitalism. To resolve this conundrum I needed to figure out whether my cosily embedded garden arrangement had been a part of either West or East Berlin. Since it was in the older part of town, it was harder to tell due to obvious absence of Soviet inspired architecture. Being in my local mode I loathed enquiring, of course. Modern maps did not appear to be entirely helpful to locate the wall either – especially considering that it never constituted a straight line. Instead I relied on chance. While walking just a few blocks from the apartment I stumbled upon a strange site as the perfectly normal street suddenly turned into a strip of overgrown wasteland that did not resemble a park or a playground. Moreover, this wild looking greenery did not inspire a single window in the whole row of adjacent buildings. It was like a blind person was trying to watch a mute movie. Suddenly, it struck me that this must have been a scar left by the wall, the concrete was gone but two opposing sides of town still refused to look one another in the eye. It is surely changing with varying speed depending on where you are in the city, but I bet it still would take years to heal physical and invisible wounds alike.
To figure out whether you are in the former East or West, one of the easiest ways to find out is to pay attention to traffic lights. East Berlin managed to retain some of its former “fun” by preserving hilarious pedestrian light-men with the green ones just hitting their stride and the red ones opening their arms as if gathering children for a kindergarten chore performance. Even after the fall of the less than funny regime in East Berlin, people decided to keep these friendly light- men alive. So if you happen to come along a regular boring traffic light, the chances are you are in West Berlin, when the funny mascot figure greets you think East.
Still pondering the past I took a train to yet another site associated with Cold War, the one that has healed much quicker and now is a striving market place peddling all kinds of Kitsch – Check Point Charlie. This famed location of daring escapes and military confrontations has been turned into one of the most visited tourist spots in the city. Needless to say that history now appears to be tightly packed into myriads of souvenir shops and stands peddling all sorts of Cold War stuff including a never-exhausting supply of small wall fragments that go anywhere from 5 to 10 E. Soviet hats, badges, epaulettes seemed to be among the hottest items. To the shame of my compatriots however the whole Kitsch Soviet trade itself has been taken over by Turks – welcome to the European Union! These bright, bursting and bristling with fast food establishments bazaar scenes are well complemented by nearly perpetual presence of four dudes dressed in respective allied uniforms, posing for paying camera-touting public – a pretty stable work. May be they should form a union with modern gladiators congregating on the daily basis around Coliseum. Among all this excitement there are still few small remaining outposts of real history such as an American guard booth and a small museum that displays some interesting relics including an original tiny VW Beetle – an escape version.
Having taken a couple of pictures I suddenly encountered a very personal reminder of my wild Soviet youth. When I was in the politically informed grade school, our class walls were adorned with a telling picture of our times – comrade Brezhnev giving a full mouth French kiss of friendship to no less esteemed comrade Hoenneker. All hilarious, very western and saucy, attributes of the picture were lost on our innocent Soviet pioneer souls. My later attempts to relate the experience were met with much incredulity and not much more. Nobody here could imagine things turn in such slobbery way. Guess what, I was finally vindicated when coming across a postcard that depicted exactly the scene. I felt the warmth of nostalgic tears welling up. Two were promptly purchased – one for posterity, the other to shock my mother in law.
Just blocks away from Check Point Charlie, I discovered a former location of German People’s Court and Gestapo. The Nazi created puppet court and its close associate secret police were two examples of the most sinister aspects of the recent German history. As such their physical existence was doomed in 1945 when Soviet entered the town. Both were erased and nothing was ever re-built on this site that later turned into a buffer border zone adjacent to the Berlin Wall. Since then the site has been a wasteland right in the heart of Berlin. Few years ago a temporary memorial was initiated here. I think there might even be some plans to build something more permanent, but for now it is a picture/story display in the open air right next to some formidable remains of the Wall. I was just as delighted to pose as a knowledgeable regular reading stories related almost exclusively in German. Even my Spanish came in handy to give perfunctory advice to some clueless Castillanos. My old obsession with certain historic personalities of the Third Reich, aptly related to the receptive Soviet audience through a goodly number of spy dramas, also paid off. Such dubious knowledge came in especially handy when perusing a set of stories dealing with the Gestapo brass, telling their lurid stories and displaying their insolent visages. I happily took a few pictures of these infamous bandits – for posterity of course…
Just across the street from the monument there is one of the very few Nazi built edifices that still exist in Berlin – Goering’s Luftwaffe (Air Force) Ministry. It is rather amazing how this huge, grey, foreboding neo-classical building that takes up a whole city block survived ruthless bombing campaigns of 1944/45. The famed sweeping Goering’s promise not to allow a single bomb to fall on the Reich proper should have probably been construed much more narrowly and dealt exclusively with his own offices. Fuhrer must have misunderstood this flamboyant pledge that seemed to lead to Goering’s precipitous fall from grace toward the end of the war. Since then place has managed to lose much of its airy menace, as it has been relatively recently re-christened as the Ministry of Finance of the unified Germany - a fitting tribute to one of the most dull, grey and yet very important governmental functions.
Jews for Jesus - Background
Enough of my sombre explorations – I came here for a different and drastically opposite purpose – to help with the first ever Jews for Jesus Campaign in Berlin. The campaign that was to be the fruit of many years of work and prayer, the campaign that was to bring together German and Jewish believers together to preach the truth about the Messiah for, perhaps, first time ever at the very heart of the country.
Jews for Jesus is an evangelistic organisation that has existed for well over thirty years. It came into existence through labours of Moshe Rosen and his wife. Many years ago being the new Jewish believers in Yeshua, they felt a drastic need for a specific kind of evangelism – Jewish evangelism. Jewish people have occupied a very special place in the heart of the living God throughout history and yet they are the only people who tend to view their very existence through a permanent prism of opposition to the greatest gift of God - the gift that is Jesus and his sacrifice on the cross. To some Jewish people the very mentioning of Jesus is an affront. And yet Christ came to earth to save all people alike – Jews first and then gentiles. The claims of the Messiah are unequivocal and call all to repentance all, regardless of race or religion. The sound of this call has fallen on many deaf years over the centuries; disproportionately so among God’s first love – the Jewish people.
Some distant and other less remote historic events have not helped the matters – the most draconian and horrific designs wrought by many an anti-Christian non-Jewish hand has been misinterpreted and misunderstood by many in the Jewish community as a sign of non-relevance of Christ and his claims to be their Messiah. Consequently, all too frequently even the most evocative evangelistic calls fall on deaf and indifferent ears of modern Jews. Hence the need for a special kind of evangelism, the one that has proven to be the most effective – Jews to Jews, redeemed to obstinate, compassionate to timid, intrepid to hostile. It is a mystery to many of non-Jewish descent but the very notion of Jesus can bring a fear of separation from who Jews really are. While gentile non-believers do not tend to see Jesus as hostile to their existence as distinct people, many Jews view his claims as contrary to their sacred expectations of the coming Messiah. While the pure massage of love, compassion and God’s solution to the ills of human race could awake many a gentile heart, Jewish souls often require a completely different approach. They are as the truest species of God’s lost sheep, needing special approach and care.
I first took a note of the ministry when I lived in New York City and was a part of the infamous Boston Church of Christ. It was a rather trying time when all too often I tended to look at the Christian world through condemning glasses of an exclusive doctrine that was the main driver behind the Boston Church phenomena. At first, seeing these silly people distributing their even sillier tracts to indifferent New York crowds struck me as a kind of pathetic and futile. My pride- infested thinking just would not go any further. Even my nominally Jewish background could hardly swerve my intrepid course then.
Years later after leaving the self-obsessed Boston movement and re-joining mainstream Christianity, I happened to be visiting New York when I was introduced to Avi Snyder – a short, skinny and electric engine behind the Jews for Jesus ministry in New York. He was very a energetic, focused and engaging. Most of the 90s, he spent in the former USSR building the ministry around in response to great pent-up spiritual thirst of many including Jews. Through his years of work in Moscow and Odessa, he and certainly his young children adopted new culture with much zest for pirogi, borsch and language. In addition to our faith in Christ and shared Jewish heritage, this was another point of connection that we had now held in common.
Instantly, I felt that it was not going to be our last meeting. Something about my past, much to my own surprise, came calling back. This is despite the fact that I hardly grew up as a Jew – my father was a secular Jew while my mother had managed to obscure her faint Jewish roots through a good amount of amnesia and proper documents.
It is funny that now she goes to a Jewish community centre in Vancouver to receive some monthly food aid (much to my dismay – there are other people who probably need it more). Apart from minor speech impairment so common to Jews (pronouncing Russian R could be a slight problem for some) that I inherited from my father, I hardly took in anything from my Jewish heritage save dry jokes and certain select dishes that my grandma used to cook on occasion. The overwhelming majority of Soviet folk spent their lives under the officialdom of atheism and materialism. We were no exception. We did not even have a chance to reject the truth, as it was never presented to us. Even an innate sense of God seemed to be overwhelmed by grim soulless surroundings. Even the presence of an old, almost perpetually locked up, synagogue around the corner from my grandmother’s house did not cause much curiosity. The historic notion of Jewish people did not seem to date past the times of the crusades illuminated in the dramatic tales by Sir Walter Scott. Torah was a foreign word and God was someone they believed in when attending the state controlled Russian Orthodox Church. This was the beginning and the end of my Jewish heritage.
After becoming a Christian I had to face the potential depth of connection that my predecessors held with the sacred Word of God. It became rather painful sometimes though, as it was too late to share this precious connection with my Jewish family – my father and grandmother. Despite much more acute and renewed sense of connection with the history of God’s revelations, I did not progress any further assuming that the message of Christ did not require special presentation for Jews. My previously mentioned detour with the Boston Movement certainly did not contribute to any such progress. As a result, my thinking regarding potential future service in the Kingdom did not seem to embrace a specific Jewish component.
Meeting Avi made me aware once more of where God potentially can use me in his service. We remained in touch for a number of years with our paths crossing in Germany for the first time in year 2000. That happened when Avi asked me for assistance translating a set of in-depth bible studies for Jewish believers who resided in Germany. It was my first and certainly meaningful experience serving God with Jews for Jesus. I travelled for one week to Germany – to a small town in the suburbia surrounding the notable city of Dortmund. It was a fantastic course that was primarily taught by an old retired professor from the Moody Bible School – Doctor Goldberg. Despite his advanced years, shaky frame and stumbling gate he radiated an incredible amount of energy mixed with youthful curiosity that made the whole week fly by just like a day. I thoroughly enjoyed the course intermittently taking on the role of a translator and a student. It was a fantastic time of fellowship, worship, prayer and study. I left a deep impression and fed my further interest in the ministry of Jews for Jesus.
Avi in Germany
Avi has had a soft spot for Germany for a number of years. Germany, through centuries, served as a home, a prison and ultimately a death camp – all encompassing madness that consumed millions of Jews in the senseless inferno of hatred. There were hardly any Jews left in the wake of the murderous WWII. And the ones that remained most probably continued questioning their own sanity. However times change and some wounds close even if not heal entirely. Some years ago, the German government initiated a large-scale campaign trying to redeem some gory deeds of the past. They extended an offer of immigration to just about any Jew wanting to re-settle in Germany. In the typical pan-European expansion of generosity, the program offered an incredibly rich variety of benefits and perks. As the result, Germany has been experiencing a tremendous immigration wave of Jews coming from all corners of the former USSR and other places around the world. Understandably, Avi saw a huge and growing need to initiate Jews for Jesus ministry in Germany, for the sake of Jews and gentiles alike. In addition, after numerous contacts with German Christian he understood a lingering sense of guilt that still plagues souls of German people. He saw an incredible opportunity to combine Jewish and German evangelistic efforts. For the first time in years, if not in history, Christ could be proclaimed jointly by Jews and Germans alike – who could have predicted such a scenario. The scenario that turns past tragedies and a lingering sense of guilt into an immensely powerful call of God extended to all – hallelujah!
After a few small campaigns that Jews for Jesus organised in the Western part of the country, they acquired enough experience, local connections and resources to conduct their first large outreach in the very heart of new Germany. Avi called me with an offer to participate about eight months in advance. I took it as a great opportunity to spread the gospel, meet other believers from the other side of the globe and further personal spiritual growth.
Despite their very outspoken mode of operations, unabashed preaching of the gospel and even fearlessness, many Christians on this side of the ocean tend to view Jews for Jesus with some unease. Some of it comes from a rather timid ecumenical thinking that elevates non-believing Jews to some very special place that does not seemingly have any need for Christ. Some see the message of Jews of Jesus as hostile to the overall relationship between Christian and Jewish communities, hence taking a path of non-interference that sees Jews pursue their own non-Christ centred theologies of futility. I my opinion, this is a complete nonsense, as call of Christ goes out to all – first Jews and then gentiles alike. It is like looking for a false sense of security in the religion of Pharisees and Sadducies. But who are the descendants of these same people today one might ask – I think that the answer is pretty obvious.
The other equally timid lot views Jews for Jesus as a bit too much in your face type of outreach. Although visibility of Jews for Jesus campaigns tends to put them on front pages, this view does not have much to do with reality after one gets a first hand exposure to the truth. In fact, during our training in Berlin their requirement to be respectful, non-aggressive and non-retaliatory is strongly emphasised. So please let them be. Perhaps see them as an example as opposed to an obstacle.
Campaign – Early Going
The first day was to start around 5PM in the Statdmission Jugendhaus (hostel) when the whole team was to get together for the first time. Since I really knew only Avi, I did not expect to meet anyone else I knew except Jack Delmonte with whom I had spoken a couple of times before by phone. To my delight the first person I saw was Lenya whom I met five years prior during the bible school in Germany. At that time this wiry fifty-year old was working for Jews for Jesus in Kharkov, Ukraine. Now having moved to Germany about four years ago and been blessed by yet another kid (three kids in total with the oldest of about 28 working as successful investment banker in Frankfurt), he was now ready make yet another move to a full-time ministry opportunity, in Essen this time. It was a delight to see him and meet numerous others. For example, Jack turned out to be a towering personality sized for a CFL linebacker with joyful disposition and bolding visage of a forty something father of four German speaking children. The rest of the crew was very diverse consisting of Germans, Russian Jews living in Germany, Israelis, Americans, a Brit and one token Canadian – yours truly. The other resident of Canada – Andrew from Toronto did not even attempt to pose for a cheese-head with his noticeable Brooklyn accent and a distinct absence of “eh”. Almost all team members could get around in at least a couple of languages. The most notable exceptions were some usual suspects such as fifty something Russians, few Americans and one Brit. Among this lot was also our hero, a source of inspiration for many – Amitai.
In his early twenties with Israel army service behind him, this heavyset dude with thick lenses was a real bullfighter for the Lord – all this despite his rather docile appearance of a coddled teenager. He was one of the most persistent, cheerful and energetic witnesses despite being visibly exhausted by the end of each day. All this was accomplished with fervour and on the strength of just one language – Hebrew. How does one get around Berlin and spreads the good news with just Hebrew is beyond me, but nothing is impossible with God and Amitai was the living proof. He managed to connect with more people on the streets than many of us. On the one hand, he benefited managing to avoid understanding any abuse associated with the street ministry, on the other, he extensively resorted to his trusted Hebrew/English bible for direct references as opposed to making up something himself – nothing speaks better than the very word of God itself. Having people like Amitai around was a lot of fun, as he always was on the lookout to improve his English, German and Russian – all at the same time.
The first team meeting later that evening did not fail to meet usual standards of a regular Jewish discourse – everyone seemed to be talking at the same time. After some calls to order and initial orientation, this group of Jews and Gentiles went to work. As Avi started to speak, the indomitable German Lars translated him into German, while German Israeli Ari translated German into Hebrew for Amitai, and Ukrainian Vanya translated German into Russian for Dina and a couple of other types. In any case, it was a microcosm of United Nations right from the start and it promised to remain this way for the entire campaign – exuberating!
The three and a half week campaign was to have a rotating staff of twenty five to thirty five campaigners for each work day – all days except Sundays that is. As some people left before the end of the campaign, others came in their stead - hence maintaining the overall number that delivered an incredible impact on the city of Berlin – at least in my estimation. In addition, there were five helpers who had a hard task of feeding us lunch and dinner in addition to staffing our bags with literature, and keeping our drawers clean on the daily basis. Although not facing the public on the street, their days were at least just as tiresome as they were longer and involved brain numbing logistical exercises of moving supplies around town with, at times, limited transportation resources.
Right from the start the campaign promised to be a very arduous exercise. When Avi distributed our first daily schedule, I felt a rather certain pull of terror. We had to report for duty at around 7:30 each morning with our final sortie ending after 10PM. I do not think I was the only one with fright welling up inside. In fact, I think even Avi, despite the workhorse that he is, quickly understood some physical limitations of such schedule – so we started at 8:30 instead! As the whole team was to be split into mobile teams ranging from 2 to 4, appointed team leaders were expected to contribute at least one more additional hour per day – my limited experience spared me some extra sleep. Given the schedule and the forty minute one-way commute that would take me from the palatial apartments of Herr Buege to the Jugendhaus, God blessed me with urgency to move. Although initially unhappy with the turn of events at Herr Buege’s cheap and comfortable arrangements, my move from luxury on the first official day of the street campaigning was a clear relief. My obligations to his greyness discharged, I was only happy to move to the Jugendhaus where most of the team stayed, where we had daily devotions and other gatherings. More time to rest – hallelujah! Since yours truly has typically very difficult time with sleeping arrangements – the fact that seems odd to many in this world, - I had to settle for a single room. This was going to cost at least 40E per day, blowing my initial budget of 25E at Herr Buege’s. However, after some hoeing and hawing in my by now fast improving German, I discovered that I could have a room in the adjacent building for only 18E per day – unbelievable! Praise Jesus! The only trick was that I had to share a shower while still enjoying a private bath and three beds all to myself. Great deal! If you want to travel to Berlin let me know I will hook you up!
The Neighbourhood
For the first three days we underwent intense street ministry preparation classes that were to take place in the church called Jerusalem Gemeinde – Jerusalem Church. This is a messianic congregation that counts few Jews among its predominantly German members with a German pastor. This church has been in existence for many years and boasts one of the best locations in the historic epicentre of Berlin. The church is located in a regular looking old Berliner apartment building with a couple of secluded court yards – an extremely useful feature as turbulent and curious seas of international tourism roll their waves just outside its main gate. The building is located on the more cheerful side of Alexander Platz, all but a two minute walk from an incredible art collections housed in world class museums congregating on the aptly named Museum Insel (island). One of them named Pergamon reflects the origins of its the most famous exposition piece – a throne from a pagan temple in ancient Pergamon. Apart from pure historic value of any pagan worship artefact, this one is very remarkable, especially remembering the letter to the church in Pergamon, which is a part of the Book of Revelation. This letter exhorts believers to preservation of their faith when facing with some ominous neighbours – namely the Throne of Satan. Well, this pagan artefact in Pergmaon of Berlin is believed by some to be the very throne mentioned in the Bible. Amazing! Well, some Christians are very much opposed to the exposition and the museum’s name – as long as the artefact remains in Berlin, the city remains forever cursed, according to some. Well, I am not so sure that simple presence of the mute piece of stone can impede love and mercy of the Living God. In any case, this peculiarity makes Berlin even more pointed of a reminder that Bible is alive today just like two thousand years ago.
