Months later, when people ask me to briefly describe my experiences in Berlin, I tell them I felt Jewish during the day and queer at night.
While I am shedding my femme clothes, I’m reminded of how my grandmother reclaimed her femininity, stolen from her by the Nazis, with a new dress.
As a queer descendant of Holocaust survivors, I knew my first time visiting Berlin—a hub of queer life and Holocaust memorials—would not be easy.