Last night I saw a photo of the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin lit up with the Israeli Flag: blue wavy lights with the Star of David superimposed on the massive marble monument. This was also the case in Paris on the Eiffel Tower, and in New York City on the Empire State Building. These icons of freedom were calling out an attack on Israel by its long-time enemy in a show of solidarity. I also saw last night a film with scenes of that same Gate in Berlin surrounded by Nazis with Hitler making one of those insidious hate speeches against its Jewish, German citizens. The scene was one of crowds cheering on that dictator with arms outstretched as the Nazi flags waved underneath and around the Gate. We might be tempted to think what a difference six decades has made, and it would be true, to a point.
The Gate was caught in between the Berlin Wall when it was built to stop Berliners from defecting to West Germany. Nobody could pass through those portals for the next forty years without permission. Many tried to circumvent the guards at their own peril. When at long last that Wall fell, taking with it all the remaining Humpty Dummies, once again the whole world was welcome to walk through its gates. In 2023, it is a tourist mecca of the highest order. I went there my first day in Berlin.
Flanked on both sides by Embassy Row with all the countries’ flags atop each building, it is an impressive site. Closer to the Gate on one side is the small tourist information office, and across the famed Under de Linden Boulevard is the even smaller “Room of Silence.” A blond German woman who looked to be my age, sat behind a desk giving out brochures and answering questions regarding this lesser known attraction. She said she thought it was important work, though she was not paid. The room has been supported by women volunteers since it was opened before the Wall was removed. Many women have been the patrons of this silent place within a politically charged location between East and West Germany. Were they concerned with their own safety during that infamous dictator’s call to arms against those who disagreed?
There is no religious ideology behind this small, neutral space open to everyone greeted with the word “Silence” at the entry in different languages. Within the room are chairs in a circle and the word “Peace” written in many languages on a collage created by Berlin students on the theme of tolerance. The only decoration is a tapestry with the theme “Light penetrating darkness.” The model for the room was the meditation room that UN Secretary General, Dag Hammarskjold, had set up in the United Nations building in New York City in 1957, which still exists today. The woman told me as I signed my name to the guest book, that I was one of around 70,000 visitors this year alone. She smiled a gentle, peaceful smile.
The Room of Silence* has two simple goals: “To offer all the opportunity to stop and sit in silence for a while, either to relax or to take in this historic place with its gloomy, but also hopeful memories; and the second is a symbolic goal: The Room of Silence should be a constant invitation to fraternity and tolerance among people, between nationalities and world views.” The tiny room seems to be meeting its mighty goals and the visual image cast on the Gate just outside that room in solidarity with Jewish people made its point: The Star of David instead of that yellow star sewn like a badge onto its citizens’ clothes marking them as the enemy. All good. Right? Why then, do I feel haunted by another powerful message I have recently heard: “When dictatorship is a fact, revolution is a duty.”
Any and all scenes from the Nazi era should haunt us. That hatred has been simmering ever since. There are too many examples to list, but Charlottesville here in the US a few years ago comes to mind immediately. None of those mongering hatred against Jewish people that night with Nazi flags and torches have gone away; most have likely not had a change of heart, and will without a doubt, rise up again. Let’s not pretend otherwise, otherwise we will one day come face to face with the inevitability of citizens pitted against citizens in a revolution. It would require nothing less to right such wrongs.
I admire those who stand in solidarity in silence because silence speaks volumes. Silence is a powerful and potent way to silence an adversary. Try it next time you find yourself in an argument with the likes of Comcast, or At&t, the big bullies of our day-to-day. Silence on the other end of the phone pushes a different button. It sometimes brings a turn in the conversation away from “Sorry, we cannot rectify your complaint,” to “We value you as a customer and do not want to lose you . . .” Silence can move the heart toward recognizing value in someone seen as one’s nemesis. Silence can stop an angry burn of hatred growing within one’s heart. Silence can stop the noise inside one’s mind. Silence can make its own point, as with the Israeli flag silently shown across the Brandenburg Gate in solidarity with a former perceived foe. All good. Right? I can’t help wondering, how does silence work against the “wanna-be dictator” whose violent, angry hatred foments the worst ideologies? Gandhi, MLK, Jesus knew the answer might mean, could mean, would mean their own death at the hands of one of those who hated the message more than the messenger. The stakes are that high for anyone of us who wants to stand in solidarity and in silence against any dictator, wanna-be or otherwise. What is the alternative? Since 1994, the Room of Silence has offered a “constant invitation” to . . . “tolerance among people . . .” Sounds so simple, like silence itself. Right?
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