Sunday, 12 May 2024 Jewish Prague, Děčín (Czech Republic), Bad Schandau (Germany)

Written 17 June 2024

On Sunday morning, we were signed up for a more thorough tour of old Jewish Prague, starting at 8:45 am, and we wouldn't be back before check-out time, so we followed Viking's instructions to pack, check out, and bring our bags down to the cluster of Viking desks in the lower lobby. We had been warned to leave our black Viking tags on our bags (the ones that ensured our luggage got onto the right bus from the airport to the hotel), which we did, although more black tags were available for those who didn't get the memo. The black tags would once again ensure that our bags would be paired with the right bus, i.e., the one we would be on for the ride to our ship—we would be boarding it at 2:30 pm.

I'd been assured by a couple of restaurants that Czech cooks don't use avocado, but there was a big bowl of it on the breakfast buffet that morning&madash;at least it was all in one place and easily avoided. There was also a tray of little round Moravian pastries with an extremely short, crumbly yeast dough and a filling of cheese and raisins. Yummy.

Our 8:45 am bus took us back along the river to almost the same spot where we parked yesterday, affording us the now familiar view of the Prague Castle up on its hill with St. Vitus Cathedral sticking up out of it.

Every synagogue must have at least two torahs in its ark, because they are read from in alternate years. Our guide said he thinks this one has three. In this synagogue, one seat is reserved; if you sit there, you'll die within the year, so they've put a chain across it. It's reserved for Rabbi Loewe, who died in 1609 but could show up at any time. We heard more about him later in the day.

I didn't get a good photo, but each of the ceiling vaults has four ribs, each leading down to a pillar in the wall, the normal way of supporting a vaulted ceiling, but here, each of them also has a fifth rib, not evenly spaced from the others, that doesn't go anywhere. It just leads down to a little decorative fineal, like the others, but stops there. The guide said that they five ribs might represent the five books of the torah, or the builders just wanted to avoid making the shape of a cross.

The wall sconces are backed with polished metal plates to reflect light; the building's 12 windows are too small to provide enough.

I also got a better photo of the Jewish town hall. This time we learned that not only does the Hebrew clock runs counterclockwise but its long hand tells the hours and its short hand the minutes! When we were there, at 9:15 am, the two looked very similar. The building is baroque, built before George Washington was president. An orange building to the left of it (just out of sight behind the corner of the synagogue) was added later because they needed more space; it's Neo-Baroque.

Over the door of the original building is a Star of David with a yellow hat in the center. This is the symbol of Prague (as opposed to all other) Jews, because for a period residents of the ghetto were required to wear a yellow hat when they went outside it, to mark them as Jews. Kudos to the community for owning the distinction and incorporating it into their own signage.

On a bulletin board by the door was posted a table of sunset times for the month of May, important to households needing to know just when to begin their beginning-of-shabbat prayers.

On the walk to our next stop, we passed a bronze plaque commemorating the help of Czechoslovakia and the Jewish community of Prague in providing arms and training troops for the Israeli war of independence in 1948. We also learned more history of the area. Ghettos lasted about 500 years, starting in the middle ages. They were officially disolved in 1848 (by Maria Theresa's son Joseph II, who also opened the universities to Jewish men), but the change was really gradual. Within 20 years, as soon as Jews were allowed to live elsewhere, the jewish population of the old ghetto area dropped to 15%. After that, it became a slum, and the city decided to "urban renew" it—i.e. tear it down and rebuild new. That took place 1893–1905 (5653–5666 in the Jewish calendar). Fortunately, enough Jews and other historically minded people remained in the area to preserve some of the monuments. Only about 5000 Jews remain in the Czech Republic now, about half of them in Prague.

And here's where my notes get a little sketchy. I thought we visited four synagogues on the tour—the still-active Old New Synagogue, two that are no longer active but are now museums, and the Spanish Synagogue, which is "semi-active." I know we did the Old New first and the Spanish last, and I know that one of the others was the Maisel Synagogue (visited third, I think). The other museum must have been either the Pinkas or the Klaus, but I'm having trouble telling just which photos were taken where. Sorry 'bout that.

At the left here is a photo showing five-armed vaulting, I think it's in the Old-New, but it could have been the second.

