Artist Gunter Demnig has spent 30 years installing small Holocaust memorial stones in Berlin, placing palm-sized brass plaques called Stolpersteine, or “stumbling blocks,” in sidewalks to honor victims of the Nazi regime. The plaques now number more than 11,000 in Berlin and more than 126,000 across Europe, a sprawling counter-archive laid into the pavement where ordinary people walk past the wreckage of state murder.
Who Remembers, Who Was Erased
On a busy street corner in Berlin, Demnig carefully placed a brass plaque that read: “Johanna Berger, born in 1893, lived here; deported on Nov. 17, 1941, murdered on Nov. 25, 1941.” After Demnig swiped the sand off Berger’s memorial stone and those for her husband and two sons, a dozen relatives drew closer around the four plaques, put down white roses and recited the Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the dead, while traffic roared by on a rainy spring day.
That small scene carries the full weight of what the Nazi machine tried to destroy: family memory, neighborhood history, and the right even to be remembered where people lived. The stones do not restore what was taken, but they force the city’s surface to carry the names of those the regime deported and murdered.
Demnig, 78, said in an interview with The Associated Press on Wednesday: “My basic idea behind this was that wherever in Europe the German Wehrmacht, the SS, the Gestapo, and their local collaborators committed murders or carried out deportations, symbolic stones should be placed there.” The sentence names the apparatus plainly enough: military force, secret police, and collaborators, all of them part of the machinery that turned streets and homes into sites of disappearance.
A Grassroots Archive Against the State
Jewish family members often travel from all over the world to attend the stonelaying ceremonies because many of the victims were gassed in the Nazis’ concentration camps and these memorial stones are the closest thing to a grave or a burial. Michael Tischler, the 72-year-old Berliner and grandnephew of Berger who perished in the Holocaust like several other members of his family, said: “The Stolpersteine are some kind of substitute for the missing gravestones.” He said: “I think this brings the family history to a certain conclusion, or at least a provisional one.”
The memorial stones have also created a grassroots movement that brings together neighborhood initiatives, schools or religious communities to research the history of their city. Together, old and young browse through archives and check timeworn resident lists to find out if any Jews or others who were persecuted during the Third Reich — such as communists, gays or Roma — used to live in the streets or even homes where they live today. Once they can confirm a victim’s former place of residence, they arrange for a stonelaying ceremony and make sure the brass plaque is polished periodically, so it won’t lose its shine.
That is direct, local work: neighborhood initiatives doing the digging, schools and religious communities joining in, archives being searched by hand, and the plaques kept bright so the names do not sink back into the pavement. No ministry or grand institution is described as the engine here. The memorials survive through horizontal organizing and repeated acts of care.
Memory in the Shadow of the Far Right
On Wednesday, several 10th graders from the Friedrich-Bergius-Schule attended another Berlin stonelaying ceremony on Stierstraße, where many Jews used to live. Demnig’s three new stones for the Krein family — Michael, his wife Maria and their daughter Dalila — brought the number of Stolpersteine to 62 on this street. While Maria and Dalila managed to escape to the U.S. and British-controlled Palestinian territory, respectively, Michael, a musician, died in Berlin in 1940 as a forced laborer under the Nazis.
High school student Sibilla Ehrlich, 16, watched as a group of violinists played solemn melodies and some elderly neighbors talked about the lives of the three Jews under Nazi dictatorship. She said: “It is just so horrible, all this the hatred of others,” and “I keep thinking: what if this had been my family.”
Before the Holocaust, Berlin had the biggest Jewish community in Germany. In 1933, the year the Nazis came to power, around 160,500 Jews lived in Berlin. By the time World War II ended and Nazi Germany surrendered on May 8, 1945, their numbers had diminished to about 7,000 through emigration and extermination. All in all, around 6 million European Jews and others were killed in the Holocaust.
As Germany commemorates the Allied liberation from the Nazis 81 years ago on Friday, many people in Germany fear that the lessons of the Holocaust may be forgotten as the far right is quickly gaining influence in Germany again. Tischler said he worries about his country’s future in times of rising antisemitism, but he said the memorial stones offer a glimpse of hope. “I hope that these Stolpersteine will still give some people pause for thought,” he said.