Back to Jerusalem Gemeinde, being on the right side of Alexander Platz but on the wrong side of the Berlin wall, this place is also close to the relics of now defunct state – the famous propaganda tool – Berlin TV tower, which is only a short walk away. This walk takes you through various time fragments of Berlin history in a very comprehensive and yet compressed fashion. At first, one could walk through Marx and Engels Square adorned with a homely statute of both misunderstood social geniuses. Only a narrow canal now separates this square from the derelict edifice of the People’s Palace – the former seat of the East German government. Upon taking solace in the murky reflections of this decaying and graffiti covered building; one can take a refreshing stroll past baroque inspired fountain erected at times of Wilhelm the Great. Right before gazing up the unassailable heights of the TV tower, one also stumbles upon an old Lutheran Church that serves for an incredible photo opportunity – eternal and carnal – permanent and adaptable – the church spire and the pride and joy of GDR. In any case, this location is just an ideal slice of Berlin history - its turbulent past, uncertain present and its hopeful future.
Situation on the Ground
Three full days at Jerusalem Gemeinde were spent in discussions on various tactics of street campaigning. Having had a rich experience of campaigns around the globe, Jews for Jesus have worked out an excellent set of tactics that apply across the board whether you are in New York, Paris or Melbourne. First and foremost one needs to keep in mind the overriding theme of any campaign – evangelism. Spreading the message of Christ should always be front and centre in one’s mind. Avi could not help but exhort us through his inspiring messages of the vision that saw Germans, Jews and others coming together on the streets of Berlin to preach Christ together as one.
First of all we were to be visible – trying to wear Jews for Jesus T-shirts at all times. The whole concept of Jews for Jesus appears bewildering enough for many people and that in itself tempts many to stop and ask even when one is just walking around the city. Secondly, we were trained how to distribute literature. You have to be as efficient and quick as possible while trying to establish eye contact and maintain friendly disposition. Not an easy task as I was to find out later. Even the most gregarious and extrovert types frequently find the task of literature distribution a challenging and uncomfortable experience.
A good deal of attention was paid to issues of personal safety. In a number of locales with considerable Jewish populations, Jews for Jesus are accustomed to considerable opposition. This has happened in Toronto, Melbourne, San-Francisco and, of course, New York. Sometimes it is expressed through anti-evangelism campaigns, hostile media advertisements and open letters of condemnation. Sometimes the opposition takes on much uglier forms such as physical and verbal abuse, and other less than pleasant expressions of heightened interest. Berlin with its eclectic mix involving counter-cultural, new age and neo-nazi elements promised to be just as challenging. As such we were thoroughly prepared to deal with any expressions of hostility through some very useful tools. Two key underpinning principles were non-retaliation and law obedience. If you were hit, pushed and spat at – at no time you were allowed to retaliate physically or verbally – “turn another cheek” principle in real live. If people try ordering you around, one had to be prepared to judge whether it was legitimate or not. As a result, everyone apart from general instructions received a set of documents that legitimised our presence on the city streets.
Although this training was very useful, the real situation on the streets of Berlin was not nearly as dire as in other less welcoming spots on the globe. Neo-Nazis, despite their relative notoriety, are rather scarce and do not show up all that often. In fact it is considered rather denigrating even to be called a Nazi. As the result, they did not seem to bother us that much. Punks and other colourful characters ranged from receptive to indifferent with some tearing up the tracts right in our faces but no more than that. The receptive ones were rather open to hear about Jesus and were rather circumspect and certainly not offensive in their dealings with us. I also found out that their dark, camouflage-like garb, wild hair and dark fingernails do not exclusively consign one to a specific group. On one occasion a retired German pastor named Gunter, who participated in the campaign for about a week with his hard working wife cooking behind the scenes, met a punk looking girl near the Zoologischen Garten, the locale overwhelmed with similar counter-culture types. The girl, Monica, was rather friendly to him. He was to meet her once again on his last day in Berlin only to miss her by a couple of hours. The next day, while standing near an insanely busy street crossing, I located her entirely by chance – she looked as if she was searching for someone and after hearing Gunter’s name she identified herself. I mentioned to her that he had looked for her in vain the day before – walking around and enquiring with the local sit-in youths. As soon as she heard about that she indignantly replied that those guys were “punks” and certainly not her friends – very puzzling for some who are into stereotypes! In other words, our experiences were unusual but peaceful with the exception of Jack who got attacked by a crazed store clerk who managed to tear his beloved shorts and throw a whole whack of tracts in the middle of a heavily trafficked street. Other then that Berlin proved to be more indifferent than threatening.
Indifferent is the key word, as only about 1% of the Berlin population attends a church. The local culture seems to be typically western - shopping crazed, hedonistic and fast paced. On the surface the place does not appear to be all that different from any other cosmopolitan city. The only way to find underlying uniqueness of Berlin is to face the crowds head-on with tracts in hand - the best way to measure local mood. Alternate between different spots in the city was certainly very educational. While once standing on the east side of Alaxander Platz in the heart of East Berlin, one friendly twenty something type told me that we were scattering pearls in front of pigs. Once steeped into atheistic state doctrines people on the eastern side of town were now in pursuit of all possible pleasures that could be got. This pursuit coupled with high unemployment and other social ills hardly led to repentance and positive change, instead it culminated in ever-increasing scepticism and indifference. All he wanted himself was to escape this seemingly endless tunnel culture by moving to the USA, welcome! I have already been there and can tell you that true happiness that does not exist outside of God grace regardless of where you are. We parted unchanged in our previous views – my hope for him and thousands of others in Berlin is that they will be able to brake through clutches of scepticism and darkness that could be so real and spiritually debilitating.
Unlike face spitting, pushing and shoving aspects of typical Jewish opposition in New York or Boston, any Jewish opposition in Berlin was not all that evident. Apart from some negative articles in the local Jewish press, the only thing of interest came up when Avi received a scathing letter from the German Jewish Council. The latter condemned the campaign as an act of spiritual Holocaust – a rather preposterous claim that pushes the idea of Jews ceasing being Jews when obeying the call of Christ. Unfortunately, so many people prefer to hide from the truth behind unsubstantiated veneer of talk points like those so prevalent in the North American religious and political discourse.
Besides training, teaching and worshipping, we spent a great deal of time in old-fashioned bible study. The topics tended to concentrate on the imperative aspects of the ministry at hand. Witnessing is always in large part depends on reliability of sources such as Biblical prophesies. For Jews it is immeasurably more so, as they hold the Old Testament prophesies as true while denying Jesus as their Messiah. Not all prophecies have to do with Messiah of course. But many do and some pose a considerable difficulty to many a rabbi. The most famous and pivotal one is Isaiah 53. This prophesy speaks of a suffering Messiah, the exactly one rejected at Calvary. Despite numerous attempts at positioning this prophesy away from Jesus, Judaic scholars could never fully patch up the gap between their viewpoints and the reality of the bible. As the result, this prophecy is considered absolutely pivotal in the context of reaching out to Jews. And this is exactly where we spent most of our bible study time. General interest and enthusiasm of the group was further enhanced by the translation prowess of wild man Lars, who brought a lot of intonation, zest and slightly comical approach to very important subjects. In any case this guy certainly deserves a mention. The first time I met him was on the first rainy evening of the campaign when we got together for a meeting and dinner. This scrawny dude with an attempt at a sparse rabbinical beard crowned by a set of thick glasses and a Kaiser-like hat looked to be an exact replica of a Zionist warrior coming to you from the pages of Charisma magazine. Instead he took me by surprise after the very first handshake.
“I am Goi” – the Jewish term for a gentile. Some rare people have such high regard for everything Jewish that even despite their rather characteristic looks they have to emphasise the dictum – “the more I look what I am not, the more convincing my faith”. Lars was fantastic. His impeccable translations delivered in a super fast fashion where each subsequent word constantly stumbles upon one ahead with consistent impudence. This clearly sharpened my ear. Some German speaking Russians complained and had hard time understanding his slightly accented Southern verbal barrages. I, having the advantage of understanding both the speaker and the translator, did not have a reason to complain. In addition, to his translating skills, Lars had an incredible way with musical instruments, including cymbals. He tamed sounds streaming out of this eastern instrument with zest and excitement of a one-year old. Elated and delighted, he came so sporadic stomping so closely resembling that of our one-year old. This pure and youthful brother was just a kid, pure and faithful, the trait we should all try to imitate. Later, I found out that he was only twenty one and that his dotting mother was a big admirer of Avi’s leadership and constantly implored him to spare her baby Lars from unnecessary perils. Lars was undeterred and followed his heart whenever he went. I have a couple of pictures that can definitely tell a better story and you are welcome to it.
Street Campaigning Begins
On the Sunday evening before the first official day of the campaign we were split into teams, and each team member was prayed for and anointed in a very touching ceremony that followed the service. This ceremony included feet washing of all members by one another starting with team leaders in servant roles. It felt very Biblical and authentic. As it turned out later, our original teams did not stay together for the whole campaign, as some people came and left throughout the three weeks that followed. My first team consisted of Paul and Helen, both very interesting and inspiring individuals.
Paul is American, who is a gentile believer of German descent who hails from Portland, Oregon of all places. He has got to be one of the most youthful forty five-year olds I have ever seen. His youthfulness is further emphasised by his unencumbered bachelor status with an unblemished record. He has been involved in full-time ministry for a number of years now. He has also participated in some past Jews for Jesus campaigns and his knowledge of ropes was crucial. About a year ago, he answered the call of his German ancestry and moved to Berlin to be a full time minister working on new church plantings in this bastion of modern hedonism - a daunting task to say the least. Undeterred and armed with very good German he has made great strides in the past year and was looking to good harvest on the campaign trail. He loves Berlin and has made a decision to stay for good, there could not have been a better way of impacting his beloved city as participating in this campaign – he was surely excited.
Helen is a very sweet spirited woman in her thirties. She teaches in Freiburg – the Black Forest capital. She is a very inspiring and dedicating Christian, who constantly searches her answers in prayers and God’s word. She is also very curious about other people and cultures, and over the past twenty years she has travelled the globe in all imaginable directions – South America, East Asia and Israel featured among her most colourful experiences. Among these, Israel clearly holds the most special place in her heart. She has travelled there on a number of occasions and also took much interest in its culture and language. She even had enough knowledge of Hebrew to serve as a part-time guide to our fearless Amitai. Despite her at times too Zionistic views for my taste, I immensely enjoyed her company and encouragement that was so necessary for the timid heart of the first-time campaigner.
Our first outing took us to the Zoo Station – pronounced “Tso”. This subtlety seemed to have completely escaped Avi’s attention causing some confusion on behalf of our German cohorts on few occasions. Our English speaking international crew had no trouble finding the place as myriads of other people streaming to and fro in packs of thousands, it appeared. This kaleidoscope of teeming humans did seed some fear in my inexperienced soul. But after some prayer and Paul’s on site demonstration techniques, I ploughed right in. The more leaflets I distributed, the less fear I felt. Predictably, most of the folks were too much in a hurry to pay any interest to our offering. But some stopped in their tracks, many with very puzzled looks, and took the literature. Some young punks threw some torn pages on the ground in show of defiance. I felt sorry for them and prayed. So many people do not want even consider the call of Jesus, as a couple just strolled by with another passer-by uttering a profanity. After few days, I would start playing my own game of stereotypes, trying to see who is the most and least likely to take a tract. Well, tied and suited businessmen definitely came in last with over sixty men dragging their beer bellies followed not far behind. Well, what is not possible with men is certainly possible with God who surprised me on a number of occasions by the interest shown by the members of the specifically these groups. Never discount God’s power!
Not forgetting that one of the main tasks was not just to distribute the leaflets but also engage in more meaningful contact, I attempted to concentrate on eye contact. However, the overcrowded sidewalk by the railway station offered only limited space for this to be effective. I did manage to talk to a couple of taxi drivers who were parked at the curb. One Russian speaking type was rather abrasive and I hardly got any further than “hello” before a number of juicy expletives cascaded my way. The other, of apparently Turkish descent, was hardly any more gracious as Allah was an uncontested quantity in his mind. So went the first couple of sorties that lasted about three hours. By lunch time I was just exhausted and cross-eyed from making eye contact with hundreds of strangers. Although having distributed around 300 tracks in this time, my pride of accomplishment was rather short-lived, as a number of people managed to do twice the number while others prayed with people to receive the Lord right on the street! I guess I was still learning…
The exhaustion did appear to my exclusive problem, as majority of the crew crashed on the floor, chairs and any other surfaces they happened to find between themselves and the ground. Our lunch station at the International Berlin Church offered plenty of opportunities for napping – hard surface version that is. On my second day, I actually devised a way of sleeping with my head stuck downward between two rows of chairs. The only drawback of this method was an almost permanently pressed-up face – a little rough for sorties.
Ku-Damm – Centre of Mayhem
Our next sortie took us to Ku-Damm. The full name of this extremely busy street overrun by tourists and shoppers alike is Kurfursten Damm (Prince Street). Many Berliners, especially the ones who grew up in the West, consider this luxurious strip of real estate the best thing since sliced bread. At the very least, it is certainly where the heart of Berlin beats, according to them. To be frank since the very first encounter with the place, I hated it with passion. There are a number of reasons. For once, despite the best efforts of any street to compete with squares, in terms creating nice and communal feeling, streets are almost always the losers. Unless you compare let’s say the likes of Champ de Ellysses with Times Square, which is not a square at all, then you might have a chance. This street does not offer all that much in the way of wide spaces with the exception of the modest square at the steps of the Europa Centre that surrounds the craggy remains of the Gedachtniss Kirche (Remembrance Church). This church was bombed out during the WWII and is preserved in its poignant shelled-out state forever. Add thousands and thousands of sauntering people that make up shopping hordes in search of retail treasures and you get the picture. Forget about making an eye contact or exchanging smiles, just try to stay alive and not be rolled over by this disinterested monolith of human individuality.
Sure, some of my team mates did enjoy a considerable deal of success here, I, on the other hand, was longing for some place quiet, as I could hardly maintain a consistent stream of pleas, begging the crowds to take a note. My “Bitte” and “Guten Tag” were just drowned in the cacophony of noise generated by immense amounts of passing motor and human traffic. The other difficult part of being in the place like this I found, was that a good portion of passer-byes are just foreign tourists who have no inclination of perusing any kind of literature in German under the best of circumstances. And this street certainly had plenty of these types. The only worse place to distribute leaflets was standing near the Brandenburg Gate on the tourist-beset sidewalks – these, mostly packed with perpetually sun-tanned Italians, could be spotted a mile away. Some of my less linguistically inclined comrades tended to miss such subtleties and distributed regardless of what they heard. I, at times, was more reluctant, knowing that chances of an average Italian tourist being able to comprehend our leaflets was about one in a million. On the other hand, nobody knows where any of these could end up and be read by those who God is trying to reach.
The only redeeming aspect of the Brandenburg location was a chance to eavesdrop on some tourist guides that spilled out some interesting local details such as pointing to the famous window that witnessed Michael Jackson’s “dangle the kid” stunt. This intersection was just as noisy as Ku-Damm, since the nearby British embassy was busy erecting a traffic barrier in front of its doors imitating its big brother - US Embassy, the only in town that boasts a full blown security fence and a concrete barricade – be blessed the spreaders of democracy!
I have to admit that getting through the first week was a big ordeal. My understanding of the accomplished did not sink in until later on. How could the group of around twenty-five people distribute more than 300,000 brochures in three weeks is certainly beyond my comprehension even now. It appeared impossible especially in the first few arduous days of the campaign when our bodies and spirits were getting used to the impossible task that only God could accomplish. Looking back, I am tremendously happy of having participated in this undertaking – my limited expectations of God’s grace and power have expanded tremendously.
After few days of campaigning, each of us knew our respective favourite places. However, assignments were not up to me and I had to be content with whatever given. Actually, Jews for Jesus have a strategy of covering particular city points at any given time without spreading their forces all too thinly. First of all, it would be difficult to maintain contact if all were to spread all over the place, secondly small groups in the vast town might just drown in the multitudes without being noticed. Thirdly, by being in the same place at the same time, day after day, one can create much better chances for more meaningful interactions with regulars. In fact, after few days I started seeing the same folks again and again. Some even started commenting that we were everywhere. Amazing, that even twenty-five people on the streets of a huge city can deliver such reaction!
Rosen Strasse – Monument of Defiance
Some of our German comrades representing Jerusalem Gemeinde were authentic Berliners. One of them - Mikael was a particularly warm and friendly type who was available at any time to give us any local information or take us to see some very interesting areas of Berlin. This is on the top of participating in the campaign full-time and attending to the responsibilities of a father of two. One of such areas was just a short ten-minute walk from our base location. It is called Hakischer Markt – and it used to be a Jewish centre of Berlin. On the edge of this area there are a couple of monuments that attest to one of the most remarkable stories of Holocaust. In 1942, Germany was essentially Jew free, as those who survived original pogroms, beatings and rapes had already been sent to Death Camps. However, approximately 700 Jewish husbands of non-Jewish wives were still awaiting their fate right here in the capital of Nazi Germany. On one fateful day, the minister Goebbels issued a decree arresting all remaining Jews and arranging for their deportation – just a code term for Death Camps. Having taken these 700 men into custody, Nazi had provisionally put them in a building on the outskirts of the Hakischer Markt district – Rosen Strasse. All was going along a regular script without a hitch. Suddenly, the reports of thousands of German wives and other supporters mulling around the building angered the blood-thirsty rulers. And yet they feared to disperse a purely Arian crowd. Despite all negotiation efforts, the peaceful crowd guarding the building entrances from the outside refused to leave and allow deportation to proceed. This stalemate went on for a number of days. This was not Poland, and opening fire against German citizens, right in the heart of the capital, did appear to be viable option even for the cruel Nazi regime. After about a week, Goebbels issued an amending decree releasing the men from custody! I could not image that this could have been possible – and yet it did happen. This is about the only successful popular demarche that broke the iron will of the regime. Today, this street remains a quiet testimonial of courage and love against all injustice and desperation. Amazing…
Few more times we visited a number sites adjoining to Hackischer Markt. Hakischer Markt itself contains a number of connecting courtyards that house numerous restaurants, souvenir shops, cinemas and even a functioning Yiddish Theatre. On the back side of this very much frequented quarter, there is a museum that commemorates an example of Oscar Schindler-like courage and ingenuity that allowed one German fabricant to save numerous Jewish lives in less than two kilometres from Hitler’s bunker. The museum is located on site of the actual factory and still contains many interesting artefacts and documents. The whole area around Hakischer Markt is actually peppered with small brass plagues with names of perished in Holocaust. These plagues are mounted right into sidewalks all around this area. It like these long perished victims still mingle around to remind the world of the history that should never be repeated. In addition, this area contains Berlin’s principle synagogue. This recently restored magnificent building crowned with golden cupola and covered with many artful vignettes all over its façade is actually much better observed from afar, as it is very much obscured by the narrow tree covered street it faces. Despite the calm that reigns on the streets these days, the synagogue bristles with 24/7 police guard and thick steel fence. To our slight disappointment, the place is hardly a functioning palace of religious worship as it is more of a tourist magnet for those wanting to enjoy its ornate and opulent interior. On one occasion, pastor Ephraim from Israel led us on the tour of the quarter in full Jews for Jesus colours. Rather bold but effective, as many paid attention especially when we stopped by the synagogue and a local Yiddish store whose ermolka clad owner did not seem to be all that amused. Very interesting and somewhat challenging way to deliver a message – well whatever works!
