Bookending the famous Worms Cathedral on one side of town is the narrow, cobblestoned former Jewish ghetto and, on the other, the Judenfriedof, the spacious 900-year-old Jewish cemetery, the oldest preserved Jewish burial place in all of Europe.
Clearly, Jewish Worms once thrived.
Not only was it once home to an estimated 1,100 Jews, but Rabbi Shlomo ben Yizchak, or Rashi, made it his home for five years (from 1060 to 1065), a time during which he recorded such important commentary on Torah and Talmud that his writings are considered among the most piercing and paramount today.
A creatively rendered metal statue of Rashi, mounted on a pedestal, stands perhaps 6 feet off the ground, between Worms’ only synagogue, the Alte (or Old) Synagogue, built of brick in 1034, and a dank, Roman-style mikvah (mikwe, auf Deutsche).
Docent Margret Brensing, who spoke quite good English, told us that each year about 30,000 tourists visit the synagogue, its adjacent museum, The Rashi House, and the cemetery across town, a roughly 20-minute walk away.
The dog-eared guest book in the synagogue attests—in myriad languages—to Jewish Worms’ international interest.
To the tourist, Jewish Worms seems nearly untouched since 900, the year it came to life, according to a French-language informational pamphlet.
Surrounding the Jewish quarter—Judengasse—is a section of the huge brick edifice with little windows that at one time entirely enclosed Worms’ Jewish ghetto.
Shooting up from the very shadowed, uneven alleyways within the rampart are multi-story homes. On the day of our visit, these homes’ windows were tightly shuttered, adding to the neighborhood’s rather desolate feel.
The synagogue is in the center of the Judengasse; without its signage, however, it could be mistaken simply for a squat, A-frame house.
We entered the spare, yet warmly lit building through a side door and each placed an available kipah on our heads (we knew what to do but, just in case, a sign indicates that one should don a head covering here).
Brensing, the docent, explained Worms’ synagogue’s tumultuous past: Portions of it were destroyed in 1096 during the Crusades and then reconstructed, in vain, in 1175. For, in 1349, the town’s Jews were blamed for the Plague, and their synagogue again suffered.
“In 1945, after 1,000 years of Jewish history on the Rhine, there was no Jew left in Worms,” intones the male narrator in accented English of a poor-quality, 12-minute video available for viewing in the museum.
The narration continues, “The ‘Holy Community of Worms’ had ceased its existence.”
But, later, a physical rejuvenation and then a human one—albeit in different form—occurred.
Between 1957 and 1961, this shul—the oldest in all of Germany—was rebuilt, largely with money from the German government.
Today the synagogue has separate men’s and women’s sections, a modest, curtained Aron Ha’Kodesh, a stately menorah and, at the back, bookshelves filled with siddurim—in Hebrew, German and Russian.
Relics include a Haggadah from 1738, a Torah scroll from the 1800s and a Kiddush cup from the 1600s, made by a silversmith in Worms.
The synagogue, museum and Jewish cemetery all are open nearly every day of the week; the former two close during the day only for its docents’ lunch breaks.
So it seems that in a small town once virulently opposed to its Jewish residents, it’s again OK to be Jewish. In the 1990s, vandals damaged some of the tombstones in the cemetery, Brensing said, but that incident was an anomaly.
“Usually everything is quiet [here],” she said. “Usually these things don’t happen.”
And yet, there are security cameras about, but discreetly placed, Brensing said a bit conspiratorially.
“You need not look around; you probably don’t find them.”
http://www.jewishreview.org/node/9020