Voormalige Stadstimmertuin 1 en 2

Our apartment faces the Amstel River, and to the left is the intersection of Sarphatistraat. Walking all the way around this block takes us to the metro station. We lived at Amstel 155 for almost three weeks before we decided one Saturday to use a small alley next to our building instead of circling the block. From the Amstel looking down the alley we could see a small playground but just assumed it was some sort of urban park. Because a bike path and sidewalk cut through, we decided to see what we would find.

I don’t speak Dutch, nor do I read it, but I knew enough to recognize the historical significance of what we found that Saturday morning on Voormalige Stadstimmertuin, the alley with the playground.

 In 1848 the Netherlands established the Freedom of Education. In 1920, the Dutch government ruled that both public and private educational foundations should receive equal funding. In 1928 an orthodox Jewish high school was created on the Herengracht. In 1938, it moved to Voormalige Stadstimmertuin. I didn’t know any of that the first time I saw the building, but it was perfectly clear that a school, a Jewish school once used this building. That was at #2; but it was #1 that made me most curious. Above the door of what appears to be some sort of daycare center (thus the little playground) the dates 1941-1943 are displayed along with a Star of David. I knew.

 

The two school buildings (Voormalige Stadstimmertuin 1 en 2) face each other—for good reason. In 1941, the Jewish Lyceum was established by order of the German occupation administration. It was ordered that no longer would Jewish children be allowed to attend class with non-Jewish children, therefore Jewish schools were created. The lyceum’s most famous student was Anne Frank. Its most famous teacher, Jacques Presser would survive the war and become a leading historian and author. In Ashes in the Wind: the Destruction of Dutch Jewry (1965), Presser wrote of his time in the Jewish Lyceum:

A school like any other, some students arriving late, some disobedient children, punishments, absenteeism…At this point the writer hesitates a moment, since absentees at this school were a very rare phenomenon. If there were ‘disturbances’ in the city there would be noticeable gaps in the classrooms; but that wasn’t the only thing. The writer will never forget the slight gesture (it was scarcely ever more than that) with which the class followed his glance (it was scarcely ever more than that) towards an empty place; sometimes it was a small flick of the hand, meaning gone underground; sometimes it was a clenched fist, meaning arrested; pantomime lasting a couple of seconds, performed many times.

I sometimes wonder if such gestures were used the day Anne failed to show up for class. After the war, the high school reopened but was renamed in honor of the 12^th century scholar, Maimonides. In 1973 it moved to a suburb of Amsterdam, Buitenveldert.

Last week as I returned home along Voormalige Stadstimmertuin, I approached the daycare center. I stopped from a distance to watch the six or seven small children chasing one another or spinning themselves into dizzy euphoria on the playground. It occurred to me as it always does when I pass this building that seventy-two years ago the scene would have been very different, no doubt.

The innocent squeals of joy have replaced the silence of paranoia.

In Prague

Three forces carved the landscape of my life. 

Two of them crushed half the world. 

The third was very small and weak and, actually, invisible.

Old Town Square, Prague

Living in Holland does not seem possible without the nearly constant reminders of the effects of WWII. On a recent trip to Prague in the Czech Republic, the same was true. The lingering effects of the war seem as real as the ineffable, unthinkable destruction over such a large area—affecting so so many lives. In Prague the story is just as horrible as anywhere else; the difference, of course, is that it is their story. To summarize it is to diminish it. To describe it requires an unfair prioritization of grief.

The more I see and the more I learn, the more I believe that “life is timing.”

It was a shy little bird hidden in my rib cage an inch or two above my stomach. 

Sometimes in the most unexpected moments the bird would wake up, 

lift its head, and flutter its wings in rapture.

A view toward Prague Castle

On March 15, 1939 German troops marched into Prague—the one and only time Adolf Hitler visited. The reactions were as mixed as the loyalties of the locals. Germans living in Prague waved and cheered while Czech nationalists shouted insults.  The immediate result was the independence of Slovakia, which under Nazi control was headed by the former Catholic priest Jozef Tisa. Soon after the occupation, the Czech press became a tool of Nazi propaganda. Books, jazz music and theatrical dramas were banned, although comedy films were permitted so long as they included German subtitles (and the content was approved, of course). Many Czech authors, poets, and artists emigrated, but many were arrested and killed. All museums and most theatres were closed.

