Author: Becca Jacobs

Berlin’s East Side Gallery

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Everyone said to go to the wall, and how could I not – we were in Berlin, after all. After taking the scenic route (AKA getting lost while trying to find the proper U-Bahn station), I was finally on my way to the East Side Gallery. Upon my arrival to the stretch of the wall that – as its name suggests – has essentially become a stationary outdoor art gallery, I was hooked to the cultural site that seemed to address problems faced by Berlin before the fall of the wall, as well as calls for peace, that both remain largely relevant and applicable to this day.

The city of Berlin seemed to be a petri dish of spray-paint street artwork, and the East Side Gallery was no exception. However, something I found extremely interesting was that while graffiti still marked remnants of the Gallery, that the artwork was largely left intact and unharmed – showing a sense of respect held by the various artists towards one another’s pieces.

In front of a “tagged” portion of the Gallery that still maintains its artistic meaning.

Moreover, I loved the free spirit and uniqueness conveyed by the East Side Gallery through the Gallery’s special combination of it’s pieces of satire, works of recognition, and calls for peace and/or change in the world for the better.

A satirical portrayal of Checkpoint Charlie.

A satirical portrayal of Checkpoint Charlie.

Seen above, the showing of Checkpoint Charlie was a very interesting portrayal to bear witness to.

The famed "My God, Help Me to Survive This Deadly Love" piece.

The famed “My God, Help Me to Survive This Deadly Love” piece.

I was really excited to have the opportunity to see this piece of the wall, as I have seen it depicted in pictures countless times.

A powerful work on freedom and the peace by which it is necessary to occur.

This section of the wall really caught my attention and made me think about the circumstances under which these works of art were inspired by/painted as a result of, and how works like these are still extremely applicable to this day.

Impactful quote on the power of change.

Impactful quote on the power of change.

I found this quotation to be very powerful and thought provoking as well, and again, to be something that is just as relevant today as it was when it was painted in 1990. Moreover, although there is small graffiti additions throughout the piece, I found the overall respect held for the work to be notable as no one had defaced it, etc. to the extent to which some other sections of the Gallery had been, thus, preserving the work’s simplistic stance.

Having the opportunity to see the East Side Gallery was amazing, and without a doubt was one of my favorite things I saw/did in Berlin (arguably being a close second to attending the Mauer Park Flea Market this past Sunday). I loved seeing the preservation of the works and how the art-culture of Berlin(and the respect for it) really makes the city something special and beautiful.

Paris and the Holocaust

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The notion that anti-Semitism has been and continues to be a legitimate issue in France was somewhat of a perplexing concept for me to wrap my head around before this trip. Let me be clear: I never experienced any soft of personal anti-Semitism during my stay in France at all, however in Paris, our trips to the Hôtel des Invalides and (to my surprise) the Shoah Museum solidified the real presence of a continuing sense of anti-Semitism in the country via the museums’ depictions of (or in this case, jarring lack thereof) the Holocaust.

The Entrance to Hotel des Invalides

The Impressive Entrance into Hotel des Invalides

The Ornate Chapel in the Back of Invalides, Where Napoleon Bonaparte is Buried

The Ornate Chapel in the Back of Invalides, Where Napoleon Bonaparte is Buried

Meaning “catastrophe” in English, the French term of “Shoah” is what is used to depict the Holocaust, which seems far too ambiguous to denote such a horror and causes me to hone in on why to the French, the Holocaust is not referred to as a genocide nor the systematic killing of millions of members of minority groups, but just a catastrophe. Thus, the simplicity of the term “Shoah” was something I found extremely difficult to look past. Moreover (and by no means helping the French’s case in my eyes), the deportations, internments, and killings that occurred in France (or even those that actually took place beyond the country’s borders and beyond their control for that matter) were barely addressed at all. Although extensive in its coverage of World War II, at Invalides I was only able to locate one small display discussing the Holocaust, and it is hidden within an under-lit corner of the exhibit that manages to delve into the involvement of the French in almost all aspects of the war (oftentimes also being absurdly biased when doing so) except for the nation’s role in/with the Holocaust. While I do not speak a lick of French, and therefore could not understand the short descriptive plaque discussing the contents of said display at Invalides on the “Shoah,” not much of an explanation needed as only felt yellow Stars of David that the Jewish population of France had been forced to wear post-1941 were behind that glass.

Yet the real surprise is found within the Shoah Museum. I had been looking forward to our visit, and upon our entry into the well-guarded site, I was not disappointed. Seeing the names the men, women, and children whom had been deported/killed at the hands of the French etched into the high stonewalls that were surrounding us gave me the chills. The stage had been set for an amazing museum. Upon entering the -1 floor, I found myself with the chills once more. The memorial to genocide with the eternal flame perfectly centered in a Star of David below a skylight was breathtaking – I even began to think that maybe, just maybe, the term “Shoah” wasn’t as simple as I had first concluded it to be.

