Summary
Highlights
The Jewish Museum in Berlin, built between 1993 and 1998 by Daniel Libeskind, was conceived to replace the one closed by the Gestapo. Libeskind was inspired by the empty tombstones in Jewish cemeteries, symbolizing a void and the absence of continuity. The site in the Kreutzburg district, rebuilt after wartime bombardment, held a hidden history 'a few centimeters below the ground' of real people, not just abstract numbers. Libeskind felt that the Jewish history of Berlin 'haunts the place' and that the museum should make this palpable. His inspiration came from Walter Benjamin's 'One-Way Street' and Schoenberg's unfinished opera 'Moses and Aaron,' which led him to design the building as a 'prolongation of this unfinished musical work,' entitling his proposal 'Between the Lines.'
The museum's striking, zigzag form, nicknamed 'the Blitz' by Berliners, embodies 'the violence, all the ruptures in the history of Jews in Germany.' This shape is derived not only from abstract ideas but also from the physical presence of trees on the site, altering its direction. From the sky, the lightning shape is clear, but from the ground, the new building is deliberately discreet, respecting the adjacent baroque structure and only revealing a narrow segment of its facade.
The museum's entrance is unique; visitors enter through the old baroque building, descending into a concrete well that pierces all levels, intertwining German and Jewish history. This underground area contains the 'heart of the whole project,' three corridors or 'axes' embodying 'continuity, exile, and death.' Libeskind aimed to create a space that hadn't existed before, challenging conventional museum circulation with unexpected pathways and depths, drawing visitors into the experience of Jews in Berlin rather than offering a straightforward exhibit. It's not a stroll, but 'a testing journey, an ordeal.'
The 'axis of continuity' is the longest of the three paths, leading to the museum galleries and symbolizing the enduring Jewish presence in Germany. This axis culminates in a narrow, upward-spiraling staircase, emphasizing the 'difficulty of making one's way along the path to return to the light of day.' The other two underground axes are exhibition areas. The 'axis of the Holocaust' ends in a dark, concrete 'Tower of the Holocaust' with only a narrow slit for light, physically separated from the main building. The 'axis of Exile' leads to the 'garden of exile,' a hanging garden of 49 concrete pillars that metaphorically represent uprooting and the disorientation of exile. Despite appearing open, this garden is a dead end, cut off by a dry moat, symbolizing that 'exile is also imprisonment' and forcing a return to the underground axes.
The old and new buildings, along with the Tower of the Holocaust and the Garden of Exile, are conceived as independent elements linked by hidden networks. The main building is covered in zinc, designed to oxidize over time, creating a softer, somber exterior that contrasts with the 'slashes' of its non-traditional openings. These gashes and cuts are not merely aesthetic; they are derived from Libeskind's mapping of addresses of emblematic figures of German Judaism in Berlin, projected onto the building's volumes to create a 'totally haphazard pattern.' This leads to challenging interior spaces for curators, with walls that make hanging art difficult.
Despite its completion in 1998, the museum was initially empty, with 350,000 visitors viewing only the architecture itself. When finally inaugurated with a collection in 2001, interior decorators made changes, often 'obliterating singularities' and 'blocking up the windows.' However, the stark 'voids' remained: six concrete towers traversing the building at all levels, empty and unheated, with no access. These voids, only hinted at by skylights on the roof, embody 'the final figure in German Judaism: absence.' Libeskind fought to keep these spaces, arguing they were necessary to convey a story that can never be fully told, always creating tension and subverting attempts to make it finite.
One of these voids, accessible to visitors, is named the 'void of memory,' serving as a powerful and permanent reminder of what was lost.