Behind the Headlines Jewish Community of Leipzig

Leipzig, birthplace of Goethe and Bach, and the leading East European trading center, is also the home of one of the world’s strangest Jewish communities. Before World War II, the 18,000-strong Jewish community played a leading part in the city’s cultural and economic life. Today, with 14,000 killed in concentration camps and many survivors emigrated to the U.S. or Israel, only 79 Jews still live here. More than half are in their sixties. There are only four children.

From this point of view, Leipzig is not much different from East Berlin–where there has been only one Bar Mitzvah among the 400 registered Jews in the last 10 years–or other East German cities. Without a permanent rabbi or cantor (there are none left in the German Democratic Republic) services can be held only on High Holy Days, with the aid of a cantor from Budapest and a choir composed of Christians.

Mrs. Ella Rosenbaum, one of the community’s members, sees no anomaly in the use of a non-Jewish choir in the synagogue–the only synagogue in present day East Germany that was not destroyed in the 1938 “Kristallnacht.” “Many of them speak better Hebrew than our Jewish members, and they sometimes give public performances of traditional Jewish songs,” she says proudly.

The synagogue, converted by the Nazis into a soap factory, was restored after the war. For its upkeep, and that of two Jewish cemeteries, the government in East Berlin contributes $12,000 annually. Indeed, unlike big brother in Moscow, the GDR seems to treat its Jewish citizens fairly generously.

SURPRISING DEGREE OF FREEDOM

Though official policy is to eliminate privately-owned shops, a number of Jews in Leipzig have been allowed to retain trading licenses. Those East Germans–Jewish or gentile–who spent time in Nazi concentration camps are entitled to a special pension of about $400 monthly. This is higher than the average East German workers’ monthly pay check and substantially higher than the normal pension.

Those registered as “Victims of Fascist Persecution” (former camp inmates) are also entitled to free travel within the GDR. “We certainly don’t lack anything,” says Mrs. Rosenbaum, a widow, who lives alone in a spacious three-room apartment surrounded by pictures of her parents and children who died in Buchenwald.

Jews in the GDR are allowed to publish their own monthly news sheet, with a Star of David on the cover. On High Holy Days services in Leipzig’s synagogue are conducted by the cantor from Budapest. On Passover, the community meets after the service for dinner at a local hotel, enjoying matzos and kosher wine from Hungary.

This freedom to pursue their religion has, however, its price. Although there are at least two Jews in the East German Communist Party’s Politburo, the East German government supports the PLO. Foreign Trade Minister Gunter Soelle made a point of visiting a PLO handicrafts stand at this year’s Leipzig fair.

Because of this, the Jewish population–whether out of necessity or out of conviction, it is hard to tell which–officially maintains a “neutral” policy towards Israel. Though pensioners have the right to travel abroad, few elderly Jews would risk applying for a visa to visit Israel. Asked why a leader of the Jewish community had attacked the recent World Conference on Soviet Jewry held in Brussels, Mrs. Rosenbaum said, “He had no choice. We are expected to take a stand.”

There is “no discrimination” against Jews wishing to enter the civil service or professions, “as long as they are card-carrying Communists.” she added.

Even though it is “neutral” towards Israel, and is full of praise for the authorities, one still detects a certain nervousness. One community leader I spoke to, refused to answer any questions by telephone. However, in fairness, one must add that this is a precaution adopted by many East Germans. In short, the Jews of East Germany enjoy a surprising degree of freedom, but it is by no means unlimited.