Outside, the West Side freight line passes, shuddering down its tracks, pursuing the night to its final boundary.
Dawn at the kitchen table. First light is streaking the lower quarters of the sky, a raw pinkish glow. Rachel lights a cigarette. Smoke rises. Kibbitz meows for attention, and she scoops him up into her arms. She can smell the spirits in the jar where her brushes are soaking. As she hugs the cat to her breast, the tears come. Grief and liberation. She sobs without constraint but not without purpose. It’s the cleansing purpose of the mikveh, washing through her. She sobs for her mother. She sobs for the millions. She sobs in grief for the world that has vanished, just as she sobs in hope for the child she carries and for the world that will come.
Author’s Note
Shadows of Berlin stemmed from my desire to dramatically explore the post-war consequences of the Holocaust, not only for those who suffered under the Nazis and lost family to the murder machine, but also for those who lived in safety an ocean away while six million perished. So I created Rashka Morgenstern. Rashka is a young Jewish Berliner who has outlived the terror of war but carries her trauma with her like baggage as she crosses the Atlantic to a new life as a refugee in America. In New York City, Rashka becomes Rachel, and in 1950, she marries Aaron Perlman, a man who spent the war in the catering corps in California, while Europe was being reduced to cinders.
It’s through these two characters and their families (past and present) that I dig into the potent dynamics of guilt and regret, culpability and consequence that still shape the character of people’s lives ten years after the war has ended. I wanted to investigate how a traumatic experience, on both a massive and minor scale, can invest itself in the hearts of those who survive it for the rest of their lives. How “survivor’s guilt” can impact a person’s continued existence—overtly, in the case of Rachel, and more subtly, in the case of her husband. But profoundly so in both cases.
At home, Rachel complains that her husband can never understand the depth of her grief or how she endured the tragedies of surviving Berlin. But neither does she fully understand or appreciate Aaron’s own struggles with his guilt and shame, that even though he spent the standard “duration plus six” in the army, he never spent a moment in harm’s way.
Nothing separates their two perspectives more than the issue of children. They both entered into their marriage to fill voids in their lives. Aaron needed to be a hero—a savior—and who better to save than a survivor of Hitler’s campaign of extermination? Rachel needed, in her way, to be saved. Not only from her past, but from herself and her own clear sense of culpability. But children? The idea terrified her. For her husband, Aaron, children were a responsibility. Being Rachel’s “savior” wasn’t enough. He had to look “forward.” He had to produce progeny as a duty to the future. Only producing a child justified his own existence. But Rachel was so traumatized that she can only look backward. How could someone so damaged ever produce something so beautiful as a child? It’s only when she was finally forced to confront the dimensions of her guilt and culpability that she was compelled to answer a single simple question. Can the past be redeemed by the future? It is the central question of Rachel and Aaron’s marriage, and of the novel itself.
Reading Group Guide
1. Aaron is extremely impatient for children. Why is Rachel reluctant to start a family? Does Aaron respect her reasoning?
2. Rachel’s uncle, Feter Fritz, is an important character in Rachel’s life. Yet he is often manipulative and self-serving in his behavior toward her. Why do you think she puts up with him and continues to go out of her way to maintain his affections?
3. In many ways, Rachel resists thinking of herself as traumatized. What prevents her from feeling “worthy” of her struggles with mental health?
4. Characterize the Red Angel. Did your opinion of Angelika change as you learned more of her story? In Rachel’s position, would you have accepted her help in New York City ten years after the end of the war?
5. What does Aaron expect Rachel to get from her appointments with her therapist? What does she actually achieve through therapy?
6. What is the root of the rivalry between Aaron and his cousin Ezra? What does the character of their rivalry say about Aaron? How does Rachel react to their rivalry?
7. Had you heard of Jews living as U-boats during the war before reading the book? How did hiding in plain sight provide safety, and how did it increase danger?
8. Compare Rachel’s and Aaron’s relationships to Judaism. How do they deal with the differences in their experiences?
9. Why does Rachel become so invested in Naomi and Tyrell’s relationship? Do you think she helps them?
10. Rachel feels responsible for carrying on the legacy of the many Jews who lost their lives, including her mother. What actions does she take to fulfill this responsibility? How do you contribute to the legacy of your ancestors?
A Conversation with the Author
Where did the idea for Shadows of Berlin come from? Where do you start when writing a new book?
I had been very interested in the idea of survivor’s guilt, and I wanted to explore the aftereffects of trauma and what the living owe to the memory of the dead.
All your books have dealt with World War II in some way. What brings you back to this era in history?
I have been interested in the Second World War since childhood. On a personal note, my father served in the army during the war. More broadly, I believe the war shaped the world we live in today. And we are still dealing with many problems the war created or failed to address. So I believe it remains relevant and very fertile ground for fiction.
While we come to understand Angelika, the narrative does not forgive her actions. Do you think it matters why people do bad things? Should it change the consequences they face?
I have always searched out the “gray” areas of my characters’ actions and intentions. No one is totally good or totally bad in my books; no one rides for free. Everyone must pay a price for their actions. I don’t expect readers to feel any particular sympathy for Angelika. In the end, she was still a murderer. But I do hope readers are moved to discuss the relationship between trauma, power, and personal actions and their consequences and come to their own conclusions.
Rachel’s development of her self-portrait is vividly rendered. How would you compare her artistic process to your own?
In some ways, they represent two very different approaches to art. Rachel paints to both honor her mother’s death and forgive her mother’s abuses. Also to forgive herself. There is a great desperation fueling Rachel’s painting.
My writing, on the other hand, is less of a compulsion and more of a vocation. (Though I can never imagine myself quitting the habit!) And yet? At a basic level, both Rachel and I are compelled to create. Growing up, I had a strong interest in both history and art and thought I might become a historical illustrator. But writing eventually won me over. Still, Rachel and I share the joys and trepidations of creating a whole out of nothing—whether we are faced with an empty canvas or a blank page.
When they meet, Rachel is still a refugee in a Lower East Side residence hotel. Aaron is at loose ends, unsure of his direction after the army. Rachel is in need of security, and Aaron is a young man in search of purpose. Why, as the author, would you say they fell in love? What are their greatest challenges to their marriage?