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A Black writer explores how Germany remembers its ‘unthinkable’ past
(JTA) — For his 2021 book “How the Word Is Passed,” winner of the National Book Critics Circle Award for Nonfiction, poet and journalist Clint Smith explored the landscape of American memory — specifically how the history of slavery is explained, commemorated, distorted and desecrated in sites across the United States.
While on tour promoting the book, he explained in an interview Tuesday, he’d often be asked if any country had gotten it right when it came to memorializing its own dark past. “I kept invoking the memorials in Germany, but I had never been to the memorials in Germany,” Smith said. “As a scholar, as a journalist, I felt like I had to do my due diligence and excavate the complexity and the nuance, and the emotional and human texture, that undergirds so many of these places and spaces.”
The result is December’s cover story in the Atlantic, “Monuments to the Unthinkable.” Smith traveled to Germany twice over the past two years, visiting Berlin’s Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, its Topography of Terror Museum, the museum in Wannsee where the Nazis plotted the Final Solution, and the concentration camp at Dachau, talking to historians and curators along the way. As a Black man wrestling with how America accounts for the crimes of its past, he went to learn from the experience of the Germans, who “are still trying to figure out how to tell the story of what their country did, and simultaneously trying to figure out who should tell it.”
In an interview, Smith talked about the inevitable differences between the Holocaust and the Atlantic slave trade, the similarities in how two countries — and communities — experience their histories, and how his article could serve as a bridge between African-Americans and Jews in a time of increasing tension between them.
Smith spoke to JTA from his parents’ home in his native New Orleans.
This interview was edited for length and clarity.
Jewish Telegraphic Agency: Your book is about the ways America succeeds and fails to come to terms with slavery, and your article is about the ways Germany is, in your phrase, “constructing public memory.” I was struck by someone who warned you, “Don’t go to Auschwitz.” What were they saying?
Clint Smith: It was Frederick Brenner, a Jewish man and a remarkable photographer who has photographed the Jewish Diaspora across the world for the past several decades, who said that, because people are standing [at Dachau] and they’re taking selfies, and it’s like “me in front of the crematorium” and “me in front of the barracks.” That was deeply unsettling to him, especially as someone whose family was largely killed in the Holocaust.
I don’t want to be reductive about it and say that you don’t want people to go to these spaces and take pictures. I think it’s all about the sort of disposition and sensibilities one brings to a space. If someone went to the Whitney Plantation in Louisiana, I don’t necessarily want them doing puckered-lip selfies in front of a slave cabin. I can understand why people wouldn’t want those places engaged with in that way, but you do want tourists to come, right? I mean, before the pandemic, 900,000 people visited Dachau every year, and part of what brings people to Dachau is seeing and taking a picture of the crematorium, taking a picture of themselves on this land in that space where history happened, and posting it online. And maybe that serves as a catalyst for somebody else to make that journey for themselves.
You did go to Dachau, which you call a “memorial to the evil that once transpired there.”
I am a huge believer in putting your body in the place where history happened. I stood in many places that carry the history of violence: plantations, execution chambers, death row. But I’ve never experienced the feeling in my body that I felt when I stood in the gas chamber at Dachau. And you just see the way that this space was constructed, with the sort of intentional, mechanized slaughter that it was meant to enact on people. The industrialized nature of it was something unlike anything I’d ever experienced before and it made me feel so much more proximate to that history in ways that I don’t think I would have ever experienced otherwise.
Physically standing in a concentration camp and physically standing and putting my body in the gas chamber fundamentally changed my understanding of the emotional texture and the human and psychological implications of it. Because when you’re in those spaces you’re able to more fully imagine what it might have been like to be in that space. And then you can imagine these people, these families, these women, these children who were marched into camps throughout Europe. You can never fully imagine the fear, that sense of desperation that one would have felt, but in some ways, it’s the closest we can get to it if you are someone who did not have family who lived through or survived the Holocaust. It provided me with a radical sense of empathy. And that’s why I took the trip in the first place.
A tourist takes a selfie inside the Memorial to the Murdered Jews Of Europe in Berlin, Sept. 25, 2019. (Beata Zawrzel/NurPhoto via Getty Images)
By contrast, there are the memorials that are not historical sites, but either sculptural or architectural, like Berlin’s Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, nearly five acres of concrete slabs. What do you think makes an effective memorial that isn’t necessarily the historical place itself, but a specifically memorial project?
Well, for example, the big one in Berlin. It’s just so enormous. The scale and scope of it was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. I tried to imagine what an American analog would be like. What if in the middle of downtown Manhattan there was a 200,000-square-foot memorial, with thousands of stone columns, dedicated to commemorating the lives of indigenous people who were killed in the early Americas? Or a 200,000-square-foot memorial in the middle of downtown D.C., not far from the White House, to the lives of enslaved people?
