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New Statesman
06-08-2025
- Entertainment
- New Statesman
Berlin's dark past and me
The platform was empty. It was a serene scene: the rain had stopped and the air smelled green, the trees showering droplets each time the wind blew. My mother and I carefully stepped around the puddles as we read the plaques on the very edge of the platform. 18.10.1941 / 1251 Juden / Berlin – Lodz. 29.11.1942 / 1000 Juden / Berlin – Auschwitz. 2.2.1945 / 88 Juden / Berlin – Theresienstadt. The Gleis 17 (Platform 17) memorial at Grunewald station on the western outskirts of Berlin commemorates the 50,000 Jews who were deported from the city to concentration camps by the Nazis. There are 186 steel plaques in total, in chronological order, each detailing the number of deportees and where they went. Vegetation has been left to grow around the platform and over the train tracks, 'a symbol that no train will ever leave the station at this track again', according to the official Berlin tourist website. Were we tourists? I wasn't sure. I paused at one plaque in particular: 5.9.1942 / 790 Juden / Berlin – Riga. My great-grandmother, Ryfka, was one of the 790 Jews deported to Riga on 5 September 1942. She was murdered three days later. Her husband, Max, had been arrested and taken as a labourer to the Siedlce ghetto the previous year. In 1942 he was shot and thrown into a mass grave. When I told people we were taking a family trip to Berlin, many brought up Jesse Eisenberg's 2024 film A Real Pain (released January 2025 in the UK), in which Eisenberg and Kieran Culkin play mismatched cousins on a tour of Poland, confronting the inherited trauma of their grandmother's Holocaust survival story. But when we first started planning our trip six years ago, that wasn't the idea at all. It wasn't supposed to be about Max and Ryfka. It was about their daughter, my grandmother, Mirjam, and my grandfather, Ali, whom we called Opa. Opa's ancestry enabled us to claim German citizenship. My mother, sister and I started this process in 2017 without really thinking about it. The UK had voted to leave the EU, and Brits with relatives from all over were looking for ways to retain an EU passport. The Global Citizenship Observatory estimates that 90,000 Brits have acquired a second passport from an EU country since 2016, not counting those eligible for Irish citizenship. Article 116(2) of the German Constitution states: 'Persons who surrendered, lost or were denied German citizenship between 30 January 1933 and 8 May 1945 due to persecution on political, racial or religious grounds are entitled to naturalisation.' The same applies to their descendants. Mirjam died in 1990, before I was born, and Opa in 2003 – both British and only British citizens. But we had his voided German passport, his birth certificate, the notice of statelessness he'd received when he came to England in 1936. It took two years, but on 3 June 2019, the three of us attended the embassy in Belgravia and were solemnly dubbed citizens of Germany. We received our passports a few weeks later. Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe My mother wanted to celebrate with a trip to Berlin – the city where her parents grew up, and which my sister and I had never visited. Five years later than planned, thanks to Covid travel bans, we made it, honouring Opa by sweeping through immigration on the passports he had posthumously gifted us. I was prepared for the attempts at schoolgirl German, the arguments over bus timetables, itineraries and whether or not it was acceptable to fare-dodge on the U-Bahn. What I wasn't prepared for was being struck down by tears on a suburban street, faced with the reality of how exactly I had come to be there and what my presence meant. Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, Berlin. Photo by Jon Arnold Images Ltd My grandfather's family made it out of Nazi Germany. So did my grandmother and her siblings. Her parents did not. Max and Ryfka were typical middle-class Berliners, owners of a profitable cigarette factory. They had three children: Fanny, Mirjam and Harry. The family lived in a five-storey apartment block with a dramatic art nouveau facade – an open-mouthed deity staring down as residents came and went – on Thomasiusstrasse, on the edge of the Tiergarten city park. Around the corner, in the same affluent neighbourhood, lived the boy who would become my grandfather, Ali. They used to play together as children. Two decades, multiple emigrations and an internment in Canada later, Ali married Mirjam. My mother was born two years later. I know all this thanks to her, her sister and their cousins. A few years before the Brexit vote, they had set out to consolidate everything we know about the family – sifting through documents, photos and letters, sharing recollections of their parents, writing down everything so the story would not be forgotten. I know, for example, that the basement of the house in Thomasiusstrasse was used for meetings of their Zionist youth movement long before emigration became an urgent issue. I know when and how the siblings fled Berlin to what was then British-occupied Palestine: Fanny going first to Denmark in July 1937, then to Palestine in February 1939, where she worked at the first haute couture fashion house in Israel. Mirjam left in April 1936 via a boat from Italy. She studied horticulture before eventually marrying Ali in 1951 and moving to England. Harry arrived in Palestine on 1 September 1937, his 16th birthday. And I know, from the letters we have, how often and how seriously all three urged their parents to sell the cigarette factory and leave Berlin, before it was too late. On the pavement outside the apartment block on Thomasiusstrasse, set into the cobblestones, gleamed the Stolpersteine. Any visitor to Berlin will find the streets scattered with these 'stumbling stones', small