Journal articles on the topic 'Jews Persecutions Germany Berlin'

In Nazi Germany, integration into the community of the Volk, or exclusion and persecution, were determined by the regime's categories. As legal historian Michael Stolleis has noted, this new National Socialist terminology “quick[ly] penetrat[ed] … into the old conceptual world” of German jurisprudence and the country's court system. In line with the prescriptions of the political leadership of the Hitler state, bureaucrats of the Justice and Interior Ministries in Berlin drafted novel legislation that, once issued as new laws, judges, state attorneys, and lawyers readily interpreted and put into practice. With the promulgation of the Nuremberg Laws in September 1935, the main racial designations evolved around a tripartite terminology of “full Jews [Volljuden],” “Jewish mixed breeds [Mischlinge],” and “persons of German and kindred blood.” In accordance with paragraph 5 of the first supplementary decree to the Reich Citizenship Law of November 1935, state authorities classified any descendant “from at least three grandparents who [we]re racially full Jews” as Jewish. Paragraph 3 defined Mischlinge of the first degree, introduced as a novel legal category, as Jewish Mischlinge with two grandparents “who [we]re racially full Jews.” The supplementary decrees did not explicitly delineate the term “person of German blood”, but the main commentary of the Nuremberg Laws loosely tied this term to the “German Volk” as a community comprised of six basic races, including the Nordic and East Baltic ones.

In the 1960s and 1970s on both sides of the Atlantic, the American involvement in Vietnam and the demand for political and social change in response to these policies translated into activism on university campuses. Berkeley and Berlin became synonymous with protest; Mario Savio and Rudi Dutschke became the heroes of these student movements. However, this first postwar generation of German students at this time also was entangled in an additional personal and political crisis prompted by the war, namely their parents' and grandparents' past, the infamous Vergangenheitsbewältigung of the Third Reich. These children—born in the thirties and early forties (most in the war years themselves)—faced an older generation who not only instigated a world war but also participated, either implicitly or explicitly, in the persecution and extermination of six million Jews and other so-called undesirables. It was a harsh and painful time for these young people and their elders, the latter who were attacked for their complicity and the former who were accused of hubris.

The percentage of victimization of Dutch Jewry during the Shoah is the highest of Western, Central and Southern Europe (except, perhaps of Greece), and close to the Polish one: 75%, more than 104.000 souls. The question of disproportion between the apparent favorable status of the Jews in society – they had acquired emancipation in 1796 - and the disastrous outcome of the Nazi occupation as compared to other countries in general and Western European in particular has haunted Dutch historiography of the Shoah. Who should be blamed for that outcome: the perpetrators, i.e. the Germans, the bystanders, i.e. the Dutch or the victims, i.e. the Dutch Jews? The article first surveys the answers given to this question since the beginnings of Dutch Holocaust historiography in the immediate post-war period until the debates of today and the factors that influenced the shaping of some basic perceptions on “Dutch society and the Jews”. It then proceeds to detailing several facts from the Holocaust period that are essential for an evaluation of gentile attitudes. The article concludes with the observation that – in spite of ongoing debates – the overall picture which has accumulated after decades of research will not essentially being altered. Although the Holocaust was initiated, planned and carried out from Berlin, and although a considerable number of Dutchmen helped and hid Jews and the majority definitely despised the Germans, considerable parts of Dutch society contributed to the disastrous outcome of the Jewish lot in the Netherlands – through a high amount of servility towards the German authorities, through indifference when Jewish fellow-citizens were persecuted, through economically benefiting from the persecution and from the disappearance of Jewish neighbors, and through actual collaboration (stemming from a variety of reasons). Consequently, the picture of the Holocaust in the Netherlands is multi-dimensional, but altogether puzzling and not favorable.

We study the role of economic incentives in shaping the coexistence of Jews, Catholics, and Protestants, using novel data from Germany for 1,000+ cities. The Catholic usury ban and higher literacy rates gave Jews a specific advantage in the moneylending sector. Following the Protestant Reformation (1517), the Jews lost these advantages in regions that became Protestant. We show (i) a change in the geography of anti-Semitism with persecutions of Jews and anti-Jewish publications becoming more common in Protestant areas relative to Catholic areas; (ii) a more pronounced change in cities where Jews had already established themselves as moneylenders. These findings are consistent with the interpretation that, following the Protestant Reformation, Jews living in Protestant regions were exposed to competition with the Christian majority, especially in moneylending, leading to an increase in anti-Semitism. (JEL D74, J15, N33, N43, N93)

This essay begins with a Berlin memorial to the victims of National Socialist “euthanasia” killings first unveiled in 2014. The open-air structure was the fourth such major public memorial in the German capital, having followed earlier memorials already established for Jewish victims of Nazi atrocity in 2005, German victims of homosexual persecution in 2008, and Sinti and Roma victims in 2012. Planning for the systematic persecution and extermination of at least 300,000 infants, adolescents, and adults deemed “life unworthy of life” (Lebensunwertes Leben) long preceded and extended beyond the 12-year Nazi period of massacre linked to other victim groups. Yet those constructing collective memory projects in Berlin appear to consider these particular victims as an afterthought, secondary to the other groups. Rather than address the commemorations themselves, this essay addresses the sequence in which they have appeared in order to demonstrate a pattern of first-victimized/last-recognized. I argue that the massacre of Jews, Roma, homosexuals, and others had to come into legal jurisprudence, scholarship, and public memory projects first before the murdered disabled body and its related memorialization could be legitimized as a category of violence important in and of itself. I argue further that the delay is rooted in a shared trans-Atlantic history that has failed to interrogate disability in terms of the social and cultural values that categorize and stigmatize it. Instead, the disabled body has been seen as both a physical embodiment of incapacity and a monolith that defies historicization. An examination of the broader foundation behind delayed study and representation that recognizes the intersection of racism and ableism allows us to reconfigure our analysis of violence and provides fertile ground from which to make connections to contemporary iterations still playing out in the present.

AbstractIn this paper I critically examine the conflation of Turk with Muslim, explore the Turkish experience of Nazism, and examine Turkey's relation to the darkest era of German history. Whereas many assume that Turks in Germany cannot share in the Jewish past, and that for them the genocide of the Jews is merely a borrowed memory, I show how intertwined the history of Turkey and Germany, Turkish and German anti-Semitism, and Turks and Jews are. Bringing together the histories of individual Turkish citizens who were Jewish or Dönme (descendants of Jews) in Nazi Berlin with the history of Jews in Turkey, I argue the categories “Turkish” and “Jewish” were converging identities in the Third Reich. Untangling them was a matter of life and death. I compare the fates of three neighbors in Berlin: Isaak Behar, a Turkish Jew stripped of his citizenship by his own government and condemned to Auschwitz; Fazli Taylan, a Turkish citizen and Dönme, whom the Turkish government exerted great efforts to save; and Eric Auerbach, a German Jew granted refuge in Turkey. I ask what is at stake for Germany and Turkey in remembering the narrative of the very few German Jews saved by Turkey, but in forgetting the fates of the far more numerous Turkish Jews in Nazi-era Berlin. I conclude with a discussion of the political effects today of occluding Turkish Jewishness by failing to remember the relationship between the first Turkish migration to Germany and the Shoah.

