Interview with Lauren Leiderman, history educator in Görlitz

Ms Leiderman, you are originally from Louisiana. What brought you to Germany in 2014?
I came to Germany in 2014 through music. At the time, I was training as an opera singer in the United States and had just completed a year in a studio artist programme affiliated with the University of Tennessee. I was at a point where I needed a change, both personally and professionally, and the idea of continuing my career in Europe began to take shape.
What was supposed to be a smooth transition did not go to plan. I encountered visa problems early on, which forced me to rethink everything. This experience, frustrating as it was, drove me to become independent very quickly.
Ultimately, I stayed in Germany on a temporary residence permit and began working as an English teacher throughout Saxony, including in places such as Boxberg and Schwarze Pumpe.
This period was formative. I didn’t just live in Germany in a general sense, but lived and worked all over Saxony, particularly in the east, and got to know people far outside the typical international circles. This gave me a much deeper connection to the region and to everyday life here.
Originally, I had planned to stay for a year and then move on. But over time, I realised how much I valued these connections and this way of interacting with people. Towards the end of that first year, I met my husband, and that ultimately anchored my life here.
Looking back, what began as a temporary move motivated by music became the starting point for everything that followed.

You have been living in Görlitz with your family since 2019. Did films like ‘The Grand Budapest Hotel’ draw your attention to this city, making you want to live here?
Not really. We didn’t come here because of Görlitz’s cinematic reputation. It was actually a very practical decision linked to my husband’s medical training. He wanted to specialise in orthopaedics and trauma surgery, and Görlitz was one of the places that offered that opportunity.
At the time, we had a choice between several places, and I began to look more closely at Görlitz. What struck me was that the town was described almost like an open-air museum – a place where you basically live within history. That really appealed to me. I’ve always been drawn to places with a strong historical presence, and Görlitz seemed unique in that respect.
However, what ultimately made the decision more personal was a coincidence. When I gave birth to our first child in Dresden, I shared a hospital room with a woman from Görlitz who was a dentist. She spoke so warmly about the town and mentioned how much it needed doctors. That conversation stayed with us and tipped the balance.
At the time, we hadn’t necessarily planned to stay long-term. But when we arrived, the city and its history had a much stronger impact on me than I had expected.

You have been researching the city’s Jewish history for several years. What fascinates you about this subject?
For me, this work is something very personal. I came to this subject through my family. My husband is the grandson of Holocaust survivors, and through him I came to know not only Jewish history in an abstract sense, but also Jewish life, memory and continuity as something that is lived and passed down through generations. That completely changed my understanding of this history.
At some point, it was no longer just something I was learning about, but something I felt responsible for understanding and passing on, particularly as a mother. When you realise that these stories directly shape the lives of the people you love and those of your own children, it becomes much more than just an academic interest.
At the same time, history and the human stories behind it have always drawn me in. What particularly fascinates me about Görlitz is how much of it can still be reconstructed. This was a vibrant Jewish community with deep regional ties, and yet much of its history had been fragmented or forgotten.
As soon as I began working on this, things developed very quickly. Someone once described me as a tornado. As I come from Louisiana, I usually say it’s more like a hurricane. I tend to explore connections very intensively, bringing together archival sources and family histories, and this often leads to unexpected discoveries.
For me, then, the work lies at the intersection between a personal connection and a broader historical question. It is about honouring individual lives, restoring a lost network, and ensuring that these stories are not silenced.

Historians always talk about when they make a special, surprising find in the archives that takes their research to a whole new level. What was your special ‘aha’ moment?
For me, it wasn’t a single document or a spectacular discovery in the archives. It began with a question that nobody could answer.
I am not a trained historian. Everything I have built up in Görlitz stems from a very direct, human approach: talking to people, following up on connections, and being prepared to ask simple questions and not let go.
The turning point came in early 2020, when I attended a meeting in connection with the Görlitz synagogue. I wasn’t there with a grand plan. I simply wanted to volunteer and clean the Stolpersteine with my son. During this meeting, someone mentioned that a Stolperstein was to be ordered for a woman named Amanda Hannes. When I asked who she was, no one in the room could tell me anything about her life.
That moment stayed with me. It was this gap that prompted me to begin the search. Through this process, I found her descendants, including Judi, who has since become one of the most important people in my life. This relationship changed everything. It transformed names into families and the research into something deeply personal.
From then on, the work expanded quite naturally and led to many further discoveries about the Jewish community of Görlitz and its wider significance. Later, connections such as the one to Anne Frank brought broader attention to the work. But for me, the real transformation took place much earlier, in that moment of not knowing.
It was the realisation that there were stories here that had simply been lost, and that they could be rediscovered.

