We found it, unexpectedly, in a back alley of Riga, Latvia’s Old Town. “Sinagoga”, the plaque read, and I peered through the gate to spy a Star of David over the door.
The building had been restored after the ravages of the Holocaust followed by the persecution of Soviet rule. Now security cameras followed me as I thought about the crowds who once gathered there, and the few who met there still.
Ninety percent of Latvia’s Jews were killed in the Holocaust. Thousands from Riga were taken into a nearby forest and simply shot. How does a person deal with that kind of history? Soldiers and victims alike leave their broken stories behind in the collective trauma of their descendants.
How does one people group carry the weight of so many generations of hate? Jews have suffered for millennia, been targeted wherever they are found; are targeted still, even in our peaceful suburbs and community gatherings.
An armed guard watched me closely as I laid my hand against the synagogue wall, offering some kind of symbolic sorrow and respect to all the grief and determination the building represents.
In the alley the synagogue stands, tucked behind the restaurants and apartments of Old Town Riga. Unseen by the groups of tourists passing by on their way to more interesting sights. Unnoticed by the merchants and residents going about their daily business. But seen, surely, by God.
I pressed my hand to the wall, the ancient Jewish blessing rising in my soul:
“The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.”
(Numbers 6:24-26)
A View of the Lake 
Thank you Andrea. My paternal grandmother came from Latvia but she left before WW2. My mother left Berlin with her parents in 1937 having been sponsored by her father’s sister in San Francisco. The sentiments against Jewish people continue today. Thank you for sharing your experience and the photo.
Karin Greenwood
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We visited a memorial at the site of a mass grave today out in the middle of the Lithuanian countryside. We feel like we have to visit a few of these sites just to bear witness, I suppose. To grieve for people who we have no connection to save our common humanity. We just can’t pass them by without acknowledging them in some way. I’m so sorry that you have to live with this shadow over your family tree.
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