Camper Van Parking at Rittergut Positz Guest House near Jena
Updated: Mar 1
The city of Jena is first mentioned in a document from the beginning of the twelfth century. It is also known that by the fifteenth century, the economy of the city is based mainly on vineyard cultivation and the wine industry. In the sixteenth century, the city becomes Lutheran-Protestant, and the residents of Jena initially destroy the Carmelite monastery and shortly thereafter the Dominican one. In the mid-sixteenth century, the local university is established. This academic establishment influences the character of the city and the expansion of its academic population. Around 1790, this university becomes one of the leading educational institutions in Germany, especially in the fields of literature and philosophy.
In 1884, Jena glass — a heat-resistant glass is invented. It later becomes known to as Pyrex glass. This glass is mainly used for manufacturing lenses, cooking utensils, and test tubes. In Europe and even worldwide, Jena glass is primarily recognized by its name "Jenaer Glas," which was invented by Otto Schott and is still produced today by the Schott AG Company, owned by the Carl Zeiss Foundation.
With the rise of Nazism, the University of Jena is tasked with legitimizing racial theories, and a whole department is opened in the university, its aim being to provide scientific proof that there is an Aryan race and that it is superior to other races. At the same time, the Jewish community gradually diminishes. The Jews are expelled, sent to labor camps, some escape, some commit suicide and many are murdered. Some claim that at the same time the university, especially in the fields of science, math and medicine, loses its status and becomes mediocre. Today, just a few dozen Jews live in Jena.
I am camping in the parking lot of a guesthouse called Rittergut Positz. The parking lot outside the compound does not provide any camper van services—no electricity, no water, no showers and no toilets. Of course, one can have a meal at the restaurant or a comfortable room in the hotel, but I have my kitchen, water, and electricity in my Nadedet, and I don’t need anything from anyone. Outside, the skies are blue, and the sun appears for a moment before disappearing behind cotton-like clouds and it starts drizzling. For me this weather is perfect!
Not far from where I am parked, above a reaped wheat field, a pair of eagles are circling round and round screening the fields for their next meal and I decide that taking a walk among tiny raindrops, freshly reaped fields, and a couple of eagles is the most wonderful European experience one can have.
I step out into the open and start walking, passing by rows of ruler straight trees, a lake and a stream, fields and flowers, and I am so in love with everything—the temperature, the colors, the light rain spraying my skin, the scent of forest mushrooms and pine needles. Something ancient within me recognizes this scenery that is so un-Mediterranean. And this primordial memory goes crazy with longing for this environment from which I have long been removed and my whole life was told that it is not a part of me, and I am no part of it. I just feel like screaming: But I am! I am! I am!
I recall the information I read about the city. Jews had arrived in Jena in the 14th century, but after the Black Death Plague in the 15th century, they were expelled from the town and were not allowed to reside there. I look at the coniferous trees and wonder if Jews hid among them and how they had no chance of survival in such conditions while enormous non kosher-eaters lurked around hunting them down. Would I have survived? I see myself as strong, but next to the German women, most of whom are quite a bit taller than me, their strides twice as quick as mine, I don’t think I would have stood much of a chance. Not in the 15th century and not in the 20th century when the Nazis raised their heads and blamed the Jews for everything once more.
Here in Jena, in the light rain, among the tall trees, I become a Jew. I long for this landscape and this coolness because they are embedded in my history, yet I do not belong here either. Not here, nor in the Near East, where I truly suffer. What will become of me?
The rain intensifies. From deep in the forest, I run back to the dry safety of my camper van. Next to me, a car is parked, and a man sits inside it, talking on the phone. I can't see his eyes but I'm pretty sure they're blue. A few minutes later, another car parks next to the one beside me, and a tall, fair-haired German woman steps out. The man urgently exits his car, and they embrace like only a couple of cheaters do. Before they kiss, they glance around, and just before the kiss turns into something more serious, they hurry toward the guesthouse, to the room they have reserved and the room service they will order in a little while. I pour boiling water into a teacup and gaze at the raindrops running down my window.
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