An immigration dilemma has confronted the Federal Republic ofGermany since the early 1970s. Postwar labor migrants from predominantlyMuslim countries in the Mediterranean basin were notofficially encouraged to settle long-term, yet many stayed onceimmigration was halted in 1973. Though these migrants and theirchildren have enjoyed most social state benefits and the right to familyreunification, their political influence has remained limited forthe last quarter-century. Foreigners from non-EU countries may notvote in Germany, migrants are underrepresented in political institutions,and state recognition of Muslim religious and cultural diversityhas not been forthcoming. Since 1990, however, a much smaller butsignificant number of Jewish migrants from eastern Europe and theformer Soviet Union have arrived in Germany. This population ofalmost 150,000 has been welcomed at the intersection of reparationspolicy and immigrant integration practice.

Christian Wilhelm von Dohm's Über die bürgerliche Verbesserung der Juden of 1781 is generally believed to be the first call issued in Germany for the improvement of the Jews' civil rights. This commonly held belief is mistaken. Following in the footsteps of Volkmar Eichstädt's Bibliographie zur Geschichte der Judenfrage of 1938, Jacob Toury called attention to the Schreiben eines Juden an einen Philosophen nebst der Antwort (in what follows: Schreiben), a pamphlet published anonymously in Berlin in 1753, which is “the first German composition on the Jewish question” calling for complete equality of the status of the Jews in Germany. Toury shed important light on this work but was unable to identify its author. Subsequent historiography took little notice of the Schreiben, perhaps because its author, and hence the context in which it was composed, remained unidentified. In this article, I show that the author of the Schreiben is the Berlin physician and early maskil Aaron Salomon Gumpertz, also known as Aaron Zalman Emmerich (1723–1769) and that his friend, the noted poet, playwright and critic Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729–1781), was directly involved in its publication. This identification should give Gumpertz and his Schreiben the place they deserve in German history and in the history of the Jews in Germany; at the same time, it enhances our appreciation of Lessing as a central figure in promoting the rights of Jews in Germany.

The article outlines the history of the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin as a very good example of how long any such procedure is, from idea to realization, as well as how strong the debate how and whom to commemorate. Federal Foundation Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe also supervised Memorial to the Murdered Sinti and Roma, Memorial to the Homosexuals Persecuted under the National Socialist Regime and the Memorial to mass murder of patients from mental hospitals. Besides that, the author analyzes the initiatives and sollutions for other monuments in Germany?s capital New Guard Room, as well as the Concentration Camp Sachsenhausen near Berlin.

Relations between Berlin and Tel Aviv are unique. They occupy a special place in the foreign relations of Germany because of the "historic responsibility" o f the Germans for the Holocaust - the genocide of 6 million Jews during the time of National Socialism. The Germans certainly learned a lesson from its past. For 70 years they have been demonstrating to the entire world its good intentions, and did everything possible in order to atone for the suffering of Jews. Today, among the Germans one can observe some fatigue of the theme. There is an increasing desire to leave the topic in the past and to develop relations with Israel, which is not based on the need to make concessions because of the fear of being convicted of a tragic chapter in the history. The same cannot be said about the Jews, who do not forget to remind Berlin about its "special historical responsibility." We can assume that in the short and medium term, the Holocaust will determine the development of relations between Berlin and Tel Aviv.

“The Jews are our misfortune.” This was the final conclusion of the eminent historian Heinrich von Treitschke—should it prove impossible to slow down the “flock of ambitious young men hawking trousers” who were penetrating into Germany “year and year . . . over the eastern border.” “Experience taught,” von Treitschke averred that these Polish Jews were alien to the “Germanic soul.” He had nothing against Jews, “baptized and otherwise,” such as Felix Mendelssohn, Gabriel Riesser, and others, all of them “fine specimens of the German man in the best sense of the term.” But then there were all the others, etc. These are sentences taken from Treitschke's November 1879 essay “Unsere Aussichten,” subsequently triggering the debate that has been known since Walter Boehlich's first edition of source materials as the “Berlin Anti-Semitism Dispute.”

The Jewish Museum Berlin (JMB) is a dynamic, performative space that negotiates between representing the Jew as an integral part of German history and as ultimate Other. While this tension has been documented through the political history of the museum (Lackmann 2000; Pieper 2006; Young 2000), we focus on the dynamics of guided tours and special events. We claim that guiding and festival events at JMB marginalise Holocaust memory and present an image of Jews of the past that promotes a multicultural vision of present-day Germany. In guiding performances, the identity of the guide as German/Jewish/Muslim is part of the guiding performance, even when not made explicit. By comparing tour performances for various publics, and the 'storytelling rights' granted by the group, we witness how visitors' scripts and expectations interact with the museum's mission that it serve as a place of encounter (Ort der Begegnung). As German-Jewish history at JMB serves primarily as a cosmopolitan template for intercultural relations, strongly affiliated local Jews may not feel a need for the museum. Organised groups of Jews from abroad, however, visit it as part of the Holocaust memorial landscape of Berlin, while many local Jews with weaker affiliations to the Jewish community may find it an attractive venue for performing their more fluid Jewish identities – for themselves and for others.

In 1985 one of the earliest memorials dedicated to the Jewish victims of the Holocaust was installed in East Berlin. The Monument to the Deported Jews was an arrangement of thirteen bronze figures in expressionist style. Will Lammert, the artist, originally designed the figures for the base of his monument for Ravensbrück in 1957. The artist died in 1957, however, before finalizing his design for the monument. Only two figures on a pylon were installed at the concentration camp in 1959. The figures meant for the base of the Ravensbrück memorial were unfinished, but were nonetheless cast in bronze by the artist’s family. Thirteen of those figures were installed on the Große Hamburger Straße in 1985 by the artist’s grandson, Mark Lammert. This essay analyzes the Große Hamburger Straße monument in three ways: first, it returns to the literature on the Ravensbrück memorial in order to better understand the role that the unfinished figures would have played, had they been installed. I argue that they originally were most likely meant to depict “Strafestehen”—or torture by standing—at Ravensbrück. Secondly, it aims to explain why and how Lammert’s seemingly expressionist memorial would have been acceptable to East Germany in 1959. While Western art historical attitudes toward East Germany up until the 1990s assumed that Soviet socialist realism was the de facto art style of the Deutsche Demokratische Republik (DDR), some elements of expressionism were being theorized in the late 1950s, at precisely the time when Lammert designed the Ravensbrück monument. Finally, I analyze the role that a monument for Ravensbrück plays in this particular neighborhood of Mitte, Berlin: standing silently, they are no longer legible as women being tortured by standing. Instead, the sculptures signify, at the same time, the deported Jews of Berlin and the harrowing aftermath of their deportations, the improbable return of the deported Jews, and the changing attitudes toward the history of the neighborhood in which the sculptural group is located.

