Free I Sleep in Hitler's Room by Tuvia Tenenbom Page A

Giovanni, and we’ll walk the streets of Munich together, laughing until this city explodes!
    At Margot’s side, at a table just behind her, a bishop sits. A Greek Orthodox by the name of Constantin Miron, if I got his name right. He has a long beard, a big belly, and a ponytail. He picks his nose, looks around, and picks his nose again. She talks about the good all religions give to people, or something to that effect, and the Greek picks his nose. If I get her right, she says that we can all have hope if we don’t bow down to the rules of the media— and the multitude of photojournalists click. Applause. Music. End. Very PC. The audience goes wild. Germans, it seems, like their leaders noncharismatic. Dry, passionless leaders drive the German soul and psyche to ever greater heights. The audience, Margot’s followers, approach the podium with their digital cameras. They push and they shove. They want to take pix. Pix of the living God.
    More and more of them are coming.
    She gets off the podium, a short woman in black, and the multitude follow.
    Something like a stampede develops. The people just can’t say goodbye. They want more of her. And more. And more. To be near. One more pic. One more autograph. They beg to be near. They don’t know yet on which side of Jesus they’ll sit up there, but they know on which side of Margot they stand down here. They push their digital cameras on top of one another. Here’s one offering a scarf to be signed. Margot apparently loves all nations and all religions, and graciously accepts the admiration of all.
    Where is the nose-picking Greek guy? He’s gone. He disappeared; no one even noticed. It’s just Margot, the admirers, and the scarf. A Trinity. I stand next to her, amazed by the crowd. One day, who knows, this scarf will be exhibited in a place called Turin-2, and millions will come to see the miracles of the scarf. And I, from my place in heaven, to the right of Ms. Ritz, will smile and say to the Lübeck woman who sits to the left of Jesus: I saw it when it all started, with my own eyes!
    Only now, still on earth, I have to deal with an old lady here who has just stepped on my foot. Small price to pay for witnessing a big miracle in the making.
    As I write this, and I’m getting used to it already, people stop next to me to look at my iPad, a device not yet available in Germany. They are friendly. They ask if they could watch me writing on it, and they would like to know some more details, if I don’t mind their asking. None of these people, I am impressed, is thinking of this iPad in terms of “Let me play Games on it.” No. They wonder, and truly admire, the technology they think is in it. I look at them, and the thought comes to my mind: I admire their admiration. I don’t know of any other culture where its people are so excited about technology.
    I remember the Apple Store in New York just a few weeks ago, when the iPad was first released. There were tremendously long lines outside the store. Inside, it felt like a sardine can. Everybody wanted to touch the iPad. And the moment the people-sardines got it into their hands, they played different games on it. The excitement was about the games. But this is not the attitude of the people here, these Germans. They want to know the technical stuff. No one asks me what games could I play on it. Here they ask questions like: Were you really typing on it? Is it easy? You can create files, not just . . . Can I see the keyboard? Can you write long documents as well? And then send them via email? Is it better than a computer?
    Funny, but this is the thing that most impresses me at this
Kirchentag
. No, they are not like this only here. Same in Hamburg, same in Autostadt. Only that here I have groups of people stopping to watch this wonder in my hands. Amazing, these Germans. I am impressed. They yearn to learn, and I love my new teaching position.
    Every human excitement has a limit, as you probably know, and, after a day