The Understated but Extremely Moving Memorial to Genocide Within the Shoah Museum

The Understated but Extremely Moving Memorial to Genocide Within the Shoah Museum

However, upon my entrance to the -2 floor for the museum’s permanent exhibit on the Holocaust, my optimism quickly turned into disappointment. What had begun as a beautiful and promising homage to the systematic killing of millions had become, in my opinion, a disorganized and stale sub-par showing. As I mentioned above, I do not know French, but luckily (or so I first thought), the Shoah had English translations for almost every area. Yet, said English translations were by no means meaningful or enough in my opinion to make up for the hodgepodge of information being regurgitated at us. Yes, the familial backgrounds and personal stories of victims were a nice touch for the museum to have been able to include, however, they were presented so poorly that they had no real impact. I hate to put it like this, but essentially just showing a picture of a persecuted Jewish man or woman with their age and occupation before and after the war was by no means enough. It was basic, and shown the way it was made me feel like it was almost a school project. The Shoah showed us victims and survivors but nothing more – not their struggles, experiences, or horror stories – as many of the best Holocaust museums do or even the logistics of how the French came to be so influential in all of it (as had been interestingly shown in the British Imperial Museum). Had the museum been more fluid in its layout and stories and had more depth to its personal highlights, or even had English translations that were inclusive of the entire exhibit – particularly for the diary entries and video reflections shown throughout in French that were undoubtedly moving but because of the language barrier did not make sense to me – I may not have had such a disappointing experience. I found that the Shoah, which while it is privately owned and operated (as a Jewish organization nonetheless), completely fell into the aforementioned French mentalities of bias and avoidance when trying to address the Holocaust and its French connections. All said and done, my visits to Invalides and the Shoah simply leave a bitter taste in my mouth, which in retrospect, is largely parallel to my feelings towards and experiences within the majority of Paris as a whole – it does not really click with me.

However, we Did Have Fun at the Eiffel Tower

However, We Did Have Fun at the Eiffel Tower

The Cemeteries of Normandy

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As our time in Normandy came to an end, I was able to reflect on the many World War II sites we had been able to experience – from touring the countless D-Day museums to stepping foot onto the infamous sites of Omaha Beach and Point du Hoc – the themes of death and closure were nearly inescapable. However, our visits to the German, American, and British cemeteries were what really stood out to me. Unlike at the beaches that were once bloodied and immersed in battle, there was no imagination needed while at the solemn burial grounds. At all three cemeteries, well-manicured lawns were lined with thousands (and in the German’s case, tens of thousands) of tombstones. We could not escape this reality. There was no need to close your eyes and think of the constant gunfire raining onto the amphibious tanks and countless soldiers wading through the now-calm waters of the English Channel en route to attack the Nazi forces that were waiting behind the Atlantic Wall as was the case with the beaches. There were just tombstones.

Seeing the aforementioned countries’ respective cemeteries was something that immediately raised discussions amongst our group, especially when comparing each site from the other. The German cemetery was solemn and stark, and within its simple and arguably grim visitor’s centers the themes of reflection on past mistakes and the pursuance of peace were unmistakable. The simple stone pathway was lined by countless brown grave markers and sectioned off by crosses, all leading towards the central cross memorial that was perched upon a mound overlooking the French countryside. There was no pomp or circumstance – I’m not even sure if I saw a single German flag hanging on the premises – and each grave was simple in its nature, listing only the soldier’s name, rank, date of birth, and date of death.

Panorama of the German Cemetery

Panorama of the German Cemetery

From the Entrance of the German Cemetary

From the Entrance of the German Cemetary

In contrast, the American cemetery embodied the definition of pomp and circumstance – from its grand memorials honoring the fallen and unknown soldiers to the playing of the National Anthem – the freshly cut lawn overlooking the beach was dotted with perfectly linear headstones of crosses (and a few Stars of David) that, similar to the minimal information provided on each of the German tombs, were simple in comparison to the grandeur of the site as a whole (including the American cemetery’s security presence upon entrance into the extensive visitor’s center).