Grisha – Uzbek Lion
After a couple of days in the company of rather temperate and very western Helen and Paul, I was thrown into the path of Grisha Muratov, an eastern warrior in the Kingdom of God. He had just arrived and was due for some local orientation. Due to all his previous experiences with campaigning, and he was a veteran of many, he was made leader of our glorious tandem.
Grisha was born and raised in the sunny Uzbekistan that about fifteen years ago turned from one of the Soviet Republics into a banana republic under the wise guidance of the intrepid leader of the people - Comrade Karimov. This transformation might have been sudden for the naïve west, but for people familiar with this Central Asian country – it was no surprise. The culture, most of which tends to be Muslim, is generally based on tribal affiliations and is a typical representative of those sun stricken parts of the world oft discussed in the press. In other words, a bit of aggression and short-temper are in ample supply there, a fact frequently lost on brave western conquerors.
Despite his Jewish roots, Grisha grew up to be a true son of his country. Even his looks speak to that. Wide and round dark face, almond shaped fiery eyes of a true warrior culminated in short dark hair that shone on the top of his bear like body. This bear ready to pounce at any time. When he was growing up, Grisha took up all relatively mild habits of his hashish and opium infested country – like drinking, smoking and gambling, a trinity of sorts. One day however, he met the Lord and turned into a new man. Instead of habitually juvenile street prowling, Grisha turned into a proverbial soldier of the Bible – kind of a modern Samson. While most of Christians work out their salvation, Grisha hammered it. He actually reminded me of my father who incidentally was also born in Uzbekistan – straight talking and uncompromising.
After finishing high school on the eve of the Soviet Union’s demise and ensuing economic chaos, Grisha had little inclination to continue his seemingly useless education. Instead he acquired a trade to feed his family, a rather peculiar trade though – he learned how to make a special kind of spiced up domestic mayonnaise that happened to be in high demand. The business went rather well and especially came handy when Grisha got married at the ripe and mature age of twenty-two. While necessary for survival, his trade did not further Grisha’s general knowledge. So when he became a Christian, the Bible became his one and only educational tool. He mastered it with fervour and conviction to be admired by many. He spent all his time on the hunt, doing Lord’s bidding. So when he heard about Jews for Jesus in the mid 90s, he jumped at the opportunity and participated in a number of events all around former Soviet Union. With time he also acquired a penchant for persuading people to Biblical viewpoints by nearly pounding them with the Holy Book – he should have been born in the American South, he would have made a perfect a fire and brimstone preacher. So when I met him, Grisha was ready, fit and longing for action.
With the birth of his daughter some eight years ago and growing anti-Semitic sentiment in predominately Muslim republic, Grisha saw an opportunity to make a better life for himself in Germany – the country of nearly diametrically opposed sensibilities to those of his upbringing. The process of integration in his new life has gone as “smoothly” as expected. When we met, he had already spent more than two years in Germany, still sitting on the life support of social assistance with not much hope of getting off it very soon. His German was still very rudimentary and I had to serve as a talking head between two of us. We fit quite well I think because Grisha and I were somewhat opposite in our preferences. Grisha loved crowds. He did not care as much about smiles and eye contact, he just let tracts fly. He was always lost in the public transit grid, I was his trusted guide. He prided himself on his ability to tell a Russian speaker from a crowd, I tended to be more circumspect. On few occasions, he would make a direct approach with a mouthful of full on Russian – only to find out that his unsuspecting counterparts much preferred the local Teutonic dialect. I typically waited to be spoken to – sort of John waiting for visitors from Cornilius, while Grisha pounced on human traffic in a truly Pauline fashion.
I made fun of his hammer and sickle style, while he never let go of a chance to expose my timidity. Truth be told however - he was more affective and on a couple of occasions some of his encounters produced decisions for the Lord. One was the most remarkable, when he came across an old Jewish man in his 90s, who simply approached Grisha and asked how to become a follower of the way – amazing. Just like that – somebody had spent his whole life searching just to find Grisha standing on one of the busiest Berlin corners sporting a Jews for Jesus T-shirt. I did not encounter conversions first hand but had a number of very encouraging conversations, one with an elderly Jewish lady. She came from the Soviet Union few years ago and found Jesus here in Germany. Her love for the Lord was so pure and inspiring, as she quoted few of her own beautiful verses praising the Lord – what a great uplifting experience!
Fitting to all his bravery and aplomb, Grisha tends to be cocky and in short supply of friends. He is a lone striker. He does not take all that much time to listen and his imperial style has earned him a nickname – Grisha of All Russians, the title exclusively reserved for Russian Emperors on all other occasions. The resulting loneliness made Grisha appreciate my company all the more. At first, slightly resentful of his brash manners, I got to feel for the guy. Not many friends, even in the church, no relatives with his mother dying of cancer back in Uzbekistan and a jealous wife who drove him crazy with less than sensible phone calls. So in addition to being his transit guide, translator and educator, I also tried to give him some counselling advice and prayer support.
The one thing we shared for sure is that we are both immeasurably cheap. In fact, Grisha is probably the first person who actually beat me to it. And given his dependence on social assistance and his fully funded status during the Jews for Jesus campaign, including his round trip ticket from the home base in Hannover, he refused to even spend 80 cents on a cup of cheap coffee. Since I did not want to keep the coffee all to myself, I ended up becoming the purveyor and the creditor of his highness – mind you, he was always grateful for a freebie. On weekends, we usually did not get all the meals provided for us. Instead we got 5E for lunch money. Grisha pounced on the opportunity to save a penny. He patiently waited a whole week for this with scrumptious foretaste in his mouth. His chance for a magical 2E kebab eventually came true. He thoroughly enjoyed shaved Turkish meat and pocketed the overflowing abundance of 3E. I was not far behind…
On our last walk from the campaign trail back to the Judenghaus, Grisha confided in me that Avi had offered him a full time job with Jews for Jesus, which would entail his move to Essen – about three hundred kilometres away from his current location. His wife is categorically opposed to the idea since her baselessly jealous nature can hardly sustain any of his absences from home. It saddens me, as he could be so effective in preaching of the gospel and can only pray that the harmony and sense would once again set him on the fiery of full-time ministry. Let God’s will be done…
Keith and Ira – Inspiring Souls
On few outings, an Englishman Keith joined Grisha and me – and it was an honour. The stooping statute of this biblical warrior bespoke of his age. But his frail frame and weakening grasp were somewhat deceiving as his unlikely vigour, an incredibly bright and optimistic faith, produced fruit in abundance. Though He came to the campaign with his cute wife Molly for just about one week, he left a lasting impression on many of us. Despite his old age, which he persistently refused to disclose, he managed to consistently distribute many more leaflets and talk to more people than many. He had a peculiar habit when giving out the literature. While most of us would be distributing one kind of tract at a time, just as they came in batches of one hundred. Keith would hold a few different ones at the same time trying to tailor each one to how he saw fit, he also made sure that he had tracts in languages other than German. This made him very effective. His radiant personality, underlined by his warm and friendly smile, made many feel welcome and comfortable in their own skin.
Since retiring many years ago after a high school teaching career, he and Molly spend much of their time in active preaching at home and abroad. They usually could be found street campaigning at their hometown of Markham in Lancashire, just about on every Saturday. Keith is also very active preaching at various sports events, especially soccer - just another reason to feel my affinity for him. He has even single-handedly written and published special tracts for soccer crowds. I could only hope to imitate some of his energy and zeal for the Lord. The energy that propelled him to carry the full day’s load despite the interdiction by Avi to go out only for half a day!
The other person who sometimes joined us was Ira. Originally from Ukraine, she has spent the past six years with her family in Germany. These years have not been all that kind to her as she had to deal with a brain tumour and has spent much time between the hospital and seclusion in the family home. As a result of this and despite being in the just her early thirties, she has not been able to master even very little of German. She usually gets tired very quickly and could only spent half a day working on the campaign trail. Nevertheless, she gave all the energy she had to the task. Feeling very uncomfortable with German, she instead used Russian please word “pozhaluysta” when giving out the tracts. At first amused by the move, I later caught on to its genius nature. All non-Russian speakers took the tracts anyway mistaking “pozhaluysta” for anything in their language, while any Russian could not be mistaken and if prompted could engage Ira in the only language she could use – truly child like simplicity turned wisdom upside down.
Street Conversion - Tamar Style
I decided to share my impressions of Tamar just to make a note of what it is all about - diversity. You see, while Christians should always centre their thoughts and actions on Jesus, they can take various routes to get there. While under the Lordship of Christ we are not just clones of one another, but rather different parts of the same body – fulfilling various functions while serving one ultimate purpose!
From early in the campaign, this full time worker of Jews for Jesus distinguished herself by leaving a number of conversions in her wake. Her gregarious and youthful personality certainly lent her a great deal of confidence coupled with her uni-lingual approach. I have to confess that many English speakers get an easy pass in this world, without ever trying any other language. When you meet someone who does not even remotely speak English, the conversation is over in a very short order and no hard feelings linger – no fumbling with foreign grammar or mentally scrolling through rows of lexicon. And when you do meet someone who speaks at least little English, you always have an upper hand of a native speaker. In other words one is nearly always a winner. So there is no guilt of skipped lessons, pangs of fading memory and lack of phonetic clarity – a perfect prescription for perpetual bliss! Tamar was an unabashed user of English without even a hint of interest in anything German. So whenever she met a person amicable to the topic of Jesus, she plunged right into a five-step conversion procedure. She did it with an incredible zest of an herbal remedy salesman on TV infomercials. Usually, having an advantage in the language department, Tamar preferred instant conversions to “I will think about it”. The stories of Cornelius and Ethiopian eunuch serve as my inspiration, and call me to serve as a tool for the searching. The story of emboldened disciples on the day of Pentecost calling for a massive conversion is certainly Tamar’s cup of tea.
One day, I got to witness her work first hand, when we were assigned to the famous Sony centre on one evening sortie. Since it is a private property, we could not take advantage of the moment by distributing our leaflets. Instead, we plunged into the multitudes milling around many restaurants and cinemas, just looking for an open person. Tamar would speak to anyone, while I lingered in indecision. She called for conversion even before knowing one’s name when I wanted to have more of a connection first. She spoke to at least five people exclusively in English. I engaged one Michael of Lubeck in a long and deep theological discussion in German - same, apparently fruitless, results. We parted together firmly set in our own ways. It is great that there is diversity in the body of God. Nothing is impossible for the Lord. But minute-made conversions of strange people, on strange streets with basically no follow-up, just do not fit all that well in my comprehension of things – but who am I to judge. Instead I am just happy to have served…
Shop Around the Corner
I must have passed this place at least forty times, only to really notice it on my last visit to Jerusalem Gemeinde. This was a typical knick-knack shop, one of thousands strewn around the city centre. It was located right at the gate to the courtyard where Jerusalem Gemeinde found its home.
This shop is run by a couple of Russian guys, one of whom claims to be a very devout and profound Orthodox while the other is a non-religious Jew. They both got the drift of what was going around them when they started seeing us in Jews for Jesus T-shirts. While the Jewish guy did not take it in any way hostile and was rather cordial to some of our numbers visiting his establishment, the devout Orthodox type took it rather painfully to say the least. His interpretation of Jews for Jesus made him think of us as members of some newly created half-baked religion/cult. In fact, every chance he got he would berate our appearance and get pretty close to violence. In a typically Russian way, he would get very personal and offensive rather quickly regardless of whether his sparsely visited shop had any patrons or not. Some of the most persuasive members of our group, most notably jovial Borya, tried to bring some sense into the conversation and tell him who we actually were. All in vain, as our nebulous station in his slightly confused point of reference somewhere between fish and meat, Torah and Christ, made him all the more violent and intemperate in his language. Needless to say, after a couple of weeks nobody bothered to engage him in a conversation. To be honest though, this whole situation entirely escaped my attention until my very last visit.
My last day working the phones at Jerusalem Gemeinde was not going that well. Exhausted from the previous two and a half weeks, ready for a trip home, mentally I was not the sharpest pencil in the drawer that night. So instead of continuing to pound the phones, I took a refreshing walk around the block, sort of in a mindless search for some trinkets that I could take home. This shop, I passed many times before without much of a notice, did caught my eye that evening. It was lonely despite passing crowds and its keeper bode his time by sucking on yet another cigarette by its entrance. A tinge in my heart led me inside – it might have been just a sense of sympathy to support a lonely shopkeeper or it could have been Holy Spirit moving – I cannot tell, but the outcome was the most remarkable.
Since I was wearing a Jews for Jesus T-shirt, our Orthodox critic did duly proceed to make accusations and calling me names even despite my courtesy of buying a couple of post cards at his less than flourishing establishment. I guess he was triggered by my less than perfect Berliner accent. Despite my calm attempts at reasoning and dialogue, his tirades became more violent with every passing second. He did not even care that there were other customers in the store. My typical response to such abuse could have been twofold – either leaving the premises right away, or giving this guy a piece of my mind in the most unequivocal terms. Instead an unbelievable calm settled over me, it was like I was just floating on the calm seas without a care in the world. I just kept browsing and making rather polite retorts to his verbal arrows. After few minutes of this one-way match, I, seeing the impasse nature of the situation, started sidling up to the exit sign.
Suddenly he asked – “Have you been baptised?” – “Yes” I said.
“Mmm…, interesting” – for the first time he stumbled in his tracks – “Do you believe that Jesus is the Son of God”. My next “Yes” brought on another yet quieter question.
“Do you believe in Trinity” – sounded almost sheepish.
Seemingly struck be my palpably predictable answer, his hard features and tight posture of a panther on the hunt slackened, and gave way to something that starkly resembled an embarrassed politician at his resignation press conference. And believe me, people like that are not easily embarrassed.
“You are just like me” – was almost inaudible. He then stumbled into a non-ebbing flow of apologies, he repeated them time and again, as if committed some mortal sin against me.
“Please forgive me. I did not know that you Jews for Jesus were just like fellow Protestants. I am sorry for anything I have said in the last few minutes, I take all back” – he said almost tearfully.
Despite being a representative of a simpler religion, as compared to the gold plated Orthodoxy with its bearded attendants and ever-obsequious laity, I insisted on the unnecessary nature of his heartfelt apologies, as I was only happy to see him change his opinion. I even confirmed my words with a further purchase of few trinkets for which I got an unasked-for discount. We parted nearly as brothers and I can only hope that this encounter could lead to his better understanding of not just Jews for Jesus, but of God. Hallelujah! Now I know that this could not have happened without the intervention of the Holy Spirit. All I had to do was just being patient and keep giving the same simple one-word answer – “Yes”.
Hertha Berlin – Ball Keeps Rolling
Early in my stay, I attempted to line up my chances of seeing yet another professional soccer game. If successful, this one would likely be better than one in Vienna due to the superior status of German Bundesliga. To my dismay, during my entire local stay I only had a single chance of watching a game and that game was to happen on Saturday right in the middle of the campaign. Since Saturdays were just regular campaign days, my chances were limited. Fortunately, on the day before, our schedule was slightly changed and I had about a three hour window within which to accomplish a trip to the stadium. Now considering the travel time I could only hope to catch the second half.
Nonetheless undeterred, right after an early afternoon sortie, I sprinted to the nearest U-Bahn Station. The first sounds at the destination platform I heard, were wild cheering sounds of a substantial crowd, the second half just started and local blue clad favourites were ahead by a goal. And all this commotion in more than a kilometre away, the distance I mostly ran. Despite my late arrival, I was forced to make an unpleasant choice of buying a full-priced ticket. Luckily, the tradition of crazy cheap sections was not broken here and my meagre outlay of 10E was well worth it. Unlike the 20,000 seat Horr stadium in Vienna, the Olympic Stadium in Berlin is one of the soccer giants with seating capacity somewhere around 75,000. In addition, there is no special access barrier keeping the crazies away, like it is done in Austria. So I was able to quietly drift past the overflowing cheap section behind the home goal to some seats of better view and value. I was so immensely happy when I first came upon a whole cluster of empty seats – a true gift to someone not possessing matching tickets in this monster. Much better than at home – where just trying it on a sell-out day in the GM Place and you might find out potentially embarrassing encounters with security. Here everywhere around was wild excitement, the native were restless and nobody seemed to care. These seats were just there, up for grabs – what luck!
Well, it took me only few seconds to discover the secret of the empty seats – a huge roof supporting column stuck right in my view obstructing at least a quarter of the field. Turns out that there is not free lunch after all - imagine that! I had to move to slightly cosier and a little less save confines of the crowd. Eventually, I settled to see a European sports spectacle offered by the famed German Bundesliga.
On that day, the place was about three-quarters full and the crazies section was filled to the brim including thousands constantly waving flags and scarves with occasional sparks of fireworks. This stadium has a running track hence requiring less vigilance in the fire protection department, as some fireworks harmlessly ended up on the track, to the delight of many on as well as off the field. Not to overstate though, this zest for fireworks in Berlin pales drastically in comparison with those in Rome or Milan.
A section on the opposing end of the stadium predictably belonged to the fans of the opposing team – Eintracht Frankfurt. Their numbers, flags and songs were completely drowned in the roar of the blue. Their team on the field hardly did any better buckling under waves of local attacks led by the home team‘s new acquisition with a striking peroxide hairdo – a Brazilian named Marcelihno. Helped by his unsurpassed display of flair and panache, Hertha Berlin won the game by the score of two to zero. The locals went wild.
And here the real and unusual spectacle began. While the defeated Frankfurt team slowly trotted to the stands with their fans to thank them for support before promptly leaving the field, the Hertha personnel did something I had never seen before. Anywhere in the world, a home game, emotional or not, brings some acknowledgement to the home fans. English tend to clap their hands and leave, uncouth Russians sometimes just leave, Brazilians might not leave at all. Whatever happens is usually accomplished in a sort of free willing fashion – here in the former world’s capital of order it is not.
At first, celebrations started in usual haphazard fashion when one player on the winning side made a rogue run to the edge of the moat that separated the running track from the frenzied crowd. He took his shirt and catapulted it into the seats, with miserable results mind you, as it ended up in the lifeless moat – he should have hit the gym the day before!