At the right is a display of silver fittings for use on the torah and its case as well as the pointers used in reading from it. It's arranged where the ark would be in an active synagogue, so I'm pretty sure this is the second one.

In what we might think of as the "lobby" of the building were several stone "safes" with iron doors. They apparently served the community as safetly deposit boxes.

Near the entrance was this poster for historical mikveh (ritual bath), but the guide never mentioned it, and we didn't go there.

At this point, I'm pretty sure, we moved on to the Maisel Synagogue—Googled photos confirm that this is its entrance. The building is neogothic, and it used to be the tallest building in the neighborhood (synagogues intended to be the tallhest buildings). Now it's the smallest. Maisel was the mayor of Jewish Prague and its richest member. The synagogue was to be private, but it became public and is now no longer active; it's part of the Jewish musuem.

Just inside its entrance was this very old stone—the oldest tombstone ever found in the historic Jewish cemetery, dating from 1539—brought inside for protection from the elements. A replica now stands in the cemetery in its place.

These two photos are of a TV screen on which we were shown a wonderful simulated "flyover" of the old Jewish quarter. It's based on a 200-year-old physical model of the ghetto. Our guide provided narration, pointing out the places we had visited or would soon visit.

Displayed on the railings of the balconies over our heads was a collection of candelabra. Our friend Michael Budman recently explained to us the difference between a "menorah" (with seven arms) and a "hanukkiah" (a special menorah used at Hanukkah that has nine arms, one for each day of Hanukkah and another to hold the candle that lights the others). The ones in my photo are all the latter sort.

At the right is a display case showing the various marks that Jews were required, at one time or another, when leaving the ghetto. The ones that are easiest to make out are the stiff white ruffled collar and, nearest the camera, the yellow hat.

Here are the ark and bima of the Maisel synagogue, the shot equivalent to all those photos I take down the naves of cathedrals toward the altar.

And here is the man himself, Rabbi Loew, who is reputed to have made and animated the golem of Prague, a clay figure of great strength and endurance that protected the Jewish community but ultimately proved dangerously destructive and had to be disabled again. I highly recommend a fantasy novel by Terry Pratchett entitled Feet of Clay that explores the concept in ways both hilarious and thoughtful.

One our way to the next stop we passed this apartment building (Mordecai 12; short-term vacation rentals, I think; it has its own website), the door of which bore the straightforward admonition "Be a mensch."

We also passed the King Solomon restaurant and deli (at the left here), the oldest kosher restaurant in Prague. I think the guide actually said that Rabbi Loew lived in this building. Anyway, it's supposed to be a very good eatery. On its façade it advertises pickled herring, bagels and lox, three soups (krupnik, goldene yoich, and matzo ball), chopped liver sandwich ("Like Grandma made, only better"), hot pastrami sandwich, gefilte fish, "blinces," kugel, and much else that I couldn't translate. Following a sentence I couldn't read that probably said "recommended by" appeared "Susan Sarandon, Mandy Patinkin, Madonna." I guess they ate there. If we're ever in Prague again, I'd like to give it a try.

On a nearby street corner was this little mosaic shrine that looks pretty Christian to me.

And in the sidewalk, this bronze "stumble stone" commemorating Karel Mahler, 1920–1942, who died in Auschwitz. It's one of 500 (as of 2023) in Prague. More are being added all the time.

As we walked, we had another history lesson. The Prague ghetto had six synagogues, of which three were torn down because they were no longer needed—newer and larger ones were built elsewhere after the ghetto was abolished. All those we visited were active until WWII. In the oldest (the Old New) women could only peer into the main room through small windows in the back wall, but starting in the second one we visited, they sat in a balcony.

During the course of history, the jews were blamed for everything bad that happened. The black death was attributed to their poisoning the wells. They were rumored to steal consecrated host and torture it, because it was the flesh of Jesus. They were blamed any time a young virgin disappeared, because they needed her blood for rituals, and they stole infants and baked their blood into matzoh.

The city used to be 25% jewish, but that whole ppulation was crammed into the ghetto. The population then was about 40,000.

