The stained glass windows that frame the rebuilt New Synagogue in Berlin have almost no colored glass. Just a few jewel-toned shards remind visitors of what was lost beginning on Nov. 9, 1938 and through the Nazi occupation, from Allied bombings and neglect of the East German regime.
Although the New Synagogue was spared complete destruction on Nov. 9, 78 years ago this week, by the end of that two-day Nazi led pogrom, 267 synagogues were robbed, vandalized and burned down across Germany, Austria and parts of what are now the Czech Republic. The glass from their windows and that of Jewish-owned businesses covered the streets of the Reich, giving rise to the euphemism "Kristallnacht," literally Crystal Night. On that November 9th, Jews, especially young men, were jailed, publicly humiliated and in some cases killed.
Meanwhile most ordinary citizens looked on in silence. The fire brigades worked to keep the flames from spreading to non-Jewish neighborhoods, but nothing more. Kristallnacht is considered one of the critical turning points leading to the Holocaust because the lack of protest by Germans to the brutality signaled to the Nazis that the path was clear for more violence.
When you listen closely to the history of Kristallnacht, it is not the sound of breaking glass that tones the loudest; the sound of silence is deafening.
The 9th of November is also the anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. In stark contrast to Kristallnacht, on Nov. 9, 1989, Germans epitomized inclusion. With ropes, ladders and chisels they met at the 91-mile-long concrete and barbed wire barrier, which had divided a people for a generation, and chanted with loud voices "Mauer Weg" (Down with the Wall).
On that Nov. 9th, ordinary citizens rushed toward each other in support of imperfect, but so worthwhile, notions of democracy, freedom of choice and unity. History would reveal that the Politburo's decision to open the border came in great part because ordinary East German citizens, in spite of great personal threat, stood up to tyranny, in myriad ways and a plethora of places, so that eventually their voices could not be silenced.
Nov. 9th, now in 2016, proves another moment in history. The United States, my nation, has elected a man who espouses hatred. Donald Trump celebrates xenophobia, anti-Semitism, racism and misogyny. He mocks the disabled and using tropes we have seen throughout history, scapegoats those with the least power.
Trump's brand of ideology is not about the size of government or the use of taxpayer dollars, debates that in fact should strengthen a democracy. His ideology is about exclusion and domination. Democracies fail when they exclude. Domination leads to tyranny. We have seen this before.
In the days after this most recent Nov. 9th, we are being called. How we answer the call matters. I understand the instinct to remain silent even if only in grief or shock or anger. It is easy to retreat, to put your head under the pillow, to curl up or seek refuge in another world _ in my case wrapping myself in Aaron Sorkin's prose, binge watching "The West Wing" and wishing for a more beautiful image of public service to come to life from my Netflix account.
But we are being called and how we answer the call matters. On Nov. 9, 1938, to the sound of shattering glass, as buildings burned and neighbors suffered, silence carried the day and hatred won. So now, remaining silent cannot be an option, especially if you are privileged enough to have your safety protected when you use your voice.
We are being called and how we answer the call matters. Our job as ordinary citizens is to speak in myriad ways and a plethora of places _ with our voices constantly checking the hate, calling out the misogyny, rejecting the xenophobia, racism and anti-Semitism.
And with this deafening roar we will actively tear down all the walls that might be built. We are being called. Answer loudly.
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