brass plates, each one a memorial to a victim of the Nazis who lived at that address: their name, year of birth, where and when they were killed. The commemorative art project, begun in 1992 by artist Gunter Demnig, has spread across Europe: there now are more than 116,000 stones, in 31 countries. The Stolpersteine for Max and Ryfka were laid in August 2014. My mother and her family attended; a clarinettist played klezmer music. There are eight stones for that single apartment block. The day before we visited, my mother had booked us on a tour of the Jewish quarter. Our guide told us that the aim of the Stolpersteine initiative was to compel confrontation and reflection, causing passers-by to stumble, both figuratively and physically, over this dark period of European history. Berlin is forthright about confronting its past – using art and architecture in innovative ways to do so. At the Holocaust memorial by the Brandenburg Gate, visitors get lost in an unnerving maze of concrete slabs. At the entrance to the Jewish Museum, the floors slope and the walls are set at odd angles, making the space difficult to navigate with confidence. The 'Garden of Exile' just outside the museum, designed by the Polish-American architect Daniel Libeskind to capture the disorientation of the refugee experience, is similarly slanted and boxed in by columns. The day we visited, it was raining again, the uneven cobbles slick and treacherous. The garden was empty. I slipped – and through my perhaps disproportionate tears realised there was a lot more to my new German passport than I had imagined. Everyone knows about the Holocaust. Six million Jews, more than a quarter of a million Gypsies, millions more Poles, Soviets, homosexuals and people with disabilities, systematically exterminated at death camps. I had always known that my family was in some way linked to it all, that the Holocaust was why we were in Britain in the first place, that I wouldn't be here were it not for my maternal grandparents being 'denied German citizenship… due to persecution on political, racial or religious grounds'. Hundreds of thousands of Jews fled the Nazis. Every Jewish family I know has a story: of how their ancestors escaped, and what happened to the ones who didn't. I knew long before I visited Berlin that there is nothing special about my family's history. But I had always seen it as just that: history. The Jewish Museum's core exhibition charts the history of Jews in Germany from medieval times to the present day. The final section looks at descendants of Holocaust victims and refugees who chose to restore their German citizenship – and why they made that decision. Why had I done it? To get an EU passport after Brexit. To make it easier to work abroad one day. To give my future children the option to live anywhere in Europe. To skip the queues at immigration. All valid reasons. And all, suddenly, entirely inconsequential Staring at the memorial plaques on Platform 17, sitting on the steps of the apartment block on Thomasiusstrasse, losing my footing in the Garden of Exile, I felt myself slot into the narrative, the next chapter of a story that is both unfathomable and at the same time utterly unexceptional. Opa died when I was 12. He was so proud of being British. I never asked him how he would feel about us using the trauma of his past to become German for the sake of convenience. I'd always thought he'd like the idea of us reclaiming his rightful heritage, but in Berlin it seemed less clear. But I do think he would have liked the fact that we were all there in Berlin, on the streets where he and his wife grew up, laughing and crying together, realising our mother-and-daughters getaway had ended up a lot like Eisenberg's A Real Pain after all. The three of us lost in reverie outside the apartment block, picturing my grandmother coming and going. A sign by the door was engraved in looping gothic script. It looked like a memorial plaque. We struggled to decipher first the letters, then the German. Eventually we resorted to Google Translate, and discovered in lieu of the profound message we had expected, a polite request for guests to please wipe their feet. [See also: Rachel Reeves' 'impossible trilemma'] Related
CAF
16-07-2025
- Sport
- CAF
Opa Clement: 'Tanzania will be back'
Tukumbuke. To remember in Kiswahili. Opa Clement Tukumbuke. Remember her name. The Tanzania captain, whose lone goal against the reigning African champions South Africa, ensured that the Twiga Stars registered their first ever point at the TotalEnergies Women's Africa Cup of Nations in two appearances – 2010 and 2025. Born in Mbeya, southwestern Tanzania, Opa as she is commonly known back home, is the current face of Women's Football in the East African nation. The 24-year-old is living her wildest dreams having worn the armband in the two games that she played – against South Africa and Ghana in Morocco. A childhood dream come true – playing at the biggest stage on the continent and representing over 67 million Tanzanians at home and across the world. She will remember the experience. 'For all of us that played at this WAFCON, this was our first time to feature at the tournament. We came here with the sole goal of going to the final, but we fell short. We did not fail because we leave here with so many lessons learnt. We feel that we represented our nation with honour. We gave everything that we could and at least out of the three games, we scored two goals and gained a point against the defending champions South Africa. That is something. Our plan is to come back to the WAFCON,' Opa says with hope for the future on her face. A WAFCON to remember From leaving Tanzania with the weight of a nation, to having their faces beamed to the world and the prestigious feeling of leading her teammates onto the fields in Berkane and Oujda in the Oriental Province of Morocco, Opa admits that this will always be an unforgettable feeling. The Twiga Stars like their nickname Twiga which means giraffe stood tall in their performances, displaying a never-give-up attitude and overall creating memories that they will hold onto as they return home after the group stages. 