Schwartz🧸🪆🔔

"The name Schwartz, a common surname of German and Jewish (Ashkenazic) origin, means "black". It's derived from the German word "schwarz", which translates to "dark" or "black". The name was often used as a descriptive nickname for individuals with black hair or a dark complexion. It can also be a habitational name for those from places called Schwarz."

Leyna Stenberg: A Dark Reflection on Heritage and History

Schwarz. The name carries weight, doesn't it? A word that slips so effortlessly off the tongue, but its meaning—its history—is anything but light. In German, "Schwarz" means black. And in my world, in my culture, it means something even darker. Black like the shadows that have followed my people through centuries. Black like the soot that painted the skies when they burned our papers, our proof of existence, as though erasing us would make us disappear.

For over 160 years, FAO Schwarz has enchanted the world with its toys, its laughter, its whimsy. But behind that name is a deeper story, a name tied to German roots—Schwarz, the same word that marked me. Black. Black Jewish. A contradiction in the eyes of those who hated us, who feared us, who reduced us to nothing more than a stain on their vision of purity.

It began in Baltimore, 1869, when Frederick August Otto Schwarz, a German immigrant, opened a small toy store. Toys—symbols of innocence, of joy, of childhood. How ironic that the same hands that made toys for children could also carry the weight of a past that was anything but innocent. My people, too, made toys. We crafted them in secret, out of scraps, when we had nothing else, when we were told we were nothing else. We made them because the world tried to take our joy, but we refused to let it.

By the early 1900s, the Schwarz family expanded their empire, spreading their vision of wonder to New York City, to Boston, to Philadelphia. Addresses etched onto advertising cards—1006 Chestnut St., Philadelphia; 42 E. Fourteenth St., New York; 497 & 499 Washington St., Boston. They built their legacy brick by brick, while my people's legacies were reduced to ash.They burned our papers. Our names, our identities, our stories—all gone, devoured by fire. Do you know what it feels like to be erased? To have everything that says you existed stripped away? Paper burns so easily. But memories? Memories are harder to destroy.

Schwarz. A name that means black. A name that carries weight, pain, and pride. It is a name tied to a culture born of resilience, a culture that has endured the fires of history—literally and figuratively. German and Jewish. Two identities intertwined, like the gears of a clock, endlessly turning, endlessly working. Clocks. Yes, clocks. They are more than just objects to mark time; they are symbols of precision, of history, of legacy.

Clocks are not just machines; they are stories. Stories of craftsmanship, of purpose, of the people who built them. German clockmakers, you see, were some of the finest in the world. They understood that time was not just something to be measured but something to be honored. And for children, clocks—like toys—represent something magical. A way to see the world move, to understand its rhythm. But magic, like history, must be cared for.

And this is why it is so important for children to not only love their clocks and their toys but to understand their roots. To know the history of their making, the history of their people. The Schwarz family—German immigrants, Jewish immigrants—built their legacy with toys, with joy, with wonder. But they also carried with them the weight of a history that was nearly erased. If we forget that history, if we fail to teach it to our children, we risk losing more than just the past. We risk inviting the darkness.Because alongside the magic of Santa Claus, alongside the joy of Christmas, there is a shadow. A story whispered in the cold, dark nights of December. A story called Krampus....

Krampus is no jolly figure of holiday cheer. He is the shadow to Santa’s light, the cold to his warmth, the punishment to his generosity. In the Alpine regions of Germany and Austria, they tell the story of Krampus to frighten children into behaving. He is a horned figure, half-goat, half-demon, with sharp claws, glowing eyes, and a long, lashing tongue. He carries chains, the sound of them rattling like the toll of a bell, and a sack on his back—not for toys, but for the children he steals.

Santa is real, yes. He is the embodiment of generosity, of hope, of magic. But without history, without roots, we risk falling into darkness. Because history is like a clock. If you neglect it, if you forget to wind it, it will stop. And when it stops, the shadows creep in. Without knowing, we invite Krampus. And Krampus is always waiting. Always watching....

Krampus comes for the wicked, the disobedient, the ones who have lost their way. He does not reward; he punishes. He drags children to the underworld, where no toy, no clock, no magic can save them.

This is why we must protect the history of clocks, of toys, of our people. German and Jewish, these stories are not just about the past; they are about the present, about the future. They are about teaching our children to treasure the magic of the world while never forgetting its shadows...

The Schwarz name is a reminder of this balance. Black, like the shadows of our past. Black, like the ink on the pages they burned, the stories they tried to erase. But also black, like the night sky, where stars shine the brightest. We must teach our children to honor both the light and the dark, to love their toys and their clocks, but to also know where they came from.

Haunting Melodies of The Nutcracker Part 2 coming soon in December 2025.