Ground
Zero As A Laboratory For 'Jewish Architecture'
From Russian Forward
February 21, 2003
By Gavriel D. Rosenfeld
The recent selection of Daniel Libeskind as one of two finalists
in the competition to redesign the site of the former World Trade
Center in lower Manhattan is, at the most obvious level, a personal
triumph that testifies to his status as one of the world's most
respected architects. But it also highlights the unprecedented rise
to prominence in the last generation of Jews in the Western architectural
profession.
Until recently, Jewish achievements in the field of architecture
paled in comparison with those attained in other cultural fields,
such as literature, film, music and even painting. Although scattered
figures such as Erich Mendelsohn, Richard Neutra and Louis Kahn
gained notable recognition as masters of modern architecture in
the first half of the century, it has really only been since the
rise of postmodernism in the 1970s that Jewish architects have attained
notable visibility and prominence as a group. Thus, any survey of
contemporary architecture today would be incomplete without mentioning
besides Libeskind such Jewish architects as Frank
Gehry, Peter Eisenman, Richard Meier, James Ingo Freed, Eric Owen
Moss, Moshe Safdie, Robert A.M. Stern and Zvi Hecker, among others.
Further still, the Jewish architectural productivity of recent
years has been more manifestly "Jewish" in orientation
and expression than in earlier generations. To be sure, the quest
to define "Jewish architecture" like Jewish art,
music or literature is a quixotic one destined to end in
frustration. But even if no monolithically "Jewish" style
of architecture can be identified, it is nevertheless significant
that Jewish concerns have increasingly begun to inform both the
theoretical and aesthetic agendas of Jewish architects.
The best evidence of this trend and the most significant
in light of the current competition to shape the future form of
Ground Zero is the architectural movement known as deconstructivism.
Emerging in the late 1980s and early 1990s, in no small part due
to the efforts of two of its leading proponents, Libeskind and Eisenman,
deconstructivism was a radical movement that cited the massive rupture
in Western civilization caused by the Holocaust as grounds for rethinking
and "deconstructing" the entire discipline of Western
architecture. Sharing the postmodern belief that the Holocaust's
specifically modern origins require the abandonment of the "project
of modernity," Libeskind and Eisenman in their many theoretical
writings argued that the Nazi genocide provided compelling reason
to abandon traditional architectural practice and to instead embrace
an architecture of fragmentation, de-centeredness and loss that
reflected the reality of the postmodern, post-humanist, post-Holocaust
world. For more than a few years, deconstructivism's theoretical
and aesthetic demands remained consigned to the drafting table.
But since the turn of the millennium, deconstructivist projects
have begun to be realized in physical form most prominently
Libeskind's recently completed Jewish Museum in Berlin (not by chance
the same location for Eisenman's current work in progress, Germany's
national Holocaust memorial).
Given deconstructivism's theoretical roots in the Nazi genocide
of the Jews, it is no surprise that it has lent itself well to serving
as a commemorative form of architecture in Germany. But this same
commitment to commemorating loss has made it uniquely poised to
offer a compelling solution to the question of how to reconstruct
Ground Zero in the wake of September 11.
Significantly, Libeskind and Eisenman both provided separate entries
to the initial competition to redesign the site of the former World
Trade Center. In September of 2002, Eisenman submitted a deconstructivist
design to the New York Times-sponsored architectural forum for three
new office buildings along West Street, whose crumpled form, suggesting
imminent collapse, powerfully evoked the violence of the September
11 terrorist attacks. Eisenman's subsequent collaborative design
with Richard Meier for the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation's
official competition tempered his deconstructivist style in favor
of a cooler modernist aesthetic reminiscent of his work as a member
of the neo-rationalist "New York Five" in the 1970s. But
this design, too a mammoth L-shaped mega-structure composed
of intersecting horizontal and vertical elements seemed to
evoke the by now iconic splayed ruins of the trade center's steel
skeleton and thus revealed its roots in the same architecture of
memory.
In the end, of course, Eisenman's proposals were passed over by
the jury in favor of Libeskind's (as well as the submission of the
other finalist, Think Design). Libeskind's design was hailed for
preserving the footprints of the twin towers together with the remnants
of the pit at Ground Zero, transforming both into a powerful memento
mori a memorial commemorating death at the scarred site of
its horrific occurrence. Libeskind also planned soaring skyscrapers
flanking the memorial site, offering a more uplifting symbolic message
confirming the enduring vitality of American political traditions
epitomized by his symbolically proportioned 1,776-foot-high
tower draped with hanging gardens. In its totality, his design was,
like his work in general, strongly informed by his deconstructivist
philosophy rooted in the necessity of commemorating loss.
As is to be expected with such a high-profile design, Libeskind's
proposal has sparked controversy. Already in late September, his
thoughts on the future of the site were condemned at a public forum
at the New York Historical Society by The New Republic's literary
editor, Leon Wieseltier, who accused Libeskind of egotistically
rushing to transform a proper site of mourning into "a theme
park for advanced architectural taste." More recently, New
York Times architecture critic Herbert Muschamp criticized Libeskind's
design for the opposite reason that it was "astonishingly
tasteless" in proposing that "a large piece of Manhattan
be permanently dedicated to the artistic representation of enemy
assault." Whether accusing Libeskind of a shortage or a surfeit
of commemorative piety, such contradictory criticisms reflect the
ongoing disagreement about whether the future of Ground Zero should
be primarily devoted to commemorating catastrophe or ringing in
renewal. At the same time, though, they also testify to the evocative
power of Libeskind's design.
Ultimately, the final decision for the future of Ground Zero is
at least several days away, and in all probability, the site's ultimate
form will not be settled for many months. But should Libeskind's
design be realized in a form comparable to what he recently submitted,
it would represent a notable first in the history of Jewish architectural
achievement. Neither in modern American nor modern European history
has a Jewish architect been entrusted with designing a site possessing
the national prominence destined to be associated with the future
buildings at Ground Zero. Should Daniel Libeskind succeed in gaining
the commission, his design will represent the timely application
of an architectural philosophy molded by the paradigmatic rupture
of modern Jewish history the Holocaust to an architectural
challenge unprecedented in American history. In the end, the traumas
of Jewish memory may help to shape the future contours of American
memory.
Gavriel D. Rosenfeld is assistant professor of German history
at Fairfield University and author of "Munich and Memory: Architecture,
Monuments, and the Legacy of the Third Reich" (University of
California, 2000).
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