Tombstones at the American Cemetery

Tombstones at the American Cemetery

Memorial at the American Cemetery

Memorial at the American Cemetery

Lastly, was the British cemetery, which unlike the other sites, was situated on somewhat of a busy street and lacked the presence of a visitor’s center. Yet, the British cemetery was by far the most serene to visit. Although it was simple and smaller than those we had visited before, it was by far the most personal and moving. Rather than the dull brown grave markers on the grass in the German cemetery or the stark juxtaposition of the while headstones against the grass in the American cemetery, the British cemetery was lined with flowers throughout. Moreover, each tombstone was personalized with the fallen soldier’s specific age at the time of death and more often than not, included messages from their families engraved as well. Another aspect that really resonated with me was the subtlety of religion in the British cemetery, with the headstone shape varying by country of origin – although it was a British cemetery, Poles and Germans were also buried there as well, and had differing shapes to denote that – and only included religious symbols in specific instances rather than for all buried there. By including each soldier’s age and the usage of epitaphs, the British cemetery required no imagination either. There it was, no math required; engraved on each tomb, the inclusion of the age of the fallen (whom more often than not were hauntingly younger than I) was a visual I simply could not shake. The British cemetery required no pomp and circumstance, and although it wasn’t high up on a hill overlooking a picturesque scene as the others had, it spoke the loudest. Our visits to the German, American, and British cemeteries of Normandy are something that I will continue to reflect on for the remainder of this trip, and how the understand homage to the fallen by the British overpowered even the starkest of German surroundings and the most formal of American memorials.

Entrance to the British Cemetery

Entrance to the British Cemetery

A Personalized Tombstone at the British Cemetery also Depicting the Flower-Lined Graves

LONDON

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IMG_5096 IMG_5141 IMG_5273 IMG_5131 IMG_5226 Simply put, London was a whirlwind. Each individual day felt long, yet in retrospect, our time here couldn’t have flown by any faster. After landing at Heathrow on the morning of May 8, 2015, I slept – that’s right, I spent the 70th Anniversary of Victory in Europe Day sleeping – for around twenty hours. Finally awake, I was able to begin my early explorations of London on May 9, along side my friend from home, Taryn, who was able to join me after taking the train down from St. Andrews in Scotland. Together, we hit tons of London’s famed landmarks by foot and by tube: we walked through Hyde Park, saw the Wellington Arch, shopped around Harrods, stopped by Westminster Abbey and Big Ben, explored the West End, and eventually ended up at Buckingham Palace where we were even able to see the breaking down of their V-E Day commemoration events (which was really cool to see).

Yet, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, Taryn had headed back up to Scotland, and the day we had all been looking forward to – May 11th – had finally arrived. After convening at the Lancaster Gate Hotel, our entire World War II Maymester program had begun. Together, we rode the tube to Piccadilly Circus and walked to Trafalgar Square from there. Honestly, we really couldn’t have experienced more perfect weather while we were there. Itching for ice cream, Keith and I stopped by a small stand in the Square that was next to the British National Portrait Gallery where we got the most delicious custard-like ice cream cones. From there, (as seen in order from right to left, in the painfully obvious selfie-stick photograph) myself, Megan K., Josie, Laura, and Taylor all walked to the British Museum. The museum quite nice and was full of amazing artifacts (such as the beautifully ornate headpiece from Burma, as seen above) that had been acquired by the U.K., however throughout our visit there, I had a hard time fully appreciating everything I saw because of the ever-present sense of imperialism that the British Museum conveyed without ever addressing the topic directly (or really at all).

By the next day, the theme of England’s strong embrace of their Imperial Empire had become even more present to me, especially during our visit to the British Imperial War Museum (pictured to the left). Housing World War I, World War II, and Holocaust exhibits, I found myself appreciating every second I spent there. It is safe to say that the IWM easily became one of my favorite museums that I have ever visited and was somewhere I both wish I had had more time to explore, and would love to return to (which is a lot for me to say, because I often find that I loose my patience very quickly at museums as a result of my short attention span and inclination to always want to move on to the next thing). The exhibit that resonated the most with me was the IWM’s Holocaust area – prior to this trip I had been to Holocaust museums and memorials in both the States and in Israel, but hadn’t really seen one presented in such a logic format as it was there, versus the usual “Never Again/Never Forget” type of theme presented throughout them.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely loved London – it was like Manhattan, but better (and definitely cleaner). Moreover, I have only the best things to say about the tube, its system just made sense to me. After growing up in San Diego, where our public transit is laughable and nearly everyone has to rely on cars to get around, I had never really understood the benefits and successful usages of a large-scale public transportation system (as well as the amazing possibilities one could experience with the city being so walk-able) until coming to London. For example, (as seen above, and listed from left to right) Cam, Tommy, Matt, Keith, Peter, and myself all were able to board the HMS Belfast on the Thames River that overlooked the Tower after successfully navigating the tube to get there. However, not everything was just peachy while in London. The imperial tendencies that helped build the U.K. into what we know it as today seemed to really play into the ever-present “greater than” tone that I felt when encountering some British people, and was only enhanced through many of the city’s cultural attractions (ie: the British Museum’s massive displays of beautiful and historical artifacts they had acquired from the nations they once conquered, such as the headpiece pictured above; and the Harrods experience as a whole spoke leaps and bounds about the uppity nature we experienced throughout parts of our stay in London.