Bring Rocks
On the day before the 85th anniversary of Kristallnacht, I visited my great-grandfather’s grave in Guatemala City. Before the trip, I asked Sandy for directions and tips at the cemetery. “Don’t go on Saturday” and “don’t go bring flowers” were among her words of wisdom.
The story of my family’s experience on Kristallnacht is forever ingrained in my memory. My grandfather spoke of this event many times throughout my childhood — in the privacy of our family Hanukkah celebrations and the public settings of temple services and school visits. Thankfully, he wrote his story down.
When I moved to Panama, I knew that I wanted to make time to visit Guatemala. It was to be a pilgrimage of sorts. When I was in Finland, I made a similar journey to Germany, the birth country of my grandfather, right after I received citizenship.
I felt torn about going back to Germany, the place that caused so much hardship for my family. I had no such feelings about visiting the country that welcomed my family after their escape.
My family fled Germany during the Holocaust and took a ship to to the Americas. They ended up in Guatemala. My grandfather did his high school years there, and I wanted to visit the country that he spoke about fondly for many years.
…
After we completed our tourist duties — enjoying the restaurant scene in Antigua and the Volcano-lake views in Atitlan — it was time to stop in Guatemala City before flying home. We blocked our afternoon schedule for a visit to the Cementario General.
We took an Uber across town. The driver peered at us strangely when he read our destination, “Cementario General? Esto es correcto?”
Two volunteers — older men with tanned skin and big smiles — stood by the entrance. Stray dogs lay at their feet. They stared at us as we stared helplessly at the map.
We approached them shyly, “Donde estan los Judíos?” They were eager to help.
We walked one block up and two blocks over as they instructed. We passed gaudy above-ground tombs in different states of dilapidation, adorned with large crosses. I was anxious and overly talkative.
We arrived at a small enclosure painted blue and white with a dome and a gate. A sign over the gate reads “Cementeria Israelita.” A Star of David crowns the dome.
A Pilgrimage Complete
Inside the gate, two gardeners were on the grounds. One sat on a grave scrolling on his phone, while the other collected avocados and black chayote from fruiting trees. They merely glanced in our direction.
The real boss was a chicken roosting in the corner. It sauntered out of its house, watched as we entered, and gave a nod of approval.
We had no idea where the graves were, so we weaved through the rows, reading each name. Every tomb had a Star of David and Hebrew inscriptions. These graves were simpler than those outside of the gate. They were adorned only by piles of rocks and well-tended patches of grass.
After 10 minutes of searching, I found Rosa Bucka and — a few headstones down — my great grandfather Alfred. Rosa, my dad tells me, was Alfred’s mother-in-law. The family arrived with about $12 to their name.
Leaving Rocks Behind
Jon and I stood there for a while. Quiet. I could only think of my grandpa and how I had a million questions for him that I could not ask.
It felt surreal to see my last name inscribed in a Guatemalan cemetery. I thought about the journey Rosa and Alfred took to save their family from religious persecution. Current tragedies and past swirled in my head.
I pushed thoughts of current events aside and turned to happy memories with my family. I thought about how much Alfred and Rosa would have loved our Passover family traditions: the parting of the Red Sea tarp, the hiding of the afikomen, and Max singing Dayenhu at the top of his lungs. They would have loved a seat at the table where Uncle Herman told the story of Hanukkah and Grandma Hennie served latkes.
In the Uber ride over, on a Thursday, I quickly Googled Jewish cemetery etiquette. We learned that it is custom to leave rocks on graves, instead of bouquets because rocks last longer than flowers, symbolizing remembrance. Sandy’s advice started to make more sense, and we searched for stones around the grave.
Jon and I both placed our rocks on Rosa and Aflred’s tombs.
Directions
For any family member out there hoping to take this journey, follow my directions to find our ancestors.
Bring rocks.
Drive to Cementerio General in Guatemala City, Zona 3.
Enter the main gates.
Walk up one block.
Turn left and walk two blocks.
Enter Cementerio Israelita (see photo below).
In the back right-hand corner, find Rosa and Alfred.
Rosa: two from back, 10 from the right
Alfred: three from back, 15 from the right
Leave your rocks behind.