From 1939 to Pearl Harbor, Jews could still live in their homes and freely work, but they were subject to many restrictions; for example, they couldnt have pets. During that period, of 118,000, 26,000 moved away. Another 4000 left to fight actively in the RAF or other European armies. By Pearl Harbor the Jewish population was down to about 88,000, and that's when the really bad stuff started. Terezin was opened, and Prague Jews were sent there. The majority were then sent on beyond, to others camps like Auschwitz—90% of the 88,000 were killed.

Now my notes get confusing again; did we actually visit five synagogues? Anyway, this one is the Pinkas. At the left is where the ark would have been. Around it are listed the death camps to which deportees were sent. Auschwitz appears at the upper right, under its Czech name and spelling.

The rest of the walls are covered with the names of 77,297 Jewish victims from Bohemia and Moravia. Words in yellow are the names of the villages from which they were deported. Those in red are family names. First names of members of that family, and their dates, are in black with red initial capitals. Yellow stars separate people of the same last name but belonging to different families. More than 40,000 names follow the word Prague.

Written 18 June 2024

Next, we visited the historic Jewish cemetery. The cemetery is now part of the Jewish museum complex of which all the inactive synagogues we visited (and a few other buildings we didn't) belong. You have to buy a ticket to the museum complex to visit the cemetery. Viking had already taken care of that for us.

Street level is now about eight feet higher than it was at the time the cemetery was opened, and the cemetery now towers as much as 20 feet above current street level.

These first two photos just give an idea of what it now looks like. The trees have all grown up since the cemetery was closed; there were none when it was active.

According to our guide, the tombstone is placed a year after death. In Christian parts of Europe in the middle ages and for some time afterward, when no space remained in a cemetery, the bones were dug up and placed in an ossuary, an above-ground building constructed for the purpose, and the gravesite was reused. But that doesn't work for Jewish cemeteries. Jews believe that some souls linger in the cemetery, for reasons of their own, and for indeterminate periods, so some of them may still be here. Exhumation is not permitted, and a cemetery cannot be demolished. This one was enlarged a few times, but hemmed in by the urban environment it couldn't be enlarged enough.

The only way to go was up. Layers of soil were added; now up to 12 layers of graves are present. Sometimes old stones were lifted to the new level, but many were not. About 12,000 stones are currently entirely or partly visible, but many more are buried below the surface. In the background of the right-hand photo, you can an even higher section. I'm pretty sure the guide said that was the terrace for newborn infants.

This cemetery was closed 237 years ago (the year of the American Constitution) because laws were passed making it illegal to bury anyone in the town, Jewish or otherwise, for sanitary reasons. Graves had to be at least 500 paces beyond the city walls, so a new Jewish cemetery was established outside.

The stones embedded in this wall (the retaining wall of the terrace mentioned above) were rescued from an older cemetery that was destroyed. Some date back to the mid-14th century. According to our guide, about 350 now-inactive Jewish cemeteries remain in the country. He also told us that Judaism had no architectural style of its own, so tombstones (and buildings) were built in the prevailing architectural style, whether romanesque, gothic, or whatever.

At the right is a stone that has been grown over and is being engulfed by the truck of a tree.

Two more photos just intended to convey what the site looked like.

Along the way, we were showed both the grave of Rabbi Loew (a small "mausoleum-shaped" marker rather than a simple stone) and the most ornate grave in the cemetery (another "mausoleum-shaped" one, but with stone lions and other engraving on it), that of Hendl Bassevi (from 1628 I think), wife of Jacob Bassevi, the first Jew to be elevated to noble status.

We learned that flowers are never placed on Jewish graves. The soul is eternal, and cut flowers are the opposite of that. Instead one places stones, usually small token pebble-sized ones. I was surprised not to see any of those here. Most Jewish graves in the military cemeteries we've visited had a few stones on them. The guide also pointed out that, in the wilderness, the Jews could not bury their dead; they had to place the bodies on the ground and cover them with stones, so placing small stones on graves is symbolic of respectful grave-tending.

Today, many Jews opt for cremation, though that was not the custom in the past.

On the way from the cemetery to the Spanish Synagogue, we passed a row of souvenir shops. In the one at the left, you could purchase your own golem figurine, in a range of sizes from fridge magnet to small lawn ornament.

High on the corner of a building on Paris Street (just to the left of the red tile roof), the guide pointed out this figure of St. George slaying the dragon.

