The Psychology of Brass Plaques

An interesting feature of several Central European countries is the use of brass plaques on the cobblestones outside housing blocks. They are barely noticeable to most; they tend to look like markers for water and sewer lines. I assume that most people, especially tourists, walk past them without notice. In fact these small brass placards, in cities like Berlin, Prague and Budapest, provide enticingly small bits of information about former residents of the flats, specifically Jews who once lived in the building, were deported and ultimately murdered in concentration camps. Sometimes the information is exceedingly, and frustratingly, sparse; perhaps inexact birth dates or partial names. Nevertheless, all the plaques end with the same fate – death in a concentration camp.

On my visits to Central Europe I have been instinctively drawn to seek out these little markers. I am not sure why, but I have been photographing them the last few years. When you get back to the hotel (or even return home), it is difficult to remember where exactly I took the picture. There is probably some psychological reason why I would think it necessary to do this. It is almost too trite to say that I am perpetuating the memory of the victims, but perhaps that is what I am doing.

In thinking about what I do with the information collected I am not sure. What is there to say that has not been written, more eloquently and poignantly that I could ever hope to express? Instead, I thought I would seek out a few of these markers on each trip and post them here with a few observations about the names, information and locations.

Xantenerstrasse 5, Berlin

Ingeborg Gassenheimer (d. 26 Feb 1943, Auschwitz)

Max Weiss (d. 20 May 1944, Theresienstadt)

Else Weiss (died in Auschwitz)

Margit Reichl (d. 19 Nov 1943, Theresienstadt)

Hermine Kalamár (d. 21 Jul 1944, Theresienstadt)

Lucie Noack (d. 8 Sep 1942, Riga)

Martha Friedländer (d. 8 Jul 1942, Theresienstadt)

Oswald Friedmann (d. 15 Apr 1942, Riga)

Senovážné nám 20, Prague

Rudolf Klein (d. 1945, Auschwitz)

Zděnka Abeles Kleinová (d. 1945, Auschwitz)

Obviously there was no mercy for anyone; however, it stunning to understand the tragedy when one considers individual stories. Margit Reichl was 70 years old when she was deported, she lived just four and a half months in Theresienstadt; Martha Friedländer was 83 years old and lived less than two weeks. Rudolf Klein was a doctor. We often hear that six million Jews died; but what should be noted is that such large numbers are nearly impossible for the human brain to consider. Considering the lives of individuals who were killed makes the tragedy much more personal and intimate. It allows us to consider questions such as: What threat did 83 year women pose to the government (or anyone)?  

As tragic as the deaths were (and still are), life must have been extremely difficult under the circumstances. Perhaps death offered a release. I often think about a statement written by Herman Kruk, a prisoner in Vilnius Ghetto, recorded in the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe:

What is my life worth even if I remain alive? Whom to return to in my old hometown of Warsaw? For what and for whom do I carry on this whole pursuit of life, enduring, holding on – for what?