The Doyle Engaging Difference Program - Georgetown University

Sometimes, it takes an ordinary occurrence for us to understand something we have been missing. Before I studied in Prague, each person I discussed my plans with would comment on how beautiful the city was and how lucky I was to be living there. With consecutive words of praise, I felt more excited to travel abroad and study in a foreign city, specifically Prague. My expectations also placed a lot of pressure on me to appreciate the experience and seize the moment. As I progressed through my semester, I noted the rich history, architectural grandeur, tasty food, and active nightlife that characterized the city. I knew all these things made the city great, but I never felt it. I held a deep appreciation for the unique opportunities I was given, but I could not make sense of what made Prague specifically great. This realization only came to me on my last day in Prague.

As I walked through Old Town with my dad on the way to the rental car agency, I briefly looked up to see one of Prague’s many gothic buildings across the road from me. I had seen these beautiful architectural styles in churches, museums, and government buildings many times throughout the semester. Whether because I was lamenting my last hours in my new home or relieved from finishing final exams, this time felt different. A sudden sense of awe came over me, and something clicked. Deep at Prague’s core, under the layers of modern secularism, is a religious identity that still thrives in the city.

Like the building in front of me, Catholic architecture defines Prague’s skyline. Near my old apartment sits the Basilica of Saint Ludmila, a large neo-gothic church from the 19th century. From my classroom window, I could just make out the tall spires of the Charles Bridge reaching up to the sky, connecting heaven with earth. Looking at the buildings, I would forget I was not in a majority Catholic country like Spain or Italy. Despite the heavy Catholic influence from the Habsburg era, the Communist occupation of Czechoslovakia in the twentieth century led to a purge of many religious communities. For this reason, my experiences in Czechia presented an interesting contrast between this deeply religious history and secular modernity.

Narratives also play an important role in Prague’s history. I remember a tour in the Jewish neighborhood of Prague, Josefov, when our guide David pointed out the building behind us and explained how his grandfather grew up there. Both his grandparents were taken from their homes in the city during Nazi occupation and, by some miracle, returned after the war. They met, fell in love, and started the family that would lead to David. I had found the story very moving—it introduced humanity to the one-dimensional statistics we learn about in the U.S.

Over the remainder of the tour, we had discussed the history of antisemitism in Europe long before the interwar period. Jewish Czechs were forced to wear humiliating identifiers when exiting their neighborhood and could not leave after curfew. Pausing at each landmark, David explained its significance to the community. Our last stop was the Pinkas Synagogue. After 1955, the synagogue was turned into a memorial for Jewish victims of the Shoah in Czechia. Eighty thousand names line the walls from top to bottom. As I walked through the rooms, I read through some of the names. In doing so, I thought maybe I could do my part to keep their memories alive.

November 17 is an important Czech holiday. It commemorates the student uprisings against Nazi occupation in 1939 and the Communist regime in 1989. The latter led to the Velvet Revolution, the beginning of Czech independence when students rose up against a corrupt government to peacefully and successfully overthrow the Communist government and Soviet control of the country. Now, many activist groups use the holiday to reach out to the public and garner support. However, as time passes and Europe becomes more conflict-ridden, many of these stories are forgotten. David’s stories and the stories of the students who fought for their country's freedom remind me how important it is to keep the memories of history, even a dark history, alive to learn from our past.

If it is not already apparent, Prague is a city filled with stories. From the Charles Bridge, begrudgingly constructed by King Charles IV when the old Judith Bridge was badly damaged by a flood, to the Prague Castle, built by various ruling powers over almost nine centuries, every building, statue, or city street in Prague has a story stretching over centuries. At the core of many of these stories are religious dynamics that defined the city for the majority of its history.

Having struggled with my own faith this past semester, this new understanding is especially meaningful to me. At surface level, the city may not seem overtly religious. At a deeper level, however, it is clear that religion has influenced much of the cultural, political, and societal characteristics of Prague. After returning home, I took a closer look at my own life to understand how faith and religion have impacted me in order to gain a greater appreciation for God’s work.