On a long, holiday weekend in early September, I took a look at a map and decided to trek up to Dresden, a place I knew from my WWII history books. On a whim, I decided to stay a night in Leipzig on my way there. I arrived at my hotel on the edge of Leipzig’s old town center and the front desk gave me the standard “what to do in our town” brochure/map. I dropped my stuff in my room before heading back out to explore, a name on the page caught my eye: Bach. I sat and read. Bach was the Cantor and Director of Music for the churches in Leipzig beginning in 1723. He wrote some of his most memorable cantatas including “Passion According to St. Matthew.” While I enjoy Bach’s cantatas, it is his earlier Cello Suites that captivated me many years ago. My The Cello Suites, performed by YoYo Ma, is the first music I download on any new device. It serenades me while I grade, soothes me when I’m anxious, and eases me to sleep many nights. Those first sweet notes speak to me in a way no verbal language ever can. And here I was in the town of the man who wrote those incredibly intricate and haunting notes. Stuffing the brochure in my pocket I quickly made my way down to the church where he worked (primarily) and is allegedly buried, Thomaskirche (St. Thomas Church).

Making my way through the old city, I could hear music everywhere. There were musicians on almost every corner. I heard classical piano in front of the statue of Goethe, a Jewish folk band in a green space outside Thomaskirche where musicians gathered in 1989-1991 to protest against the German Democratic Republic (the Monday Demonstrations), and I heard a man with a steel drum bring a little of the Caribbean to Germany. I slowed my pace to soak in the sounds of the musically diverse world represented in this small city. Finally arriving at the church doors, I found a sign warning visitors that we couldn’t tour the church due to music practice. But there was a little vestibule where other curious souls joined me as the Thomaskirche orchestra and choir practiced for the evenings Evensong service. I sat on a stone step in front of Bach’s final resting place for over an hour enraptured by the sounds of voices and instruments raised in harmony. Even as I type these words several weeks later, I feel the same emotion that welled up in me as I realized that music is the common language every people and culture speak. I heard whispers in many languages from the people around me, all captivated with me by what we were witnessing. More than one person wiped a tear in the time we spent together, not individuals of many nations, but fellow humans captured by the language and beauty of sound.

I headed to Dresden the next day by way of a monument that soared over the town and, honestly, I figured the detour would at least result in a few good shots of the town. As has been the case so many times this past year, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. In October 1813, the armies of Prussia, Russia, Austria, and Sweden won an important victory over Napoleon just outside Leipzig. Over 100,000 soldiers were killed or wounded and typhus epidemic broke out that took the lives of about 10% of the population of the city. Soon after the battle, plans began for a Monument to the Battle of the Nations. The city and nation dedicated the monument in 1913, ironically only a few years before the outbreak of WWI. The monolith is a sobering tribute to the horror of war, but as is often the case, monuments alone do not hold back the tide of history from repeating itself.

Sober interior of the monument

My time in Leipzig may have been short, but its musical soul touched mine deeply.

The entrance to the memorial