The brash manners of the rogue runner were soon forgotten, as the whole team orderly marched to the edge of the moat. The crowd of crazies numbering at least 20,000 went positively wild with chants and frantic flag waving. One of them climbed on some sort of pre-installed soap box. He also had a microphone that carried his voice far up the stands announcing the beginning of a peculiar “church” service. He launched into his sermon and the whole crowd behaved like one with well-rehearsed chants and motions that including unsettling unison jumps that some seismic shocks to ripple through the stadium. To my great surprise the message was not lost on the players themselves, who started their “jump, raise your hands and bow” routine that was just as orderly and well-rehearsed. This went on for at least five minutes with a set of climactic wild bows delivered by the whole team. Then all players sat down on the track facing the raging crowd while the crazies, at the behest of the sop box mounted choirmaster, began to serenade their beloved with many a song. This went on for another ten minutes while cameras projected tearful faces, fans and players alike, on the huge stadium screen. It was surreal, amusing and stupid – it is just a soccer game for Pete’s sake.
Well, eventually everyone found the exit door, but not before one last loud battle-cry that sent the tired and happy footballers to the dressing room - Gatorade for them and beer for the rest.
Despite my initial reluctance and timidity, my courage gradually returned. I even decided to show the folks what it was all about by donning my blue Jews for Jesus T-shirt. At first apprehensive about this bold move, I remembered to put my faith first and not to worry about consequences in these potentially hostile surroundings. Nothing happened praise the Lord, besides taking in yet another dose of history that this place clearly conveyed in all its grandeur.
As mentioned before, there are very few reminders of Nazi architecture that are still in existence around Berlin – Olympic Stadium is one of them. It was built for the 1936 Olympics that were supposed to serve as a showcase of Aryan racial superiority and athletic dominance. Although the stadium has changed since then, including the roof over the stands that boasts those huge and intruding columns; original construction still constitutes the bulk of the structure. Despite very jovial atmosphere inside the arena with the blue painted track and happy fans, the outside bares its history ossified in the ominous and grim concrete exterior. The exterior is complemented by other former Olympic venues including a swimming pool and a huge grassy field that served as the venue for opening ceremonies and some other famous Nazi parades afterwards. Huge amounts of money were poured into these impressive structures to celebrate sinister ideas of Third Reich. The grassy marching field includes a set of huge statutes of men stilled in various wild horse taming acts – a Nazi idea of demise of the Sovereign God – man tramples nature. The opposite and inaccessible end of the field houses large granite stands so reminiscent to some who have seen the footage of infamous Nuremberg parades. This stand used to contain an additional parade stand named “Hitler’s Stand”. Understandably, it was dismantled shortly after the war. In fact the access to the whole field is off limits – I guess otherwise it would be too much of a temptation for Neo Nazis.
Berlin’s current generations do not seem to hide from sometimes ugly past, as there are a number of information boards with lots of names and photographs. The main gates to the Stadium celebrate the architectural achievement and the generous funding role of the federal government, on the other side the names of Olympic winners are etched in granite. And this is probably the most interesting story that originated here. Remember, the Olympic Games of 1936 were supposed to uphold Nazi racial ideals. Instead, the indisputable hero of the games was African American Jessie Owens, who won four gold medals in all sprint events and long jump. Apparently, after his first two victories, Hitler was already sufficiently put out to say the least. However, the climax came during the long jump competition when Jessie Owens defeated Hitler’s favourite named Lutz who was, of course, expected to win. The Fuhrer of the people could not countenance the outcome and stormed off in rage leaving to his subordinates the grim task of hanging the gold medal on the black man’s neck. To my photographic delight the etched history echoed – Jessie Owens, Jessie Owens, Jessie Owens…
Potsdam – Sheer Grandeur
On my last full day in Berlin, I first explored the vast Tiergarten (Animal Park), which is despite its name has nothing to do with a Zoo, it is just a vast and in places well landscaped park right in the middle of this great city. Given its size, I figured that spending about an hour running around could be the most effective exploratory mode.
At first, I ran right across the whole park to the opposite side of where we stayed to visit so called Diplomatic Quarter. Although very close to many popular tourist sites, this part of town breezes air of serenity and calmness – so apropos to the aloof world of diplomacy. My main targets were the Italian and Japanese Embassies that were built in 1930s in the spirit of Albert Speer – Hitler’s favourite architect. The buildings of both embassies did not disappoint. While both represent solemn and somewhat depressing exacting lines of Nazi neo classic style, the Italians attempted to liven up the atmosphere with glowing stucco exterior that exudes Tuscan warmth on the rainiest of days. The Japanese counterpart displayed much less jovial nature – its grey and imposing exterior is hardly softened by magnificent trees that surround the building. Consequently, I was only delighted to confirm some self-derived truth - buildings can tell quite a story when it comes to some aspects of national character, even if dressed in the stray jacket of ideological planners.
On the way back, I lingered around a huge Soviet was memorial complete with two T-34 tanks that purportedly were the first ones to enter Berlin in 1945. This monument is an interesting story in itself. Upon conquering Berlin, the embittered and embattled Soviets were looking to make amends for the horrible war. The tide was in their favour and they did bungle the opportunity. After quickly dismantling the ominous Hitler’s Chancellery on the infamous Voss Strasse, they used mounds of its granite and marble material to erect this monument just three months after the end of the war. Forget about bread, butter and peace. Monuments are much better propaganda tools; did they no tell you this in school? An official opening took place in August of 1945. The monument contains some photographs of the dedication ceremony depicting brand spanking new marble columns with completely smashed dome of the destroyed Reichstag on the background. The Emperor is dead - long live the Emperor!
After the morning chapel, I jumped on the train to Potsdam, the site of yet another WWII conference - this one dealing with governance over the rubble left in the wake of the defeated enemy. Held between the inseparable suspects – Russians, Americans, English and of course French – the event is known as one of the key events of the previous century.
After the division of Germany, Potsdam ended up in the Soviet sector. Hence, it boasts just about any architectural achievement that echoes of ideology and power. It, sort of, ails under a multiple personality disorder with its diverse sights that include immense Soviet style apartment blocks prominently featured on tourist bus routes. Short for time, I did not bother to attend just another reminder of my youth. Instead I decided to give a thorough look to the older parts and there were many. The first stop was Nikolai Kirche and the old Rathaus – OOPS, slight disappointment – too much construction and 70s architecture around. The next stop looked much more promising – the Dutch quarter. Anticipating just a handful of Dutch looking brownstones, I discovered rows upon rows of these neat, straight and aesthetically pleasing buildings that culminate in a large square with its very own impressive Dutch looking church. Market stalls, cafes and restaurants surrounded the place very much in a Biblical tradition – remember Jesus driving the money changes from the Tempe grounds?
Through the old ornate city gates and I am strolling along a beautiful wide boulevard that lustfully pines for more certain times of Keiser Wilhelm. The street looked so calm and regal – I almost expected to see a charge of cavalry turning every next corner very shortly. I was slowly inching to the ultimate place of interest – Sans Souci Palace (place of no care for challenged in French). There were some notable delights on the way. For example, just to emphasise its independence from its rival Berlin, this place displays its own version of Brandenburg Gate. Although smaller in scale, it is older and maintains its own dignity quite well – just like an old scrunched up aged soldier still holding his hand up in a proud military solute to the Emperor and “We are not your suburb!” gesture to visiting Berliners.
Over the last few years, Potsdam has become home to numerous immigrants from the former Soviet Union. Given this proliferation everything Russian here, Jews for Jesus has started their work here with assistance of some local churches. On this day, one such church together with some guys from Jews for Jesus decided to hold an open-air meeting equipped with a band and a literature stand. The place was just perfect, as the square in the front of the Brandenburg Gate was just jammed with tourists and locals alike. First, a couple words about two Jews for Jesus workers who both came from distinctly atheistic background and made their decisions for the Lord much later in life than most of us. Now in the late forties and earlier fifties they served as full time workers with Jews for Jesus.
On of them – Grisha Furman, is a big burly man, originally hails from western parts of Ukraine. Some time in the late sixties he enrolled into one of the most prestigious Soviet film schools and with time became rather well known young, up and coming, film director. At the same time he was involved with some dissident groups that protested acts of power usurpation by Communist government in Moscow. As a result, he had to leave the country and after a short stint in Israel, he ended up in New York. There he started another successful career of export trader that brought him loads of money and much recognition in the local community. However, the most important piece in his life was still missing – Jesus. He met Jesus in the mid 90s and almost immediately decided to dedicate the rest of his life two full-time service. Despite the attraction of riches, he chose the life of a servant instead. Admirable!
The other person – Nikolai, came to the campaign from grim and the most totalitarian Eastern European regime – Belorussia of Mr. Lukashenka. I could only imagine with what potential dangers one has to deal with in his country where people of dissent still disappear on rather regular basis. Let along doing the work of the Lord in the open, where legal status of any church gathering hardly fits prevailing laws. Nikolai is also disabled with a very heavy limp and rather low physical endurance. Despite these challenges he managed to endure the rigorous of the campaign with stoic face and joyful disposition – he was one of many who gave me example and inspiration when I felt tired and depleted.
While the church service was still about two hours away, I decided to take a stroll through the lush gardens around Sans Souci Palace, previously called home by many Prussian kings. Now it is accessible to anyone in search of inspiration and quiet solitude. The first structure in my sights was a Romanesque church and a beautiful reflecting pond that hugged the front of the edifice and the Roman style portico garden in the back. It felt so warm in the welcome of ochre colours of authenticity – I closed my eyes and just imagined being in the midst of a serene setting somewhere in Tuscany or Umbria. Feeling relaxed and Italian, I proceeded in search of the main palace. On through quiet hedge lined paths, I suddenly emerged into a small sun lit square that led to the magnificent fountain ensemble whose evoking baroque forms called everyone’s attention to the lofty waves of the cascading gardens crowned with the beautiful Sans Souci Palace. To get to the palace, I walked up the stairs that led through the garden cascades. These were simple and ingenious in their presentation with each subsequent wall of the cascade repeating its preceding counterpart – same height, with grape vines covering multitudes of ornate faux doors that lead to invisible rooms. Very simple and yet extremely intricate and exhilarating, as it lends almost soaring like quality to the one-story baroque wonder on the very top of the hill.
The rest of the huge park did not fail to deliver either. Its architecture is incredibly diverse, as it displays golden dragons of the Chinese Pavilion, another huge classical looking palace and a myriad of small summer pavilions and palaces scattered all over this vast estate. Over the years though, Italian schemes seem to have had the most architectural impact. In addition to the church, the estate also boasts an authentic looking Tuscan farm and a replica of ancient Roman baths. The Teutonic Kaisers seem to have fancied themselves descendants of Roman glory ruling over hordes of dirty vandals.
Tired and in need of a cold bottle of water, I emerged from the shadows cast by Italian villas and baroque indulgence to meet my friends right in the middle of their open air service. I have to admit that these brothers and sisters serve us all as an incredible example of dedication to the service in the Lord. Remember that only very few Germans consider themselves Bible believing Christians. Hence, preaching of the gospel is an uphill road that cannot be easy and glorious in the best of times. And yet they shed any personal preferences, timidity and shyness when they come out on the street jammed with materialism and indifference to proclaim the name of the Lord. They faithfully conduct open-air services without multitudes of supporters and preach the Word facing passing crowds. Some just walk on, some stop for a minute or two, some stop and listen and yet some commit their life to the Lord. There is always a harvest time. Seeing this fearless and unabashed service, I wished that I would carry this spirit all the way home…
While I was standing around and listening to the service, a local pastor came up to me and asked to give my testimony. A hard enough task for a timid type in any case, he asked me to do it in German. Despite my weak protestations, his friendly smile and example of others gave me courage. This was going to be my first exercise in public speaking in German. By the will of the Holy Spirit who put right words in my mouth it went without a hitch and everyone around seemed to understand my accented delivery. I was very excited in this affirming experience. My excitement was short lived however, as the Lord decided to elevate his test requirements, as I was asked to translate Nikolai’s testimony from Russian into German. Here was another thing I have never done in public and yet the Lord gave me wisdom and strength – now I was on cloud nine. It seemed like the Lord was slapping me on the shoulder in encouragement and exhortation.
Going Home
Through the Potsdam station that offered a curious and entertaining display named “Camping in East Germany” and with a package of presents for the family, I was on my last trip back to Berlin. After many an emotional farewell I left the city in the sleepy foggy morning. My quick three-hour stopover in Vienna turned out to be yet another exercise in my beloved blitz tourism, as instead of bidding few boring hours in the airport, I dashed to the city centre just to imbibe few more minutes of its charms. With that successful, I indulged in the last bit of European pleasures by acquiring two decent bottles of Italian wine and two half-litter cans of local Viennese beer for a total price of $6CAD – who says Europe is expensive? Frazzled from yet another stop-over in Heathrow, full of memories, renewed spirit and anticipating the joys of family reunion with my dear family – I fell into a happy sleep to the monotone of roaring engines taking me back home – Canada!
Herr Buege – Shadows of Sun King
In purchasing a monthly transit pass, I happily decided not to be constrained by any lack of serendipity. I was going to be here for three weeks hence the behaviour of a local was more fitting than clueless enquiries so common of quick tourist adventures. Having made a deliberate choice of eschewing any sort of questions, I boldly proceeded down the maze of the local transit network with only a vague idea of my first port of call – apartments run by a very laconic Herr Buege. Missing the place by only one U-Bahn (underground) stop, I quickly located the desired spot on the quiet Ravenestrasse.
Herr Buege was not around, so his helping hand (Frau X) quickly installed me in a huge two-bedroom unit overlooking a green-filled inner courtyard. After brief unpacking efforts in my underwear, I was ready to give myself a treat of a shower only to be interrupted by a loud thud on the front door. Frau X paled expression gave me some discomfort. You see, Herr Buege in the course of his brief e-mail correspondences tended to reveal only the essentials – hello (spelt with A – North German style), floor plan and price. Since the price for all floor plans was the same, I was not too alarmed to be installed in these plush quarters. I guess Frau X was of the same opinion. Alas, her angst-ridden explanation betrayed an imminent arrival of his majesty – the landlord himself. It did not take long, as soon to be arriving Spaniards were about to descend on all nooks and crannies of my comfortable arrangement.
Herr Buege turned out to be a true personification of greyness and could have successfully substituted for Richelieu or Mazarini in musty pre-Versailles days of the French Empire. His receding fiftyish hairline, bent posture, beady eyes complemented by powerless chin failed to deceive on the account of his determination. My single presence in these lush quarters was a definitive nuisance to his summer revenue projections and he came to set things straight. He quickly pulled out his magic booking sheet, which clearly trumped any proof I managed to produce with copies e-mail communications in hand. By now tired and frazzled, I was terrified to discover that my name was completely missing from the Herr Buege holy script. I guess my booking fee of 30E paid three months in advance through a connection in Berlin was not a guarantee of commitment. Previously the experience exclusively reserved for dealing with fast disappearing common con folk at street fairs, the place was now firmly occupied by some Berlin landlords. Herr Buege unlike other holy men was in the business of taking and not giving. After few minutes of pointless protestations on my part, Herr Buege was in the position to offer a rather large studio with a tiny ante-room that housed a metallic baby crib of a pre-war standard to remind me of my dear family back home. I exhaled a sigh of momentary relief!
All things would have been great had this ground floor abode had been available for my entire and presumably pre-booked three weeks. Alas, it was only a week and I had to settle for 50E extra – this robber baron was shooting holes through all my defences. At least, he promised to figure something out in his nearly incomprehensible Berliner vernacular.
Dismayed but not deterred, I quickly found a nearby grocery supermarket that offered all attractions of European markets without a North American price tag. Slightly relieved I stocked up on just about any delicacy in sight – an abundance of fish and meat products marinated in mayonnaise supplemented by a litre-sized jar of first rate polish pickles at only 0.55E. Europe did not fail to deliver – contrary to some misconceptions it could be remarkably cheap as long as one bothers to find a supermarket and does not settle for fast food – 40E per person per week is ample. Nourished and exhausted I sunk into a deep mid day dreams - new adventures lied ahead.
Visiting the Past
Despite all my local bravado, I quickly resorted to using the Lonely Planet Berlin guide as my foremost point of reference. On my first night, I decided to hit it in the bull’s eye – Potsdamer Platz. This very remarkable spot lives on despite years of neglect and confrontation. Having served as one of the focal points of the pre-war Berlin, its metropolitan ambience was later obliterated and served as the most famous no-men’s land along the famed wall. When the wall finally fell, the place was just one giant barren field. Now after fifteen years after reunification it serves as an epicentre of new Germany – young, brash, multi-lingual and heavily unemployed. The place sprung back to life surrounded by glittery, uniquely shaped high-rises, extremely busy Sony centre and of all places – the Canadian embassy. In fact, the warm feeling of seeing red and white was evoked as soon as I emerged from the train station – I was not alone! In addition, to these modern delights the place also offered a good history lesson with one of the best remaining and duly painted chunks of the Berlin wall still standing right in the middle of the square. Numerous photos and narration complement the exhibit. The latter, to my endless delight, was entirely in German. One has to really admire Europeans when they trample all political correctness and proceed to use their natural instincts – screw the EU politeness, French sensitivity and Italian ignorance. Consequently, signs and announcements in various locales and events do not necessarily subscribe to a certain protocol – instead tri-lingual Belgium airlines Sabina unabashedly makes all its announcements in English, while key historic sites of global significance in Berlin or Vienna tend exclusively to the proud descendants of Teutons.
A number of tempting tourist options did not deter from the most natural route – a walk to Brandenburg Gate and Reichstag. While covering the half-mile track I came upon one of the biggest Holocaust memorials in the world. This one was just recently erected and covers at least an equivalent of three to four acres right in the heart of Berlin! The poignant sight presented hundreds of black marble memorial tombs covering the entire area. Upon closer inspection, these globs of marble while reaching to approximately uniform common elevation were of dramatically differing depths with some reaching ten to twelve feet down creating a myriad of dark and deep alleyways in the heart of the monument. It was like a bizarre, windowless and frightening city of black buildings that got taller and taller the further into the monument one walked – extremely sobering and thoroughly contemplative experience. The further in, the harder it is to get out; it engulfs you completely, extinguishing all surrounding life, bustling and busy. Here reason and common sense give way to unending avalanche of fear and madness. Very powerful!
Eventually finding my way out of this terrifying maze, I emerged to face the famed Brandenburg Gate. Despite the seemingly unending construction all around, the grandiose bulk topped with illustrious chariot-riding maiden did not disappoint. It surely serves not only as the focal point of history but also as a natural barrier between relative tranquillity of woods afforded by the vast Tier Garten and glamorous Unter der Linden. The latter is very impressive as it starts with a large square that after 300 yards narrows to flow into the most beautiful street in Berlin. Although short in distance – probably about a mile – it is by no means short on attractions or overall expensive appeal provided by the wide boulevard that occupies its middle with traffic flowing on both sides. This magnificent pedestrian boulevard while occupied by small cafes and newsstands remained surprisingly deserted while the flanking sidewalks were bustling at the seams with perpetual tourist hordes. The main reason was that one of the key sections of the boulevard next to the famed Adlon hotel was closed for an S-Bahn station construction. Once finished this street could compete with the best of them, evoking its rather non-Germanic charms. The street owes its uniqueness to its French looks – just imagine Champs Elysses or National Mall in Washington DC in the middle of the Kaiser Empire. Not surprisingly, French embassy is featured prominently here, just a kitty corner from the Adlon – we are all friends now!
