5622-5663 Smith Street
Beth Olem Cemetery
Beth Olem Cemetary was once a long journey outside the Detroit city limits, surrounded by farm fields. In the 1860s, members of Shaarey Zedek purchased the land to be used as a burial ground for Jewish Michiganders. As time passed, Detroit expanded, and Hamtramck was incorporated as a community, which surrounded the cemetery.
The first mention I've found of Beth Olem was in 1876 in the Detroit Free Press as "The remains of the late Emanual Teichner were interred in the burying ground of the congregation Shaarey Zedek, of which the deceased was a member…" Model D Media reported that the first burial happened around 1868.
By the 1890s, a small chapel had been built on the premises. Although expanding, Detroit's Jewish population remained downtown at this time. By 1879, Shaarey Zedek joined B'nai Israel, and the congregation met at Antoine and Congress downtown.
In the coming decades, many would move further outside downtown to the areas around Dexter-Linwood and the North End, eventually leaving for suburbs like Southfield, West Bloomfield, and Farmington. There were some Jewish people in the neighborhoods that surrounded Beth Olem, most of whom were poorer than those in other parts of the city.
As early as 1903, the cemetery proposed building a sewer and platting Beth Olem. William Saulson was the president at the time, and S. Goldstein was the warden.
In 1905, Chas W. Hockett sold 13 plots and a frame house on the south side of Pallister east of Chene to Beth Olem. These lots were to be used to extend the cemetery and were purchased for $5,000.
Many residents of Hamtramck weren't happy about living near the cemetery. According to the Detroit Free Press, "The citizens say they do not relish having to drink well water drained through such lands or having grave stones stuck under their noses. Some action may be taken by the council to prevent the [Beth Olem Cemetery] association using the lots."
In the early 1910s, the Dodge Brothers built a large factory near the cemetery. It was close by; however, Beth Olem was still accessible for visitors, and burials continued to occur there. Although the demise of Beth Olem wouldn't come for another 70 years, the construction of the factory was the beginning of the end.
In 1913, Larry Dunn, caretaker of the cemetery for nine years, lost his 40-pound greyhound. The hound's name was Danger, and according to the Detroit Free Press, "Larry loves 'Danger' more than he does his wife," and he lived on the cemetery grounds.
David E. Greenstine, a local businessman and politician, died in 1927, and most of his $300,000 estate was donated to Jewish charities. $25,000 was set aside for caring for his parent's gravesites at Beth Olem and other neglected graves at the cemetery. Some funds went to the Jewish Old Folks Home at Brush & Edmund and the United Hebrew School on Kirby. The rest of the funds went to Beth Jacob, a congregation that had some affiliation with Beth Olem.
Throughout the 1940s, the cemetery was still used to bury the dead. The location was right on the cusp of neighborhood and industry, placing its future in limbo. There wasn't room to expand, but the family members of those buried there were still alive, so it remained accessible and maintained. Reports say that the last body was buried there around 1948.
In 1961, Shaarey Zedek left Detroit for Southfield, where it remains today. Even after the move, the congregation remained committed to maintaining the cemetery, albeit with less vigor, considering no new bodies were being laid to rest there.
In the 1960s, Chrysler production at Dodge Main was ramped up, and the factory was expanded. The new build engulfed Smith Street, the entry point for cemetery visitors. On the south side of the wall encasing Beth Olem, 5663 and 5622 are engraved on the pillars, indicating the cemetery address on Smith Street. Although Dodge Main was encroaching on the gravesites, the company extended the driveway so that it was still accessible to friends and family members of the deceased.
By the 1970s, Dodge employed a fraction of the number it once did at the facility, and certain buildings were closed and razed. By January 1980, the entire facility was vacant. The following year, General Motors purchased the complex and a whole surrounding neighborhood to build a new plant. In addition to demolishing Dodge Main, a massive piece of Detroit's automotive and architectural history, Poletown, the nearby community, was decimated to construct the new General Motors factory. According to the Detroit Historical Society, the plot of land "contained 1,500 homes, 144 businesses and 16 churches," purchased from residents using eminent domain.
A group of residents challenged this use of governmental force, saying that eminent domain couldn't be used to transfer property from citizens to private corporations. The legal battle went to the Michigan Supreme Court, deciding in favor of the City of Detroit and General Motors 5-2. Justices John Warner Fitzgerald and James L. Ryan, both Republicans, dissented.
Ryan later stated that the decision by his colleagues showed "how easily government, in all of its branches, caught up in the frenzy of perceived economic crisis, can disregard the rights of the few in allegiance to the always disastrous philosophy that the end justifies the means…the evidence then is that what General Motors wanted, General Motors got."