In 1997, Hinrich Seeba offered a graduate seminar on Berlin at the University of California, Berkeley. He called it: "Cityscape: Berlin as Cultural Artifact in Literature, Art, Architecture, Academia." It was a true German studies course in its interdisciplinary and cultural anthropological approach to the topic: Berlin, to be analyzed as a "scape," a "view or picture of a scene," subject to the predilections of visual perception in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. This course inspired my research on contemporary German history as represented in Berlin's Holocaust memorials. The number and diversity of these memorials has made this city into a laboratory of collective memory. Since the unification of East and West Germany in 1990, memorials in Berlin have become means to shape a new national identity via the history shared by both Germanys. In this article, I explore two particular memorials to show the tension between creating a collective, national identity, and representing the cultural and historical diversity of today's Germany. I compare the Denkmal für die ermordeten Juden Europas (Memorial for the Murdered Jews of Europe, or "national Holocaust memorial") which opened in central Berlin on May 10, 2005, to the lesser known, privately sponsored, decentralized "stumbling stone" project by artist Gunter Demnig.

There have been few areas of the world during the past 150 years that have been as shaped by Jewish influences as East Central Europe. The prominent Czech writer Milan Kundera observed seven years ago that in the years before Hitler, the Jews were the “intellectual cement,” the essentially cosmopolitan and integrative element that forged the spiritual unit of this region. It was this small nation par excellence which added the quintessentially European color, tone and vitality to great cities like Berlin, Vienna, Prague, Budapest, not to mention Cracow, Lemberg and Czernowitz further to the east. The Nazi mass murder of the Jews, to which Stalin added his own macabre postscript after World War II, brought about the disappearance of this fructifying Jewish leaven and crushed for forty years the independence of the smaller East European nations sandwiched between Russia and Germany. Since the European revolutions of 1989, these nations, re-emerging from a semi-totalitarian deep freeze, have been recovering their national identities and historical roots long repressed under Communist rule.

This paper aims to present German experiences in documenting the crimes of the past using Berlin as a case study. The first part provides a brief overview of the history and the broader social context in which the process of dealing with the past took place in Germany in general, and in Berlin in particular, as well as the most important characteristics of data on crimes that were presented to the public. The second part provides an overview and analysis of the data presented in two memorials: the Topography of Terror and the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. These two memorials are examples of presenting information about war crimes that can be considered as fairly inclusive, thus the goal of their presentation is to highlight the potential that these approaches may have in creating a social memory and the overall attitude of society toward the past. The findings presented in this paper are the result of the research carried out by the author in Berlin in June 2011.

On 27 February 1943 in Nazi Germany the Gestapo brutally arrested more than ten thousand Jewish men and women. Martin Riesenburger, later the Chief Rabbi of the German Democratic Republic, recalled that day as “the great inferno.” This large-scale raid marked the beginning of the final phase of the mass deportations, which had been under way since October 1941. Also interned in Berlin were people who, according to NS terminology, lived in so-called mixed marriages. But new documents show that no deportation of this special group was planned by the Gestapo. In the past decade, in both the German as well as the American public, quite a bit of attention has been paid to the fact that non-Jewish relatives publicly demonstrated against the feared deportation of their Jewish partners. The scholarly literature as well has pictured this protest as a unique act of resistance that prevented the deportation of these Jews living in mixed marriages. The fact that during this raid an untold number of Jews, both women and men, fled and went underground has so far been ignored. Since we still know much too little, the following article will discuss all the events of the spring of 1943 and their background.

AbstractOn December 10, 1757 R. David Fränckel (1707–1762), Chief Rabbi of Berlin Jewry, delivered in German a sermon on the occasion of Frederick the Great's victory at Leuthen. Scholarly consensus has ascribed this sermon to Moses Mendelssohn (1729–1796), and it is included in the authoritative edition of Mendelssohn's Complete Works (Jubiläumsausgabe). Drawing on an earlier sermon by Fränckel that has only recently come to light, this paper argues that the "Leuthen Sermon" was in truth authored by Fränckel himself, in Hebrew, and that Mendelssohn only translated it into German. This re-attribution affords a better appreciation of Fränckel's important role in the emergence of the Berlin Haskalah. It is also suggested that Fränckel's thought was closer to Mendelssohn's than hitherto realized, and that Fränckel played a greater role in Mendelssohn's intellectual development than previously thought. The Appendix points out that Fränckel's sermon enjoyed a world-wide success: the German version was reprinted a considerable number of times in Germany; and an English translation was published in London and was reprinted in the New World by both Jews and Christians.

This article explores the policies of Nazi Germany towards the Karaites, a group of Jewish ancestry which emerged during the seventh to the ninth centuries CE, when its followers rejected the mainstream Jewish interpretation of Tanakh. Karaite communities flourished in Persia, Turkey, Egypt, Crimea, and Lithuania. From 1938 to 1944, the Nazi bureaucracy and scholarship examined the question of whether the Karaites were of Jewish origin, practiced Judaism and had to be treated as Jews. Because of its proximity to Judenpolitik and later to the Muslim factor, the subject got drawn into the world of Nazi grand policy and became the instrument of internecine power struggles between various agencies in Berlin. The Muslim factor in this context is construed as German cultivation of a special relationship with the Muslim world with an eye to political dividends in the Middle East and elsewhere. Nazi views of the Karaites’ racial origin and religion played a major role in their policy towards the group. However, as the tides of the war turned against the Germans, various Nazi agencies demonstrated growing flexibility either to re-tailor the Karaites’ racial credentials or to entirely gloss over them in the name of “national interests,” i.e. a euphemism used to disguise Nazi Germany's overtures to the Muslim world.

Fritz Seifter, a Jewish-German journalist and Polish citizen, collaborated with the German authorities on two occasions: first during 1933–1934 in Bielsko, where, supported by the Reich Ministry of National Education and Propaganda, he launched his newspaper Jüdische Wochenpost; second, in July 1940, when the General Governor's Department of National Education and Propaganda in Cracow appointed him editor-in-chief and managing director of Gazeta Żydowska. But in either case the circumstances and motives for collaboration differed significantly. In the case of Jüdische Wochenpost, Seifter completed a project he had been planning to carry out since the late 1920s. His newspaper was to consolidate the bonds of German-speaking Polish Jews with Germany. The Reich Ministry of National Education and Propaganda supported the establishment of this newspaper in order to tone down the opinions of Polish Jews regarding the Nazi regime in Berlin. During 1933–1934 Seifter saw himself as an agent of the German Ministry of Propaganda. In 1940, German occupation authorities in Krakow searched for and found Fritz Seifter, who was to be appointed editor-in-chief and managing director for the German-planned Gazeta Żydowska, completely controlled by the Germans. Its principal aims were to isolate the Jews even further from their Polish environment, herd them to work and give illusions of hope for emigration after the war. Thus there was no continuity in Seifter's co-operation with the German authorities, and collaboration was not the case. During 1933–1934, Seifter's main reason to launch his newspaper was German nationalism, which ostensibly linked him to the Germans. In 1940, however, Fritz Seifter no longer acted of his own accord, and any illusions as to the genocidal character of the Nazi regime was out of the question: Seifter alongside the rest of Polish Jews wanted only to survive.