The yellow building at the left here, seen through a huge old locust tree, is the Church of the Holy Ghost, the nucleus of a small Catholic community that was actually surrounded by the Prague Ghetto. The church was there before the ghetto was established, and the Catholic establishment in the city wouldn't allow it to be torn down. It's been there ever since and is still active.

Then, in a little park right next to the Spanish Synagogue, we came to this bizarre metal statue by Jaroslav Rona. It depicts Franz Kafka riding on the shoulders of a hollow suit of clothes. It's apparently based on a description a story by Kafka called "Description of a Struggle." The guide said it was supposed to show how freaked out Kafka was by all the changes he'd seen in his lifetime.

As you can see, the Spanish Synagogue is gorgeous inside. It's much newer than the others we saw and is "semiactive. That is, it is no longer used for services, but is in use for meetings and activities of the jewish community, so the eternel light is kept on.

It was built by reform Jews in 1868, but the current decoration was added later, in the 70's and 80's. The style was intended to evoke the "golden age" of the Jewish community in Europe, which the community considered to have been in Spain under muslim rule, when Jews were better tolerated than at any time before or since—hence the moorish arches. It was from that Spanish community that the other Jewish communities of Europe originated.

Unlike the others, this synagogue has an organ, and its decor includes Stars of David without the hat.

As we walked back outside to view the beautiful façade shown at the right, the guide reminded us that (1) the Jewish lunar calendar accounts for only 354 days in each year, so every three years they add a 13th ("leap") month and (2) the tallit (prayer shawl) worn during prayers must have 613 fringes, to symbolize all the obligations of a Jewish man.

In smaller Czech communities today, Jews tend to be numbered in tens and dozens. Only in Prague are they counted in thousands. Although the Czech Republic is home to few muslims (the country has only two mosques), the muslims still outnumber the Jews.

On the façade, note the tablets with the 10 commandments near the top.

Then it was back to the bus for the trip back to the hotel. On the way, we spotted this "antique" (replica) car taking someone on a guided tour of the city.

The guide also pointed out, on a hilltop across the river, this 75-foot-high functional metronome. It can run at either 4 or 6 beats a minute, but isn't always in operation. It is variously described as a "kinetic sculpture" and a "tourist attraction."

Back at the hotel, we had time for lunch but not to go out anywhere, so we once again went to the mezzanine Bistro. Unfortunately, they had just changed to their summer menu, so several promising items were no longer available.

David ordered the schnitzel, which he declared not up to the usual local standard—too thick and too heavily breaded.

I had better luck with the salmon with saffron couscous and assorted saffron-tinted vegetables, which was quite good.

We shared a caramel-filled cream puff for dessert and were joined by our friends Chris and Pam for coffee and tea. We were all on the black-tag bus, which left from the lower lobby a short while later.

As we drove out of town, Program Director Eva pointed out a few landmarks I didn't get photos of. One was the Hotel Intercontinental, where Michael Jackson stayed. It was built in the 60's and 70's in "brutalist" style, on the site where where some houses were demolished after they were damaged in the 1968 Czech uprising. It's currently closed, I think for renovations on the way to become a Fairmont hotel

She also pointed out a gray building with "Leges" on the side was the headquarters of the Germans during the occupation but is now the University School of Law.

A few more stray facts:

• The Hilton (I assume she means ours and not "the other one") was the largest hotel in the Czech Republic when Bill Clinton stayed there.
• During the latest set of severe floods, the pengins and sea lions floated out of their zoo enclosures and swam all over the town.
• The Czech Republic has absorbed half a million Ukranian refuges (into a population of 10 million).
• There are about 1000 castles in the Czech Republic and many, many noble families, though their titles were abolished in 1919.

Our immediate destination was Děčín (Czech Republic), a town of about 50,000 people on the bank of the Elbe, just opposite the point where the Vltava flowed into it, about 100 miles north of Prague.

On the way, I got this cluttered photo of graceful, asymmetrical, one-pylon suspension bridge. It's hard to make out, but you can see the slanted pylon between the larger, less slanted, white bus-window frame and the glare and many reflections at the left side. It's the Mariánský Bridge in the town of Ústí nad Labem.