In 1942 German administrator (Deputy Reich’s Protector for Bohemia and Moravia), Reinhard Heydrich was assassinated by British-sponsored Czech resistance fighters. The retaliation was swift and barbaric. The Czech village of Lidice was razed, every man murdered, and all the women sent to concentration camps after separation from their children. Two weeks later the village of Lezaky suffered the same fate.

By 1944 most shops were closed or their shelves empty. Because private cars were forbidden, the tram system was overcrowded and subsequently failed from overuse. By 1945 the average workweek was 65 hours including ten-hour shifts on Sundays. Exhaustion and poor diet coupled with the lack of municipal services such as trash removal resulted in widespread disease.

Wenceslas Square

Early in 1945, the citizens of Prague rebelled. German street signs were torn down, tram conductors refused to accept German currency, and some 1600 barricades and roadblocks were set up to resist German troop movement. German soldiers were captured, hung, and burned. The German response included the near total destruction of the Old Town city center.

On May 9, 1945 Soviet troops arrived, one day after the Germans abandoned Prague, but not before they executed countless innocent Czech citizens.

Of the 90,000 Jews living in Czech territories in 1939, 14,000 survived the war.

WWII Czech Resistance Memorial

Then I too would lift my head because for that short moment, 

I would know for certain that love and hope are infinitely more powerful than hate and fury, 

and that somewhere beyond the line of my horizon there was life indestructible, always triumphant.

—Under a Cruel Star (A Life in Prague 1941-1968), Heda Margolius Kovaly

Gables

View from our apt. Notice two spouts on left and three neck gables.

In an architectural style known as Dutch Classicism, the magnificent gables so indicative of the Golden Age are truly ubiquitous in Amsterdam. Heck, they’re all over Holland. First appearing in the 16^th century, the decorative front apexes of buildings were designed to disguise the steepness of the roofs, under which goods were stored. In time the utilitarian design was adorned by scrolls, crests, and even coats-of-arms.

Bell with hoist beam

The protruding hoist beams found on nearly every building are just as prevalent. In an era when taxes were based on building width, stairwells were narrow and unbelievably steep (to say the least). Hoist beams were, and remain, an absolute necessity for moving furniture and large objects to upper floors. Nowadays movers use hydraulic lifts for huge pieces like pianos and refrigerators, but it is commonplace to see them also using ropes and pulleys attached to the hoist beams to lift palettes of whatever they are delivering.

There are several basic styles of gables: Step, Spout, Point, Neck, and Bell; and there are several variations on these and countless design modifications.

Step

Point or Spout?

Step: Designed in the Dutch Renaissance style, popular between 1580-1660. One estimate counts only approximately 100 step gables left in 2013:

Spout (aka Tuit or Funnel): Typically used by merchants to denote warehousing or trade rather than residential property; often resembles an inverted funnel. Spout and Point seem very similar.

Neck: Popular between 1640-1775; (The “raised neck” was a transitional design used in the years between popular use of step and neck gables. The ornamental hood added to the top is called “klauwstukken” in Dutch. The very first neck gable remains today at Herengracht 168.)

Bell

Point: These simple shapes follow the contour of the roof

Bell: Popular between 1660-1790; Often featured decorative panels with family shields or other indicators of family business such as grain, coffee, wool, etc. (The “clock” bell was popular during the 17^th and 18^th centuries, so named because it resembled a church bell, usually adorned with designs of flowers and fruit.

Cornice: These make pointed roofs look classically horizontal.

Edam

Edam, (pronounced A-dom) a municipality in northwest Netherlands, seems small, and these days it is geo-politically affiliated with its neighbor, Volendam. Back in the day it was as essential to the Dutch economy as Delft, Haarlem, Rotterdam, or Amsterdam eventually became. These days it remains home of the internationally known cheese of the same name.

Although it has none of the grandeur of its rich cousins, it more than compensates with charm. Originating as a settlement with a dam of the river E, the origin of its name is not hard to understand. Around 1230, Edam became a toll stop for goods entering Holland. The town grew as a result of shipbuilding and fishing, and in 1357 Count Willem V of Holland gave Edam city status.

A new harbor was dug and Edam featured some 33 wharfs, which serviced international traders. In 1544 Emperor Charles V ordered the city gates closed to protect the region from flooding caused by the large harbor and direct access to the open sea. His decision caused massive silting and the shipping industry went into decline by the end of the 1600’s.