With that said, what I found really valuable were the people I spoke to, who had very different relationships to that space. Some thought of that memorial as something that was so meaningful because of its size and because of its scope, and because it was a massive state-sanctioned project. And then there were others who thought that it was too abstract, that it was too passive, even in its name, right, the “Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe,” which sounds as if something happened to people without naming the people who enacted the harm and who committed the crime. Those are the sort of nuances and complexities that I wanted to spend more time with, and found really valuable because, in the same way, descendants of enslaved people here in the United States have many different conceptions of what the iconography of slavery should look like or what repair and reparations to slavery should be made.
You write about the “stumbling stones” or “Stolpersteine”: Those are the small brass plaques placed in the streets, inscribed with the names of Holocaust victims and placed in front of their last known residence. The stones are exactly the opposite scale of the Berlin memorial.
Right. I think that is the memorial that I was most struck by: the largest decentralized memorial in the world, with 90,000 stones across 30 different European countries. I remember the moment I was walking down the street looking for landmarks and saw my first Stolpersteine, and I only saw it because at that moment the clouds moved and the sun shone off the brass stone. You see the name, the birth date, the deportation date, the death date, the place where the person was killed. You walk past another home, you see seven; you walk past another home, you see 12. You begin to imagine entire lives based on the names and information that exist on these stones. It creates this profound sense of intimacy, this profound sense of closeness to the history and it’s so human, because it’s individual people and individual names.
One of the most valuable things about the stumbling stone project, I think, is all the work that precedes it. It’s the school students who are doing research to find out about the lives of the people who were taken from the home across the street from their school. It’s the people in the apartment complex, who come together and decide that they’re going to figure out who were the Jewish families who lived in that apartment complex before them. And sometimes it’s really remarkable, granular details about people’s lives: what their favorite food was, what their favorite flavor of ice cream was, what the child liked.
Artist Gunter Demnig lays “stumbling stones” that memorialize persecuted or murdered Jews on the streets of Frankfurt. (Boris Roessler/picture alliance via Getty Images)
As Gunter Demnig, the originator of the project, says, 6 million people is a huge abstraction, and now it becomes about one man, one woman, one child, and [people] realize that it truly was not that long ago. There are so many survivors of the Holocaust who are still with us. Gunter Demnig, his father fought for the German army. He represents this generation of people who are engaging in a sort of contrition for the acts of their parents and their grandparents.
You ask in the piece what it would look like for a similar project to be created in the United States as a memorial to enslaved people.
I’m from New Orleans, and the descendant of enslaved people in New Orleans, which was at one point the busiest slave market in the country. And as Barbara Steiner, a Jewish historian, said to me in Germany, entire streets [of New Orleans] would be covered in brass stones! That was such a striking moment for me. That helped me more fully realize the profound lack of markers and iconography and documentation that we have to enslaved people in our landscape here in the United States relative to that of Germany.
Why are physical monuments important? I have sometimes wondered why we spend so much money on the infrastructure of memory — statues, museums, memorials — and if that money could be better used for living memorials, like scholarships for the descendants of victims, say, or programs that study or archive evidence of genocide. Why is it important to see a statue or a museum or even a plaque?
First off, museums and statues and memorials and monuments are by no means a panacea. It is not the case that you put up some memorials or you lay down some Stolpersteine and suddenly antisemitism is gone. Obviously, Germany is a case study and is experiencing its own rise in antisemitism. And that’s something that’s deeply unsettling, and is not going to singularly be solved by memorials and monuments.
With that said, I think there is something to be said to regularly encounter physical markers and manifestations of the violence that has been enacted and crimes that have been done in your name, or to the people that you are the descendant of. I try to imagine Germany without any of these memorials and I think it would just be so much easier for antisemitism to become far more pervasive. Because when your landscape is ornamented by things that are outlining the history that happened there, it is much more difficult to deny its significance, it is much more difficult to deny that it happened, it is much more difficult not to have it shape the way you think about public policy. I do believe that if we had these sorts of markers in the United States, it wouldn’t solve the racial wealth gap, it wouldn’t solve racism, it wouldn’t solve discrimination. It wouldn’t eradicate white nationalism or white supremacy. But I do think it would play some role in recalibrating and reshaping our collective public consciousness, our collective sense of history in ways that would not be insignificant.
And to your point, my hope is that those things are never mutually exclusive. It’s a conversation that’s happening here in the United States with regard to how different institutions are accounting for their relationship to slavery. Universities are coming up with reports, presentations, panels and conferences that outline their relationship to the history of slavery, especially since the murder of George Floyd [in 2020]. Activists and descendants have pushed them to not just put out a report, or put up a plaque or make a monument. It’s also about, well, what are you going to do for the descendants of those people? Harvard, where I went to grad school, put $100 million aside specifically for those sorts of interventions. Places like Georgetown have made it so that people who were the descendants of those who are enslaved have specific opportunities to come to the school without paying. And people of good faith can disagree over whether those initiatives are commensurate with or enough to atone for that past, and I think the answer is almost inevitably no.