At the right is just a picturesque body of water, perhaps the river, perhaps just a pond. Too bad it's blurry because the bus was traveling so fast. The air everywhere was full of cottonwood fluff. I was afraid it was willow, which sometimes swells my eyes shut in Tallahassee, but apparently not, as I never had any trouble with it.

I also saw many great gray herons standing by the river or flying along it.

We reached Děčín about 4 pm, as scheduled, to find Viking Beyla waiting for us. The left-hand photo is of the stern, from the bus parking area.

We walked a few yards along the river, then turned downhill to board under the red Viking canopy. The photo is pretty small, but maybe you can make out the captain, first mate, and four chefs lined up to greet us at the gangway.

At the left here is the portrait of Beyla, for whom the ship is named, at the top of the central staircase, as on all Viking ships. The label says that she is "farm servant to the Norse god of virility Freyr" and "represents the earthly bounty of Scandinavia."

And at the right is a view of my cabin. Note that the window is much larger and lower than on full-sized Viking longships. I'm not sure whether the cabin was actually larger, but it felt more spacious, and there was even a chair—ordinarily you only get a backless stool, like the one you can see pushed under the desk here.

The shower stool I had requested was present and accounted for, and the miserable lumpy mattress topper Viking has been experimenting with was mercifully absent.

Because the Elbe ships are only half the size of "standard" Viking longships, some rearrangements were necessary. As you can see at the left here, the central staircase, usually aft of the dining room, comes down right in the middle of it. The ship has only two levels of cabins, rather than the usual three, so our cabins were on the dining room level. The elevator was omitted.

But, as usual, portraits of the senior staff (at the right here) were arranged just outside the lounge. That's Eva in the middle.

We were scheduled to cast off and head for Bad Schandau, Germany, at 5 pm, but in fact, we got under way almost as soon as everyone was aboard—low water was predicted, and the captain wanted to get going while the going was good.

Meanwhile, we were all invited, as soon as we were ready, to come to the lounge for an "embarkation snack" that included the wrap sandwiches shown at the left and the little dishes of savory appetizers shown at the right: couscous tabouleh, cold tomato pasta with cheese, and ratatouille.

The desserts were the lovely Nutella-flavored pudding we remember fondly from other cruises, shiny apricot-glazed apple tart, and little dishes of fruit salad.

Meanwhile, the shipboard musician played in the background, and bar waiters took drink orders.

As we cruised downstream on the Elbe, we soon came to some very rugged territory. The rock formations shown here are a small sample—the terrain only got rougher and rougher.

No sooner had the "embarkation snack" ended than the captain's "toast to our guests started. Champagne was distributed, and little cocktail munchies appeared.

After the chef gave his spiel, Eva told us that the crew says "you come aboard as a guest and you leave as cargo," and they have a point—he's a very good chef, much better than the last few we've had on cruises.

Eva was born in England to Hungarian parents who escaped that country in 1959. She's 43 adn married, and has two grown children, but she has now lived over half her life in the South of France where she and her husband have restored an old stone farmhouse.

She also told us that the Beyla is a "silent ship." That is, no announcements will be made over the PA system except in case of emergency. We'll get no warnings of impending excursions and will have to keep track of time ourselves.

Then it was time for dinner! David ordered what was supposed to be the vegetarian main course as his starter—green and white asparagus with potatoes and Béarnaise sauce. In Prague, they had told us that asparagus season was only a week long, but he was delighted to learn that in Germany it lasted the whole length of our trip.

I passed up the pumpkin soup with pumpkin oil, which I know from past cruises to be excellent, to order the "local specialty" beef tartare with truffle sour cream and toast. Yummy.

Then David had the European sea bass (Dicentrarchus labrax, "bar" in French) with more potatoes and lemon, caper, parsley sauce.

I chose the local specialty again: herb crusted pork tenderloin with hash browns and cauliflower.

Both were excellent.

David followed up with New York cheesecake, but I stuck with the local specialties and ordered the layered coconut mango cake (made, I'm sure with local coconuts and mangos) with "exotic cream." Again, we were both very pleased with our choices.

As we dined, I spotted a black and white wagtail flying over the water and along the bank, some white-breasted swallows, mallards, and more herons. Also during dinner, we arrived at Bad Schandau, Germany.