The Essays of Sam Person
An Unusual Easter Sunday
.....By Samuel Person
April 26, 2000
What could happen to make Easter Sunday unusual to me? After all, as a Jew, I do not observe the day.
It all began around two years ago, as I was sunning myself at the community pool of the Bonita Springs, Florida condo development at which my wife and I reside for seven months a year.
One day back then, while I was conversing with some neighbors, a new couple that I had not met previously arrived at the pool with their two daughters, and by chance, sat in chairs fairly close to where I was sitting. When I see new residents, I like to meet them; thus, I proceeded to introduce myself. There was no mistaking the German accent, which was no surprise in itself since there are a good number of Europeans (particularly those from Germany and Switzerland) who own condos in this general area.
In the course of the introductions I inquired as to where they were from, essentially for the sake of being polite, since it was clear that they were from Germany.
"Cologne, Germany," the gentleman replied. My answer to him was, "Ah, yes," which prompted him to say "Are you familiar with Cologne?" He spoke English fairly well, although he did struggle a bit to communicate effectively. There was something about him that caused me to hesitate in a response. I was somewhat careful to be anything less than polite.
You see, as an American Jew, I have always had a predisposition to dislike anything related to Germany, its history and its people; they represent a vivid reminder of the Holocaust. Germany also has been an enemy against whom America has twice fought bloody wars.
As a consequence of this feeling, I have never had the slightest desire to set foot in Germany. The closest that I had ever been was a trip through the Kiel Canal while on a cruise boat sailing from Amsterdam to Copenhagen. By the same token, in fairness, I admit that there are many German immigrants that helped to make our country what it is. But, they are Americans, as we all are, whether we are born here, or immigrate; prior allegiances are for naught.
And so it came to pass that I refrained from giving our new German neighbors a harsh reply regarding how I knew of Cologne. Of course, any American old enough to remember World War II recalls the air raids that destroyed Cologne. A gut reaction told me to give a calm reply, which I did, and my answer was a rather matter of fact, "I know of Cologne because of the damage that it sustained during World War II."
We changed the subject and moved on to other things, basically related to the development that we lived in, and avoided any further discussion concerning World War II with one exception, which had to do with the fact that my neighbors father had been a prisoner of war in the United States. I do not know the details, but he was held in New Mexico, which I knew had been a venue for housing German prisoners of war. My hunch is that if he was a prisoner of war in the United States, he could not have been involved in the genocidal acts of his countrymen. At least I am willing to believe that. Naturally, it may well be that I was being conned, and that my neighbor's father was a vehement Nazi; however, my bones tell me that the story is true, and that the father was not a Nazi.
Despite my long-held feelings that I did not care to know Germans of any age, my new neighbors and his family became friends with my wife and me. That I could have that kind of relationship with a German family was rather surprising to me, and has caused me to reevaluate my feelings about Germans.
That the Holocaust happened is a truth that cannot be denied; it is my feeling that "never again" shall be a phrase honored in perpetuity. Good people are not likely to forget, and the displays in museums throughout the world will help others to remember what happened.
Our neighbor is an orthopedic surgeon in his early fifties, and his wife was trained as a special education teacher. Along with their teenage daughters, they spend as much time as immigration laws allow German nationals to spend in the United States. After purchasing a condo unit in our community, they come to this area whenever the circumstances allow. Basically, they are here over the Christmas-New Year holidays, Easter, and for several weeks in the summer. We catch up to them during their winter and spring holidays.
I have become sort of an advisor/confidant to the family, helping to research information relative to their future plans and to advise them about their options. Those plans are simple and are rather reminiscent of the dreams of generations of others; they want to be Americans. They have their reasons; suffice it to say that are earnest, and are well aware of the consequences. In all probability the father will never practice medicine here nor will his wife pursue her career. They are entered in the "Green Card Lottery," and their selection will allow them to immigrate to the United States. The professional, personal and/or financial implications of their coming to America have been pointed out, and they are undaunted by what may lie ahead.
Americans who find much to complain about in our society should meet and/or converse with the large army of foreigners who wish to be citizens of this great land of ours.
During the spring of 1999, several months after we met, our German neighbors invited my wife and me to their condo unit "for a glass of wine." To avoid any embarrassment, I explained to the lady of the family that she should not prepare any food made of flour, since we would not partake of such items during Passover, which was being observed at that time. When she responded by saying, "What is Passover?" I was stunned. It was difficult for me to conceive that educated people would not be familiar with the very existence of Passover. Having discussed this situation with friends, there appears to be a consensus that one should not be surprised at the lack of understanding about Jews and Judaism in Germany; perhaps it is so because of a collective guilt feeling, or simply because there are so few Jews there.
We accepted the invitation, enjoyed the visit, and anticipated a return invitation to them when they returned this year. Between then and now, I heard from Cologne on a couple of occasions. First it was an email raising a question about their Florida real estate tax bill, then a greeting card that had no purpose other than to convey good wishes, and most recently, a phone call inquiring about an issue with the condo developer.
Impressive to me was the fact that the greeting card was individually signed by all four of them, and that they also extended regards to another one of our neighbors, who they know has some physical problems.
When they returned for their Easter holiday in 2000, my wife and I decided that we should return the invitation they extended last year, and invited them to join us for a pre-dinner glass of wine on Easter Sunday. As often happens, Easter coincides with the Passover holiday; thus we would have a merging of cultures, in effect.
They arrived at our door with an Easter lily, and joined us in eating (among other things) matzo and gefilte fish!
It is not unusual that they would bring an Easter plant, or that we would feed them Passover food; after all, those are symbols of the day and time of year. Incredibly, the ease with which all concerned dealt with the situation was something profound to me. What is unusual is that as a Jew, I could never have pictured myself observing Easter Sunday during Passover with German nationals; but here we were. I found it no less unusual that a German couple could sit with Jews and partake of Passover food with such an absence of discomfort.
Undoubtedly, I shall never forget what happened to six million of my people, but I will now have far less hostility towards Germans (like our neighbors) who by reason of age could not have had anything to do with the brutality of sixty to seventy years ago. For as long as I can recall, I pledged to myself that I would never visit Germany. Whether or not this feeling will change, I do not know, but I do know that America is a great country, and it is the immigrants throughout our history who made it so. In all probability the new immigrants (and would-be immigrants, like our German neighbors) will continue to enhance the progress of our nation.