Certainly people on what we like to think of as the wrong side of history understood the importance of physical monuments in creating memory.
The origin story of my own book was that I watched the monuments come down in 2017, in my hometown in New Orleans, of Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee. I was thinking about what it meant that I grew up in a majority Black city, and there were more homages to enslavers than there were to enslaved people. What does it mean that to get to school I had to go down Robert E. Lee Boulevard? That to get to the grocery store, I had to go down Jefferson Davis Parkway? That my middle school was named after a leader of the Confederacy? And that my parents still live on a street today named after someone who owned 115 enslaved people? The names and iconography are reflective of the stories that people tell and those stories shaped the narratives that communities carry. And those narratives shape public policy and public policy is what shapes the material conditions of people’s lives.
One thing about Germany is that its national project of memory and repentance has been accompanied by a vast reparations program — for Israel, Jewish survivors, their families and programs to propagate Jewish culture. I wonder if you think Germany could have moved ahead without reparations? And can America ever fully grapple with the legacy of slavery without its own reparations?
The short answer is no. America cannot fully move forward from its past without reparations. The important thing is not to be limited and reductive in the way that we conceive of what reparations are or should look like. In some ways, I’m as interested if not more interested in what specific cities and states are doing in order to account for those histories and those crimes. For example, in Evanston, Illinois, they created a specific program to give reparations to Black families who experienced housing segregation, in a certain period of time, given how prevalent redlining was in and around Chicago in the mid-20th century. I know in Asheville, North Carolina, there’s a similar program that’s thinking about how to meaningfully engage in repair to the descendants of communities that were harmed from some of the policies that existed there. This is not to say that those programs themselves are perfect. But I think we sometimes talk about it so much on a federal level, that we forget the local opportunities that exist.
West German Chancellor Konrad Adenauer signs the reparations agreement between his country and Israel, Sept. 10, 1952. (United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, courtesy of Benjamin Ferencz, from “Reckonings”)
Many people who were redlined or experienced housing covenants — all the sort of insidious manifestations of wealth extraction that were part of Jim Crow — are still alive today. So sometimes it’s not even a question of what you have to give the descendants. Sometimes it’s like, what do you give the actual people who are still here?
That’s an important distinction you make in your article, about the difference between grappling with the past in Germany and the United States. In Germany, there are so few Jews, while in the U.S. we see the living evidence of slavery, not the evidence of absence.
That’s perhaps the greatest difference that allows for both a landscape of memory to be created in Germany, and also allows for Germany to pay reparations in ways that the United States is reluctant to do: Jewish people in Germany represent less than one quarter of one percent of the population of Germany. One of the folks I spoke to told me that Jewish people in Germany are a historical abstraction. Because there’s so few Jewish people left, because of the slaughter of the Holocaust. I think about the reparations that were given to Japanese Americans who were held in incarceration camps during World War II. They got $20,000 checks, which is not commensurate with what it means to be held in a prison camp for multiple years, and cannot totally atone for that. But part of the reason that can be enacted is that there’s a limited amount of people. There are 40 million black people in this country. So the economic implications of reparations are something fundamentally different here in the United States.
So let me ask you if there’s anything else you wanted to mention that we haven’t talked about.
I want to name specifically for your readers that I’m not and would never intend to conflate slavery and the Holocaust. They are qualitatively different historical phenomena that have their own specific complexities and should be understood on their own terms. With that said, I do think it can be helpful to put the two in conversation with one another, specifically in the profound ways that these two monumental periods of world history have shaped the modern world and how they are remembered in fundamentally different ways.
And there are similarities as well, which you write about.
I did find so many parallels. The Jewish people I spent time with in Germany explained that some of the manifestations of racism and anti-Blackness in the United States are not so different from the sort of manifestations of antisemitism that exist in Germany, especially as it relates to public memory. When I was at the museum devoted to the Wannsee conference, the executive director, Deborah Hartmann, told me that she and Deidre Berger [the chair of the executive board of the Jewish Digital Cultural Recovery Project Foundation] were talking about how Jewish people did not always have a seat at the table when these monuments and memorials were being built. Jewish people were not allowed to participate beyond a certain extent, because many Germans felt that Jewish people were not objective. Jewish historians couldn’t be taken seriously because they were too close to the history.
That just echoes so much of what Black scholars and historians have been told about their ability, or the lack thereof, to study the history of Black life. The godfather of African-American scholarship, W.E.B. Du Bois, was told by white scholars that he couldn’t be taken seriously because he was too close to the history of slavery.
Meanwhile, Deborah Hartmann talked about how so many of the historians and scholars who played a role in shaping the landscape of memory in Germany were themselves “close to the history,” including former members of the Hitler Youth.
