Memories of Yom Kippur in Hamburg, Germany

While temporarily living in Bremerhaven during the autumn of 1960, my husband Everett and I realized that the Rosh Hashanah holy days would soon be approaching. Our concern was, where do we spend Yom Kippur as we found out that there were no synagogues in Bremerhaven. We asked several of our neighbors living in the American Government Complex, and they all suggested that we go to Hamburg, which wasn’t too far away. So we booked our train reservations for the morning of Kol Nidre, and we were off to spend the Holy Day in Hamburg.

We arrived at the City Hotel, and, after checking in, we asked the concierge if he could give us directions to the nearest synagogue. The City Hotel is centrally located in Hamburg, and we figured this would be the most convenient place to stay. The concierge had no idea where a synagogue was, so he asked several of the clerks at the desk, and they had no idea either. No one in the lobby had heard of any Jewish house of worship in Hamburg. So we started to leave the hotel and go elsewhere to ask.

As we were about to reach the door, a middle-aged man approached us, took us by the arm and said “come up to my room and I will look up the address in the telephone directory.” With a bit of trepidation, we followed him. He told us that he was Jewish so we felt a bit of relief. He was a jeweler from Johannesburg, South Africa, who was on business in Hamburg. To prove he meant what he said, he opened two briefcases filled with gold and diamonds and showed us the most beautiful jewelry I had ever seen.

He checked the phone directory and found an address for a synagogue, wrote it on a card and gave it to us. He  told us that it wasn’t too far and said that if we gave the card to the taxi driver, he could get us there in a very short time. We thanked him for his help.

We hailed a cab and gave the driver the card with the address of the synagogue on it. When we got out, we saw a block of brick apartment buildings. There must be some mistake; there couldn’t be a synagogue at this address. I walked toward the door and next to the bell was a tiny business card with the words, Judische Gemeinde in the smallest print I had ever seen. I rang the bell several times but no one answered. As we stood there not knowing what to do, a young man of college age, wearing a yarmulke, approached us and asked what we were looking for. After we explained the situation to him, he told us that he can take us to the person in charge of services and that he lives only a short block away. We followed him and went into an apartment building where we met the man. He led us to his upstairs apartment and introduced himself. He was a rug merchant from Iran who dealt in Persian rugs. When we entered the apartment, I saw rugs piled up almost everywhere – on chairs, tables, sofas and across the banister. I never saw such beautiful carpets – all Oriental of different sizes, colors, shapes – like witnessing a scene from the Arabian Nights. I was speechless.

We told him why we were in Hamburg and that we hoped he could help us with the situation. He told us that he was living in Hamburg temporarily, and that his two school-age daughters were in the next room with a German tutor, and that we must only whisper when speaking of things Jewish. He said that he didn’t want the tutor to know that he and the girls were Jewish.

He brought us sliced melon, peaches, pears and other foods. He brought in tea and lemon. But I refused his offer, telling him that we had just eaten. I didn’t feel comfortable taking anything from him, and my husband, seeing I refused, also did the same.

He gave us the times for Kol Nidre and for the Yom Kippur services for the following day. We thanked him and left.

We attended the services that evening, and when the rabbi spoke, I was able to translate much of what he said. I grew up in a Yiddish-speaking home and knew the language well.

The next morning, we arrived in time for the entire service. During the break, we went outside for some fresh air and while we were enjoying the fall weather a woman came over to us and started to speak to us in English. She was from Scotland and was visiting relatives in Hamburg.

After the closing of the Yom Kippur service, one of the congregants grabbed my husband by the arm and shouted to him, “turn your tallis back with the star of David to face you, not the outside of the street. Don’t you know that this is Germany and not America, so be careful.”

As I reflect on this experience, my regret is that I didn’t accept the hospitality of my Persian host. The fruit looked wonderful, as did everything else. I know I hurt his feelings, but under the circumstances I hope he understands.

HELEN KAGAN lives in Providence and is a member of Temple Emanu-El. She is a retired high school teacher and is involved in the Harvard Lifelong learning program and on the Committee for Teaching and Learning at Harvard. She lived in Europe and Morocco for more than two years in the ’60s.