Walking down the street took me to the old memory lane of my own. Having consumed an inordinate amount of WWII stories, I could not help but feel these stories come back to life - mostly through names of crossing streets and city districts. The very name of Unter der Linden was very familiar since it had housed various Moscow-sent envoys for nearly two centuries with the expected gap between 1941 and 1945. After the war, the conquering Soviets would not settle for an old monument of conciliation that survived the war. Instead, on its old spot, they built a grandiose symbol of conquest. This one still dominates a whole city block. Now under the new banner of Russian Federation it still, to my particular delight, displays old Stalinist relics of hammer and sickle. While walking around this gigantic granite display of power I even managed to find a goodly sized profile of Lenin etched in stone for ages to come (hopefully). In fact, Germans seem to be rather tolerant of many symbols pointing to the unsavoury past. History needs to be remembered - forgetting is not an option.
Apart from embassies, cafes and trinket shops, the street heaves with luxury of first rate stores. One block houses a complete indoor auto mall. While most of the stores are just shiny and super clean versions of North American car establishments, one surely stood head and shoulders above the rest. It mostly offered temptations of scrumptious delights crammed into very slick Bentley and Rolls Roys machines. You could walk around and even sit inside these prodigies of luxurious living. You could find any sort information needed for a discerning buyer except one key aspect – the price! It seems that having to ask might automatically disqualify a careful dream builder. Just feet away, the place also displayed Buggatti of the Italian fame. This one mounted on a rotating display was off l limits – looking was the only option. The silvery grandeur of Bentleys turned awkward and worn-out in the sparkly side reflections of this specimen. Later I could not help but try to find out a likely price for one these – a tidy $1.5 million if on sale…
Emboldened by my progress alone the history lane I took a bus to the heart of East Berlin – Alexander Platz. Despite the surrounding construction that never seems to end, large crowds and general haphazard nature of the place – this is probably the most interesting spot in the whole of Berlin. On the west side of the station there is a plethora of reminders pointing to pre-war glories with old crooked stone-paved streets, spired churches and Berlin Rathaus (City Hall). These are intermingled with new shopping complexes, a nice park and East Berlin TV tower that used to thrust old Soviet propaganda high into the sky. The latter was of course erected to proclaim the message of materialism and atheism, instead as soon as it was erected people noticed that any time sun reflected in the round glass-covered core of the tower – an image of the cross would appear – they called it Pope’s revenge. We might call it glory of Jesus.
The east side of the station is unmistakable – you have just taken a time machine back to the 70s somewhere in the USSR. I felt an acute sense of nostalgia churning inside. I just walked into my youth adorned with featureless rows of nine-story concrete blobs, wide unremarkable avenues and large squares with no meaning, descriptor or uniqueness. In fact, the main artery rushing from Alexander Platz in the direction of Stalin inspired architectural delights is still fittingly christened Karl Marx Allee. It used to be called Stalin Allee before the ominous name fell into disrepute in the early 60s. In any case, this was a heavy stifling gust from the past – a highly recommended adventure for any curious soul. Well, enough for the day, I still had almost two full days before the Jews for Jesus campaign was to start and I intended to continue filling up to the brim with memory juggling history walks, good local coffee and mayonnaise saturated herring.
Spandau and Wannsee – Ominous Beauty
A transit pass in Berlin is fantastic as it gives you an easy hassle-free opportunity to taste many city delights that tend to be scattered all over the map. So when the next morning I felt an urge to try something quaint and calming – I had my choices. You see, the crowd effects of the central Berlin were bearing their unnerving weight on my peaceful soul. To fight back I boarded the train to Spandau that promised to give some momentary peace inevitably mingled with its darker past. The sleepy town once served as the last enduring abode for Rudolf Hess – one of the closest, oldest and most fervent Hitler buddies. He was the last surviving part of the Nuremberg trial bunch and lived well into his 90s. He died in Spandau in 1987. After the demise of its last customer, Spandau prison was demolished to resist any renewed attempts by neo-nazis to create some sort of a shrine. In addition, the demolition has brought more calm and much desired obscurity to this quaint Berlin suburb dating back centuries. Once there, my tired feet were only too happy to be content with a lonely bench placed in shadows cast by the six hundred-year old church – good coffee, fresh breeze and a German novel were all what doctor ordered.
The next stop Wannsee - a beautiful spot with a darker side once more – you get the drift. Reinhard Heydrich held the infamous Wahnsee conference here in 1942. This meeting dealt with some key implementation points of the Final Solution – simple and chilling misnomer for Holocaust. Today this place hardly bears any obvious reminders of its murky past instead it lives to its reputation as a plush lake-side Berlin suburb. Having arrived at the lakeside I discovered two piers – one served by a private tour operator offering 45-minute lake tours for something like 10E while the other was a regular city boat stop that was a part of the transportation network. My pass was still valid and the choice was easy to make. Having waived to the tourist suckers I joined the locals on the ride to the beautiful lakeside town of Kradlow. The ride was just great as it took us along mansion-strewn shores and people-infested beaches with a full complement of boisterous school children onboard. While their loud exclamations caused some grief among elderly passengers I totally enjoyed the banter of these little tykes who despite their early age already spoke fluent German – imagine that!
Kradlow turned out to be just a cosy little sleepy spot similar to what White Rock must have been like fifty years ago minus the railway tracks. Quietly lapping gentle lake waters landed right on the doorstep of perfectly landscaped gardens, well maintained villas and picturesque leafy streets. The quaint tourist area offered a couple of very appealing restaurants and a small comfortable looking hotel. I wandered around, basking in the tranquillity of the place and recharging to deal with little madness that is central Berlin. So close and yet so far…
Back in the City
Once back in Berlin I had no time to waste – the history had to be attended to. Berlin is a lot like Rome and other great old cities. The reminders of historic events of varying significance spring up at you from all over, at times without a slightest warning. Such as the scars left by the Berlin Wall. Some most visible parts of the city such as Potsdamer Platz, Check Point Charlie and Brandenburg Gate have almost completely managed to obliterate its ugly reminders leaving only palatable morsels for measured consumption. However this is only a bright façade that obscures some more abrupt testimonials. As an example, since my arrival at the quarters of Herr Buege I wondered whether his business rules were a result of his Stassi influenced upbringing or general rules of old staunch German capitalism. To resolve this conundrum I needed to figure out whether my cosily embedded garden arrangement had been a part of either West or East Berlin. Since it was in the older part of town, it was harder to tell due to obvious absence of Soviet inspired architecture. Being in my local mode I loathed enquiring, of course. Modern maps did not appear to be entirely helpful to locate the wall either – especially considering that it never constituted a straight line. Instead I relied on chance. While walking just a few blocks from the apartment I stumbled upon a strange site as the perfectly normal street suddenly turned into a strip of overgrown wasteland that did not resemble a park or a playground. Moreover, this wild looking greenery did not inspire a single window in the whole row of adjacent buildings. It was like a blind person was trying to watch a mute movie. Suddenly, it struck me that this must have been a scar left by the wall, the concrete was gone but two opposing sides of town still refused to look one another in the eye. It is surely changing with varying speed depending on where you are in the city, but I bet it still would take years to heal physical and invisible wounds alike.
To figure out whether you are in the former East or West, one of the easiest ways to find out is to pay attention to traffic lights. East Berlin managed to retain some of its former “fun” by preserving hilarious pedestrian light-men with the green ones just hitting their stride and the red ones opening their arms as if gathering children for a kindergarten chore performance. Even after the fall of the less than funny regime in East Berlin, people decided to keep these friendly light- men alive. So if you happen to come along a regular boring traffic light, the chances are you are in West Berlin, when the funny mascot figure greets you think East.
Still pondering the past I took a train to yet another site associated with Cold War, the one that has healed much quicker and now is a striving market place peddling all kinds of Kitsch – Check Point Charlie. This famed location of daring escapes and military confrontations has been turned into one of the most visited tourist spots in the city. Needless to say that history now appears to be tightly packed into myriads of souvenir shops and stands peddling all sorts of Cold War stuff including a never-exhausting supply of small wall fragments that go anywhere from 5 to 10 E. Soviet hats, badges, epaulettes seemed to be among the hottest items. To the shame of my compatriots however the whole Kitsch Soviet trade itself has been taken over by Turks – welcome to the European Union! These bright, bursting and bristling with fast food establishments bazaar scenes are well complemented by nearly perpetual presence of four dudes dressed in respective allied uniforms, posing for paying camera-touting public – a pretty stable work. May be they should form a union with modern gladiators congregating on the daily basis around Coliseum. Among all this excitement there are still few small remaining outposts of real history such as an American guard booth and a small museum that displays some interesting relics including an original tiny VW Beetle – an escape version.
Having taken a couple of pictures I suddenly encountered a very personal reminder of my wild Soviet youth. When I was in the politically informed grade school, our class walls were adorned with a telling picture of our times – comrade Brezhnev giving a full mouth French kiss of friendship to no less esteemed comrade Hoenneker. All hilarious, very western and saucy, attributes of the picture were lost on our innocent Soviet pioneer souls. My later attempts to relate the experience were met with much incredulity and not much more. Nobody here could imagine things turn in such slobbery way. Guess what, I was finally vindicated when coming across a postcard that depicted exactly the scene. I felt the warmth of nostalgic tears welling up. Two were promptly purchased – one for posterity, the other to shock my mother in law.
Just blocks away from Check Point Charlie, I discovered a former location of German People’s Court and Gestapo. The Nazi created puppet court and its close associate secret police were two examples of the most sinister aspects of the recent German history. As such their physical existence was doomed in 1945 when Soviet entered the town. Both were erased and nothing was ever re-built on this site that later turned into a buffer border zone adjacent to the Berlin Wall. Since then the site has been a wasteland right in the heart of Berlin. Few years ago a temporary memorial was initiated here. I think there might even be some plans to build something more permanent, but for now it is a picture/story display in the open air right next to some formidable remains of the Wall. I was just as delighted to pose as a knowledgeable regular reading stories related almost exclusively in German. Even my Spanish came in handy to give perfunctory advice to some clueless Castillanos. My old obsession with certain historic personalities of the Third Reich, aptly related to the receptive Soviet audience through a goodly number of spy dramas, also paid off. Such dubious knowledge came in especially handy when perusing a set of stories dealing with the Gestapo brass, telling their lurid stories and displaying their insolent visages. I happily took a few pictures of these infamous bandits – for posterity of course…
Just across the street from the monument there is one of the very few Nazi built edifices that still exist in Berlin – Goering’s Luftwaffe (Air Force) Ministry. It is rather amazing how this huge, grey, foreboding neo-classical building that takes up a whole city block survived ruthless bombing campaigns of 1944/45. The famed sweeping Goering’s promise not to allow a single bomb to fall on the Reich proper should have probably been construed much more narrowly and dealt exclusively with his own offices. Fuhrer must have misunderstood this flamboyant pledge that seemed to lead to Goering’s precipitous fall from grace toward the end of the war. Since then place has managed to lose much of its airy menace, as it has been relatively recently re-christened as the Ministry of Finance of the unified Germany - a fitting tribute to one of the most dull, grey and yet very important governmental functions.
Jews for Jesus - Background
Enough of my sombre explorations – I came here for a different and drastically opposite purpose – to help with the first ever Jews for Jesus Campaign in Berlin. The campaign that was to be the fruit of many years of work and prayer, the campaign that was to bring together German and Jewish believers together to preach the truth about the Messiah for, perhaps, first time ever at the very heart of the country.
Jews for Jesus is an evangelistic organisation that has existed for well over thirty years. It came into existence through labours of Moshe Rosen and his wife. Many years ago being the new Jewish believers in Yeshua, they felt a drastic need for a specific kind of evangelism – Jewish evangelism. Jewish people have occupied a very special place in the heart of the living God throughout history and yet they are the only people who tend to view their very existence through a permanent prism of opposition to the greatest gift of God - the gift that is Jesus and his sacrifice on the cross. To some Jewish people the very mentioning of Jesus is an affront. And yet Christ came to earth to save all people alike – Jews first and then gentiles. The claims of the Messiah are unequivocal and call all to repentance all, regardless of race or religion. The sound of this call has fallen on many deaf years over the centuries; disproportionately so among God’s first love – the Jewish people.
Some distant and other less remote historic events have not helped the matters – the most draconian and horrific designs wrought by many an anti-Christian non-Jewish hand has been misinterpreted and misunderstood by many in the Jewish community as a sign of non-relevance of Christ and his claims to be their Messiah. Consequently, all too frequently even the most evocative evangelistic calls fall on deaf and indifferent ears of modern Jews. Hence the need for a special kind of evangelism, the one that has proven to be the most effective – Jews to Jews, redeemed to obstinate, compassionate to timid, intrepid to hostile. It is a mystery to many of non-Jewish descent but the very notion of Jesus can bring a fear of separation from who Jews really are. While gentile non-believers do not tend to see Jesus as hostile to their existence as distinct people, many Jews view his claims as contrary to their sacred expectations of the coming Messiah. While the pure massage of love, compassion and God’s solution to the ills of human race could awake many a gentile heart, Jewish souls often require a completely different approach. They are as the truest species of God’s lost sheep, needing special approach and care.
I first took a note of the ministry when I lived in New York City and was a part of the infamous Boston Church of Christ. It was a rather trying time when all too often I tended to look at the Christian world through condemning glasses of an exclusive doctrine that was the main driver behind the Boston Church phenomena. At first, seeing these silly people distributing their even sillier tracts to indifferent New York crowds struck me as a kind of pathetic and futile. My pride- infested thinking just would not go any further. Even my nominally Jewish background could hardly swerve my intrepid course then.
Years later after leaving the self-obsessed Boston movement and re-joining mainstream Christianity, I happened to be visiting New York when I was introduced to Avi Snyder – a short, skinny and electric engine behind the Jews for Jesus ministry in New York. He was very a energetic, focused and engaging. Most of the 90s, he spent in the former USSR building the ministry around in response to great pent-up spiritual thirst of many including Jews. Through his years of work in Moscow and Odessa, he and certainly his young children adopted new culture with much zest for pirogi, borsch and language. In addition to our faith in Christ and shared Jewish heritage, this was another point of connection that we had now held in common.
Instantly, I felt that it was not going to be our last meeting. Something about my past, much to my own surprise, came calling back. This is despite the fact that I hardly grew up as a Jew – my father was a secular Jew while my mother had managed to obscure her faint Jewish roots through a good amount of amnesia and proper documents.
It is funny that now she goes to a Jewish community centre in Vancouver to receive some monthly food aid (much to my dismay – there are other people who probably need it more). Apart from minor speech impairment so common to Jews (pronouncing Russian R could be a slight problem for some) that I inherited from my father, I hardly took in anything from my Jewish heritage save dry jokes and certain select dishes that my grandma used to cook on occasion. The overwhelming majority of Soviet folk spent their lives under the officialdom of atheism and materialism. We were no exception. We did not even have a chance to reject the truth, as it was never presented to us. Even an innate sense of God seemed to be overwhelmed by grim soulless surroundings. Even the presence of an old, almost perpetually locked up, synagogue around the corner from my grandmother’s house did not cause much curiosity. The historic notion of Jewish people did not seem to date past the times of the crusades illuminated in the dramatic tales by Sir Walter Scott. Torah was a foreign word and God was someone they believed in when attending the state controlled Russian Orthodox Church. This was the beginning and the end of my Jewish heritage.
After becoming a Christian I had to face the potential depth of connection that my predecessors held with the sacred Word of God. It became rather painful sometimes though, as it was too late to share this precious connection with my Jewish family – my father and grandmother. Despite much more acute and renewed sense of connection with the history of God’s revelations, I did not progress any further assuming that the message of Christ did not require special presentation for Jews. My previously mentioned detour with the Boston Movement certainly did not contribute to any such progress. As a result, my thinking regarding potential future service in the Kingdom did not seem to embrace a specific Jewish component.
Meeting Avi made me aware once more of where God potentially can use me in his service. We remained in touch for a number of years with our paths crossing in Germany for the first time in year 2000. That happened when Avi asked me for assistance translating a set of in-depth bible studies for Jewish believers who resided in Germany. It was my first and certainly meaningful experience serving God with Jews for Jesus. I travelled for one week to Germany – to a small town in the suburbia surrounding the notable city of Dortmund. It was a fantastic course that was primarily taught by an old retired professor from the Moody Bible School – Doctor Goldberg. Despite his advanced years, shaky frame and stumbling gate he radiated an incredible amount of energy mixed with youthful curiosity that made the whole week fly by just like a day. I thoroughly enjoyed the course intermittently taking on the role of a translator and a student. It was a fantastic time of fellowship, worship, prayer and study. I left a deep impression and fed my further interest in the ministry of Jews for Jesus.
Avi in Germany
Avi has had a soft spot for Germany for a number of years. Germany, through centuries, served as a home, a prison and ultimately a death camp – all encompassing madness that consumed millions of Jews in the senseless inferno of hatred. There were hardly any Jews left in the wake of the murderous WWII. And the ones that remained most probably continued questioning their own sanity. However times change and some wounds close even if not heal entirely. Some years ago, the German government initiated a large-scale campaign trying to redeem some gory deeds of the past. They extended an offer of immigration to just about any Jew wanting to re-settle in Germany. In the typical pan-European expansion of generosity, the program offered an incredibly rich variety of benefits and perks. As the result, Germany has been experiencing a tremendous immigration wave of Jews coming from all corners of the former USSR and other places around the world. Understandably, Avi saw a huge and growing need to initiate Jews for Jesus ministry in Germany, for the sake of Jews and gentiles alike. In addition, after numerous contacts with German Christian he understood a lingering sense of guilt that still plagues souls of German people. He saw an incredible opportunity to combine Jewish and German evangelistic efforts. For the first time in years, if not in history, Christ could be proclaimed jointly by Jews and Germans alike – who could have predicted such a scenario. The scenario that turns past tragedies and a lingering sense of guilt into an immensely powerful call of God extended to all – hallelujah!
After a few small campaigns that Jews for Jesus organised in the Western part of the country, they acquired enough experience, local connections and resources to conduct their first large outreach in the very heart of new Germany. Avi called me with an offer to participate about eight months in advance. I took it as a great opportunity to spread the gospel, meet other believers from the other side of the globe and further personal spiritual growth.
Despite their very outspoken mode of operations, unabashed preaching of the gospel and even fearlessness, many Christians on this side of the ocean tend to view Jews for Jesus with some unease. Some of it comes from a rather timid ecumenical thinking that elevates non-believing Jews to some very special place that does not seemingly have any need for Christ. Some see the message of Jews of Jesus as hostile to the overall relationship between Christian and Jewish communities, hence taking a path of non-interference that sees Jews pursue their own non-Christ centred theologies of futility. I my opinion, this is a complete nonsense, as call of Christ goes out to all – first Jews and then gentiles alike. It is like looking for a false sense of security in the religion of Pharisees and Sadducies. But who are the descendants of these same people today one might ask – I think that the answer is pretty obvious.