Somebody sent me a message that really meant a lot to me this past week, basically saying that my essay is an exercise in “solidarity via remembrance” — in a moment where, unfortunately, there have been a lot of public manifestations of ideas and antisemitic remarks that might threaten to rupture a relationship between Black and Jewish people. Obviously, we didn’t time it this way: I worked on this piece for a year. But it’s my hope that as someone who is a Black American, who is the descendant of enslaved people, who is not himself Jewish — that my respectful, empathic, curious, journey reflects the long history of solidarity that has existed across Black and Jewish communities and that that I hope we never lose sight of.
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The Hasidic Rabbi that brings together Jews and Arabs
עס זײַנען דאָ אַזעלכע מענטשן װאָס מע טרעפֿט זײ רעגלמעסיק אױף דער גאַס, אין קאַפֿע, אַרום דער שטאָט. אַזױ איז בײַ מיר און הרבֿ הערשל גליק.
פֿון אױבן אױף, זעט אױס אַז מיר זײַנען גאַנץ אַנדערש, אײנער פֿונעם צװײטן. ער איז אַ חסיד; איך בין אַ ליבעראַלע ייִדישע. ער איז אַ רבֿ; איך בין אַ לערערקע, אַ דראַמאַטורגין און אַן אַקטריסע. פֿון דעסטװעגן, װױנען מיר בײדע אין סטאַמפֿאָרד־היל, דעם „װיליאַמסבורג“ פֿון לאָנדאָן, און אונדזערע קרײַזן דעקן זיך אַ מאָל.
הרבֿ גליק איז אָבער נישט קיין געוויינטלעכער רבֿ. אַחוץ זײַן אַרבעט צוצוציִען ייִדן צו ייִדישקייט פֿירט ער אָן מיטן „אַראַביש־ייִדישן פֿאָרום“ — אַן אָרגאַניזאַציע וואָס ער האָט געגרינדעט אַ יאָר פֿאַר 9/11 — װאָס ברענגט צונויף ייִדן מיט אַראַבער און מוסולמענער, כּדי אויפֿצוהאַלטן גוטע באַציִונגען צווישן זיי. אין 2025 האָט מען אַרויסגעלאָזט אַ נײַעם דאָקומענטאַר װעגן הרבֿ גליקס לעבן און אַרבעט. דעם פֿילם — „װי אַזױ צו לעבן בשלום מיט אַלעמען“ — האָט מען שױן געוויזן אין מיאַמי, אין לאָנדאָן און אין אַנדערע שטעט.
געשמועסט האָבן מיר בײַ אים אין שטוב. אין עסצימער, איז דער טיש אַרומגערינגלט מיט נישט װײניק פּאָליצעס, אָנגעפּאַקט מיט ספֿרים און ביכער. אין גאָרטן, אױפֿן גראָז, געפֿינט זיך אַ קאָמפּלעט הױדלקעס. װען איך בין אַרײַן אין הויז, האָט ער מיר סערװירט אַן ענגליש גלעזל טײ: אַ שװאַרצער „פֿרישטיקס־טײ“ מיט מילך און צוקער, מיט אַ פּאָר קיכעלעך אױף דער זײַט. אין מיטן אונדזער שמועס, זעענדיק אַז איך האָב נאָך נישט פֿאַרזוכט די קיכעלעך, זאָגט ער מיר, מיט אַ שמײכל׃ „זײ זײַנען נישט נאָר אױף צו קוקן!“ דאַן האָב איך זײ יאָ געגעסן, נישט װילנדיק אים באַלײדיקן.
הרבֿ גליק האָט אַ לאַנגע װײַסע באָרד, און ער טראָגט כּסדר אַ שװאַרץ־און־װײַסע קאַפּאָטע מיט אַ שװאַרצן קאַפּל אונטער אַ שוואַרצן הוט. ער האָט ליב צו זאָגן, אַז ער איז אַן עכטער לאָנדאָנער, װײַל ער איז געבױרן געװאָרן אין װעסטמינסטער־שפּיטאָל, נישט װײַט פֿון פּאַרלאַמענט און פֿון באַקינגהאַם־פּאַלאַץ.
בײדע עלטערן זײַנע האָבן געשטאַמט פֿון עסטרײַך. פֿון זײ — און די באָבע־זײדעס װאָס האָבן איבערגעלעבט דעם חורבן — האָט ער זיך אױסגעלערנט אַ מעריבֿ־ייִדיש. אײדער ער איז געװאָרן אַ רבֿ, האָט ער געלערנט אַ צען יאָר אין ישיבֿות אין ברונואַ (לעבן פּאַריז), אין ניו־יאָרק, אין ניו־דזשערזי און אין מאָנטרעאָל.