The history of the Jews of Görlitz is not yet complete. There are still eyewitnesses and many descendants worldwide. Are you in contact with them?
Yes, to a great extent. That is the core of my work.
Today I am in contact with families across North and South America, Europe, Israel, Australia, as well as parts of Africa and Asia. In many respects, the network now spans almost every continent, with everyone connected to Görlitz through their Jewish heritage.
This kind of collaboration is essential. The history of this community was not merely interrupted; it was deliberately erased. For this reason, traditional archival work alone is not enough. It must be combined with the voices and materials preserved within the families.
For me, this work is not just about reconstructing history, but about re-establishing connections between people, between generations, and between the past and the present.

How do the ‘Görlitz Family’ meetings on Facebook work?
The Facebook group still exists and plays an important role as a point of entry; people often find us this way for the first time. In recent years, however, many people have turned away from Facebook, and the focus of activities has shifted to WhatsApp.
That is where the community is currently most active. It is a very dynamic, international network of descendants who exchange photos, documents, family histories and research ideas in real time. One person posts a name or a question, and within a few hours someone else might recognise it from their own family history. It is a very collaborative and constantly evolving network.
One of our members recently described it as a kind of ‘cousins’ network’, and I think that sums it up well. Many of these people did not know each other before, and now they are building genuine relationships across continents and generations.
What is particularly significant is that it does not remain purely digital. These connections prompt people to travel back to Görlitz, meet in person, attend Stolperstein ceremonies, eat together and even observe Shabbat. In this sense, a community that was once violently torn apart is beginning to reform in new, transnational ways.

Do you not only research the history of Görlitz’s Jews, but also communicate it? In what way?
For me, that is actually the most important part of the work.
My background as an opera singer plays a part in this. Ultimately, both music and history are about telling stories. It is not enough to simply collect facts; you have to bring them to life in a way that speaks to people.
I do this in various ways. I give guided tours, design exhibitions and give talks, often focusing on individual families. This is particularly significant to me, as it allows each story to be told in detail, rather than being reduced to a single line in a larger narrative. Time and again, I find that these biographies are incredibly rich, complex and often deeply moving.
Working with young people is also a central part of my work. In Görlitz and Zgorzelec, we have a unique situation: a shared history that transcends a modern border. I try to bring German and Polish school pupils together within the context of this history, as this creates a space in which they can engage with the past in a meaningful and cooperative way.
A large part of my research also focuses on reconnecting the wider regional network of the Jewish community. Many members did not live directly in Görlitz, but were nonetheless part of community life there. After 1945, and particularly with the shifting of borders, many of these connections were effectively severed a second time. Making these lives visible again is an essential part of my work.
Ultimately, my aim is to make this history accessible and tangible – not just as something that exists in archives, but as something that people can experience, understand and pass on.

