Jewish History of Freiberg

Prior to this trip, I’d been to France, Italy, Spain and the UK, but visiting Germany is entirely different because it is the center of the National Socialist movement that is responsible for killing six million Jews. The persecution of Jews in Freiberg is small in numbers compared to six million, but it looms large in the town’s past, as well as in its commitment to never forget.

According to the city, the earliest records of Jews living here date back to 1230, and by 1280, Jews were engaged in mining, grain trading and finance for the Counts of Freiberg. Then the plague hit, and the Jews were blamed. In 1349, all but the wealthiest Jews were burned to death as punishment. The remaining dozen, as well as pregnant women, were allowed to remain, but only if they agreed to be baptized.

Cycles of acceptance, discrimination, tolerance, torture and expulsion continued for several hundred years until the 1860s when the regional government decreed Jews to be equal in the eyes of the law. This decree allowed the Jewish community of Freiberg to flourish, build a synagogue, and become part of the economic life of the city.

Everything changed again in 1933 with the rise of the Nazi Party and in 1935 the passage of the Nuremberg Race Laws. On November 9, 1938, the Freiberg SS set fire to the synagogue, burning it to the ground. The same day, 52 Jewish men were arrested and sent to Dachau. In October 1940, the balance of the city’s Jews — some 450 people — were sent to Gurs, a concentration camp in southern France. Most of those were eventually murdered in Auschwitz.

The events of the 1930s and 40s are remembered today by a monument on the site of the old synagogue. There you can find a bronze replica of the building next to a reflective pool of water within the perimeter of the old synagogue’s floorplan.

Also part of the commemorative site is a sign from Gurs.

I’ve seen a lot of older residents walking around the city, to the market, sipping coffee in cafes and I wonder what they remember, what they learned in school, whether their families speak about what happened here. I see their children and grandchildren, and they live in the moment. The old synagogue site is adjacent to the university and across the street from the theatre. Does anyone pay attention to it anymore?

Some Jewish families still live here. There is a Chabad. There is a congregation, what the city calls its “fourth Israeli community,” some of whom are Russian refugees. They’ve built a sukkah. They’ve built a beautiful new synagogue, funded partly with city money. 

When will it be destroyed again?