Stumbling Upon Miniature Memorials To Victims Of Nazis A German artist has found a way to remember individuals who perished in the Holocaust. He is laying brass bricks — each bearing the name of a victim — in sidewalks across the country. Each of these privately funded "stumbling stones" lies outside the last known place where the victim freely lived.
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Stumbling Upon Mini Memorials To Holocaust Victims

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Stumbling Upon Mini Memorials To Holocaust Victims

Stumbling Upon Mini Memorials To Holocaust Victims

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Germany has long anguished over how best to memorialize the millions of people murdered during the Holocaust. There are museums and large memorials, but some would prefer something more personal and poignant. NPR's Eric Westervelt has this story of an artist who's found a different way to remember.

ERIC WESTERVELT, BYLINE: The digitally distracted walk down a posh street in Berlin's Mitte district lost in their smartphones or eyeing the latest absurdly priced shoes and window goods.

UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN: Could we get coffee to go? Oh. Nice.

WESTERVELT: But sometimes, tourists and locals alike stumble on the small, brass bricks in the sidewalk. Engraved on each brick is the name of a Holocaust victim, date and place of death - if known - outside the last known place he or she freely chose to live.

Take this, for example, just outside an apartment complex right next to an ice cream parlor. Here's six bricks: Siegfried, Jenny, Martin Leonard and Elsie Schaye - all deported and murdered in Auschwitz in 1942. And here's Alfred Altoona. It just says tod - dead - 1942. All of them lived here.

On a recent spring afternoon across town in Berlin's prosperous Charlottenburg neighborhood, Gunther Demnig is on his knees, working a hammer, chisel and small trowel. Wearing a cowboy hat and denim from head to toe, Demnig is watched by a quiet throng here on Pestalozzi Strasse, many dressed in their Sunday or Sabbath best out of respect for the dead.

The 62-year-old, Berlin-born artist and sculptor is filling the sidewalk with dozens of small, square brass bricks with details of the dead.

GUENTHER DEMNIG: (German spoken)

WESTERVELT: Today, we're laying 45 stones for Jewish victims that lived in these houses, he says, and then secures the brass brick in memory of Martin Lwowski, deported 1943, murdered in Auschwitz, it reads.

Demnig first got the idea for the Stolperstein, or stumbling stones, as part of an art project back in the mid-'90s. At first, he installed 55 such stones in Berlin sidewalks. In the ensuing years, the project has mushroomed: There are now more than 30,000 commemorative bricks in dozens of cities and towns across Germany.

Demnig relies on local residents, schools, as well as religious and secular groups, to research the victims and their last address. He then makes and installs the bricks with help from two apprentices. This kind of memorial is more personal, he says, because it commemorates where the terror began: likely with a Gestapo or SS raid on a victim's apartment.

DEMNIG: (German spoken)

WESTERVELT: I think the large Holocaust memorial will always remain a bit abstract, he says. You have to make the decision to visit it, but not with the stumbling blocks. Suddenly, they're there, right outside your front door, your store, at your feet, he says.

These latest bricks, which are always privately funded, were organized by 52-year-old Hendrik Czeczatka, who spent part of his childhood in this apartment building on Pestalozzi Strasse, where his grandmother lived.

HENDRIK CZECZATKA: (German spoken)

WESTERVELT: I grew up right here. I played football in this courtyard. I broke that window right there, he says, pointing, much to the dismay of my grandmother.

Just off the street in the courtyard of this 19th-century tenement housing block is a synagogue, built in 1918. It survived the Kristallnacht attacks in November 1938, which saw Germans torch and ransack Jewish homes, stores and synagogues.

Czeczatka remembers his grandmother saying she told the Nazis not to burn the synagogue because Aryans lived in the surrounding apartments. After Czeczatka moved into the family apartment about 15 years ago, he began to research just who lived in the building. He found the names of 40 Jewish residents who were rounded up and deported to death camps. Charlottenburg had the largest Jewish population in Berlin before 1933. Yet Czeczatka was alarmed that so few households in the area had bothered to request Demnig's bricks. So he started raising money and awareness.

CZECZATKA: (German spoken)

WESTERVELT: Everybody is responsible, individually, for remembering in the first place. One can't pass off everything to the state. And we are the state, anyway, he says, adding: All of us have to continue to insist Nazis aren't welcome. We must keep the memory alive and learn from our history so that it doesn't happen again, he says.

The brick project has always drawn sharp criticism and controversy. Some owners have complained quietly that having quasi-tombstones in the sidewalk outside is bad for property values and business. But the main complaints are that the bricks highlight victim-hood only, and that people, dogs and bikes trample over the names of the dead, victimizing them a second time.

In Munich, city officials and a large influential Jewish group rejected the project - banning the bricks, in fact - arguing that they desecrated the memory of the victims.

But Helmut Loelhoeffel, coordinator of the Charlottenburg Stumbling Block Initiative, says those criticisms are misplaced.


WESTERVELT: Six million Jews were killed, murdered. The stumbling blocks make clear that it was one, plus one, plus one, he says, that they were all individuals.

Eric Westervelt, NPR News, Berlin.


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