Article fromA&B issue03|2023
I have been to Berlin several times. I have been very intrigued by this city. It is an interesting collision of various unique circumstances. For us Poles, it is an extraordinarily coordinated place. I don't think any other nation can react to Berlin in such a special way. Berlin is a stone's throw from the Polish border, only from Poland can you get here so easily. And it is an incredibly attractive idea for a city break: a great metropolis, full of museums, pubs, attractions, in addition, however, already foreign, in its own way exotic, for us — with the right approach — especially exciting, because German.
Why exactly Berlin? I chose the German capital for this story about multi-towns for several reasons. First: some foreign (and not just one) counterpoint is needed in a story about Polish cities. A city for comparison. So I will juxtapose Berlin with Warsaw. Second: Berlin is, as a multi-city, an exceptionally fascinating case study — thanks, of course, to its fairly recent division into East and West. What a story it is, with the Berlin Wall, the spies, the Cold War! It brings the peculiarities of the city much closer to our Polish experiences and urban impressions — after all, East Berlin was not much different from Polish metropolises when they entered the start of that great developmental race I'm trying to describe here.
Berlin can often be filthy - here, the aftermath of the New Year's Eve shooting
Photo: Mateusz Zmyślony
Besides, the German city may not be a downward equation — here we are viewing ourselves in the theoretically most ambitious of mirrors around us. For theoretically, the capital of rich Germany should give Polish cities no chance. Theoretically. In practice, however, we rather have no reason for complexes.
And here I could conclude succinctly and impressively this entire text. But then we would miss a lot of flavors, and they are, after all, the most important in these urban stories.
So what is this great capital city of Berlin for me — after a longer analysis? Let's start with the fact that I simply like this city. I like the freedom of people who are not forbidden by the government to have a beer in the park. I like Berlin's sparrows frolicking in the bushes and hopping under café tables. I like, of course, the atmosphere of Kreuzberg, the multitude of cool pubs throughout the city, the cosmopolitanism of the streets. I envy the returnable packaging system in German stores. I had a great time cycling around Berlin, the bicycle culture here has a noticeably long tradition.
Berlin also has its definite hits. Certainly the Museum Island with the Pergamon Museum at the top is one of them. The Ishtar Gate is really impressive, although I was even more impressed by the Roman gate from Miletus standing right behind it. I love — charming as it is to me — the atmosphere around Checkpoint Charlie. "YOU ARE LEAVING THE AMERICAN SECTOR". I just had to buy this plaque for myself.
Checkpoint Charlie is an iconic place, usually, by the way, heavily crowded
photo: Mateusz Zmyślony
I also respect Berlin's attempts to commemorate the most difficult thing, to settle accounts with its own past — after all, one has to go on living somehow, to move forward. I'm not one of those who look to the past with the intention of preserving it or creating an incriminating, regressive martyrdom. That's why I wrenched with great care inside the Holocaust Memorial, the Monument to the Murdered Jews of Europe (designed by Peter Eisenman). And that's why I consider the Berlin Jewish Museum to be the best museum I've ever visited I'm impressed by the way Daniel Libeskind (the building's designer) conveyed his emotions, his interpretation of history, but also by the chance he gave visitors — for their own interpretations, moods and, above all, the conclusions that can be drawn from confronting this work. Because it is not an ordinary building, it is not an ordinary exhibition. At this point I might add that this "best museum in the world" does not refer to the entire museum — only to the original version of Libeskind's concept, to the first temporary exhibition (when I visit it — the phenomenal Etgar Keret). After it — in my opinion — you should let go of further sightseeing, because the usual, completely unnecessary museum already begins, with a conventional approach, exhibits, overstuffed and spoiling the wonderful effect of the first part of the visit.
Concrete labyrinths - memorials quite well reflect the atmosphere of German reckoning with the war and the Holocaust, Holocaust Memorial,
design: Peter Eisenman
photo: Mateusz Zmyślony
Let's focus on the former precisely. Libeskind has created a building that is an exposition in itself, startling, succinct, putting you in physical distress, disorienting your senses. Poignant. I won't reveal everything, but it's worth being aware that Libeskind sets traps for us there: the floors are not at all horizontal, the walls are not at all vertical. I got dizzy in a few places. This disorientation is better than any exhibits. And marching over jaw-dropping metal faces stays with a person for the rest of his life. Most important, however — and I stress the subjectivity of this assessment — is the final impression. After visiting Auschwitz, one returns home gray, crushed, terrified. Leaving the Jewish Museum in Berlin, one is filled with reflection, but with hope, with a peculiar form of positive energy — because this museum focuses not only on those who perished, but also on those who survived, it makes one realize how fortunate one is to have peace and to be able to live without war, without terror. The message of this museum, unfortunately, resonates much more strongly now than before the war in Ukraine — as you can see, "never again" does not work for everyone.
A visit to the Jewish Museum makes you dizzy, literally and figuratively, design: Daniel Libeskind
photo: Mateusz Zmyślony
The fact is, however, that the lessons that Europe (in the sense of the European Union + Great Britain, i.e. the European West) learned from World War II have proven to be lasting and far-reaching. Inside this body, war today is indeed unthinkable, and may this never change again. On the other hand, the lessons to be learned from the events of the past year (and, in a broader context, the taming of Russia by doing business with it) make it clear that Europe's pacifism cannot mean its disarmament. A secure Europe will only remain perfectly prepared for war, which will inevitably come to the rich but militarily weak continent sooner or later. One must learn from history — and it doesn't just like to repeat itself — it just always repeats itself.
With a strange, surprising feeling — a positive attitude, but also a determination to live in such a way as to respect this life in all its dimensions, I leave this remarkable museum. I am left with the image in my mind of hundreds of very young people, read through letters from the Second World War, which the artist crumpled and threw on the ground. One has to bend down to pick them up, stretch them out. It's poignant.
Built into the sidewalk - this is how the tragedies of the residents of specific buildings who ended up in concentration camps are remembered
photo: Mateusz Zmyślony