The other equally timid lot views Jews for Jesus as a bit too much in your face type of outreach. Although visibility of Jews for Jesus campaigns tends to put them on front pages, this view does not have much to do with reality after one gets a first hand exposure to the truth. In fact, during our training in Berlin their requirement to be respectful, non-aggressive and non-retaliatory is strongly emphasised. So please let them be. Perhaps see them as an example as opposed to an obstacle.
Campaign – Early Going
The first day was to start around 5PM in the Statdmission Jugendhaus (hostel) when the whole team was to get together for the first time. Since I really knew only Avi, I did not expect to meet anyone else I knew except Jack Delmonte with whom I had spoken a couple of times before by phone. To my delight the first person I saw was Lenya whom I met five years prior during the bible school in Germany. At that time this wiry fifty-year old was working for Jews for Jesus in Kharkov, Ukraine. Now having moved to Germany about four years ago and been blessed by yet another kid (three kids in total with the oldest of about 28 working as successful investment banker in Frankfurt), he was now ready make yet another move to a full-time ministry opportunity, in Essen this time. It was a delight to see him and meet numerous others. For example, Jack turned out to be a towering personality sized for a CFL linebacker with joyful disposition and bolding visage of a forty something father of four German speaking children. The rest of the crew was very diverse consisting of Germans, Russian Jews living in Germany, Israelis, Americans, a Brit and one token Canadian – yours truly. The other resident of Canada – Andrew from Toronto did not even attempt to pose for a cheese-head with his noticeable Brooklyn accent and a distinct absence of “eh”. Almost all team members could get around in at least a couple of languages. The most notable exceptions were some usual suspects such as fifty something Russians, few Americans and one Brit. Among this lot was also our hero, a source of inspiration for many – Amitai.
In his early twenties with Israel army service behind him, this heavyset dude with thick lenses was a real bullfighter for the Lord – all this despite his rather docile appearance of a coddled teenager. He was one of the most persistent, cheerful and energetic witnesses despite being visibly exhausted by the end of each day. All this was accomplished with fervour and on the strength of just one language – Hebrew. How does one get around Berlin and spreads the good news with just Hebrew is beyond me, but nothing is impossible with God and Amitai was the living proof. He managed to connect with more people on the streets than many of us. On the one hand, he benefited managing to avoid understanding any abuse associated with the street ministry, on the other, he extensively resorted to his trusted Hebrew/English bible for direct references as opposed to making up something himself – nothing speaks better than the very word of God itself. Having people like Amitai around was a lot of fun, as he always was on the lookout to improve his English, German and Russian – all at the same time.
The first team meeting later that evening did not fail to meet usual standards of a regular Jewish discourse – everyone seemed to be talking at the same time. After some calls to order and initial orientation, this group of Jews and Gentiles went to work. As Avi started to speak, the indomitable German Lars translated him into German, while German Israeli Ari translated German into Hebrew for Amitai, and Ukrainian Vanya translated German into Russian for Dina and a couple of other types. In any case, it was a microcosm of United Nations right from the start and it promised to remain this way for the entire campaign – exuberating!
The three and a half week campaign was to have a rotating staff of twenty five to thirty five campaigners for each work day – all days except Sundays that is. As some people left before the end of the campaign, others came in their stead - hence maintaining the overall number that delivered an incredible impact on the city of Berlin – at least in my estimation. In addition, there were five helpers who had a hard task of feeding us lunch and dinner in addition to staffing our bags with literature, and keeping our drawers clean on the daily basis. Although not facing the public on the street, their days were at least just as tiresome as they were longer and involved brain numbing logistical exercises of moving supplies around town with, at times, limited transportation resources.
Right from the start the campaign promised to be a very arduous exercise. When Avi distributed our first daily schedule, I felt a rather certain pull of terror. We had to report for duty at around 7:30 each morning with our final sortie ending after 10PM. I do not think I was the only one with fright welling up inside. In fact, I think even Avi, despite the workhorse that he is, quickly understood some physical limitations of such schedule – so we started at 8:30 instead! As the whole team was to be split into mobile teams ranging from 2 to 4, appointed team leaders were expected to contribute at least one more additional hour per day – my limited experience spared me some extra sleep. Given the schedule and the forty minute one-way commute that would take me from the palatial apartments of Herr Buege to the Jugendhaus, God blessed me with urgency to move. Although initially unhappy with the turn of events at Herr Buege’s cheap and comfortable arrangements, my move from luxury on the first official day of the street campaigning was a clear relief. My obligations to his greyness discharged, I was only happy to move to the Jugendhaus where most of the team stayed, where we had daily devotions and other gatherings. More time to rest – hallelujah! Since yours truly has typically very difficult time with sleeping arrangements – the fact that seems odd to many in this world, - I had to settle for a single room. This was going to cost at least 40E per day, blowing my initial budget of 25E at Herr Buege’s. However, after some hoeing and hawing in my by now fast improving German, I discovered that I could have a room in the adjacent building for only 18E per day – unbelievable! Praise Jesus! The only trick was that I had to share a shower while still enjoying a private bath and three beds all to myself. Great deal! If you want to travel to Berlin let me know I will hook you up!
The Neighbourhood
For the first three days we underwent intense street ministry preparation classes that were to take place in the church called Jerusalem Gemeinde – Jerusalem Church. This is a messianic congregation that counts few Jews among its predominantly German members with a German pastor. This church has been in existence for many years and boasts one of the best locations in the historic epicentre of Berlin. The church is located in a regular looking old Berliner apartment building with a couple of secluded court yards – an extremely useful feature as turbulent and curious seas of international tourism roll their waves just outside its main gate. The building is located on the more cheerful side of Alexander Platz, all but a two minute walk from an incredible art collections housed in world class museums congregating on the aptly named Museum Insel (island). One of them named Pergamon reflects the origins of its the most famous exposition piece – a throne from a pagan temple in ancient Pergamon. Apart from pure historic value of any pagan worship artefact, this one is very remarkable, especially remembering the letter to the church in Pergamon, which is a part of the Book of Revelation. This letter exhorts believers to preservation of their faith when facing with some ominous neighbours – namely the Throne of Satan. Well, this pagan artefact in Pergmaon of Berlin is believed by some to be the very throne mentioned in the Bible. Amazing! Well, some Christians are very much opposed to the exposition and the museum’s name – as long as the artefact remains in Berlin, the city remains forever cursed, according to some. Well, I am not so sure that simple presence of the mute piece of stone can impede love and mercy of the Living God. In any case, this peculiarity makes Berlin even more pointed of a reminder that Bible is alive today just like two thousand years ago.
Back to Jerusalem Gemeinde, being on the right side of Alexander Platz but on the wrong side of the Berlin wall, this place is also close to the relics of now defunct state – the famous propaganda tool – Berlin TV tower, which is only a short walk away. This walk takes you through various time fragments of Berlin history in a very comprehensive and yet compressed fashion. At first, one could walk through Marx and Engels Square adorned with a homely statute of both misunderstood social geniuses. Only a narrow canal now separates this square from the derelict edifice of the People’s Palace – the former seat of the East German government. Upon taking solace in the murky reflections of this decaying and graffiti covered building; one can take a refreshing stroll past baroque inspired fountain erected at times of Wilhelm the Great. Right before gazing up the unassailable heights of the TV tower, one also stumbles upon an old Lutheran Church that serves for an incredible photo opportunity – eternal and carnal – permanent and adaptable – the church spire and the pride and joy of GDR. In any case, this location is just an ideal slice of Berlin history - its turbulent past, uncertain present and its hopeful future.
Situation on the Ground
Three full days at Jerusalem Gemeinde were spent in discussions on various tactics of street campaigning. Having had a rich experience of campaigns around the globe, Jews for Jesus have worked out an excellent set of tactics that apply across the board whether you are in New York, Paris or Melbourne. First and foremost one needs to keep in mind the overriding theme of any campaign – evangelism. Spreading the message of Christ should always be front and centre in one’s mind. Avi could not help but exhort us through his inspiring messages of the vision that saw Germans, Jews and others coming together on the streets of Berlin to preach Christ together as one.
First of all we were to be visible – trying to wear Jews for Jesus T-shirts at all times. The whole concept of Jews for Jesus appears bewildering enough for many people and that in itself tempts many to stop and ask even when one is just walking around the city. Secondly, we were trained how to distribute literature. You have to be as efficient and quick as possible while trying to establish eye contact and maintain friendly disposition. Not an easy task as I was to find out later. Even the most gregarious and extrovert types frequently find the task of literature distribution a challenging and uncomfortable experience.
A good deal of attention was paid to issues of personal safety. In a number of locales with considerable Jewish populations, Jews for Jesus are accustomed to considerable opposition. This has happened in Toronto, Melbourne, San-Francisco and, of course, New York. Sometimes it is expressed through anti-evangelism campaigns, hostile media advertisements and open letters of condemnation. Sometimes the opposition takes on much uglier forms such as physical and verbal abuse, and other less than pleasant expressions of heightened interest. Berlin with its eclectic mix involving counter-cultural, new age and neo-nazi elements promised to be just as challenging. As such we were thoroughly prepared to deal with any expressions of hostility through some very useful tools. Two key underpinning principles were non-retaliation and law obedience. If you were hit, pushed and spat at – at no time you were allowed to retaliate physically or verbally – “turn another cheek” principle in real live. If people try ordering you around, one had to be prepared to judge whether it was legitimate or not. As a result, everyone apart from general instructions received a set of documents that legitimised our presence on the city streets.
Although this training was very useful, the real situation on the streets of Berlin was not nearly as dire as in other less welcoming spots on the globe. Neo-Nazis, despite their relative notoriety, are rather scarce and do not show up all that often. In fact it is considered rather denigrating even to be called a Nazi. As the result, they did not seem to bother us that much. Punks and other colourful characters ranged from receptive to indifferent with some tearing up the tracts right in our faces but no more than that. The receptive ones were rather open to hear about Jesus and were rather circumspect and certainly not offensive in their dealings with us. I also found out that their dark, camouflage-like garb, wild hair and dark fingernails do not exclusively consign one to a specific group. On one occasion a retired German pastor named Gunter, who participated in the campaign for about a week with his hard working wife cooking behind the scenes, met a punk looking girl near the Zoologischen Garten, the locale overwhelmed with similar counter-culture types. The girl, Monica, was rather friendly to him. He was to meet her once again on his last day in Berlin only to miss her by a couple of hours. The next day, while standing near an insanely busy street crossing, I located her entirely by chance – she looked as if she was searching for someone and after hearing Gunter’s name she identified herself. I mentioned to her that he had looked for her in vain the day before – walking around and enquiring with the local sit-in youths. As soon as she heard about that she indignantly replied that those guys were “punks” and certainly not her friends – very puzzling for some who are into stereotypes! In other words, our experiences were unusual but peaceful with the exception of Jack who got attacked by a crazed store clerk who managed to tear his beloved shorts and throw a whole whack of tracts in the middle of a heavily trafficked street. Other then that Berlin proved to be more indifferent than threatening.
Indifferent is the key word, as only about 1% of the Berlin population attends a church. The local culture seems to be typically western - shopping crazed, hedonistic and fast paced. On the surface the place does not appear to be all that different from any other cosmopolitan city. The only way to find underlying uniqueness of Berlin is to face the crowds head-on with tracts in hand - the best way to measure local mood. Alternate between different spots in the city was certainly very educational. While once standing on the east side of Alaxander Platz in the heart of East Berlin, one friendly twenty something type told me that we were scattering pearls in front of pigs. Once steeped into atheistic state doctrines people on the eastern side of town were now in pursuit of all possible pleasures that could be got. This pursuit coupled with high unemployment and other social ills hardly led to repentance and positive change, instead it culminated in ever-increasing scepticism and indifference. All he wanted himself was to escape this seemingly endless tunnel culture by moving to the USA, welcome! I have already been there and can tell you that true happiness that does not exist outside of God grace regardless of where you are. We parted unchanged in our previous views – my hope for him and thousands of others in Berlin is that they will be able to brake through clutches of scepticism and darkness that could be so real and spiritually debilitating.
Unlike face spitting, pushing and shoving aspects of typical Jewish opposition in New York or Boston, any Jewish opposition in Berlin was not all that evident. Apart from some negative articles in the local Jewish press, the only thing of interest came up when Avi received a scathing letter from the German Jewish Council. The latter condemned the campaign as an act of spiritual Holocaust – a rather preposterous claim that pushes the idea of Jews ceasing being Jews when obeying the call of Christ. Unfortunately, so many people prefer to hide from the truth behind unsubstantiated veneer of talk points like those so prevalent in the North American religious and political discourse.
Besides training, teaching and worshipping, we spent a great deal of time in old-fashioned bible study. The topics tended to concentrate on the imperative aspects of the ministry at hand. Witnessing is always in large part depends on reliability of sources such as Biblical prophesies. For Jews it is immeasurably more so, as they hold the Old Testament prophesies as true while denying Jesus as their Messiah. Not all prophecies have to do with Messiah of course. But many do and some pose a considerable difficulty to many a rabbi. The most famous and pivotal one is Isaiah 53. This prophesy speaks of a suffering Messiah, the exactly one rejected at Calvary. Despite numerous attempts at positioning this prophesy away from Jesus, Judaic scholars could never fully patch up the gap between their viewpoints and the reality of the bible. As the result, this prophecy is considered absolutely pivotal in the context of reaching out to Jews. And this is exactly where we spent most of our bible study time. General interest and enthusiasm of the group was further enhanced by the translation prowess of wild man Lars, who brought a lot of intonation, zest and slightly comical approach to very important subjects. In any case this guy certainly deserves a mention. The first time I met him was on the first rainy evening of the campaign when we got together for a meeting and dinner. This scrawny dude with an attempt at a sparse rabbinical beard crowned by a set of thick glasses and a Kaiser-like hat looked to be an exact replica of a Zionist warrior coming to you from the pages of Charisma magazine. Instead he took me by surprise after the very first handshake.
“I am Goi” – the Jewish term for a gentile. Some rare people have such high regard for everything Jewish that even despite their rather characteristic looks they have to emphasise the dictum – “the more I look what I am not, the more convincing my faith”. Lars was fantastic. His impeccable translations delivered in a super fast fashion where each subsequent word constantly stumbles upon one ahead with consistent impudence. This clearly sharpened my ear. Some German speaking Russians complained and had hard time understanding his slightly accented Southern verbal barrages. I, having the advantage of understanding both the speaker and the translator, did not have a reason to complain. In addition, to his translating skills, Lars had an incredible way with musical instruments, including cymbals. He tamed sounds streaming out of this eastern instrument with zest and excitement of a one-year old. Elated and delighted, he came so sporadic stomping so closely resembling that of our one-year old. This pure and youthful brother was just a kid, pure and faithful, the trait we should all try to imitate. Later, I found out that he was only twenty one and that his dotting mother was a big admirer of Avi’s leadership and constantly implored him to spare her baby Lars from unnecessary perils. Lars was undeterred and followed his heart whenever he went. I have a couple of pictures that can definitely tell a better story and you are welcome to it.
Street Campaigning Begins
On the Sunday evening before the first official day of the campaign we were split into teams, and each team member was prayed for and anointed in a very touching ceremony that followed the service. This ceremony included feet washing of all members by one another starting with team leaders in servant roles. It felt very Biblical and authentic. As it turned out later, our original teams did not stay together for the whole campaign, as some people came and left throughout the three weeks that followed. My first team consisted of Paul and Helen, both very interesting and inspiring individuals.
Paul is American, who is a gentile believer of German descent who hails from Portland, Oregon of all places. He has got to be one of the most youthful forty five-year olds I have ever seen. His youthfulness is further emphasised by his unencumbered bachelor status with an unblemished record. He has been involved in full-time ministry for a number of years now. He has also participated in some past Jews for Jesus campaigns and his knowledge of ropes was crucial. About a year ago, he answered the call of his German ancestry and moved to Berlin to be a full time minister working on new church plantings in this bastion of modern hedonism - a daunting task to say the least. Undeterred and armed with very good German he has made great strides in the past year and was looking to good harvest on the campaign trail. He loves Berlin and has made a decision to stay for good, there could not have been a better way of impacting his beloved city as participating in this campaign – he was surely excited.
Helen is a very sweet spirited woman in her thirties. She teaches in Freiburg – the Black Forest capital. She is a very inspiring and dedicating Christian, who constantly searches her answers in prayers and God’s word. She is also very curious about other people and cultures, and over the past twenty years she has travelled the globe in all imaginable directions – South America, East Asia and Israel featured among her most colourful experiences. Among these, Israel clearly holds the most special place in her heart. She has travelled there on a number of occasions and also took much interest in its culture and language. She even had enough knowledge of Hebrew to serve as a part-time guide to our fearless Amitai. Despite her at times too Zionistic views for my taste, I immensely enjoyed her company and encouragement that was so necessary for the timid heart of the first-time campaigner.
Our first outing took us to the Zoo Station – pronounced “Tso”. This subtlety seemed to have completely escaped Avi’s attention causing some confusion on behalf of our German cohorts on few occasions. Our English speaking international crew had no trouble finding the place as myriads of other people streaming to and fro in packs of thousands, it appeared. This kaleidoscope of teeming humans did seed some fear in my inexperienced soul. But after some prayer and Paul’s on site demonstration techniques, I ploughed right in. The more leaflets I distributed, the less fear I felt. Predictably, most of the folks were too much in a hurry to pay any interest to our offering. But some stopped in their tracks, many with very puzzled looks, and took the literature. Some young punks threw some torn pages on the ground in show of defiance. I felt sorry for them and prayed. So many people do not want even consider the call of Jesus, as a couple just strolled by with another passer-by uttering a profanity. After few days, I would start playing my own game of stereotypes, trying to see who is the most and least likely to take a tract. Well, tied and suited businessmen definitely came in last with over sixty men dragging their beer bellies followed not far behind. Well, what is not possible with men is certainly possible with God who surprised me on a number of occasions by the interest shown by the members of the specifically these groups. Never discount God’s power!
Not forgetting that one of the main tasks was not just to distribute the leaflets but also engage in more meaningful contact, I attempted to concentrate on eye contact. However, the overcrowded sidewalk by the railway station offered only limited space for this to be effective. I did manage to talk to a couple of taxi drivers who were parked at the curb. One Russian speaking type was rather abrasive and I hardly got any further than “hello” before a number of juicy expletives cascaded my way. The other, of apparently Turkish descent, was hardly any more gracious as Allah was an uncontested quantity in his mind. So went the first couple of sorties that lasted about three hours. By lunch time I was just exhausted and cross-eyed from making eye contact with hundreds of strangers. Although having distributed around 300 tracks in this time, my pride of accomplishment was rather short-lived, as a number of people managed to do twice the number while others prayed with people to receive the Lord right on the street! I guess I was still learning…
The exhaustion did appear to my exclusive problem, as majority of the crew crashed on the floor, chairs and any other surfaces they happened to find between themselves and the ground. Our lunch station at the International Berlin Church offered plenty of opportunities for napping – hard surface version that is. On my second day, I actually devised a way of sleeping with my head stuck downward between two rows of chairs. The only drawback of this method was an almost permanently pressed-up face – a little rough for sorties.