The concentration camp in Theresienstadt in the Czech Republic was unique, in that it was used by the Nazis as a ‘flagship’ ghetto to deceive the world about the real fate of the Jews. It contained an extraordinarily high proportion of VIPs – so-called Prominenten, well-known international personalities from the worlds of academia, medicine, politics, and the military, as well as leading composers, musicians, opera singers, actors, and cabarettists, most of whom were eventually murdered in Auschwitz. The author, Roy Kift, who first presented this paper at a conference on ‘The Shoah and Performance’ at the University of Glasgow in September 1995, is a free-lance dramatist who has been living in Germany since 1981, where he has written award-winning plays for stage and radio, and a prizewinning opera libretto, as well as directing for stage, television, and radio. His new stage play, Camp Comedy, set in Theresienstadt, was inspired by this paper, and includes original cabaret material: it centres on the nightmare dilemma encountered by Kurt Gerron in making the Nazi propaganda film, The Fuhrer Gives the Jews a Town. Roy Kift has contributed regular reports on contemporary German theatre to a number of magazines, including NTQ. His article on the GRIPS Theater in Berlin appeared in TQ39 (1981) and an article on Peter Zadek in NTQ4 (1985).

Abstract In 1942, one year after the occupation of Greece by the German “Wehrmacht”, the “Reichswirtschaftsministerium” set up the DEGRIGES (Deutsch-Griechische Warenausgleichsgesellschaft / German-Greek organization for the exchange of goods) for the control of trade between Germany and Greece. The president was Otto Braun, owner of the Berlin-based „Transdanubia“, an Import- Export-Company. Braun organised in the 1920s in Bavaria illegal arms depots, and commanded „Feme“-murders. In Hungary he supported the fascists, and achieves the „aryanization“ of Jewish companies. The focus of the investigation is on the activities of the DEGRIGES in the network of competing organizations like the greek branch of NSDAP, the Sudosteuropa-Gesellschaft, the SACIG (the Italian counterpart of DEGRIGES), and the Mitteleuropaischer Wirtschaftstag (MWT) − and on the competition with Hermann Neubacher, „Sonderbeauftrager“ of the Foreign Office for Greece, and Max Merten, one of the organizers of the deportation of the greek Jews to Auschwitz. In summary, it can be stated that the DEGRIGES was from 1942 until 1944 (when it was liquidated during the withdrawal of the “Wehrmacht”) an „agency for the wellarranged exploitation of Greece“.

Historians have often viewed the history of the German empire with Berlin firmly in the centre of the lens, thus privileging the nation-state to the neglect of both the local and the transnational. Zooming out to include transnational processes such as migration and to globalise German history enables us to complicate the dominant narratives of the German nation-state. The movements of Germans overseas—whether as migrants, missionaries, or merchants—helped to forge a global presence for the German empire, but also entailed complex negotiations both among Germans and between Germans and their various “others,” thus revealing the ways in which German nationalist and colonial discourses and practices adapted to local conditions. While the German empire sought to establish itself as a colonial power abroad only in the late nineteenth century, Prussia-Germany was already a colonial power at home, in its eastern provinces. Zooming back in from the global to the local, and refocusing from Berlin to the borderlands, further complicates our understandings of the German empire, by revealing the ways in which local conditions in the eastern borderlands, themselves influenced by transnational phenomena such as international migration, informed the development of German nationalism there. Most notably, the demographics of the Prussian eastern provinces—and the movements of Jews, Germans, Poles, and Ruthenians/Ukrainians in and out of the region—required German nationalists to integrate greater flexibility into their discourse.

The purpose of this research study is to investigate the ethics of holocaust tourism as a niche market which is becoming very commercialised due to the growing demand for such activities at certain locations and to examine the motivating factors for tourists visiting these destinations. Holocaust sites, a number of which were commissioned for memorial after the liberation during World War II to memorialise those lost and act as an educational resource. The main aim of this research is to explore whether holocaust tourism can be seen as education or exploitation. This will be investigated through a site visit to a holocaust tourism destination in Germany (Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, Berlin) and a survey to identify those who engage in holocaust tourism, their motivations for doing so, and the outcome of their visits. Finally, this research study will provide results on the ethics of holocaust tourism and its educational value through a review of the academic research as well as the opinions of those who have or will engage in holocaust tourism. One of the main conclusions is that both primary participants and secondary authors spoke of how when visiting these sites, you create a connection to the destination and the sense of what occurred at the location is undeniable.

موسوعة الفرق والجماعات والمذاهب والأحزاب والحركات الإسلامية، عبد المنعم الحفنى، القاهرة: مكتبة مدبولي، 2005م، 627 صفحة. الفَرق بين الفِرَق وبيان الفِرقة الناجية منهم، أبو منصور عبد القاهر بن طاهر بن محمد البغدادي، تحقيق: محمد فتحي النادي، القاهرة: دار السلام للطباعة والنشر والتوزيع والترجمة، 2010م، 448 صفحة. دراسة في الفِرَق والطوائف الإسلامية، أحمد عبد الله اليظي، القاهرة: الهيئة المصرية العامة للكتاب، 2009م، 390 صفحة. الآخر في الثقافة العربية من القرن السادس حتى مطلع القرن العشرين، حسين العودات، بيروت: دار الساقي للطباعة والنشر، 2010م، 320 صفحة. من تاريخ الهُرمسية والصوفية في الإسلام، بيير لوري، ترجمة: لويس صليبا، لبنان: دار ومكتبة بيبليون، ط2، 2007م، 315 صفحة. هرمس الحكيم بين الألوهية والنبوة، أحمد غسان سبانو، دمشق: دار قتيبة، 2010م، 224 صفحة. حوار الأديان وحدة المبادئ العامة والقواعد الكلية، هادي حسن حمودي، بيروت: بيت العلم للنابهين، 2010م، 335 صفحة. الإسلام والغرب إشكالية الصراع وضرورة الحوار، أحمد عرفات القاضى، القاهرة: مكتبة مدبولي، 2010م، 282 صفحة. موسوعة تاريخ العلاقات بين العالم الإسلامي والغرب، نخبة من الأكاديميين، تحقيق: سمير سليمان، طهران: المجمع العالمي للتقريب بين المذاهب الإسلامية، 2010م، 918 صفحة. Gramsci's Historicism: A Realist Interpretation, Esteve Morera, New York: Routledge, new edition, (December 2010), 238 pages. The Discovery of Historicity in German Idealism and Historism, Peter Koslowski, Berlin: Springer Berlin Heidelberg (January 14, 2010) 2nd edition, 304 pages Resisting History: Historicism and Its Discontents in German-Jewish Thought (Jews, Christians, and Muslims from the Ancient to the Modern World), David N. Myers, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2nd edition, (December 21, 2009), 270 pages. From Here to Diversity: Globalization and Intercultural Dialogues, Clara Sarmento, Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing; New edition edition (October 2010), 405 pages. Facilitating Intergroup Dialogues: Bridging Differences, Catalyzing Change, Kelly E. Maxwell (Author), Biren (Ratnesh) Nagda (Author), Monita C. Thompson (Author), Patricia Gurin (Foreword), Sterling, VA - Stylus Publishing (November 2010), 288 pages. Who Can Stop the Wind?: Travels in the Borderland Between East and West (Monastic Interreligious Dialogue series), Notto R. Thelle, MN, USA: Liturgical Press (September 7, 2010), 112 pages. Dialogues in the Philosophy of Religion, John Hick, Hampshire, UK: Palgrave Macmillan (May 11, 2010), 256 pages. Multicultural Dialogue: Dilemmas, Paradoxes, Conflicts, Randi Gressgard, Berghahn Books; 1 edition (May 15, 2010), 174 pages. Ideas of Muslim Unity at the Age of Nationalism, Elmira Akhmetova, Saarbrücken, Germany: LAP Lambert Academic Publishing (July 2009), 164 pages. Essential Gnostic Scriptures, Willis Barnstone, Marvin Meyer, Boston, MA: Shambhala (December 28, 2010), 240 pages. Pathways to an Inner Islam, Patrick Laude, New York: State University of New York Press (February 4, 2010), 211 pages. للحصول على كامل المقالة مجانا يرجى النّقر على ملف ال PDF في اعلى يمين الصفحة.

