Berlin: Stop. Don't Walk.

June 12, 2026/27 Sivan 5786/Shabbat Sh'lach

Hevre/Friends,

Hallo from Berlin!

Being in Berlin a second time creates a certain awkwardness for Andi and me. When we led a Rabbi on the Road trip here in 2014, our days were filled touring the major sites that testify to the thriving Jewish community that once flourished here — and to the murderous Nazi regime that destroyed it. We also met locals building what was then considered the world's fastest-growing Jewish community.

Returning twelve years later to celebrate a wedding, I'm honoured to also be leading two study sessions at the Fraenkelufer Synagogue, a Conservative shul in the Kreuzberg district and the first Berlin congregation to reopen its doors after the Shoah — in time for Rosh HaShanah services in 1945. With only a few days here, Andi and I decided to spend them exploring the city's robust arts and culture scene.

But it's hard to walk past the Jewish Museum on our way to the Berlinische Galerie, a magnificent collection of modern art made in this city since 1870. It's hard to jog past the historic synagogue on Oranienburger Strasse, just blocks from our hotel. It's hard not to return to the Topography of Terror, the former headquarters of the Gestapo, the Einsatzgruppen, and the Reich's main security office. But we've been. We've borne witness to the stories these unmissable places tell. Is it all right, this time, to turn our attention to what the city, eighty-one years later, has to offer?

You shouldn't completely turn away from its past. And you literally can’t when every few feet along the pavement you encounter another Stolperstein — a shining bronze brick engraved with the name of a Jew who once lived freely on that street before being rounded up and murdered by the Nazis. Meeting friends by the Brandenburg Gate, we simply could not stand one block from Berlin's evocative outdoor Holocaust Memorial and not go walk through it. But there are also pages of this story still being written in new and different places. Consider these.

The Berlinische Galerie, founded in 1975, devotes an entire section of its permanent collection to Jewish artists persecuted and silenced by the Nazis. The gallery's commentary acknowledges their remarkable talent. More importantly, it states emphatically that without their presence the collection would be lacking — not just in richness, but in integrity. Being there, and watching museum visitors peruse this section, was also bearing witness.

Walking down a bustling alleyway home to avant-garde street art, bars, and shops we encountered signs inviting people to visit the Anne Frank Center. It just naturally took its place along this vibey lane filled with freedom-loving locals and tourists.

And while clocking twenty-eight thousand steps yesterday (yep, you read that right), we passed the construction site of Berlin's House of One, an extraordinary project to build three sanctuaries — a church, a synagogue, and a mosque — under a single roof, anchored by a large open hall for shared learning and reflection. In the city that breathed religious emancipation and enlightenment, only to be plagued by the dark evil of hatred and destruction, comes a vision of unity that harnesses three distinct faith traditions to build a bold, courageous microcosm of a living, peace-filled world.

And here is one more page, though an increasingly troubled one. Over the last few decades, an estimated fifteen to twenty thousand Israeli expats have made their lives in Berlin. Some were escaping Israel's high cost of living; others, its divisive, religiously entangled politics. Still others were drawn by Berlin's vibrant and welcoming arts and music scene, its liberal, generative culture a lure for entrepreneurs and creatives alike. Here, Israelis built Hebrew kindergartens, opened cafés and restaurants, lived their Jewish lives on their own terms. And then came October 7. Anti-Israel protests and campaigns have not only terrorized Berlin's Jews but specifically targeted Israeli businesses, shuttering celebrated eateries. So while we're here, we're making a point of eating at as many Israeli restaurants as we can.

What was once an unfathomable story of redemption — out of the hell this place had been — has now become a story of deep ambiguity, and for many, one in need of serious reconsideration. 

Tomorrow I head back to the Fraenkelufer Synagogue to join Shabbat morning services and to offer another session after kiddush. In this improbable setting, just as in our own home communities where we’re feeling vulnerable and uncertain of our future, the story of Jewish pride and resilience must continue to be written. What an honour to be part of that sacred effort this Shabbat.

Shabbat Shalom,

Dini