Ku-Damm – Centre of Mayhem
Our next sortie took us to Ku-Damm. The full name of this extremely busy street overrun by tourists and shoppers alike is Kurfursten Damm (Prince Street). Many Berliners, especially the ones who grew up in the West, consider this luxurious strip of real estate the best thing since sliced bread. At the very least, it is certainly where the heart of Berlin beats, according to them. To be frank since the very first encounter with the place, I hated it with passion. There are a number of reasons. For once, despite the best efforts of any street to compete with squares, in terms creating nice and communal feeling, streets are almost always the losers. Unless you compare let’s say the likes of Champ de Ellysses with Times Square, which is not a square at all, then you might have a chance. This street does not offer all that much in the way of wide spaces with the exception of the modest square at the steps of the Europa Centre that surrounds the craggy remains of the Gedachtniss Kirche (Remembrance Church). This church was bombed out during the WWII and is preserved in its poignant shelled-out state forever. Add thousands and thousands of sauntering people that make up shopping hordes in search of retail treasures and you get the picture. Forget about making an eye contact or exchanging smiles, just try to stay alive and not be rolled over by this disinterested monolith of human individuality.
Sure, some of my team mates did enjoy a considerable deal of success here, I, on the other hand, was longing for some place quiet, as I could hardly maintain a consistent stream of pleas, begging the crowds to take a note. My “Bitte” and “Guten Tag” were just drowned in the cacophony of noise generated by immense amounts of passing motor and human traffic. The other difficult part of being in the place like this I found, was that a good portion of passer-byes are just foreign tourists who have no inclination of perusing any kind of literature in German under the best of circumstances. And this street certainly had plenty of these types. The only worse place to distribute leaflets was standing near the Brandenburg Gate on the tourist-beset sidewalks – these, mostly packed with perpetually sun-tanned Italians, could be spotted a mile away. Some of my less linguistically inclined comrades tended to miss such subtleties and distributed regardless of what they heard. I, at times, was more reluctant, knowing that chances of an average Italian tourist being able to comprehend our leaflets was about one in a million. On the other hand, nobody knows where any of these could end up and be read by those who God is trying to reach.
The only redeeming aspect of the Brandenburg location was a chance to eavesdrop on some tourist guides that spilled out some interesting local details such as pointing to the famous window that witnessed Michael Jackson’s “dangle the kid” stunt. This intersection was just as noisy as Ku-Damm, since the nearby British embassy was busy erecting a traffic barrier in front of its doors imitating its big brother - US Embassy, the only in town that boasts a full blown security fence and a concrete barricade – be blessed the spreaders of democracy!
I have to admit that getting through the first week was a big ordeal. My understanding of the accomplished did not sink in until later on. How could the group of around twenty-five people distribute more than 300,000 brochures in three weeks is certainly beyond my comprehension even now. It appeared impossible especially in the first few arduous days of the campaign when our bodies and spirits were getting used to the impossible task that only God could accomplish. Looking back, I am tremendously happy of having participated in this undertaking – my limited expectations of God’s grace and power have expanded tremendously.
After few days of campaigning, each of us knew our respective favourite places. However, assignments were not up to me and I had to be content with whatever given. Actually, Jews for Jesus have a strategy of covering particular city points at any given time without spreading their forces all too thinly. First of all, it would be difficult to maintain contact if all were to spread all over the place, secondly small groups in the vast town might just drown in the multitudes without being noticed. Thirdly, by being in the same place at the same time, day after day, one can create much better chances for more meaningful interactions with regulars. In fact, after few days I started seeing the same folks again and again. Some even started commenting that we were everywhere. Amazing, that even twenty-five people on the streets of a huge city can deliver such reaction!
Rosen Strasse – Monument of Defiance
Some of our German comrades representing Jerusalem Gemeinde were authentic Berliners. One of them - Mikael was a particularly warm and friendly type who was available at any time to give us any local information or take us to see some very interesting areas of Berlin. This is on the top of participating in the campaign full-time and attending to the responsibilities of a father of two. One of such areas was just a short ten-minute walk from our base location. It is called Hakischer Markt – and it used to be a Jewish centre of Berlin. On the edge of this area there are a couple of monuments that attest to one of the most remarkable stories of Holocaust. In 1942, Germany was essentially Jew free, as those who survived original pogroms, beatings and rapes had already been sent to Death Camps. However, approximately 700 Jewish husbands of non-Jewish wives were still awaiting their fate right here in the capital of Nazi Germany. On one fateful day, the minister Goebbels issued a decree arresting all remaining Jews and arranging for their deportation – just a code term for Death Camps. Having taken these 700 men into custody, Nazi had provisionally put them in a building on the outskirts of the Hakischer Markt district – Rosen Strasse. All was going along a regular script without a hitch. Suddenly, the reports of thousands of German wives and other supporters mulling around the building angered the blood-thirsty rulers. And yet they feared to disperse a purely Arian crowd. Despite all negotiation efforts, the peaceful crowd guarding the building entrances from the outside refused to leave and allow deportation to proceed. This stalemate went on for a number of days. This was not Poland, and opening fire against German citizens, right in the heart of the capital, did appear to be viable option even for the cruel Nazi regime. After about a week, Goebbels issued an amending decree releasing the men from custody! I could not image that this could have been possible – and yet it did happen. This is about the only successful popular demarche that broke the iron will of the regime. Today, this street remains a quiet testimonial of courage and love against all injustice and desperation. Amazing…
Few more times we visited a number sites adjoining to Hackischer Markt. Hakischer Markt itself contains a number of connecting courtyards that house numerous restaurants, souvenir shops, cinemas and even a functioning Yiddish Theatre. On the back side of this very much frequented quarter, there is a museum that commemorates an example of Oscar Schindler-like courage and ingenuity that allowed one German fabricant to save numerous Jewish lives in less than two kilometres from Hitler’s bunker. The museum is located on site of the actual factory and still contains many interesting artefacts and documents. The whole area around Hakischer Markt is actually peppered with small brass plagues with names of perished in Holocaust. These plagues are mounted right into sidewalks all around this area. It like these long perished victims still mingle around to remind the world of the history that should never be repeated. In addition, this area contains Berlin’s principle synagogue. This recently restored magnificent building crowned with golden cupola and covered with many artful vignettes all over its façade is actually much better observed from afar, as it is very much obscured by the narrow tree covered street it faces. Despite the calm that reigns on the streets these days, the synagogue bristles with 24/7 police guard and thick steel fence. To our slight disappointment, the place is hardly a functioning palace of religious worship as it is more of a tourist magnet for those wanting to enjoy its ornate and opulent interior. On one occasion, pastor Ephraim from Israel led us on the tour of the quarter in full Jews for Jesus colours. Rather bold but effective, as many paid attention especially when we stopped by the synagogue and a local Yiddish store whose ermolka clad owner did not seem to be all that amused. Very interesting and somewhat challenging way to deliver a message – well whatever works!
Grisha – Uzbek Lion
After a couple of days in the company of rather temperate and very western Helen and Paul, I was thrown into the path of Grisha Muratov, an eastern warrior in the Kingdom of God. He had just arrived and was due for some local orientation. Due to all his previous experiences with campaigning, and he was a veteran of many, he was made leader of our glorious tandem.
Grisha was born and raised in the sunny Uzbekistan that about fifteen years ago turned from one of the Soviet Republics into a banana republic under the wise guidance of the intrepid leader of the people - Comrade Karimov. This transformation might have been sudden for the naïve west, but for people familiar with this Central Asian country – it was no surprise. The culture, most of which tends to be Muslim, is generally based on tribal affiliations and is a typical representative of those sun stricken parts of the world oft discussed in the press. In other words, a bit of aggression and short-temper are in ample supply there, a fact frequently lost on brave western conquerors.
Despite his Jewish roots, Grisha grew up to be a true son of his country. Even his looks speak to that. Wide and round dark face, almond shaped fiery eyes of a true warrior culminated in short dark hair that shone on the top of his bear like body. This bear ready to pounce at any time. When he was growing up, Grisha took up all relatively mild habits of his hashish and opium infested country – like drinking, smoking and gambling, a trinity of sorts. One day however, he met the Lord and turned into a new man. Instead of habitually juvenile street prowling, Grisha turned into a proverbial soldier of the Bible – kind of a modern Samson. While most of Christians work out their salvation, Grisha hammered it. He actually reminded me of my father who incidentally was also born in Uzbekistan – straight talking and uncompromising.
After finishing high school on the eve of the Soviet Union’s demise and ensuing economic chaos, Grisha had little inclination to continue his seemingly useless education. Instead he acquired a trade to feed his family, a rather peculiar trade though – he learned how to make a special kind of spiced up domestic mayonnaise that happened to be in high demand. The business went rather well and especially came handy when Grisha got married at the ripe and mature age of twenty-two. While necessary for survival, his trade did not further Grisha’s general knowledge. So when he became a Christian, the Bible became his one and only educational tool. He mastered it with fervour and conviction to be admired by many. He spent all his time on the hunt, doing Lord’s bidding. So when he heard about Jews for Jesus in the mid 90s, he jumped at the opportunity and participated in a number of events all around former Soviet Union. With time he also acquired a penchant for persuading people to Biblical viewpoints by nearly pounding them with the Holy Book – he should have been born in the American South, he would have made a perfect a fire and brimstone preacher. So when I met him, Grisha was ready, fit and longing for action.
With the birth of his daughter some eight years ago and growing anti-Semitic sentiment in predominately Muslim republic, Grisha saw an opportunity to make a better life for himself in Germany – the country of nearly diametrically opposed sensibilities to those of his upbringing. The process of integration in his new life has gone as “smoothly” as expected. When we met, he had already spent more than two years in Germany, still sitting on the life support of social assistance with not much hope of getting off it very soon. His German was still very rudimentary and I had to serve as a talking head between two of us. We fit quite well I think because Grisha and I were somewhat opposite in our preferences. Grisha loved crowds. He did not care as much about smiles and eye contact, he just let tracts fly. He was always lost in the public transit grid, I was his trusted guide. He prided himself on his ability to tell a Russian speaker from a crowd, I tended to be more circumspect. On few occasions, he would make a direct approach with a mouthful of full on Russian – only to find out that his unsuspecting counterparts much preferred the local Teutonic dialect. I typically waited to be spoken to – sort of John waiting for visitors from Cornilius, while Grisha pounced on human traffic in a truly Pauline fashion.
I made fun of his hammer and sickle style, while he never let go of a chance to expose my timidity. Truth be told however - he was more affective and on a couple of occasions some of his encounters produced decisions for the Lord. One was the most remarkable, when he came across an old Jewish man in his 90s, who simply approached Grisha and asked how to become a follower of the way – amazing. Just like that – somebody had spent his whole life searching just to find Grisha standing on one of the busiest Berlin corners sporting a Jews for Jesus T-shirt. I did not encounter conversions first hand but had a number of very encouraging conversations, one with an elderly Jewish lady. She came from the Soviet Union few years ago and found Jesus here in Germany. Her love for the Lord was so pure and inspiring, as she quoted few of her own beautiful verses praising the Lord – what a great uplifting experience!
Fitting to all his bravery and aplomb, Grisha tends to be cocky and in short supply of friends. He is a lone striker. He does not take all that much time to listen and his imperial style has earned him a nickname – Grisha of All Russians, the title exclusively reserved for Russian Emperors on all other occasions. The resulting loneliness made Grisha appreciate my company all the more. At first, slightly resentful of his brash manners, I got to feel for the guy. Not many friends, even in the church, no relatives with his mother dying of cancer back in Uzbekistan and a jealous wife who drove him crazy with less than sensible phone calls. So in addition to being his transit guide, translator and educator, I also tried to give him some counselling advice and prayer support.
The one thing we shared for sure is that we are both immeasurably cheap. In fact, Grisha is probably the first person who actually beat me to it. And given his dependence on social assistance and his fully funded status during the Jews for Jesus campaign, including his round trip ticket from the home base in Hannover, he refused to even spend 80 cents on a cup of cheap coffee. Since I did not want to keep the coffee all to myself, I ended up becoming the purveyor and the creditor of his highness – mind you, he was always grateful for a freebie. On weekends, we usually did not get all the meals provided for us. Instead we got 5E for lunch money. Grisha pounced on the opportunity to save a penny. He patiently waited a whole week for this with scrumptious foretaste in his mouth. His chance for a magical 2E kebab eventually came true. He thoroughly enjoyed shaved Turkish meat and pocketed the overflowing abundance of 3E. I was not far behind…
On our last walk from the campaign trail back to the Judenghaus, Grisha confided in me that Avi had offered him a full time job with Jews for Jesus, which would entail his move to Essen – about three hundred kilometres away from his current location. His wife is categorically opposed to the idea since her baselessly jealous nature can hardly sustain any of his absences from home. It saddens me, as he could be so effective in preaching of the gospel and can only pray that the harmony and sense would once again set him on the fiery of full-time ministry. Let God’s will be done…
Keith and Ira – Inspiring Souls
On few outings, an Englishman Keith joined Grisha and me – and it was an honour. The stooping statute of this biblical warrior bespoke of his age. But his frail frame and weakening grasp were somewhat deceiving as his unlikely vigour, an incredibly bright and optimistic faith, produced fruit in abundance. Though He came to the campaign with his cute wife Molly for just about one week, he left a lasting impression on many of us. Despite his old age, which he persistently refused to disclose, he managed to consistently distribute many more leaflets and talk to more people than many. He had a peculiar habit when giving out the literature. While most of us would be distributing one kind of tract at a time, just as they came in batches of one hundred. Keith would hold a few different ones at the same time trying to tailor each one to how he saw fit, he also made sure that he had tracts in languages other than German. This made him very effective. His radiant personality, underlined by his warm and friendly smile, made many feel welcome and comfortable in their own skin.
Since retiring many years ago after a high school teaching career, he and Molly spend much of their time in active preaching at home and abroad. They usually could be found street campaigning at their hometown of Markham in Lancashire, just about on every Saturday. Keith is also very active preaching at various sports events, especially soccer - just another reason to feel my affinity for him. He has even single-handedly written and published special tracts for soccer crowds. I could only hope to imitate some of his energy and zeal for the Lord. The energy that propelled him to carry the full day’s load despite the interdiction by Avi to go out only for half a day!
The other person who sometimes joined us was Ira. Originally from Ukraine, she has spent the past six years with her family in Germany. These years have not been all that kind to her as she had to deal with a brain tumour and has spent much time between the hospital and seclusion in the family home. As a result of this and despite being in the just her early thirties, she has not been able to master even very little of German. She usually gets tired very quickly and could only spent half a day working on the campaign trail. Nevertheless, she gave all the energy she had to the task. Feeling very uncomfortable with German, she instead used Russian please word “pozhaluysta” when giving out the tracts. At first amused by the move, I later caught on to its genius nature. All non-Russian speakers took the tracts anyway mistaking “pozhaluysta” for anything in their language, while any Russian could not be mistaken and if prompted could engage Ira in the only language she could use – truly child like simplicity turned wisdom upside down.
Street Conversion - Tamar Style
I decided to share my impressions of Tamar just to make a note of what it is all about - diversity. You see, while Christians should always centre their thoughts and actions on Jesus, they can take various routes to get there. While under the Lordship of Christ we are not just clones of one another, but rather different parts of the same body – fulfilling various functions while serving one ultimate purpose!
From early in the campaign, this full time worker of Jews for Jesus distinguished herself by leaving a number of conversions in her wake. Her gregarious and youthful personality certainly lent her a great deal of confidence coupled with her uni-lingual approach. I have to confess that many English speakers get an easy pass in this world, without ever trying any other language. When you meet someone who does not even remotely speak English, the conversation is over in a very short order and no hard feelings linger – no fumbling with foreign grammar or mentally scrolling through rows of lexicon. And when you do meet someone who speaks at least little English, you always have an upper hand of a native speaker. In other words one is nearly always a winner. So there is no guilt of skipped lessons, pangs of fading memory and lack of phonetic clarity – a perfect prescription for perpetual bliss! Tamar was an unabashed user of English without even a hint of interest in anything German. So whenever she met a person amicable to the topic of Jesus, she plunged right into a five-step conversion procedure. She did it with an incredible zest of an herbal remedy salesman on TV infomercials. Usually, having an advantage in the language department, Tamar preferred instant conversions to “I will think about it”. The stories of Cornelius and Ethiopian eunuch serve as my inspiration, and call me to serve as a tool for the searching. The story of emboldened disciples on the day of Pentecost calling for a massive conversion is certainly Tamar’s cup of tea.
One day, I got to witness her work first hand, when we were assigned to the famous Sony centre on one evening sortie. Since it is a private property, we could not take advantage of the moment by distributing our leaflets. Instead, we plunged into the multitudes milling around many restaurants and cinemas, just looking for an open person. Tamar would speak to anyone, while I lingered in indecision. She called for conversion even before knowing one’s name when I wanted to have more of a connection first. She spoke to at least five people exclusively in English. I engaged one Michael of Lubeck in a long and deep theological discussion in German - same, apparently fruitless, results. We parted together firmly set in our own ways. It is great that there is diversity in the body of God. Nothing is impossible for the Lord. But minute-made conversions of strange people, on strange streets with basically no follow-up, just do not fit all that well in my comprehension of things – but who am I to judge. Instead I am just happy to have served…
Shop Around the Corner
I must have passed this place at least forty times, only to really notice it on my last visit to Jerusalem Gemeinde. This was a typical knick-knack shop, one of thousands strewn around the city centre. It was located right at the gate to the courtyard where Jerusalem Gemeinde found its home.
This shop is run by a couple of Russian guys, one of whom claims to be a very devout and profound Orthodox while the other is a non-religious Jew. They both got the drift of what was going around them when they started seeing us in Jews for Jesus T-shirts. While the Jewish guy did not take it in any way hostile and was rather cordial to some of our numbers visiting his establishment, the devout Orthodox type took it rather painfully to say the least. His interpretation of Jews for Jesus made him think of us as members of some newly created half-baked religion/cult. In fact, every chance he got he would berate our appearance and get pretty close to violence. In a typically Russian way, he would get very personal and offensive rather quickly regardless of whether his sparsely visited shop had any patrons or not. Some of the most persuasive members of our group, most notably jovial Borya, tried to bring some sense into the conversation and tell him who we actually were. All in vain, as our nebulous station in his slightly confused point of reference somewhere between fish and meat, Torah and Christ, made him all the more violent and intemperate in his language. Needless to say, after a couple of weeks nobody bothered to engage him in a conversation. To be honest though, this whole situation entirely escaped my attention until my very last visit.
My last day working the phones at Jerusalem Gemeinde was not going that well. Exhausted from the previous two and a half weeks, ready for a trip home, mentally I was not the sharpest pencil in the drawer that night. So instead of continuing to pound the phones, I took a refreshing walk around the block, sort of in a mindless search for some trinkets that I could take home. This shop, I passed many times before without much of a notice, did caught my eye that evening. It was lonely despite passing crowds and its keeper bode his time by sucking on yet another cigarette by its entrance. A tinge in my heart led me inside – it might have been just a sense of sympathy to support a lonely shopkeeper or it could have been Holy Spirit moving – I cannot tell, but the outcome was the most remarkable.