At the Humboldt University of Berlin, German historian Alexander Korb defended, with the highest grade (summa cum laude), his doctoral thesis in historical studies ?In the Shadow of the World War II. Mass violence by the Ustasa against Serbs, Jews and Roma?. His radically new thesis are as follows: 1) in the State of Croatia (1941-1945) ?there was no genocide against the Serbs?; 2) clerical component (Croatian Catholic clergy and the Vatican) ?played no significant role? in the mass violence against the Serbs in the State of Croatia (1941-1945), so the forced catholicization of the Serbs was ?purely secular in character?. Korb, therefore, enters into absolute conflict with the vast majority of previous research papers and their conclusions. Korb?s theses are challenged from three aspects in this analysis: a) scientific and historical, b) linguistic and philosophical (definitionism theory) and c) political. Regarding scientific and historical aspects, Korb approached this problem one-sidedly, in a selective way, and from the very beginning drastically reduced i.e. excluded an enormous part of primary historical sources and scientific literature. He excluded all Serbian sources, including testimonies of Serbian survivors and victims, on the grounds that they were either ?Serbian nationalists? or ?Serbian communists?, then all testimonies of eye-witnesses from the opressors side - German Nazis and Italian Fascists - with justification that they are manipulated by ?Serbian nationalists? or ?Serbian communists?, as well as all primary historical sources and scientific literature which testify of the role of Croatian Roman Catholic clergy and the Vatican, on the basis that they are ?anti-clerical?. From linguistic and philosophical aspect, Korb?s argumentations clearly belong to the principle of ?usurpation of power over definitions and psychagogy? recognized by classical theory of concepts as a convenient redefinition, virtualization of reality and psychagogic establishment of the new ?real reality? in the minds of the target group through its internalization. Korb?s work is, therefore, rather relativistic linguistic and philosophical treatise clad in historical science than scientific study of history. As for the aspect of political science, it can be concluded that paradigm shift in social sciences and humanities in Germany, due to his indisputable efforts, obtained a new quality, a completely different level of arbitrary and virtual reflection of reality. Namely, these sciences are rapidly getting mutual and dominant ideological and political connotation.

