Day 7 - Small group explorations

Anh & Sarah 

I. JEWISH MUSEUM- BERLIN

Morning, January 18, 2026.

“The building is not a neutral container; it is an instrument of memory.” — Libeskind 

Walking through the frigid weather of Berlin, we went to the Jewish Museum. At first glance, this museum is a combination of historical and modernized buildings. The first building was constructed as the superior court of justice for the Brandenburg region under Prussian rule in 1735. After it was destroyed during WWII, it became the house of the Berlin Museum. Later, it was constructed as an extension of the Jewish Museum. The architecture of the second building is often described as a zigzag or “broken Star of David.” Libeskind intentionally designed the building to feel fragmented and unsettling, mirroring the ruptured history of Jews in Germany. Narrow corridors, sharp angles, and slanted floors prevent visitors from moving comfortably, making the act of walking through the museum a physical reminder of historical instability and exclusion. From the very beginning, the museum confronts visitors with a contradiction between the modern world and historical reality, where the ongoing rhythm of life stands in sharp contrast to the interrupted and fractured past of Jewish people.

The museum is separated by three intersecting axes: the Axis of Continuity, the Axis of Exile, and the Axis of the Holocaust, which are placed in different stages of the two buildings. These pathways represent different trajectories of Jewish experience in Germany.

The Axis of Exile leads outside to the Garden of Exile, where tilted concrete columns and uneven ground create a sense of disorientation, evoking the uncertainty and loss felt by those forced to flee their homeland. This Axis reminds us of the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin that our team went few days ago. Layers of concrete rectangles, which are placed parallel from piece to piece. This memorial makes us loose balances and location while walking past. As we fully immerse ourselves in the middle of the construction, a heavy feeling suddenly evokes in us. A mixture of feelings: afraid, deep compassion, sorrowful, and painful to witness. Perhaps we are truly vunerable for this experience, we can truly feel the trauma and hurtfulness of millions life which has forever stayed in the Holocaust. Walking backward to the display of the Axis of Exile, the museum displays plenty of historical artifacts that are directly related to the pre-war and post-war periods. Particularly notable relics are The Diary of an Escape, family photos, children's drawings, and the Holocaust tower. Inside The Holocaust Tower is one of the museum’s most emotionally intense spaces. It is a tall, unheated concrete chamber with bare walls and a small slit of light high above. The overwhelming silence and isolation of the room encourage contemplation rather than explanation, allowing visitors to emotionally confront absence, fear, and the impossibility of fully representing the Holocaust. Perhaps Libeskind wants us, ordinary people, to feel the emptiness and darkness of the gas chamber and the concentration camps. 

The Axis of the Holocaust holds an effective use of voids: empty vertical spaces that run through the building. These voids are deliberately inaccessible and largely unfilled, representing the absence left by Jewish communities destroyed during the Holocaust. In one void, the installation “Shalekhet (Fallen Leaves)” by Menashe Kadishman fills the floor with thousands of iron faces. As visitors walk across them, the clanging metal sounds echo through the space, turning movement into an act of remembrance and discomfort.

Finally, the Axis of Continuity is beyond its architecture; the museum’s permanent exhibition emphasizes continuity and cultural life, highlighting Jewish contributions to German society in fields such as philosophy, music, science, and literature. This approach resists reducing Jewish history to victimhood alone, instead asserting Jewish presence, resilience, and identity across centuries.

II. Flohmarkt am Mauerpark - a cultural spotlight

Noon, January 18, 2026.

Anh Nguyen & Sarah Truong

Visiting Flohmarkt am Mauerpark felt like stepping into a living snapshot of Berlin’s everyday culture. The market was crowded and energetic, filled with people from everywhere—locals browsing casually, tourists hunting for souvenirs, and artists proudly presenting their work. The constant movement, music, and overlapping conversations created a lively atmosphere that made it easy to lose track of time. Rather than feeling overwhelming, the crowd gave the space a sense of openness and spontaneity, as if everyone was part of the same shared experience with street singers playing in front for all to enjoy.

The name of the flea market, Mauerpark, is actually because this market is located near the remains of the Berlin Wall. This inspiring name is a way for local people to cherish Berlin culture and remember the Berlin Wall.

What stood out most to me were the craft stalls, where handmade jewelry, prints, postcards, and small design objects reflected Berlin’s creative spirit. Each stall felt personal, often run by the artists themselves, who were eager to explain the stories behind their work. In contrast, some vendors sold vintage animal fur coats, which immediately caught my attention. These pieces carried a complicated feeling—on one hand, they represented Berlin’s long history of fashion and reuse; on the other, they raised questions about ethics, memory, and changing values in contemporary society.

Food was an essential part of the experience. The smell of traditional street food: sausages, currywurst, pretzels, and international snacks filled the air. Eating while walking through the market made the visit feel informal and communal, reinforcing the idea that this space is as much about social connection as it is about buying and selling. Small souvenir stalls offered magnets, postcards, and quirky objects, but unlike typical tourist shops, many items felt authentic and locally inspired.