By the time this blog is posted and being read, we will, hopefully, be safe and sound in Prague. We are flying Lufthansa, the German airline.
For many years as I grew up, Germany -- and it’s products -- were persona non grata for my family and generally prohibited. As a child, I learned to be sensitive to a product’s country of origin, and “Made in Germany” was a non-starter.
My father (who, as most know was a holocaust survivor) was a printer and had a small printing business in New York City. When I was in High School, I worked at “The Printing” after school.
My Father had purchased new printing equipment and decided to purchase Miehle printing presses, manufactured in Germany. When the presses were delivered and being installed, Miehle sent a crew of engineers to assemble them. One day, I saw my father speaking to one of the engineers -- a young man in his thirties. They were speaking in German, a language which was particularly hard on my ears.
As they spoke, my thoughts raced. The prohibition on German products. The harsh language. The holocaust.
While driving home with my father, I asked him how he was comfortable with the German equipment and the young engineers now welcome in his business. "His father was probably a Nazi and could have been on the other side of a rifle pointed at you and my grandfather,” I probed.
“That may have been his father, but it wasn’t the young man,” answered my father. That was it and that was enough.
From that day on, I began to let go. My parents -- my father until his death and my mother to this day -- taught to not hold the next generation responsible for the sins of their parents.