A Memorial in our Midst

Berlin commemorated the fifth anniversary of the Holocaust Memorial this past week, honoring initiator Lea Rosh and architect Peter Eisenman, who had flown in from NewYork for the occasion. The Holocaust Memorial is now one of the most visited sites in Berlin: over the past five years, visitors have numbered about two and a half million for the underground museum alone, and at least eight million for Eisenman's Stelenfeld (Field of Steles).

photo: copyright, Mike Wolff

Eisenman's design for the memorial consists of 2711 slabs of grey concrete that become a dynamic labyrinth because of their varying heights, and axes that run both horizontally and vertically. Covering almost 20.000 square meters, the long, narrow passages between the slabs are claustrophobic spaces one moment, and entranceways to a widening vista the next.

The memorial's location -- in the heart of the city, near the former site of Hitler's Chancellery -- was the subject of a long, heated debate. Planners struggled with the question whether it was appropriate to place a holocaust memorial in a central open space without any enclosures, open to the public all 24 hours, and amid the banalities of urban life -- including a stand selling bratwurst on its periphery.

Five years on, even its once harshest critics recognize that the concept has been extraordinarily successful. Eisenman's Stelenfeld is impressive exactly because it is both a memorial to a haunting past and an integral part of Berlin's daily life -- exactly as the architect had envisioned.

photo: copyright, Mike Wolff

Walking through the stone labyrinth can be an emotional experience. This is a somber landscape that prompts reflection, and, deep in the labyrinth, you can suddenly feel alone in the midst of a large city. And yet this is not a museum to a fossilized past, nor is it a graveyard. Just when you feel the concrete slabs closing in on you, a child skips through a gap in the stones or a pedestrian stretches out briefly on one of the the sun-warmed flat surfaces.

In a city of memorials, this is perhaps the one that best reflects the character of Berlin. It is a memorial in our midst. You may find a school class working busily on a project. The person who lays a rose on one of the slabs may be a tourist or a holocaust survivor. There is no denying the depth of memory here, or the quiet dignity of the site. But there is no forced solemnity; people can be themselves. They can pose for a photograph, steal a kiss or risk a leap from stone to stone. Even the bratwurst stand has the right to remain.