הרבֿ גליק האָט ליב זיך צו פֿאַרבינדן מיט נײַע מענטשן און נײַע קהילות, און ער איז נישט װײניק אַרומגעפֿאָרן. אין 2019 איז ער געװען דער ערשטער רבֿ װאָס האָט אַ מאָל געהאַלטן אַ רעפֿעראַט אין אַן אוניווערסיטעט אין פּאַקיסטאַן. פֿאַראַיאָרן, שמועסנדיק מיט מיר אױף דער גאַס, האָט ער געפֿרעגט פֿון װאַנען די משפּחה מײַנע קומט. אַז איך האָב מודה געװען אַז איך קען בלויז דעם ייִדישן נאָמען פֿון דער עלטער־באָבנס שטעטל, האָט ער מיך געפֿרעגט וואָס איז דער ייִדישער נאָמען, און גלײַך מיטגעטײלט אַז דאָס שטעטל איז אין הײַנטיקן אוקראַיִנע און אויך װי עס הײסט אױף אוקראַיִניש. סוף־כּל־סוף, האָב איך עס געקענט געפֿונען אױף דער מאַפּע.
בײַם סוף פֿון דער קאָמוניסטישער תּקופֿה אין מזרח־אײראָפּע, האָט ער זיך פֿאַרבונדן מיט דער ייִדישער קהילה, װאָס איז דעמאָלט געווען אין טשעכאָסלאָװאַקײַ. דאָרט האָט ער געפֿונען ייִדן, װאָס האָבן געװאָלט לערנען תּורה און תּלמוד.
„דאָס זײַנען געװען עלטערע ייִדן װאָס האָבן אין די קינדעריאָרן זיך געלערנט אין חדר, אין דער הײם“ — האָט הרבֿ גליק געזאָגט — „און מיט אַ מאָל האָבן זײ געהאַט אַ געלעגנהייט צו לערנען מיטן יונגן דור תּורה.“ צוליב דעם װאָס עס זײַנען נישט געװען קײן משניות אױף טשעכיש, האָט הרבֿ גליק געקױפֿט אַ קאָמפּלעט משניות איבערגעזעצט אויף ייִדיש פֿון שׂימחה פּעטרושקע (1893—1950). אַזױ אַרום, האָבן די װאָס האָבן נישט גוט געקענט לשון־קודש געקענט איבערזעצן יעדע משנה פֿון ייִדיש אױף טשעכיש, און ווײַטער לערנען.
הײַנט צו טאָג איז הרבֿ גליק דער עמערירטער רבֿ פֿון דער שיל „שערי מזל־טובֿ“ (װאַלפֿאָרד־ראָוד), לעבן סטאַמפֿאָרד־היל. פֿאַר דעם איז ער געװען דער רבֿ פֿון דער האַקני־שול, נישט װײַט פֿון יענער געגנט. ער איז אויך געווען דער בעל־הבית פֿונעם באַקאַנטן כּשרן בעקערײַ „פּאַרקװײ.“ זינט 2015 איז ער דער פּרעזידענט פֿון די שומרים פֿון סטאַמפֿאָרד־היל.
װי אַזױ איז אים אײַנגעפֿאַלן צו גרינדן דעם „אַראַביש־ייִדשן פֿאָרום“? נאָכן אַרבעטן אױף עטלעכע פּראָיעקטן װאָס שליסן שלום צװישן לענדער װי איראַן, קוּװײט, איראַק און ישׂראל־פּאַלעסטינע, זאָגט ער, „האָב איך זיך באַקענט און באַפֿרײַנדט מיט אַ סך אַראַבער, מוסולמענער און אַנדערע, אין דעם געגנט. און כ׳האָב געזען אַז מע קען אַרבעטן צוזאַמען — נישט נאָר אַז מע קען, נאָר אַז מע אַרבעט זײער געשמאַק צוזאַמען פֿאַר אַלגעמײנע זאַכן.“
ער האָט אָנגעהױבן טראַכטן פֿון די באַציִונגען צװישן ייִדן, אַראַבער און מוסולמענער אין ענגלאַנד, װוּ ער װױנט.
„מע אַרבעט צוזאַמען, און מע פֿאַרשטײט אײנער דעם צװײטן, און מע העלפֿט אײנער דעם צװײטן, און מע שטיצט אײנער דעם צװײטן,“ האָט הרבֿ גליק געזאָגט. „אָבער כ׳האָב געטראַכט אַז, פֿאָרט, [זײַנען] דאָ ענינים װאָס גראָבן אונטער די גוטע אַרבעט צװישן אונדז. מע דאַרף עפּעס מאַכן — גוטע פֿונדאַמענטן — כּדי אַז די גוטע צוזאַמען־לעבן און די גוטע מיטאַרבעט זאָל װײַטער גײן, בעזרת השם.“
נאָכן דורכרעדן דעם געדאַנק מיט פֿאַרשידענע ייִדישע און מוסולמענישע פֿירער אין לאָנדאָן, איז דער פֿאָרום געגרינדעט געוואָרן אין יאָר 2000.
