I Sleep in Hitler's Room Read online

  Yeah!

  I enter my glitzy room and I’m immediately welcomed by a big TV that begs to spoil me. Erotic films are here for me, if I want. On the screen is this sexy young lady, lying so suggestively, and smiling at me. Even TV ladies love me! Such a good feeling! The Ritz is also happy to allow me to use a bathrobe for my pleasure, free of charge. I can also buy this robe, if I want, for only 128 euros. A

  steal. Maybe I’ll buy it, but later. I say good-bye to my Lover Lady on the screen and go out. I’ll come back, Lover. I will see Autostadt and then come back. Will you wait for me, Love?

  Autostadt, a German Disney, is plain gorgeous. Everything is glitzy, shiny, and you can’t smoke on the street. VW cares about people, and smoking is bad for the health. Gas is good, but smoking is bad.

  Angelique, one of the employees, takes me on a privately guided tour of the car-delivery system at Autostadt. Obviously many German clients elect to come here and pick out their car at the source.

  First she shows me to the two glass silos, shining towers that house the Volkswagens delivered on location. Already today, 690 cars were delivered. It’s a marvel to watch. A forklift picks the car from the belly of the silo, as you watch, to be handed to you in just a bit. It’s like the delivery of a baby, the silo being the womb.

  There’s a whole spiel to follow. When you actually get your car, VW agents come by equipped with cameras. They take pictures of you, and whoever is with you, standing next to the new car. This picture-taking ceremony reminds me of a wedding. The buyer and the car, in sickness and in health.

  What VW has done here is wonderful: creating a community of great shoppers, of lovable followers.

  Don’t laugh at me. It really works. Say what you want, this is definitely a love affair. Between the German buyer and his car.

  Here’s a family who drove 500 km to get their car at Autostadt.

  They are very happy they came all the way up here. It’s a special experience. They will even stay at the Ritz an extra day. Just decided. But “the wife is better than the car,” says the hubby. “She is softer.”

  I’m starting to understand—starting!—what Unwilling Capitalism is all about. Maybe I’ll convert. Won’t you?

  There’s a wonderful proclamation on the wall in the Audi Pavilion:

  To us, Vorsprung [leading] is an inner drive. The innermost drive. Vorsprung is in our genes. Vorsprung durch Technik [leading through technology] . . . this is where superiority comes to bear.

  It’s Vorsprung. I like it much. I want to be German. Tuvia Schmidt.

  On the first floor of Volkswagen GroupForum you can see the Level Green exhibition. it’s something about how people of next generations will have a good life, provided we do our part. VW is here to show us how.

  Another exhibition nearby is about irrigation and how to save water.

  Next to every exhibition there’s a well-dressed person, an employee whose job it is to explain to you all kinds of good things. I like the way they look: like they just came out of the shower. For us.

  I’m surrounded by love.

  I have a chat with one of these employees, René. “Volkswagen recognizes its responsibility for the world,” he says to me, and that’s why they expend human resources on water shortages across our planet.

  The Jewish Irritating Voice in me shouts into my ears, There are two possibilities here: 1) The people who come here don’t believe a word this René says, and 2) they believe him. If possibility no. 1 is correct, then VW must be the laughingstock of Germany. It doesn’t look it. If possibility no. 2 is correct, the Germans are the most naïve of people on our planet.

  Shut up, Irritating Voice! Listen to René, he’s talking to you! It takes 150 liters of water for one orange, René continues to share with me, and VW wants to find ways how to improve the system.

  Will Volkswagen also build an exhibition on world peace? I ask him.

  Oh, that’s difficult, says René. Oranges are easier. In Spain, for instance, they need only 15 liters of water per orange, because they concentrate the water just on the orange. Not in Africa, a very rich and corrupt place, which spends all its water . . .

  The man goes on and on and on. Who taught him so much stuff?

  Nothing here is about money, in case you wondered; it’s all about goodness. Really. I, Tuvia Schmidt, know. I can read a map. VW is run by people who care for human integrity and equality; it’s not really a car company, it’s a church. There are many nuns and pastors in this church, all of them selfish-less volunteers.

  Above them all is Otto F. Wachs, CEO of Autostadt. We sit down to chat about the Autostadt Charitable Organization and Culture Corporation.

  He’s fifteen years on the job and personally he drives a “very fast Audi.”

  He explains to me, the slow-to-get-it American: “Our people, Germans, are very driven on technical elements. We might not be as good as you are in communications, as you are in Silicon Valley.”

  I don’t know what comes over me suddenly, probably temporary insanity. My face gets very ugly, like the faces of those fat American journalists, and I say to him something very nasty: I tell him to drop the mask, that I don’t buy his employees’ comments that VW cares about people, and that all this Level Green business smells to me like one big hypocrisy. Will he challenge me on this?