At the end of June, the Jewish Remembrance Week will take place in Görlitz, in which many descendants will also participate. Are there also events for members of the public who are not directly involved?
Yes, definitely. This week is of great significance for the families returning to Görlitz, but it is just as important to me that the wider public also has the opportunity to engage with this history.
We are offering a series of public events, including Stolperstein ceremonies, lectures and cultural programmes in the synagogue. There will also be concerts and a larger event in the synagogue at the end of the week, which are open to visitors. All of this is intended to make the history of the Jewish community in Görlitz visible and accessible.
At the same time, some parts of the programme are of a more personal nature. Religious gatherings, such as Shabbat, take place within the community and with invited participants, to ensure these moments are given the space they deserve.
One event I am particularly looking forward to is a programme on Zionism and the Jewish community of Görlitz. We will be showing a historical film from 1935, which was originally screened here to encourage community members to leave Germany and help build Jewish life in the area that would later become the State of Israel. What makes this particularly moving is the presence of descendants of the families directly connected to these screenings.
There will also be concerts, including a programme on Saturday evening in the synagogue entitled “Berlin & Babylon – Sweet and Bitter: The World of the 1920s” as well as the Synagogue Festival on Sunday. Both events bring descendants and the general public together, creating a shared cultural space that connects the past and the present.
Generally speaking, the aim of the week is to foster both remembrance and dialogue. Particularly with topics such as Zionism, which are often discussed today without historical context, it is important to provide a space where people can engage with the subject in a more informed and objective manner.

You grew up in a Christian family and are currently converting to Judaism. What prompted you to take this step and how does it feel to be embracing a new faith?
This is a very personal matter that I do not usually discuss publicly, but I can say that this process has been gradual and has been strongly influenced by my life here.
I grew up in a very religious Christian environment in the southern United States and experienced religion from an early age as something very strict and sometimes deeply frightening. As I got older, I began to question this worldview and eventually made the decision to break away from it – which was not easy and cost me a great deal personally.
By the time I came to Germany, I had already gone through a long and difficult process of breaking away from that world – something that took a great deal of time and energy and remains to this day one of the hardest things I have ever done. But by the time I met my husband, I had reached a point where I was comfortable not knowing everything, and where I no longer felt the need to have all the answers. I never stopped believing in God, but I had learnt to live with uncertainty.
That changed through my family. My husband is Jewish, and through him I came to know not only the Jewish religion, but also Jewish culture, history and a very strong sense of continuity across generations. What impressed me most was that Judaism is not just a belief system, but also a lived identity that connects people through family, memory and shared experiences.
Over time, and particularly through my work with descendants of the Görlitz community, this connection deepened. I found myself among people who were engaging with their history in a very open and meaningful way, and that had a profound influence on me.
The decision to convert was a carefully considered and ongoing process. It did not arise from external pressure, but from a personal sense that I belong here. At the same time, I am very aware that conversion is a complex issue and that different people view it differently. I have learnt to approach this with respect and patience.
What I can say is that it feels less like I am taking on something new, and more like I am arriving at a place that is both meaningful and grounding. In many ways, it feels as though I am entering a place where I truly belong. It is a step I am taking with great care and also with gratitude towards the community that has supported me on this journey.
One of the things I absolutely love about Judaism is that questions – unlike in the environment I grew up in – are not only encouraged but are an essential part of the tradition.

What is your favourite Yiddish word?
That’s a complicated question in this context. Many of the families I work with here in Görlitz do not identify strongly with Yiddish culture. Historically, this was a Prussian, German-speaking Jewish community, and many saw themselves very much as German Jews. For this reason, some descendants find it frustrating when Jewish life in Germany is represented solely through the Yiddish language and Klezmer traditions, which reflect a different cultural background.
At the same time, I deeply appreciate the role that Yiddish culture has played in shaping contemporary Jewish life in Germany. Much of Jewish life here today was rebuilt after the Holocaust by families from Eastern Europe, and with them came different traditions, languages and cultural expressions. In many ways, this also highlights how much of the earlier German-Jewish culture has been lost.
My own connection to Yiddish is very personal. Most of what I know I learnt from one of the first descendants I ever found, Judi, who has since literally become family. She lives in South Florida, where she is one of the few people of German-Jewish descent in her community, surrounded mainly by families with Eastern European roots.
If I had to choose a favourite word, it would probably be ‘fresser’ (פֿרעסער), which means ‘big eater’. When I first heard Judi use this word, she was describing my youngest daughter, who loves food more than anything, as a ‘fresser’. I remember being completely taken aback by this, because in German, ‘fressen’ (to eat) sounds rather crude or derogatory when applied to people and is usually avoided. It was precisely this difference that made the moment both surprising and very humorous for me.
At the same time, another word that touches me deeply is ‘bashert’ (באַשערט). In many ways, it feels like the right word for my life.