לױט הרבֿ גליק, האָט דער פֿאָרום דערמעגלעכט בעסערע באַציִונגען צװישן דער מוסולמענישער, ייִדישער און אַראַבישער באַפֿעלקערונג אין לאָנדאָן, ספּעציעל אין און אַרום סטאַמפֿאָרד־היל. „מע גײט דאָ אין גאַס, און מע גײט דאָ אין געגנט — זעט מען נישט נאָר אַז ייִדן און מוסולמענער לעבן גוט אײנער לעבן צװײטן; מיר לעבן גוט אין אײנעם, ב״ה.“
הרבֿ גליק האַלט, אַז כאָטש ס׳איז זיכער דאָ מער אַנטיסעמיטיזם איצט װי פֿאַר די טעראָריסטישע אַטאַקן אויף ישׂראל דעם 7טן אָקטאָבער 2023 און דער מלחמה צווישן ישׂראל און די פּאַלעסטינער, איז נישטאָ קײן פֿאַרגלײַך צװישן אונדזערע צײַטן און די יאָרן פֿון דער נאַציסטישער תּקופֿה.
„װען מע קוקט װי ייִדן לעבן הײַנט, איבער דער גאַנצער װעלט, זײַנען דאָ שװעריקײטן — כ׳װײס פּונקט װאָס קומט פֿאָר, אפֿשר בעסער װי אַנדערע. אָבער איך האָב עלטערן װאָס האָבן מיטגעלעבט די 30ער יאָרן, און איך זאָג אײַך, אָן קײן שום ספֿק, אַז הײַנט איז נישט אַזױ װי אין די 30ער יאָרן.“
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Jon Ossoff romped to a second Senate term. Can he aim higher?
(JTA) — ATLANTA — Sen. Jon Ossoff’s soaring popularity and cruise to reelection last Tuesday have spurred speculation about his political future — and whether he might aim to become the first Jewish president of the United States.
Less than an hour after polls closed on Election Night, he was projected to handily defeat his Republican challenger Mike Collins. With a campaign focused on expanding affordability and fighting corruption, Ossoff built a broad coalition in one of the nation’s most diverse states, even earning endorsements from Republicans. Ultimately, he retained his seat by a margin of 59%-41%.
The leading polling analyst Nate Silver said Saturday that Ossoff was his “slam dunk number one pick” for a Democratic presidential candidate in 2028, despite Ossoff’s insistence that he has “zero interest in running for president.”
Ossoff’s Jewish supporters have expressed pride in his affirmation of Southern Jewish history while leading a state with a fervent Christian population. But other Jewish constituents have said they feel betrayed by his mounting criticism of Israel’s actions in Gaza, and it remains to be seen whether Georgia’s pro-Israel Jews would coalesce around Ossoff if he pursues the country’s highest office.
For Andrew Lewis, there’s no question that Ossoff is a worthy standard-bearer for the Jewish community. A board member of Atlanta’s oldest synagogue, the Temple — where Ossoff had his bar mitzvah — Lewis said the senator frequently cites the Temple’s role in the civil rights movement, a point of pride for Jewish Atlantans. In 1958, white supremacists bombed the Temple because its rabbi, Jacob Rothschild, advocated desegregation and allied with Martin Luther King Jr. Ossoff was sworn into the Senate on Rothschild’s well-worn bible.
“Our Rabbi Rothschild worked with Dr. King and helped shepherd Atlanta’s Jewish community, and our city and nation, through a very different yet equally divisive time,” said Lewis, who also co-founded the interfaith organization First Five Freedoms. “I take a great deal of pride in that, and I see every time Jon Ossoff speaks about it, he takes equal pride.”
Ossoff has said his entry into politics was interning for Rep. John Lewis, the late civil rights giant, which helped spur his career as an investigative documentarian before he ran for office himself.
Ossoff’s fellow Georgian in the Senate, Raphael Warnock, serves as a pastor at King’s former pulpit, Atlanta’s Ebenezer Baptist Church. When Ossoff and Warnock ran at the same time in the 2021 runoff elections for the state’s two Senate seats, they called attention to their rekindling of the Southern Black-Jewish alliance.
Elise Eplan, a former president of the American Jewish Committee chapter in Atlanta, said she appreciated Ossoff’s references to his Jewish identity. Ossoff has said that his father descended from Ashkenazi immigrants and he grew up among relatives who were Holocaust survivors.
“When you grow up in the South, it used to be harder to talk about not being Christian, and being really open about it,” said Eplan. “I have admired the fact that he’s not shied away from that.”