'We leave here with the understanding of tournament football. How you start sets the pace for the rest of the tournament. Against Mali, we felt that we did everything that was possible to win but conceded a late goal. Against South Africa, we scored first and against Ghana, we came from behind to equalize but then conceded three more goals. We shall take the lessons. We are going back home to assess our performance and to plan for the future. Future success 'guaranteed' Tanzania have been building their grassroots structures in recent years focusing on scouting talent across the country and opening clear pathways for the juniors to progress to the senior national team – the Twiga Stars. In the last five years, Tanzania have amassed regional titles while accumulating experience from across the continent. The Twiga Stars won the CECAFA Women's Championship last month at home in preparation for this WAFCON. They previously won the 2021 COSAFA Women's Championship after beating Malawi in the final in Port Elizabeth, Eastern Cape in South Africa. Their junior team won the 2020 COSAFA U17 Women's Championship in Port Elizabeth before they won the inaugural UNAF U17 Women's Championship last year held in Tunisia where they drew with the hosts and defeated both Egypt and Morocco. Jamila Mnunduka, who captained the U17s last year, has since been elevated to the U20s and remained in her captain's role while also featuring for the Twiga Stars at this WAFCON. 'Honestly, it has been a great pleasure for me to play for Tanzania at this WAFCON. I feel so honoured and grateful for this very special opportunity. I still cannot believe that I am playing alongside my role model Opa [Clement]. I used to see her on television and now I am sitting with her. It feels unreal but I am grateful and trying to take in every moment,' Mnunduka says with a big smile on her face. She continues, 'Every time that we play at the junior level, she texts and calls me to encourage me before and after the match. I know that I have a big sister who believes in me and that means a lot to me as a young player.' Mnunduka says that playing football has given her the opportunity to travel and see the world and that winning trophies is something that she wants to continue doing for Tanzania. 'We want to be consistent at this level. We want to come back to the WAFCON.' 'We leave Morocco having learnt so much. Seeing and being in games with all these great players in the opposing teams has taught me that I must continue working hard. The WAFCON is a whole different level. Against Ghana, when we conceded the four goals, it showed us that the weighing scale was not balanced. We must correct that.' Another teenager who impressed the head coach Bakari Shime despite losing to Zambia 0-4 over two legs in the FIFA U17 Women's World Cup 2025 Qualifiers is Lidya Maxmillian Kabambo. At 16, she started all three of Tanzania's Group C matches at this WAFCON. Kabambo came off the bench in Tanzania's opener against Mali before starting both games against South Africa and Ghana. According to Shime, Tanzania's plan is to further expose the teenagers to prepare for a future transition when veterans like Anastazia Katunzi eventually decide to call it a day. The assistant captain Katunzi was voted as one of the top three players within the squad by the head coach, coaching staff and players in three separate voting opportunities to showcase her versatility, leadership and overall excellence. Tanzania will face Ethiopia this October in the last round of qualification for the TotalEnergies WAFCON 2026 edition that will also be held in Morocco in March next year.
Time of India
13-06-2025
- Climate
- Time of India
Turbidity of the Khandepar swells after downpour rage
Ponda: The incessant rain in the catchment areas of Khandepar and Kalem rivers during the intervening night of Thursday and Friday has raised the turbidity of raw water in the Khandepar river. The Opa Water Works recorded river water turbidity of 325 NTU (nephelometric turbidity unit) on Friday afternoon. Turbidity refers to opaqueness or cloudiness. Water containing 1mg of finely divided silica per litre has a turbidity of 1 NTU and up to 50 NTU is considered normal. However, data shows that such a high rise in turbidity has been seen far earlier this year as compared to the past eight years. Sunil Kerkar, an assistant engineer of the department of drinking water said the early arrival of the monsoon contributed to the spike in turbidity. Kerkar said that the phenomenon is common during heavy rainfall. He said silt washes off from catchment areas and pours into river water, leading to high turbidity. Sometimes consumers too get turbid water. 'Water is released to consumers only after proper filtration is carried out at Opa water treatment plants,' Kerkar said. After raw water is drawn into a receiving chamber from a river, it flows into sedimentation tanks to allow silt to settle. by Taboola by Taboola Sponsored Links Sponsored Links Promoted Links Promoted Links You May Like Check Out Local Car Deals Near You! Car Deals Near You Learn More Undo Next, the water passes through three stages from sand filter beds to the chlorination plant and to the main balancing reservoir for storage and supply. High turbidity levels, however, cost the state exchequer dearly, as several million litres of treated water is used to clean the clogged filters every year. The filters quickly become non-functional due to the density of mining sediments. Follow more information on Air India plane crash in Ahmedabad here . Get real-time live updates on rescue operations and check full list of passengers onboard AI 171 .