Since I was wearing a Jews for Jesus T-shirt, our Orthodox critic did duly proceed to make accusations and calling me names even despite my courtesy of buying a couple of post cards at his less than flourishing establishment. I guess he was triggered by my less than perfect Berliner accent. Despite my calm attempts at reasoning and dialogue, his tirades became more violent with every passing second. He did not even care that there were other customers in the store. My typical response to such abuse could have been twofold – either leaving the premises right away, or giving this guy a piece of my mind in the most unequivocal terms. Instead an unbelievable calm settled over me, it was like I was just floating on the calm seas without a care in the world. I just kept browsing and making rather polite retorts to his verbal arrows. After few minutes of this one-way match, I, seeing the impasse nature of the situation, started sidling up to the exit sign.
Suddenly he asked – “Have you been baptised?” – “Yes” I said.
“Mmm…, interesting” – for the first time he stumbled in his tracks – “Do you believe that Jesus is the Son of God”. My next “Yes” brought on another yet quieter question.
“Do you believe in Trinity” – sounded almost sheepish.
Seemingly struck be my palpably predictable answer, his hard features and tight posture of a panther on the hunt slackened, and gave way to something that starkly resembled an embarrassed politician at his resignation press conference. And believe me, people like that are not easily embarrassed.
“You are just like me” – was almost inaudible. He then stumbled into a non-ebbing flow of apologies, he repeated them time and again, as if committed some mortal sin against me.
“Please forgive me. I did not know that you Jews for Jesus were just like fellow Protestants. I am sorry for anything I have said in the last few minutes, I take all back” – he said almost tearfully.
Despite being a representative of a simpler religion, as compared to the gold plated Orthodoxy with its bearded attendants and ever-obsequious laity, I insisted on the unnecessary nature of his heartfelt apologies, as I was only happy to see him change his opinion. I even confirmed my words with a further purchase of few trinkets for which I got an unasked-for discount. We parted nearly as brothers and I can only hope that this encounter could lead to his better understanding of not just Jews for Jesus, but of God. Hallelujah! Now I know that this could not have happened without the intervention of the Holy Spirit. All I had to do was just being patient and keep giving the same simple one-word answer – “Yes”.
Hertha Berlin – Ball Keeps Rolling
Early in my stay, I attempted to line up my chances of seeing yet another professional soccer game. If successful, this one would likely be better than one in Vienna due to the superior status of German Bundesliga. To my dismay, during my entire local stay I only had a single chance of watching a game and that game was to happen on Saturday right in the middle of the campaign. Since Saturdays were just regular campaign days, my chances were limited. Fortunately, on the day before, our schedule was slightly changed and I had about a three hour window within which to accomplish a trip to the stadium. Now considering the travel time I could only hope to catch the second half.
Nonetheless undeterred, right after an early afternoon sortie, I sprinted to the nearest U-Bahn Station. The first sounds at the destination platform I heard, were wild cheering sounds of a substantial crowd, the second half just started and local blue clad favourites were ahead by a goal. And all this commotion in more than a kilometre away, the distance I mostly ran. Despite my late arrival, I was forced to make an unpleasant choice of buying a full-priced ticket. Luckily, the tradition of crazy cheap sections was not broken here and my meagre outlay of 10E was well worth it. Unlike the 20,000 seat Horr stadium in Vienna, the Olympic Stadium in Berlin is one of the soccer giants with seating capacity somewhere around 75,000. In addition, there is no special access barrier keeping the crazies away, like it is done in Austria. So I was able to quietly drift past the overflowing cheap section behind the home goal to some seats of better view and value. I was so immensely happy when I first came upon a whole cluster of empty seats – a true gift to someone not possessing matching tickets in this monster. Much better than at home – where just trying it on a sell-out day in the GM Place and you might find out potentially embarrassing encounters with security. Here everywhere around was wild excitement, the native were restless and nobody seemed to care. These seats were just there, up for grabs – what luck!
Well, it took me only few seconds to discover the secret of the empty seats – a huge roof supporting column stuck right in my view obstructing at least a quarter of the field. Turns out that there is not free lunch after all - imagine that! I had to move to slightly cosier and a little less save confines of the crowd. Eventually, I settled to see a European sports spectacle offered by the famed German Bundesliga.
On that day, the place was about three-quarters full and the crazies section was filled to the brim including thousands constantly waving flags and scarves with occasional sparks of fireworks. This stadium has a running track hence requiring less vigilance in the fire protection department, as some fireworks harmlessly ended up on the track, to the delight of many on as well as off the field. Not to overstate though, this zest for fireworks in Berlin pales drastically in comparison with those in Rome or Milan.
A section on the opposing end of the stadium predictably belonged to the fans of the opposing team – Eintracht Frankfurt. Their numbers, flags and songs were completely drowned in the roar of the blue. Their team on the field hardly did any better buckling under waves of local attacks led by the home team‘s new acquisition with a striking peroxide hairdo – a Brazilian named Marcelihno. Helped by his unsurpassed display of flair and panache, Hertha Berlin won the game by the score of two to zero. The locals went wild.
And here the real and unusual spectacle began. While the defeated Frankfurt team slowly trotted to the stands with their fans to thank them for support before promptly leaving the field, the Hertha personnel did something I had never seen before. Anywhere in the world, a home game, emotional or not, brings some acknowledgement to the home fans. English tend to clap their hands and leave, uncouth Russians sometimes just leave, Brazilians might not leave at all. Whatever happens is usually accomplished in a sort of free willing fashion – here in the former world’s capital of order it is not.
At first, celebrations started in usual haphazard fashion when one player on the winning side made a rogue run to the edge of the moat that separated the running track from the frenzied crowd. He took his shirt and catapulted it into the seats, with miserable results mind you, as it ended up in the lifeless moat – he should have hit the gym the day before!
The brash manners of the rogue runner were soon forgotten, as the whole team orderly marched to the edge of the moat. The crowd of crazies numbering at least 20,000 went positively wild with chants and frantic flag waving. One of them climbed on some sort of pre-installed soap box. He also had a microphone that carried his voice far up the stands announcing the beginning of a peculiar “church” service. He launched into his sermon and the whole crowd behaved like one with well-rehearsed chants and motions that including unsettling unison jumps that some seismic shocks to ripple through the stadium. To my great surprise the message was not lost on the players themselves, who started their “jump, raise your hands and bow” routine that was just as orderly and well-rehearsed. This went on for at least five minutes with a set of climactic wild bows delivered by the whole team. Then all players sat down on the track facing the raging crowd while the crazies, at the behest of the sop box mounted choirmaster, began to serenade their beloved with many a song. This went on for another ten minutes while cameras projected tearful faces, fans and players alike, on the huge stadium screen. It was surreal, amusing and stupid – it is just a soccer game for Pete’s sake.
Well, eventually everyone found the exit door, but not before one last loud battle-cry that sent the tired and happy footballers to the dressing room - Gatorade for them and beer for the rest.
Despite my initial reluctance and timidity, my courage gradually returned. I even decided to show the folks what it was all about by donning my blue Jews for Jesus T-shirt. At first apprehensive about this bold move, I remembered to put my faith first and not to worry about consequences in these potentially hostile surroundings. Nothing happened praise the Lord, besides taking in yet another dose of history that this place clearly conveyed in all its grandeur.
As mentioned before, there are very few reminders of Nazi architecture that are still in existence around Berlin – Olympic Stadium is one of them. It was built for the 1936 Olympics that were supposed to serve as a showcase of Aryan racial superiority and athletic dominance. Although the stadium has changed since then, including the roof over the stands that boasts those huge and intruding columns; original construction still constitutes the bulk of the structure. Despite very jovial atmosphere inside the arena with the blue painted track and happy fans, the outside bares its history ossified in the ominous and grim concrete exterior. The exterior is complemented by other former Olympic venues including a swimming pool and a huge grassy field that served as the venue for opening ceremonies and some other famous Nazi parades afterwards. Huge amounts of money were poured into these impressive structures to celebrate sinister ideas of Third Reich. The grassy marching field includes a set of huge statutes of men stilled in various wild horse taming acts – a Nazi idea of demise of the Sovereign God – man tramples nature. The opposite and inaccessible end of the field houses large granite stands so reminiscent to some who have seen the footage of infamous Nuremberg parades. This stand used to contain an additional parade stand named “Hitler’s Stand”. Understandably, it was dismantled shortly after the war. In fact the access to the whole field is off limits – I guess otherwise it would be too much of a temptation for Neo Nazis.
Berlin’s current generations do not seem to hide from sometimes ugly past, as there are a number of information boards with lots of names and photographs. The main gates to the Stadium celebrate the architectural achievement and the generous funding role of the federal government, on the other side the names of Olympic winners are etched in granite. And this is probably the most interesting story that originated here. Remember, the Olympic Games of 1936 were supposed to uphold Nazi racial ideals. Instead, the indisputable hero of the games was African American Jessie Owens, who won four gold medals in all sprint events and long jump. Apparently, after his first two victories, Hitler was already sufficiently put out to say the least. However, the climax came during the long jump competition when Jessie Owens defeated Hitler’s favourite named Lutz who was, of course, expected to win. The Fuhrer of the people could not countenance the outcome and stormed off in rage leaving to his subordinates the grim task of hanging the gold medal on the black man’s neck. To my photographic delight the etched history echoed – Jessie Owens, Jessie Owens, Jessie Owens…
Potsdam – Sheer Grandeur
On my last full day in Berlin, I first explored the vast Tiergarten (Animal Park), which is despite its name has nothing to do with a Zoo, it is just a vast and in places well landscaped park right in the middle of this great city. Given its size, I figured that spending about an hour running around could be the most effective exploratory mode.
At first, I ran right across the whole park to the opposite side of where we stayed to visit so called Diplomatic Quarter. Although very close to many popular tourist sites, this part of town breezes air of serenity and calmness – so apropos to the aloof world of diplomacy. My main targets were the Italian and Japanese Embassies that were built in 1930s in the spirit of Albert Speer – Hitler’s favourite architect. The buildings of both embassies did not disappoint. While both represent solemn and somewhat depressing exacting lines of Nazi neo classic style, the Italians attempted to liven up the atmosphere with glowing stucco exterior that exudes Tuscan warmth on the rainiest of days. The Japanese counterpart displayed much less jovial nature – its grey and imposing exterior is hardly softened by magnificent trees that surround the building. Consequently, I was only delighted to confirm some self-derived truth - buildings can tell quite a story when it comes to some aspects of national character, even if dressed in the stray jacket of ideological planners.
On the way back, I lingered around a huge Soviet was memorial complete with two T-34 tanks that purportedly were the first ones to enter Berlin in 1945. This monument is an interesting story in itself. Upon conquering Berlin, the embittered and embattled Soviets were looking to make amends for the horrible war. The tide was in their favour and they did bungle the opportunity. After quickly dismantling the ominous Hitler’s Chancellery on the infamous Voss Strasse, they used mounds of its granite and marble material to erect this monument just three months after the end of the war. Forget about bread, butter and peace. Monuments are much better propaganda tools; did they no tell you this in school? An official opening took place in August of 1945. The monument contains some photographs of the dedication ceremony depicting brand spanking new marble columns with completely smashed dome of the destroyed Reichstag on the background. The Emperor is dead - long live the Emperor!
After the morning chapel, I jumped on the train to Potsdam, the site of yet another WWII conference - this one dealing with governance over the rubble left in the wake of the defeated enemy. Held between the inseparable suspects – Russians, Americans, English and of course French – the event is known as one of the key events of the previous century.
After the division of Germany, Potsdam ended up in the Soviet sector. Hence, it boasts just about any architectural achievement that echoes of ideology and power. It, sort of, ails under a multiple personality disorder with its diverse sights that include immense Soviet style apartment blocks prominently featured on tourist bus routes. Short for time, I did not bother to attend just another reminder of my youth. Instead I decided to give a thorough look to the older parts and there were many. The first stop was Nikolai Kirche and the old Rathaus – OOPS, slight disappointment – too much construction and 70s architecture around. The next stop looked much more promising – the Dutch quarter. Anticipating just a handful of Dutch looking brownstones, I discovered rows upon rows of these neat, straight and aesthetically pleasing buildings that culminate in a large square with its very own impressive Dutch looking church. Market stalls, cafes and restaurants surrounded the place very much in a Biblical tradition – remember Jesus driving the money changes from the Tempe grounds?
Through the old ornate city gates and I am strolling along a beautiful wide boulevard that lustfully pines for more certain times of Keiser Wilhelm. The street looked so calm and regal – I almost expected to see a charge of cavalry turning every next corner very shortly. I was slowly inching to the ultimate place of interest – Sans Souci Palace (place of no care for challenged in French). There were some notable delights on the way. For example, just to emphasise its independence from its rival Berlin, this place displays its own version of Brandenburg Gate. Although smaller in scale, it is older and maintains its own dignity quite well – just like an old scrunched up aged soldier still holding his hand up in a proud military solute to the Emperor and “We are not your suburb!” gesture to visiting Berliners.
Over the last few years, Potsdam has become home to numerous immigrants from the former Soviet Union. Given this proliferation everything Russian here, Jews for Jesus has started their work here with assistance of some local churches. On this day, one such church together with some guys from Jews for Jesus decided to hold an open-air meeting equipped with a band and a literature stand. The place was just perfect, as the square in the front of the Brandenburg Gate was just jammed with tourists and locals alike. First, a couple words about two Jews for Jesus workers who both came from distinctly atheistic background and made their decisions for the Lord much later in life than most of us. Now in the late forties and earlier fifties they served as full time workers with Jews for Jesus.
On of them – Grisha Furman, is a big burly man, originally hails from western parts of Ukraine. Some time in the late sixties he enrolled into one of the most prestigious Soviet film schools and with time became rather well known young, up and coming, film director. At the same time he was involved with some dissident groups that protested acts of power usurpation by Communist government in Moscow. As a result, he had to leave the country and after a short stint in Israel, he ended up in New York. There he started another successful career of export trader that brought him loads of money and much recognition in the local community. However, the most important piece in his life was still missing – Jesus. He met Jesus in the mid 90s and almost immediately decided to dedicate the rest of his life two full-time service. Despite the attraction of riches, he chose the life of a servant instead. Admirable!
The other person – Nikolai, came to the campaign from grim and the most totalitarian Eastern European regime – Belorussia of Mr. Lukashenka. I could only imagine with what potential dangers one has to deal with in his country where people of dissent still disappear on rather regular basis. Let along doing the work of the Lord in the open, where legal status of any church gathering hardly fits prevailing laws. Nikolai is also disabled with a very heavy limp and rather low physical endurance. Despite these challenges he managed to endure the rigorous of the campaign with stoic face and joyful disposition – he was one of many who gave me example and inspiration when I felt tired and depleted.
While the church service was still about two hours away, I decided to take a stroll through the lush gardens around Sans Souci Palace, previously called home by many Prussian kings. Now it is accessible to anyone in search of inspiration and quiet solitude. The first structure in my sights was a Romanesque church and a beautiful reflecting pond that hugged the front of the edifice and the Roman style portico garden in the back. It felt so warm in the welcome of ochre colours of authenticity – I closed my eyes and just imagined being in the midst of a serene setting somewhere in Tuscany or Umbria. Feeling relaxed and Italian, I proceeded in search of the main palace. On through quiet hedge lined paths, I suddenly emerged into a small sun lit square that led to the magnificent fountain ensemble whose evoking baroque forms called everyone’s attention to the lofty waves of the cascading gardens crowned with the beautiful Sans Souci Palace. To get to the palace, I walked up the stairs that led through the garden cascades. These were simple and ingenious in their presentation with each subsequent wall of the cascade repeating its preceding counterpart – same height, with grape vines covering multitudes of ornate faux doors that lead to invisible rooms. Very simple and yet extremely intricate and exhilarating, as it lends almost soaring like quality to the one-story baroque wonder on the very top of the hill.
The rest of the huge park did not fail to deliver either. Its architecture is incredibly diverse, as it displays golden dragons of the Chinese Pavilion, another huge classical looking palace and a myriad of small summer pavilions and palaces scattered all over this vast estate. Over the years though, Italian schemes seem to have had the most architectural impact. In addition to the church, the estate also boasts an authentic looking Tuscan farm and a replica of ancient Roman baths. The Teutonic Kaisers seem to have fancied themselves descendants of Roman glory ruling over hordes of dirty vandals.
Tired and in need of a cold bottle of water, I emerged from the shadows cast by Italian villas and baroque indulgence to meet my friends right in the middle of their open air service. I have to admit that these brothers and sisters serve us all as an incredible example of dedication to the service in the Lord. Remember that only very few Germans consider themselves Bible believing Christians. Hence, preaching of the gospel is an uphill road that cannot be easy and glorious in the best of times. And yet they shed any personal preferences, timidity and shyness when they come out on the street jammed with materialism and indifference to proclaim the name of the Lord. They faithfully conduct open-air services without multitudes of supporters and preach the Word facing passing crowds. Some just walk on, some stop for a minute or two, some stop and listen and yet some commit their life to the Lord. There is always a harvest time. Seeing this fearless and unabashed service, I wished that I would carry this spirit all the way home…
While I was standing around and listening to the service, a local pastor came up to me and asked to give my testimony. A hard enough task for a timid type in any case, he asked me to do it in German. Despite my weak protestations, his friendly smile and example of others gave me courage. This was going to be my first exercise in public speaking in German. By the will of the Holy Spirit who put right words in my mouth it went without a hitch and everyone around seemed to understand my accented delivery. I was very excited in this affirming experience. My excitement was short lived however, as the Lord decided to elevate his test requirements, as I was asked to translate Nikolai’s testimony from Russian into German. Here was another thing I have never done in public and yet the Lord gave me wisdom and strength – now I was on cloud nine. It seemed like the Lord was slapping me on the shoulder in encouragement and exhortation.
Going Home
Through the Potsdam station that offered a curious and entertaining display named “Camping in East Germany” and with a package of presents for the family, I was on my last trip back to Berlin. After many an emotional farewell I left the city in the sleepy foggy morning. My quick three-hour stopover in Vienna turned out to be yet another exercise in my beloved blitz tourism, as instead of bidding few boring hours in the airport, I dashed to the city centre just to imbibe few more minutes of its charms. With that successful, I indulged in the last bit of European pleasures by acquiring two decent bottles of Italian wine and two half-litter cans of local Viennese beer for a total price of $6CAD – who says Europe is expensive? Frazzled from yet another stop-over in Heathrow, full of memories, renewed spirit and anticipating the joys of family reunion with my dear family – I fell into a happy sleep to the monotone of roaring engines taking me back home – Canada!
1 comment:
When religion and politics travel in the same cart, the riders believe nothing can stand in their way. Their movements become headlong - faster and faster and faster. They put aside all thoughts of obstacles and forget the precipice does not show itself to the man in a blind rush until it's to late.
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