Introduction Nun habe ich Euch genug geschrieben, diesen Brief wenn sei [sic] lesen würden, dann würde ich den Genickschuß bekommen.Now I have written you enough, this letter if they would read it, I would get the neck shot. (M., all translations from German sources and quotations by the author) When the German soldier Otto M. wrote these lines from Russia to his family on 3 September 1943 during the Second World War, he knew that his war letter would not be subject to the National Socialist censorship apparatus. The letter contains, inter alia, detailed information about the course of the war on the front, troop locations, and warnings about the Nazi regime. M., as he wrote in the letter, smuggled it past the censorship via a “comrade”. As a German soldier, M. was a member of the Volksgemeinschaft—a National Socialist concept that drew a “racist and anti-Semitic borderline” (Wildt 48)—and was thus not socially excluded due to his status. Nevertheless, in the sentence quoted above, M. anticipates possible future consequences of his deviant actions, which would be carried out by “them”—potentially leading to his violent death. This article investigates how social and societal exclusion is brought forth by everyday media practices such as writing letters. After an introduction to the thesis under discussion, I will briefly outline the linguistic research on National Socialism that underlies the approach presented. In the second section, the key concepts of agency and dispositif applied in this work are discussed. This is followed by two sections in which infrastructural and interactional practices of exclusion are analysed. The article closes with some concluding remarks. During the Second World War, Wehrmacht soldiers and their relatives could not write and receive letters that were not potentially subject to controls. Therefore, the blunt openness with which M. anticipated the brutal sanctions of behavioural deviations in the correspondence quoted above was an exception in the everyday practice of war letter communication. This article will thus pursue the following thesis: private communication in war letters was subject to specific discourse conditions under National Socialism, and this brought forth excluding agency, which has two intertwined readings. Firstly, “excluding” is to be understood as an attribute of “agency” in the sense of an acting entity that either is included and potentially excludes or is excluded due to its ascribed agency. For example, German soldiers who actively participated in patriotic service were included in the Volksgemeinschaft. By contrast, Jews or Communists, to name but a few groups that, from the perspective of racist Nazi ideology, did not contribute to the community, were excluded from it. Such excluding agencies are based on specific practices of dispositional arrangement, which I refer to as infrastructural exclusion of agency. Secondly, excluding agency describes a linguistic practice that developed under National Socialism and has an equally stabilising effect on it. Excluding agency means that agents, and hence protagonists, are excluded by means of linguistic mitigation and omission. This second reading emphasises practices of linguistic construction of agency in interaction, which is described as interactional exclusion of agency. In either sense, exclusion is inextricably tied to the notion of agency, which is illustrated in this article by using data from field post letters of the Second World War. Social exclusion, along with its most extreme manifestations under fascism, is both legitimised and carried out predominantly through discursive practices. This includes for the public domain, on the one hand, executive language use such as in laws, decrees, orders, court hearings, and verdicts, and on the other hand, texts such as ideological writings, speeches, radio addresses, folk literature, etc. Linguistic research on National Socialism and its mechanisms of inclusion and exclusion has long focussed on the power of a regulated public use of language that seemed to be shaped by a few protagonists, most notably Hitler and Goebbels (Schlosser; Scholl). More recent works, however, are increasingly devoted to the differentiation of heterogeneous communities of practice, which were primarily established through discursive practices and are manifested accordingly in texts of that time (Horan, Practice). Contrary to a justifiably criticised “exculpation of the speakers” (Sauer 975) by linguistic research, which focusses on language but not on situated, interactional language use, such a perspective is increasingly interested in “discourse in National Socialism, with a particular emphasis on language use in context as a shared, communicative phenomenon” (Horan, Letter 45). To understand the phenomenon of social and societal exclusion, which was constitutive for National Socialism, it is also necessary to analyse those discursive practices of inclusion and exclusion through which the speakers co-constitute everyday life. I will do this by relating the discourse conditions, based on Foucault’s concept of dispositif (Confessions 194), to the agency of the correspondents of war letters, i.e. field post letters. On Agency and Dispositif Agency and dispositif are key concepts for the analysis of social exclusion, because they can be applied to analyse the situated practices of exclusion both in terms of the different capacities for action of various agents, i.e. acting entities, and the inevitably asymmetrical arrangement within which actions are performed. Let me first, very briefly, outline some linguistic conceptions of agency. While Ahearn states that “agency refers to the socioculturally mediated capacity to act” (28) and thus conceives agency as a potential, Duranti understands agency “as the property of those entities (i) that have some degree of control over their own behavior, (ii) whose actions in the world affect other entities’ (and sometimes their own), and (iii) whose actions are the object of evaluation (e.g. in terms of their responsibility for a given outcome)” (453). Deppermann considers agency to be a means of social and situational positioning: “‘agency’ is to capture properties of the subject as agent, that is, its role with respect to the events in which it is involved” (429–30). This is done by linguistic attribution. Following Duranti, this analysis is based on the understanding that agency is established by the ascription of action to an entity which is thereby made or considered accountable for the action. This allows a practice-theoretical reference to Garfinkel’s concept of accountability and identifies agentive practices as “visibly-rational-and-reportable-for-all-practical purposes” (7). The writing of letters in wartime is one such reflexive discursive practice through which agents constitute social reality by means of ascribing agency. The concept of semantic roles (Fillmore; von Polenz), offers another, distinctly linguistic access to agency. By semantic roles, agency in situated interaction is established syntactically and semantically. Put simply, a distinction is made between an Agent, as someone who performs an action, and a Patient, as someone to whom an action occurs (von Polenz 170; semantic roles such as Agent, Patient, Experiencer, etc. are capitalised by convention). Using linguistic data from war letters, this concept is discussed in more detail below. In the following, “field post” is considered as dispositif, by which Foucault means a thoroughly heterogeneous ensemble consisting of discourses, institutions, architectural forms, regulatory decisions, laws, administrative measures, scientific statements, philosophical, moral and philanthropic propositions – in short, the said as much as the unsaid. Such are the elements of the apparatus [dispositif]. The apparatus [dispositif] itself is the system of relations that can be established between these elements. (Foucault, Confessions 194) The English translation of the French “dispositif” as “apparatus” encourages an understanding of dispositif as a rather rigid structure. In contrast, the field post service of the Second World War will be used here to show how such dispositifs enable practices of exclusion or restrict access to practices of inclusion, while these characteristics themselves are in turn established by practices or, as Foucault calls them, procedures (Foucault, Discourse). An important and potentially enlightening notion related to dispositif is that of agencement, which in turn is borrowed from Deleuze and Guattari and was further developed in particular in actor-network theory (Çalışkan and Callon; Gherardi). What Çalışkan and Callon state about markets serves as a general description of agencement, which can be defined as an “arrangement of heterogeneous constituents that deploys the following: rules and conventions; technical devices; metrological systems; logistical infrastructures; texts, discourses and narratives …; technical and scientific knowledge (including social scientific methods), as well as the competencies and skills embodied in living beings” (3). This resembles Foucault’s concept of dispositif (Foucault, Confessions; see above), which “denotes a heterogeneous ensemble of discursive and nondiscursive elements with neither an originary subject not [sic] a determinant causality” (Coté 384). Considered morphosemantically, agencement expresses an important interrelation: in that it is derived from both the French agencer (to construct; to arrange) and agence (agency; cf. Hardie and MacKenzie 58) and is concretised and nominalised by the suffix -ment, agencement elegantly integrates structure and action according to Giddens’s ‘duality of structure’. While this tying aspect certainly contributes to a better understanding of dispositional arrangements and should therefore be considered, agencement, as applied in actor-network theory, emphasises above all “the fact that agencies and arrangements are not separate” (Çalışkan and Callon) and is, moreover, often employed to ascribe agency to material objects, things, media, etc. This approach has proven to be very fruitful for analyses of socio-technical arrangements in actor-network theory and practice theory (Çalışkan and Callon; Gherardi). However, within the presented discourse-oriented study on letter writing and field post in National Socialism, a clear analytical differentiation between agency and arrangement, precisely in order to point out their interrelation, is essential to analyse practices of exclusion. This is why I prefer dispositif to agencement as the analytical concept here. Infrastructural Exclusion of Agency in Field Post Letters In the Second World War, writing letters between the “homeland” and the “frontline” was a fundamental everyday media practice with an estimated total of 30 to 40 billion letters in Germany (Kilian 97). War letters were known as field post (Feldpost), which was processed by the field post service. The dispositif “field post” was, in opposition to the traditional postal service, subject to specific conditions regarding charges, transport, and above all censorship. No transportation costs arose for field post letters up to a weight of 250 grams. Letters could only be sent by or to soldiers with a field post number that encoded the addresses of the field post offices. Only soldiers who were deployed outside the Reich’s borders received a field post number (Kilian 114). Thus, the soldiers were socially included as interactants due to their military status. The entire organisation of the field post was geared towards enabling members of the Volksgemeinschaft to communicatively shape, maintain, and continue their social relationships during the war (Bergerson et al.). Applying Foucault, the dispositif “field post” establishes selection and exclusion mechanisms in which “procedures of exclusion” (Discourse 52) become manifest, two of which are to be related to the field post: “exclusion from discourse” and “scarcity of speaking subjects” (Spitzmüller and Warnke 73). Firstly, “procedures of exclusion ensure that only certain statements can be made in discourse” (Spitzmüller and Warnke 73). This exclusion procedure ought to be implemented by controlling and, ultimately, censoring field post letters. Reviews were carried out by censorship offices (Feldpostprüfstellen), which were military units independent of the field post offices responsible for delivery. Censorship initially