Ossoff during his 2021 run delivered a direct appeal to the state’s Jewish community in the Atlanta Jewish Times, saying that his Jewish upbringing instilled “a conviction to fight for the marginalized, the persecuted and the dispossessed.” He noted to JTA in 2019 that his wife, physician Alisha Kramer, is also Jewish. The couple started dating in high school, according to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
Two years ago, Ossoff faced blowback from Jewish institutions for supporting Sen. Bernie Sanders’ resolutions to block certain weapons sales to Israel. The local Anti-Defamation League Southeast chapter, the Jewish Federation of Greater Atlanta, the American Israel Public Affairs Committee and an array of synagogues said they were “deeply disappointed” by his votes for the resolutions, which did not pass. In 2025 and 2026, he voted for further measures to restrict offensive military aid to Israel, while supporting defensive arms sales.
Ossoff stood by those votes during a debate with Collins last month. He also said he had “no doubt” that Israeli forces committed war crimes in Gaza, deferring the charge of genocide as “a question for the International Criminal Court.”
Michael Morris, the publisher of the Atlanta Jewish Times, accused Ossoff in an open letter of “lying to me and your constituents” about his support for Israel by repeatedly voting against arms sales.
But when Ossoff emerged triumphant on Tuesday, the ADL offered him congratulations — despite denouncing other victorious Israel critics.
ADL Southeast Director Todd Young rebuked Collins, Ossoff’s opponent, for links to white nationalists. “This race also underscored the importance of confronting antisemitism in Georgia politics,” he said in a statement. “Throughout the campaign, serious concerns emerged about individuals close to Mike Collins.”
Collins’ former staffers were accused of posting racist and antisemitic imagery and participating in a white nationalist group chat, while his son-in-law promoted antisemitic conspiracy theories online. Those controversies might have muffled Jewish groups’ objections to Ossoff’s voting record on Israel, according to Rebecca Stoil, a professor of U.S. political history at Clemson University.
“Ossoff, and his candidacy with Jewish voters, was benefited by the clear concerns that Jewish voters had with Collins,” said Stoil, a member of Atlanta’s Jewish community.
In his 2021 campaign, Ossoff accused his then-opponent, Sen. David Perdue, of antisemitic dog whistling after a campaign ad depicting Ossoff with an elongated nose.
Ossoff says that he supports the security of Israelis as well as the safety and security of Palestinians. In a Senate speech in November 2023, he said, “Just as I pray for the freedom of hostages taken so cruelly from their families, as a pro-Israel Jewish American I urge mercy for the innocent civilians in Gaza.”
As a rising left flank of his party presses for the end of the U.S.-Israel alliance, Ossoff continues to define himself as “pro-Israel.” He argued last month that before sending weapons to any ally, the United States should assess “whether that foreign government is acting consistent with our interests, our laws and our values.”
Ossoff’s argument that one can be pro-Israel even while conditioning U.S. aid has been increasingly embraced by the center of the Democratic Party, according to political scientist Dov Waxman. He pointed to surveys that capture a drop in sympathy for Israel among Americans, including American Jews.
A new poll from J Street, a liberal Jewish Middle East policy group, reported that 39% of Jewish voters said defensive aid for Israel should continue with conditions, while 31% said all military aid should end and 30% said aid should continue without conditions. Among Jews under 35, 60% supported severing military aid and said that Israel has committed genocide in Gaza.
Waxman said those trends spelled both parties moving away from traditionally stalwart pro-Israel positions of delivering offensive and defensive aid to Israel with few conditions.
“I think Ossoff’s position is really the mainstream position now in the Democratic Party — the center of gravity,” said Waxman. “Which is to say, a position that broadly supports the continuation of the U.S.-Israel alliance, but is not willing to write a blank check for Israel, and is not willing to support what the Israeli government does unconditionally.”
Eplan, the former AJC leader, said she was initially “concerned” about Ossoff’s votes to block offensive weapons sales in 2024. But three years into Israel’s prosecution of the war in Gaza under Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, she said, “I understand it.”
“Unfortunately, under Netanyahu, it has become more and more difficult to be pro-Israel in the way we always have been historically,” said Eplan. “I do think that we need leaders who understand some of the nuance, and who are willing when necessary to take a tough stand, but at the end of the day understand the importance of Israel as our ally and as a Jewish homeland.”
If Ossoff decides to run for president, it would be in a new world of U.S.-Israel relations. Democrats are not alone in increasingly scrutinizing the alliance. Republican Vice President J.D. Vance blamed his party’s crushing defeats in the midterm elections partly on “our relationship to Israel” and the Iran war, which the United States joined with Israel. (Ossoff, like other Democrats across the country, has excoriated Trump for “lying a nation into war” and sending “prices soaring with his warmongering in the Middle East.”)
Trump announced on Election Day that the United States would halt military aid to Israel by the end of 2026, saying that Republicans “suffer the slings” from Democrats over the issue.
“Now it is the policy both of the incumbent administration and of people like Jon Ossoff to limit aid to Israel,” said Stoil. “For voters who did care so much about Israel that it was going to be their basis for voting, the moment it becomes a bipartisan consensus to cut off aid, then you pick what most closely represents you on the other topics.”
