My reasons for moving here from London in late 2020 were twofold. I was keen to maintain European residency after Brexit and I was disturbed by the antisemitism that had become routine for large parts of British society during the Corbyn years. After having been more or less contained during the post-war period, the world’s longest hatred had been uncorked.
But why Berlin? Well, I was impressed by was the post-war German state’s continuous efforts to educate its population on the horrors of the Shoah. In the early Nineties, Germany took in thousands of Jewish refugees escaping the former Soviet Union and the bulk of Berlin’s Jewish population is today derived from this group, though there are also German Jews whose forebears survived the Holocaust either by being “submarines”, those who went into hiding, or by fleeing Nazi Germany and then returning.
But after October 7, I was in a different place again. I lost several close friends to antisemitism after the massacre and was heartbroken for it. In addition, I felt increasingly unwelcome in many queer spaces in my adoptive city. I began to look for more authentic connections in Jewish groups and at Jewish events. According Nina Peretz, board member of Fraenkelufer Synagogue, which offers alternating “egalitarian” and “traditional Masorti” services, my experience is not uncommon. “In recent years, safe Jewish spaces have become even more important for LGBTQ+ Jews. It matters to us her that people can be openly queer and Jewish [here], without feeling that they have to hide.”
One inescapable feature of Berlin’s Jewish community is its linguistic and cultural diversity. Although English-speakers won’t struggle here, it is fair to say that in order to be fully immersed in Jewish life in this city, you need to speak not only German and English, but also Russian and Hebrew and that a smattering of Spanish won’t hurt. In fact, it is not unusual to hear a sentence like, “Yalla boi, let’s to the späti for a wegbier before we play durak”. (Come on, hurry up! Let’s go to the corner shop for a beer before we play a Russian card game.)
The Berlin Dyke March and (right) the city's kosher street food festival[Missing Credit]
I have also encountered Jews whose family stories include episodes in Ethiopia, India, Latin America (on which more later) as well as Canada, the US, Australia, South Africa and the UK. For my part, I have spent the past five years working on my German, which is now serviceable but far from perfect. I was taught Russian and Spanish in school but lost them, so hearing them spoken here by other Jews fills me with regret. In an effort to communicate more fully with the Jews around me, I’ve also begun learning Hebrew from scratch.
Many of my queer Russophone Berlin friends have described the complexity of creating their own connection to their Jewishness, when their parents either remained completely secular or embraced Orthodoxy in defiance of decades of religious repression in the former Soviet Union. To some extent, the new generation has found a place to explore this with the Lost Jew Crew, a post-Soviet club in the city that is explicitly welcoming of patrilineal Jews and those who grew up with their family history obscured from them.
Babka and Krantz bakery and (right) the Holocaust memorial in Berlin[Missing Credit]
When I first arrived in Berlin six years ago, the Israelis were more self-contained, preferring to attend their own Hebrew-language events from stand-up comedy to Chanukah. But as antisemitism has grown, Berlin’s Jews have drawn closer together across national boundaries. I was recently privy to a conversation in which a group of secular Israelis shared that many of their recent Tinder matches are now diaspora Jews. Given that Berlin dating apps are rife with purported “anti-racists” whose profiles baldly state “no Zios”, one can understand why. I was also impressed when Berlin’s resident Israelis mobilised quickly to find accommodation for Israeli travellers stranded by Iranian rocket attacks by reaching out to the wider Jewish community for support – which they got.
I was brought to tears last year by a commemorative service at Fraenkelufer for the victims of the deadly 1994 bombing of the AMIA Jewish Community Centre in Buenos Aires, organised by the Spanish-language collective Judaísmo Pop. In fact, a sizeable minority of the Jews in Berlin have connections to Latin America, bringing their own culinary traditions and liturgical melodies to the German capital. Organisers Uri Asikovich and Dani Rusowsky registered 200 to 300 attendees at their events over the past year, primarily from Argentina, Uruguay, Chile and Central America. In addition to the memorial, they also hold Latino Kabbalat Shabbat dinners and even a pet-friendly Tu Bishvat hike. “For those of us who miss the warmth and style of our Latin American communities, Judaísmo Pop is an attempt to find a new way of living and celebrating Judaism in Berlin,” says Asikovich.
Before October 7, I would occasionally look for English-language Jewish events but avoided Hillel Berlin, assuming it was more aimed at students. Turns out I was wrong. The Berlin chapter opens its doors to everyone from teenagers to those in their sixties. With a busy schedule of multilingual events around religion, politics, wellbeing and the arts, I have also been pleasantly surprised by the range of life experiences people bring to the table. Hillel is also behind the heavily protected and defiantly cheerful Chanukah event at Neukölln’s City Hall every year. I always try to go as it’s a good way to mingle with locals – after the candles are lit, comers are served generous quantities of glühwein and doughnuts from Brammibal’s, Europe’s first all-vegan doughnut shop. For those looking to socialise more informally, a group called Jew(ish) in Berlin offers Anglophone Shabbat dinners and there are larger networking events run by the Jewish Berlin online community as well, though for safety reasons, you’ll need a referral to sign up.
Less happily, there has been a spate of recent Jewish and Israeli restaurant closures following antisemitic harassment. Those affected include Babka & Krantz bakery and Doda’s Deli, Eyal Shani’s dinner and drag performance venue Gila & Nancy and the peace-themed Israeli-Palestinian restaurant Kanaan, which closed in March of this year, two years after vandals broke in and smashed furniture and glassware and smeared faeces on the walls.
However, it is still possible to nosh good Jewish food in Berlin and my recommendations include the sensational sabich at Golda Deluxe, sharing plates at Cafe Pilz, heimishe staples from Pasternak and celebration meals at Night Kitchen. The annual Kosher Street Food Festival, which takes place three weeks before Tisha B’Av every year in the spacious back courtyard of the Neue Synagogue, is a great place for everyone from across the community to catch up and try one another’s delicacies, from rugelach to empanadas to steaming Uzbek plov with wines from the Galilee.
The writer in her adoptive city[Missing Credit]
Karneval de Purim club night is a definite highlight of my Jewish year in the German capital. I mean, where else are you going to see a French maid dancing with a giant pickle to a track by Israeli singer Omer Adam? I also have a soft spot for the leftie pub Bajszel in the city’s Neukölln district, though it’s always chilling to clock the police car permanently stationed outside the venue following several violent antisemitic incidents at the bar, including one where the doors were glued shut and an incendiary device placed on the window ledge. And the annual Berlin and Brandenburg Jewish Film Festival is also worth catching, with the programme spanning from incisive analysis of current crises in the Middle East to historical features, biopics and more surrealist offerings.
There is a certain piquancy to the intensified antisemitism of the last years germinating the seeds of a Jewish cultural renewal, but it has been ever thus. We make things for ourselves because we have been excluded by others.
And there are no doubt many more things we have made, organisations and important events, that I have omitted and for which I will be inundated with complaints. But if they are too numerous to be included here, this is a sign of good health!
Leon Craig’s debut novel The Decadence is out in paperback on August 6. She is working on a new novel set in Berlin