focussed on military information. However, “in the course of the war, censorship shifted from a control measure aimed at defence towards a political-ideological review” (Kilian 101). Critical remarks could be legally prosecuted and punished with prison, penitentiary, or death (Kilian 99). Hence, it is assumed that self-censorship played a role not only for public media, such as newspapers, but also for writing private letters (Dodd). As the introductory quotation from Otto M. shows, writers who spread undesirable information in their letters anticipated the harshest consequences. In this respect, randomised censorship—although only a very small proportion of the high volume of mail was actually opened by censors (Kilian)—established a permanent disposition of control that resulted in a potentially discourse-excluding social stratification of private communication. Secondly, the dispositif “field post” was inherently exclusive and excluding, as those who did not belong to the Volksgemeinschaft could not use the service and thus could not acquire agentive capacity. The “scarcity of speaking subjects” (Spitzmüller and Warnke 73) was achieved by restricting participation in the field post system to members of the Volksgemeinschaft. Since agency is based on the most basic prerequisite, namely the ability to act linguistically at all, the mere possibility of exercising agency was infrastructurally restricted by the field post system. Excluding people from “agency-through-language” means excluding them from an “agency of an existential sort” (Duranti 455), which is described here, regarding the field post system, as infrastructural exclusion of agency. Interactional Exclusion of Agency in Field Post Letters In this section, I will elaborate how agency is brought forth interactionally through linguistic means on the basis of data from a field post corpus that was compiled in the project “Linguistic Social History 1933 to 1945” (Kämper). The aim of the project is an actor-based description of discursive practices and patterns at the time of National Socialism, which takes into account the fact that society in the years 1933 to 1945 consisted of heterogeneous communities of practice (Horan, Practice). Letter communication is considered to be an interaction that is characterised by mediated indexicality, accountability, reflexivity, sequentiality, and reciprocity (Dang-Anh) and is performed as situated social practice (Barton and Hall). The corpus of field letters examined here provides access to the everyday communication of members of the ‘integrated society’, i.e. those who were neither high-ranking members of the Nazi apparatus nor exposed to the repressions of the fascist dictatorship. The corpus consists of about 3,500 letters and about 2.5 million tokens. The data were obtained by digitising letter editions using OCR scans and in cooperation with the field post archive of the Museum for Communication Berlin (cf. sources below). We combine qualitative and quantitative methods, the latter providing heuristic indicators for in-depth hermeneutical analysis (Felder; Teubert). We apply corpus linguistic methods such as keyword, collocation and concordance analysis to the digitised full texts in order to analyse the data intersubjectively by means of corpus-based hermeneutic discourse analysis (Dang-Anh and Scholl). However, the selected excerpts of the corpus do not comprise larger data sets or complete sequences, but isolated fragments. Nevertheless, they illustrate the linguistic (non-)constitution of agency and thus distinctively exemplify exclusionary practices in field post letter writing. From a linguistic point of view, the exclusion of actors from action is achieved syntactically and semantically by deagentivisation (Bernárdez; von Polenz 186), as will be shown below. The following lines were written by Albert N. to his sister Johanna S. and are dated 25 June 1941, shortly after the beginning of the German Wehrmacht’s military campaign in Russia (Russlandfeldzug) a few days earlier. Vor den russ. Gefangenen bekommt man einen Ekel, d.h. viele Gefangene werden nicht gemacht.One gets disgusted by the Russian prisoners, i.e. many prisoners are not made. (N.) In the first part of the utterance, “mitigation of agency” (Duranti 465) is carried out using the impersonal pronoun “man” (“one”) which does not specify its referent. Instead, by means of deagentivisation, the scope of the utterance is generalised to an indefinite in‑group of speakers, whereby the use of the impersonal pronoun implies that the proposition is valid or generally accepted. Moreover, the use of “one” generalises the emotional expression “disgust”, thus suggesting that the aversive emotion is a self-evident affect experienced by everyone who can be subsumed under “one”. In particular, this includes the author, who is implicitly displayed as primarily perceiving the emotion in question. This reveals a fundamental practice of inclusion and exclusion, the separating distinction between “us”/“we” and “them”/“the others” (Wodak). In terms of semantic roles, the inclusive and generalised formal Experiencer “one” is opposed to the Causative “Russian prisoner” in an exclusionary manner, implicitly indicating the prisoners as the cause of disgust. The subsequent utterance is introduced by “i.e.”, which marks the causal link between the two phrases. The wording “many prisoners are not made” strongly suggests that it refers to homicides, i.e. executions carried out at the beginning of the military campaign in Russia by German troops (Reddemann 222). The depiction of a quasi-universal disgust in the first part establishes a “negative characterization of the out-group” (Wodak 33) which, in the expressed causal relation with the second phrase, seems to morally legitimise or at least somehow justify the implied killings. The passive form entirely omits an acting entity. Here, deagentivisation obscures the agency of the perpetrators. However, this is not the only line between acting and non-acting entities the author draws. The omission of an agent, even the impersonal “one”, in the second part, and the fact that there is no talk of self-experienceable emotions, but war crimes are hinted at in a passive sentence, suggest the exclusion of oneself as a joint agent of the indicated actions. As further data from the corpus indicate, war crimes are usually not ascribed to the writer or his own unit as the agents but are usually attributed to “others” or not at all. Was Du von Juden schreibst, ist uns schon länger bekannt. Sie werden im Osten angesiedelt.What you write about Jews is already known to us for some time. They are being settled in the East. (G.) In this excerpt from a letter, which Ernst G. wrote to his wife on 22 February 1942, knowledge about the situation of the Jews in the war zone is discussed. The passage appears quite isolated with its cotext in the letter revolving around quite different, trivial, everyday topics. Apparently, G. refers in his utterance to an earlier letter from his wife, which has not been preserved and is therefore not part of the corpus. “Jews” are those about whom the two agents, the soldier and his wife, write, whereas “us” refers to the soldiers at the front. In the second part, agency is again obscured by deagentivisation. While “they” anaphorically refers to “Jews” as Patients, the agents of their alleged resettlement remain unnamed in this “agent-less passive construction” (Duranti 466). Jews are depicted here as objects being handled—without any agency of their own. The persecution of the Jews and the executions carried out on the Russian front (Reddemann 222), including those of Jews, are euphemistically played down here as “settlements”. “Trivialization” and “denial” are two common discursive practices of exclusion (Wodak 134) and emerge here, as interactional exclusion of agency, in one of their most severe manifestations. Conclusion Social and societal exclusion, as has been shown, are predominantly legitimised as well as constituted, maintained, and perpetuated by discursive practices. Field post letters can be analysed both in terms of the infrastructure—which is itself constituted by infrastructuring practices and is thus not rigid but dynamic—that underlies excluding letter-writing practices in times of war, and the extent to which linguistic excluding practices are performed in the letters. It has been shown that agency, which is established by the ascription of action to an entity, is a central concept for the analysis of practices of exclusion. While I propose the division into infrastructural and interactional exclusion of agency, it must be pointed out that this can only be an analytical distinction and both bundles of practices, that of infrastructuring and that of interacting, are intertwined and are to be thought of in relation to each other. Bringing together the two concepts of agency and dispositif, despite the fact that they are of quite different origins, allows an analysis of exclusionary practices, which I hope does justice to the relation of interaction and infrastructure. By definition, exclusion occurs against the background of an asymmetrical arrangement within which exclusionary practices are carried out. Thus, dispositif is understood as an arranged but flexible condition, wherein agency, as a discursively ascribed or infrastructurally arranged property, unfolds. Social and societal exclusion, which were constitutive for National Socialism, were accomplished not only in public media but also in field post letters. Writing letters was a fundamental everyday media practice and the field post was a central social medium during the National Socialist era. However, exclusion occurred on different infrastructural and interactional levels. As shown, it was possible to be excluded by agency, which means exclusion by societal status and role. People could linguistically perform an excluding agency by constituting a division between “us” and “them”. Also, specific discourses were excluded by the potential control and censorship of communication by the authorities, and those who did not suppress agency, for example by self-censoring, feared prosecution. Moreover, the purely linguistic practices of exclusion not only constituted or legitimised the occasionally fatal demarcations drawn under National Socialism, but also concealed and trivialised them. As discussed, it was the perpetrators whose agency was excluded in war letters, which led to a mitigation of their actions. In addition, social actors were depreciated and ostracised through deagentivisation, mitigation and omission of agency. In extreme cases of social exclusion, linguistic deagentivisation even prepared or resulted in the revocation of the right to exist of entire social groups. The German soldier Otto M. feared fatal punishment because he did not communicatively act according to the social stratification of the then regime towards a Volksgemeinschaft in a field post letter. This demonstrates how thin the line is between inclusion and exclusion in a fascist dictatorship. 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Muslims across Europe have been labeled as uncivil since the migration waves of postcolonial and guestworker migrants in the mid-20th century. In this paper, I bring the Muslim experience in the German capital into conversation with Civil Sphere Theory (CST), which analyzes how senses of cultural boundedness are supported, shaped, and contested through the interrelations between the institutions of civil society and social movements aimed at expanding civic inclusion. Drawing on two years of ethnographic research in a Berlin mosque, I move from Muslim associations with incivility to the actions these associations provoke in relation to the civil sphere: exploring how those deemed uncivil exert agency in response to, and also in spite of a civil/uncivil divide. Through the voices and experiences of my interlocutors, I show that Muslims are not simply a victimized out-group excluded from the German civil sphere, but are also agents of change who actively seek to gain full inclusion within it. Specifically, I trace how my German Muslim interlocutors contend with their negative social status by drawing on narratives, and enlivening connections that link them to the German Jewish experience: seeking incorporation in the civil sphere through identifications with another “Other,” and through this other, also mainstream society.

