Mendelssohn is on the Roof by Jiří Weil Page A

here belonged to a race scheduled for annihilation. Nothing would remain of that race but these dead things. The visitors were fascinated: they had already read so many mysterious hints about the power of this deadly enemy that they expected to see charms, magic and mysteries of some sort. The exhibited antiquities, however, were made of perfectly ordinary fabrics, silver and wood, though in rather uncommon forms. It was therefore necessary to help things along with darkness and special lighting effects to give the exhibit a feeling of mystery. All the objects that had formerly been used for worship – the scrolls, ark curtains, mantles, crowns and pointers – lost their original purpose and now became merchandise, exhibition pieces that would never come to life again in a living faith. Rabinovich helped the desecration along. Under his supervision everything was received, uncrated, sorted and catalogued.
    The head of the Central Bureau was as proud of his museum as if it were his own creation. He even showed off his learned Jew with pride and forced him to read from the scrolls, to sing like a cantor, and to wave the palm sprig in the air before visitors. Dr Rabinovich lent himself to all this. He had to, because he wanted to save his wife and his sons. He had to endure everything because he knew. Herecited a verse from the Psalms to give him strength when he was afraid: ‘Like sheep they are laid in the grave; Death shall feed on them.’
    A high minister of the Reich arrived, one of the Leader’s favourites, and the Acting Reich Protector himself took him around Prague. Behold, this golden city of a hundred towers now belongs to the Reich, these proud and ancient buildings will stay in German hands for ever, that river mirroring the royal castle and dividing the city into two parts is now a German river. Unlike the usual thugs, this one was an educated man, an architect by profession whose head swarmed with fantastic projects. The Leader had picked him to be in charge of industry and to extract the maximum work from foreign labourers and prisoners in concentration camps. He conscientiously fulfilled his duties, but his dream was beauty – new cities, magnificent buildings, squares, parks. When the war was over he would carry out his plans. Now he was glad to be able to admire the beauties of a city he didn’t know, glad he could look at its monuments in peace and quiet because no bombs had fallen on this city yet and its architecture was intact. Like Mozart’s music, its palaces were in perfect harmony, unchanged from the day they had emerged from the workshops and foundries of the German masters. Yes, Germans had built this city and filled it with beauty. Who else could have done such a job? The Czechs had merely taken over for a time. Now their reign was finished.
    The former architect and the present Acting Reich Protector made a long tour of the city. The minister was heartened to find so knowledgeable a person in such a position – he had expected someone resembling other favourites of the Leader, narrow people who knew onlyabout military or slave-driving trades. But Heydrich understood music. It was his strong point.
    Heydrich showed him buildings where the German composers Mozart and Beethoven had stayed when they visited Prague. He introduced him to the perfect acoustics of the Rudolfinum, a concert hall now returned to German art. He took a great deal of his own valuable time in order to personally show off the beauties of Prague. He was sorry that he couldn’t also take him for a tour of the Jewish quarter with its curious sights – the Old-New Synagogue, the old Jewish cemetery, the Jewish Town Hall and the museum the Reich was setting up, but the head of the Central Bureau was better suited for that.
     
    The head of the Central Bureau was deliriously happy to have so distinguished a visitor. The head was the son of a university professor and had been in Oriental studies before receiving this