Meanwhile, Israel is undergoing its own political change following elections on Oct. 27. The next president of the United States could be dealing with a new Israeli government after Netanyahu’s rival, Gadi Eisenkot, scored enough seats and endorsements from other parties to seek to form a new governing coalition.
Pro-Israel groups in the United States are already retooling for the next stage of relations. Kathy Manning, a former North Carolina congresswoman who chairs the advocacy group Democratic Majority for Israel, hopes that a new Israeli government will pave the way for a renewed alliance that Democrats like Ossoff can support.
“If the current government, Netanyahu and his far-right extremists, continue to be the leaders of Israel, I think that it’s going to be very tough for many Democrats to continue to stand shoulder to shoulder,” said Manning. “If the government of Israel changes and we see a Gadi Eisenkot coalition moving forward, I think that’ll be an opportunity for us to rebuild the U.S.-Israel relationship.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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Socialists plan to ‘break’ the US-Israel alliance after winning big in the midterms
The Democratic Socialists of America is looking to use its growing influence to push for a full arms embargo against Israel and ultimately “break” the longstanding alliance between the U.S. and the Jewish state, party leaders said during a recent post-election organizing call after expanding its presence in Congress to eight members once midterm winners are sworn in.
During the call, Kareem Ellerfi, a member of DSA’s National Political Committee, said the newly elected House members will “ensure that Palestine is not forgotten, it’s not left behind, and that we’re fighting to break the U.S.-Israel relationship.” Ellerfi recently returned from a Palestinian solidarity mission that began in Jordan. The delegation had planned to travel to Ramallah in the West Bank but was detained by Israeli authorities while attempting to cross the border and sent back to Jordan.
The call featured three newly elected members of the House — Chris Rabb of Pennsylvania, Claire Valdez of New York and Angela Gonzalez Torres of California — and DSA organizers who said the election results showed that candidates could win while openly opposing Israel and advocating for Palestinian rights.
“Campaigns like mine showed that moral clarity on the genocide in Gaza and an economic populist agenda would win over voters who stayed home in 2024 or who voted for Donald Trump,” said Valdez, whose district includes parts of Brooklyn and Queens. She said a “free Palestine” was among her top agenda items.
A shifting landscape on Israel
The DSA victories come as American support for Israel faces growing divisions across the political spectrum, including among young Jewish Americans.
A growing number of progressive House members already back ending all U.S. aid to Israel, including funding for Israel’s Iron Dome defense system. Earlier this year, 103 of 212 Democrats supported a measure to eliminate the annual military assistance to Israel and another 10 abstained. Dozens also co-sponsored a pair of measures – the Block the Bombs Act and Ceasefire Compliance Act – that would restrict certain offensive arms sales to Israel and increase oversight of Israel’s policies in the occupied West Bank and in Gaza.
Republicans have also voiced support for phasing out military assistance to Israel and moving toward a relationship in which Israel purchases American weapons without financial assistance. Some Republicans have grown increasingly isolationist during the conflicts with Iran, which some in the party blame on Israel.
On Election Day, President Donald Trump announced that he and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu had agreed to end the roughly $3.8 billion in annual U.S. military aid to Israel by the end of this year — two years before the current 10-year memorandum of understanding expires in Sep. 2028. Secretary of State Marco Rubio said Monday that Israel is “rich enough” to purchase needed weapons.
But DSA leaders made clear that their goals go much further. They want a complete arms embargo and an end to the U.S.-Israel alliance.
The organization quadrupled its presence in the House in Tuesday’s midterm elections, with six new members joining Reps. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez of New York and Rashida Tlaib of Michigan. DSA also celebrated victories in local races, announcing that more than 100 socialists now hold lower-level offices across more than 37 states. Its growing influence includes Los Angeles Mayor-elect Nithya Raman and D.C. Mayor-elect Janeese Lewis George, who join New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani, elected last year.
Among the priorities on the call were forcing a vote on the Block the Bombs Act and challenging Senate Democratic leader Chuck Schumer and House Democratic leader Hakeem Jeffries, both longtime supporters of Israel.
With Democrats holding a sizable majority in the House, DSA members may not have the votes to pass key legislation. But their presence in Congress and alliance with the Progressive Caucus, which has increased to more than 100 members, could give them a louder voice in shaping the party’s future on Israel and U.S. military aid.
Rabb, who made criticism of Israel and opposition to AIPAC central to his congressional campaign, was defiant. “People think that we can’t do what we do,” he said. “And to those people, I say, get the f–k out of the way and let us do what we need to do.”
A post-election survey of 800 Jewish voters, conducted by the Mellman Group for the Jewish Electorate Institute, found that 24% of Jewish Democrats see their party as “becoming too much of a home for socialists and the far left.”
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