As compensation for lost revenue the right to conduct a weekly cheese market was granted. At the weekly market, local farmers would arrive in small boats after which cheese carriers would lift the heavy wheels onto the wharves. The commercial cheese market existed until 1922. Since 1989, the cheese market has been revived as a tourist attraction. Every Wednesday during July and August between 10:30-12:30, men in traditional costumes recreate history for the delight of many.

Just Wait a While

I’ve said it several times already, but it’s true: if you don’t like the weather…

Bright one minute...

Then again it doesn’t matter if you like it or not, the weather changes faster here than anywhere I’ve ever been. Yesterday was a great example, but one day last week took the cake. The day after you-know-who won the you-know-what (it is hard for me to be sensitive of the feelings of fans of the third place finishers), the weather was clear and crisp (which is code for really cold in the shade, but it was very sunny; but in this place you cannot ask for more). The day after that is the one that takes the prize for “Four Seasons in a Single Day”.

...snowing the next.

At 5:30 (no a.m. or p.m. here; they use a 24-hour clock so you have to get used to subtracting 12 from the big numbers just to figure out what time it is), although still very dark, I could tell it was raining. I was absolutely certain of this near daily occurrence as I walked to the metro station beneath my Totes Mini umbrella. Around 9:00 I could see only the sheets of rain from my office window. When I looked again at about 11:00, the courtyard was edged in ice from the heavy pounding of sleet.

When recess began…uh…yeah, recess—the Dutch have a saying: We zijn niet van suiker (We are not made of sugar)—the primary school children seemed oblivious to the light precipitation that continued to fall. Somewhere before 13:00 (start subtracting) the sunshine made the ice in the courtyard glow like a Christmas card etched in glitter.

Skies over Amz'dm

My mini Totes was again somewhat useful as I walked to the 

Hail: Act II

metro at 15:00, but by the time I reached my street in town I was missing my sunglasses because of the glare from the sun. (I stopped carrying sunglasses a loooong time ago.) In fact, when I reached the apartment I took some snaps (as my British chums like to say) of the magnificent sky over Amsterdam. (Locals say “Amsterdam” much in the same way Baltimorons take liberties with the pronunciation of “Baltimore”. Three syllables become only two, and they are garbled together super fast. “Am-ster-dam” comes out “Amz’dm.”)

Over dinner I asked Gwaz if she could hear the same noise I thought I heard. Sure enough…hail, 

which Gwaz had also seen earlier in the day. When our newly-discovered favorite British game show, Pointless ended at 19:00, rain was pounding the front windows. By 21:00 beddy-bye was calling. Too bad because I missed the snowstorm that night.

...and at 16:00 hours

Edam at 13:00 hours...

And then there was yesterday. Our plan all week long was to go to Edam (yep, where the cheese comes from.) Pronounced “A-dom”, Edam is as old and preserved as little Dutch towns get. When we left home, sans sunglasses (why carry them?), the skies were overcast. We did our routine pre-trip checklist: wallet, keys, chipkaart (transportation debit card), 50 cent piece (most toilets aren’t free, if you can find one), scarf, gloves, etc, etc, etc. (Hey, these stairs are killers. Additional, avoidable ascensions are the absolute worst!) It was at lunch in Edam that I realized we had no umbrella. “No worries,” I said, “it’s not raining.” That was about the time it started to snow.

Snow is lovely. Snow is beautiful. Snow is also as slippery as eel snot after countless pedestrians trample it because no one seems to shovel around here.

Just before bed, Gwaz said, “Hey it’s snowing again.” Five inches later, it looked like this:

Like I say, “If you don’t like the weather…”

Slingbox (or I Aine No Sherlock)

Do you know this—Slingbox?

Slingbox is the Splenda of Internet electronics. (I have a theory that as soon as they announce that cancer has been cured and that portly older guys will not die as a direct result of their excesses, they’ll add one disclaimer: except for Jay thanks to the mountain of Splenda he consumed.) Anything this easy, this reliable, this…um…this…(hold on, let me think of the right word…) is too good to be true. 

See Slingbox is…um…a box—OK I guess you figured out that much. It attaches to your home television receiver (cable, satellite, etc…) and connects it to the Internet, thereby allowing you to use your laptop or mobile device to watch your television whist you are away from home. See where I’m going with this?

Big Brother

A week before Christmas 2012 my brother came to visit us in North Carolina. On a day when golf seemed like too much work, he chose “shopping” as the alternate plan. That should have been my first clue because shopping for Lar is actually buying. When he asked to go to Best Buy (electronics, tv’s computers, etc…) I said “sure” and asked “why?” He told me about Slingbox and said that he wanted one.