Todd Samuel Presner, Mobile Modernity: Germans, Jews, Trains (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007).Reviewed by Robert TobinRuth Mandel, Cosmopolitan Anxieties: Turkish Challenges to Citizenship and Belonging in Germany (Durham: Duke University Press, 2008)Reviewed by Hilary SilverWolfram Kaiser, Christian Democracy and the Origins of the European Union (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007)Reviewed by Clay ClemensDavid Raub Snyder, Sex Crimes under the Wehrmacht (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2007)Reviewed by Regina MühlhäuserPaul Hockenos, Joschka Fischer and the Making of the Berlin Republic. An Alternative History of Postwar Germany (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008)Reviewed by Joyce M. MushabenKatherine Pence and Paul Betts, eds. Socialist Modern: East German Everyday Culture and Politics (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2008)Reviewed by Eli RubinPatricia Heberer and Jürgen Matthäus, eds., Atrocities on Trial: Historical Perspectives on the Politics of Prosecuting War Crimes (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2008)Reviewed by Joachim J. SavelsbergEric D. Weitz, Weimar Germany: Promise and Tragedy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007)Reviewed by Michael Brenner

In 1933, the Nazi Party, led by Adolf Hitler, came to political power in Germany. As a direct result of the Nazi’s actions, approximately 6 million Jewish victims were killed. The Nazi Party members were undoubtedly responsible for these results, but were the non- party Germans? To answer this sensitive question, the extent of knowledge of these events must be investigated. To what extent did “ordinary” German civilians know about the extermination of Jews during the Holocaust in Berlin from 1942 to the end of the Second World War? The population must be categorized by those who knew about the Jewish deportations and murders, those who chose to know, those who chose not to know, and those who did not know. To investigate this idea, oral interviews were collected. They hold value as a first hand perspective, but have limitations of dishonesty and censorship of information. A large collection of survey information from 1985 was heavily considered, in addition to various secondary sources such as articles, videos, and books, and primary sources such as maps and photographs. After weighing probable statistics and popularity of Nazi ideology, evidence supports the idea that more Germans chose not to know about the extermination of Jews than any other extent, due to the high number of Nazi ideology supporters, high degree of terror propaganda, and indoctrinated youth.

AbstractIn 1942, one year after the occupation of Greece by the German “Wehrmacht”, the “Reichswirtschaftsministerium” set up the DEGRIGES (Deutsch-Griechische Warenausgleichsgesellschaft / German-Greek organization for the exchange of goods) for the control of trade between Germany and Greece.The president was Otto Braun, owner of the Berlin-based „Transdanubia“, an Import- Export-Company. Braun organised in the 1920s in Bavaria illegal arms depots, and commanded „Feme“-murders. In Hungary he supported the fascists, and achieves the „aryanization“ of Jewish companies.The focus of the investigation is on the activities of the DEGRIGES in the network of competing organizations like the greek branch of NSDAP, the Sudosteuropa-Gesellschaft, the SACIG (the Italian counterpart of DEGRIGES), and the Mitteleuropaischer Wirtschaftstag (MWT) − and on the competition with Hermann Neubacher, „Sonderbeauftrager“ of the Foreign Office for Greece, and Max Merten, one of the organizers of the deportation of the greek Jews to Auschwitz.In summary, it can be stated that the DEGRIGES was from 1942 until 1944 (when it was liquidated during the withdrawal of the “Wehrmacht”) an „agency for the wellarranged exploitation of Greece“.

Abstract Between 1933 and 1939, Ludwig Simon and his family avidly photographed their daily life. At first glance, their photo albums contain undistinguishable documentation of conventional family routines, including leisure activities at home, encounters with relatives, and vacations away from the city. Yet a closer look shows that many of the photographs in this collection can be read as contemplative responses to the intensifying exclusion of Jews in the Third Reich. The article focuses on photographs that were (repeatedly) taken in two major locations: on the Alps, during vacations, and by the family home in Bingen am Rhein, which Ludwig left when he moved to Berlin in the 1920s. I argue that these photographs manifest an enduring endeavour to reflect critically on the tensions between Jewish belonging and estrangement in the new Germany. Constantly engaged in a dialogue with the (private and public) visual memory of the time—from restaging photographs of previous years to appropriating the visual iconography of German nationalism—the Simon family photographers recurrently negotiated the perspective of the outcasts at home. In analysing these strategies of photography, and of the arrangement of individual photographs within the collection, this article reads them within the paradigm of exile photography. As the Simon family collection demonstrates, the extension of this paradigm to cases of ‘exile-at-home’ enriches our understanding of the German-Jewish experience under National Socialist rule.

The phenomenon of Arno Nadel (1878–1943) is presupposed by his extremely diverse activities in art, scholarship, and musical journalism. A music arranger, musicologist, music journalist and collector, composer, choirmaster, pianist and organist, as well as a poet, playwright, painter and translator, Arno Nadel was born in a religious Jewish family in Vilnius and spent his first twelve years there. Having lived and studied in Königsberg for five years, in 1895 Nadel settled in Berlin, one of the largest centres of German Jewish cultural life before the National Socialists came to power in 1933. Nadel was murdered in Auschwitz in 1943. So far, his creative legacy has not been studied in Lithuania. The aim of this article is to bring Nadel back on the horizon of multinational Lithuanian cultural history and to review his contribution to the formation of modern German-Jewish identity in the context of Nadel’s Vilnius origins and his diverse musical activities. Nadel’s original compositions, arrangements of traditional Jewish liturgical music and folk songs, research in and texts about Jewish music contributed to a new approach towards cultural connections between the Jews of Eastern Europe and Germany, and were important for the development of German Jewish music in the first half of the twentieth century, as well as for the documentation and renewal of Jewish liturgical music. Although Arno Nadel composed music in a variety of genres himself, it was his work as a scholar and arranger of Jewish music and as a musicologist that received the most attention among his contemporaries and in the articles written after the Second World War.