In addition to demolishing an entire neighborhood, the construction of the Poletown Plant cut off other parts of Detroit. At one time, it was easy to cruise from Hamtramck to Poletown and into Poletown East, three communities with deep Polish roots that had become more multicultural as the decades passed.
With the plant's construction, Poletown was gone, and Poletown East was much harder to get to. The businesses there were left high and dry, and almost all of them have since closed for various reasons. An already struggling neighborhood was cut off from receiving what it needed to survive by using an eminent domain law that was supposed to save the surrounding areas. It's hard to drive through Poletown East and see any positives the plant's construction had, or has, in the modern era.
The only plot of land untouched by eminent domain is Beth Olem cemetery.
According to the Jewish Virtual Library, "Jewish law forbids the transfer of a dead body or of remnant bones from one grave to another, even when it is to a more respected site." This is protected by Michigan law, so moving the cemetery would have proven extraordinarily difficult for General Motors to pull off.
According to those affiliated with Clover Hill Park Cemetery in Birmingham, which manages Beth Olem, General Motors has been very accommodating to their plans at the cemetery and has donated funds and supplies over the years to maintain it. However, since the Poletown Plant's completion, the cemetery is only accessible to the public twice a year, on predetermined dates near Passover and Rosh Hashanah.
In 2004, the Michigan Supreme Court overturned the Poletown decision. In 2001, Wayne County sued citizens who wouldn't sell their land near Metro Airport in Romulus and Huron Township for the construction of an industrial and commercial build called the 'Pinnacle Project.' The lower courts sided with the county, citing the Poletown decision. Eventually, the Michigan Supreme Court sided with the landowners, and the Poletown precedent was wiped clean.
Since it was built, General Motors had tried its best to avoid the operation being called the Poletown Plant—officially naming it Detroit-Hamtramck Assembly. Still, it was hard for anyone who witnessed what was demolished or was told the area's history to call it anything but the Poletown Plant.
In 2018, the Poletown Plant was slated for closure, and historians worried that this could be the end of Beth Olem. If the structure was demolished or sold, who was to say that the new owner would be as accommodating? At the time, Kim Raznik, the executive director of the cemetery that manages Beth Olem, said that they were "committed to running the facility perpetually." The only question was whether they were going to be able to.
However, salvation came two years later when General Motors announced that the plant would be retooled to produce electric vehicles. It was renamed Factory Zero and currently assembles the GMC Hummer EV.
I visited Beth Olem for the first time in April. I had always wanted to go, but something always stopped me from attending the twice-annual events.
Whereas I enjoy exploring historical places, visiting Beth Olem made me feel incredibly melancholy and lugubrious. Inside the walls, it felt like a quaint, old-timey cemetery you'd find in any older city in America. Arch your gaze upwards, and the scene becomes more chaotic.
The Poletown Plant was everpresent, even when behind you, and other structures like the Russel Industrial Center are visible from the grounds. Apart from the occasionally noisily passing freight train on the nearby tracks and the faint rumble from the highway, it was quiet.
Coming into and leaving Beth Olem offered more downhearted views. Upon entering, you could see Hamtramck looming in the distance. Only a short drive away, it felt worlds apart, behind thousands of feet of barbed wire fencing. Leaving the cemetery, St. Stanislaus Bishop and Martyr Roman Catholic Church rose in the distance—behind even more barbed wire and a six-lane highway.
According to online reports, Factory Zero was projected to hire more than 2,200 people. GM's site says 1,031 people currently work there, with more to be added later. When the Poletown Plant was built using eminent domain, 6,000 jobs were promised. Although those positions may have been realized, a majority lasted only a decade and a half. Many homes, churches, and businesses it replaced were over 60 years old and well-maintained.
Beth Olem is unlike anywhere that I've ever been before. Today, knowing what its future holds or what it should entail is difficult. Considering the last residents of the cemetery were laid to rest so long ago, most Detroiters are too young to know anyone buried there. It's a fascinating piece of history, but considering it's surrounded by industry and can only be visited twice a year, it's hard to make that history accessible to Detroiters.
Beth Olem should receive a historic designation and be open to the public year-round. So often in Detroit and across the United States, private companies can extort the cities they reside in and their people. This continues to happen in Detroit for stadiums and downtown development. Beth Olem is a living, historical example of that and its disastrous implications for neighborhoods stuck in eminent domain's path.
If you have the chance, I highly recommend visiting.