  I need a psychiatrist, no doubt. Otto looks at me and says:

  “You want a very open answer? We are selling cars. You won’t believe how many cars we sell!”

  Did he lose his mind as well? Is he saying what I hear him saying? Does he say that all those exhibitions are just a show?

  “My purpose is to sell cars.”

  Insanity is contagious, I can see.

  VW, he tells me, produces more than six million cars a year. In America, he explains to me, a car is about going “from point A to B.” Not so in Germany. Most Germans buy cars because they like the product. “They are buying it not because they need it for the mobility factor, for going from A to B. Much different from your country.”

  Mercedes-Benz, he is proud to share with me, is the inventor of cars, and this makes the Germans proud.

  There are other differences between Americans and Europeans:

  “I remember this 60 Minutes piece, on CBS, with the priest saying, ‘My daughter was driven to death by this Audi in the garage, because my car accelerated by itself. I could do nothing, and I killed my own daughter.’ 60 Minutes, CBS.’ So, we are out of business. Now I have to say something, because I was very open with you. You are a very open, democratic society. But in your country . . . your public, your media . . . Sometimes it’s over-exhausting, how the media is reacting in your country.”

  The German media, he obviously believes, won’t do this.

  Good to know. If one day I get to own a car company and suddenly get bogged down with sudden acceleration problems, I’ll move to Germany in a blink of an eye.

  Otto is in a good mood today. He keeps on talking, sharing with me the idea of it all:

  “Once you leave Autostadt you believe in VW . . . and you’re more inclined to buy a VW.”

  We talk for a long time and then he accompanies me out. He tells me that as long as I am with him I can smoke, that no one will stop me. I try it out. He’s right! I go back to the hotel. I’m tired. Doors open, smiles again. I get to my room. I can’t see my TV Lady. She must be very upset with me. I lie on the bed. Where am I going from here?

  If I learned anything today it’s this:

  Socialism is about making money while talking about the environment. Capitalism is about losing money during massive recalls.

  Is this true? I don’t know anything anymore. Maybe I should go downstairs, take a chair with me, sit between doors, and have all those lovely ladies smile at me for hours.

  I fall asleep dreaming of the Eternal Smiles by the Ritz-Carlton ladies and a big smile covers my face. Good to be a Ritz’er!

  •••

&n
bsp; Chapter 7

  Faith: Catholics and Protestants Looking to Eat “Body of Christ” Together, Jews Stay Up the Night Looking to Eat Other Things

  In Munich, a bird whispers in my ears on the morning after, they have something called Kirchentag (an ecclesiastical congress or, literally, “church day”). The Catholics and the Protestants of Germany are making peace, or something like that. I wasn’t aware that there was a war, but what do I know? Not much; I’m just a tourist.

  Thousands upon thousands of Germans are flocking to Munich; perhaps I should join.Following breakfast in the hotel I board the train south. I’m no Christian, but I’m fascinated with people who want to unite. I love unifications, it gives me a sense of warmth. Especially today do I need it. It’s cloudy and rainy and the Ash Cloud keeps on traveling around the skies of Europe. The Bild-Zeitung declares that this is the coldest summer in one hundred years. People are complaining but still have hope that the German team will win the WM (World Cup), which is of course very important. The DB, the German train system, issues a Fan Card. I get one. It’s cheaper for fans to travel in Germany. Twenty-five percent off for two months from today, and, every time the German team wins, I get another month of 25 percent off.

  The streets of Munich are packed with praying people. I never knew there were so many religious people in Germany. Here’s a group praying for Afghanistan.

  Across the street is another group praying to Maria. Or the other way around—I get confused. Regina, a nice lady from Lübeck, recommends a special prayer meeting that’s scheduled for tomorrow.

  What’s that?

  “We will find out on which side of Jesus we will sit in Heaven.”

  Which side do you think you will sit on?

  “I’ll find out tomorrow.”

  I get excited. If I stick around long enough, I’ll get a nice place in heaven. Maybe, just maybe, I could take with me the smiling lady from my Ritz-Carlton TV screen. I don’t know if I should tell you, but I get a kick out of this whole heaven business. Regina of Lübeck will get Jesus, and I’ll get Ms. Ritz.

  I jog into a church, to learn more.

  “You have a Jew accent,” Manfred says to me as I arrive at the church’s Gute Nacht (good night) Café, exactly at closing time. I get ready to leave but the fine people here won’t let a Heaven Seeker disappear into the night. I’m given a slice of cake with fresh coffee, and Manfred sits down to talk with me.

  He met some Jews from the Jewish state, he informs me, and I share an accent with them. Am I a Jew?

  No, I am Polish. Today I decide to be Polish. I had enough of being Jordanian, enough of being German. I need a Change. Like Barack Obama.