OK. Really? All he watches are investigative mysteries about actual crimes—oh, and westerns—and he needed to make sure he could see them when he leaves home? Clue #2.

In the store we were presented with two versions of Slingbox—one for a buck fifty and the other for three bills. He told the clerk he wanted the more expensive one. I had to ask…

“Lar,” I interjected, “before you buy that one, let me get something straight. The only difference in these two machines, besides the price, is that the more expensive one can use wi-fi and the other one is hardwired. You know that; right?”

Xmas 2012

“I know,” he replied.

“And you still want to pay more?”

“Yes.”

“Lar, do you have wi-fi at home?”

“No.”

“…and you still want it?”

“Yes.”

“…because it costs more it’ll work better?”

“Yes.” And he bought it.

Two weeks later on Christmas morning my granddaughter handed me a fairly large present. “Is this from you?” I asked.  “Just open it,” she replied, and I did. (OK OK I admit I aine no Sherlock Holmes. Maybe I should watch more of those how-they-done-it crime shows that Lar watches all the time.)

Thanks to my brother’s generosity, my son-in-law’s diligence, and Slingbox’s electronic magic, I know exactly where I’ll be on Monday 4 February at 12:30 a.m. (local time)—right in my living room at Amstel 155 Amsterdam, Netherlands watching the Baltimore Ravens in Super Bowl XLVII by way of my daughter’s living room television in Raleigh, North Carolina!

…oh wait, I thought of it…perfect. Slingbox is absolutely, positively, too perfect to be true!

I Wish I Had

I can’t stop thinking about something I saw on the metro last week. First, though, a short description might help. A metro train has many cars, and each car has multiple sets of doors, each set being on both sides of the cars (for use depending on which side the platform is at various stops). Lengthwise, there are 3-5 rows of seats between sets of doors with a center aisle. Got all that?

On the metro

 Now picture this: I was seated next to the window with my back to a set of doors, so there were four rows of seats in front of me, a set of doors, and five more rows of seats until the next set of doors.

At the Amstel Station, all doors open automatically, and because it is also a train station, the metro waits for a longer time before all doors close. That’s where it happened.

The metro was not completely full of people, but I did have a seatmate, which, as you will see, probably denied me the displeasure of an embarrassing memory. We all sat patiently for the minute or so the metro waited at the Amstel Station. (One minute is a virtual eternity at a metro stop. The usual time a door remains open is about 12 seconds.) If you’ve ever ridden public transportation, you’ve seen the same faces—loads looking at their smart phones, a few nodding off or in rhythm to their iPods, some thumbing through newspapers, and the rest staring blankly. Me? I was watching them.

The view from a window seat

That’s when two boys about 13 years old burst through the second set of open doors in front of me, one chasing the other. I got the immediate impression that the lead boy had done something the one chasing him didn’t like. It seemed harmless enough. It was loud. I t was conspicuous. It was very un-Dutch. One caught the other at the set of doors nearest me and slammed to the floor. If it hadn’t already gone too far, it did then. It wasn’t particularly violent by American standards, but in Dutch culture it was truly outrageous.

Here’s the thing: no one moved. Everyone watched in stunned amazement, but no one—not a single soul—moved a muscle to help or stop them or intervene in any way. Oh man, as the kids used to say: that aine how I roll.

I weighed my options, and if not for the extreme effort needed to remove my large presence from the window seat on a Dutch metro train after asking my seatmate to move, I might have made things a whole lot different. I couldn’t get at them fast enough to make myself look foolish. I wanted to though…oh, I wanted to…

Typical metro platform

“Here!” I would say, grabbing the boy on top by his puffy coat as I yanked his hiney skyward. “What’s wrong with you? Have you no sense of civility? Have you no self-control? Have you any manners?”

“And, you!” I’d say to the one left on the floor. “”I don’t know what you did to him, but take a lesson—whatever it was, he didn’t like it. Now set your bottoms in a seat and behave!”

Instead, I watched them like everybody else. Puffy coat let the other one go long enough for him to run out of the car. I watched Puffy follow him onto the southbound train on the next track, where, I suspect, an encore performance was about to begin.

That’s how it is—here. I cannot help but think that in Wake Forest or almost anywhere in North Carolina, that someone would have done something. I’m not saying they should have (OK yes I am), but I am saying they would have.

Shoot, I wish I had.