  Manfred: “O, God. The Israelis are quite aggressive. They close down the border so that other people don’t get food, they starve the Palestinians of Gaza, they’re very engaged militarily. They don’t want peace, they want war.”

  Nicely put, but there’s a little problem here: Gaza is sandwiched between Israel and Egypt. While the Israelis allow passage of some food and medicine into Gaza, the Egyptians do not allow anything through and keep their border with Gaza hermetically closed.

  Does it bother you that Egypt closes the border even more than the Israelis do?

  “I don’t know why the Egyptians do it, so I can’t make a judgment.”

  But, of course, he knows The Jews.

  Maybe he even knows I’m no Pole. I feel exposed. I sit here, eating this delicious cake in Munich, while I starve the Palestinians in Gaza. Horrible man I am. I’ll get no heaven. I won’t sit next to Ms. Ritz up there. Horrible, horrible, horrible. A horrible Jew, that’s all that I am. Tomorrow I’ll go to confession.

  But on the day of morrow, cruel man that I am, I walk immediately into an exhibition tent called Oasis of Temptation. Where else! My temptation source for today is an attractive lady by the name of Sister Jutta-Maria. A Smiling Nun. She had a boyfriend for two years and then decided she wanted more from the relationship, but the only way she could get it, she thought, was by marrying Jesus. That’s Christ, Jesus Christ. She’s five years a sister, and she’s getting close to Jesus. In three years, that’s the plan now, she will marry Him.

  How does Jesus look?

  “He’s not Italian. He has a short beard and brown hair.”

  Is he a good kisser?

  “Are you Catholic or Protestant?” She asks in reply.

  Me? Protestant! American Protestant from New York.

  No Jew, no Pole, no Jordanian, no German. I can’t believe I change my identity so often. Psychiatrists would say that I suffer from Arrested Development or something related. But I just like it. I was given one life to live, and I want many more. You can try it too, it’s very uplifting.

  Is Jesus a good kisser?

  Here Sister gets more cautious. “He’s not a, a, not a—”

  Not what?

  “You know, not a, how do you say it in English? I don’t know. He is not a, you know.”

  Well, let’s try to figure it out.

  How will it happen? I ask her. Will Jesus come to your room in the cloister at night and say, “Hello, Sister Jutta. Here I am!”

  “Jutta-Maria!” she corrects me. Her birth name is Jutta, true, but the Virgin appeared to her and told her that “she wanted to hear her name out loud every time people call me.” So, she smiles, “I added the name Maria.”

  Good. Now, let’s try to imagine the Courtship Scene: Jesus will come to your room in the cloister at night and say, “Hello, Sister Jutta-Maria. Here I am!” What will you do?

  First, she tells me, she’s going to check it out, make sure it’s Him. Her father is a policeman and she’s not just trusting everybody.

  “Are you tempted?” she says, changing the subject.

  Is she “starting” with me, does she want me to take her to my Ritz bedroom? No, no. She offers me chips. Chips, she says, are very tempting. She used to have two packs a week before she fell in love with Jesus. But today she craves it only once every two months. She lives in a cloister, and when temptation calls she goes to the Head Sis and tells her of the problem. And the Head Sister says, “I am happy to give you chips.” But not always. Sometimes there are no chips. Stuff happens. Jutta-Maria offers me chocolate, which is Temptation number 2. That’s the way she sees it.

  I say, Thank you, I’ll conquer Temptation today!

  She looks at the Head Sister, sitting nearby, and asks if she could have the chocolate later.

  Yes!

  Sr. Jutta-Maria now explains some Hebrew to her American Protestant visitor.

  “Maria,” she says, “means beloved of God in Hebrew.”

  This American Protestant is very happy to study Judaism and Hebrew in Munich.

  My journey into Germany ends up being a journey into Judaism.

  Life is full of surprises!

  Manfred should have seen how I conquered Temptation. He’d be proud of this Pole.

  I’m in Munich’s “Messe,” which is a big convention center. This is one of the locations where thousands of German Christians, Catholic and Protestant, are attempting to get a bit closer.

  Margot Kassman gives a speech a few feet away. Dressed in black, she reads her speech from prepared pages. The audience repeatedly applauds. Journalists and photojournalists mix in the crowd. Lots of media here. Some of the photojournalists take pix of other photojournalists.

  She doesn’t strike me as a charismatic person, but the folks here seem to be her followers. I know very little about her. She used to be a bishop or something and resigned after she was caught driving while “intoxicated,” as they say in New York. I wonder what my Half and Half of Hamburg thinks of her! I can see him in his office, on the sixth floor of the Die Zeit building, laughing for hours!

  It took Margot a lifetime to be given a bishopric, and a glass of wine or a mug of beer to lose it.

  Come hither, 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!