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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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DSA to LA mayoral favorite Nithya Raman: BDS or our endorsement — pick one
When Nithya Raman told Jewish Angelenos last month that she believed the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement was a “legitimate” form of protest, she didn’t go far enough for the Democratic Socialists of America, whose national leadership threatened to expel her for not championing the Israel boycott outright.
The organization’s staunchly anti-Zionist politics have long clashed with Raman, a progressive councilmember who is running for mayor of Los Angeles — and in a dead heat with incumbent Karen Bass in a recent L.A. Times poll. Though she has called the war in Gaza a genocide, Raman has never been a hardliner on Israel, raising the question of whether the DSA would dig in its heels or back a popular candidate who doesn’t meet all of its criteria.
The answer arrived on Monday night in a pair of resolutions by the DSA’s National Political Committee, which together struck some form of compromise. The committee voted not to expel Raman — at least not before the election. But it threatened to revoke the LA chapter’s earlier endorsement if she does not commit to supporting BDS in a town hall that the LA chapter is expected to convene on Saturday.
Even that measure, though, may not have teeth. It’s unclear whether the LA chapter will actually convene for such a meeting — or whether the national organization even could pull the local group’s endorsement. In a statement following the vote, DSA-LA co-chair Leslie Chang said the chapter was standing by its endorsement.
”Our members voted in a supermajority, democratic decision to support her campaign and we are excited to continue knocking on doors for Nithya and our entire slate through Nov. 3,” Chang said.
The expulsion timeline, on the other hand, gives her until Jan. 1 to endorse BDS and sign on to DSA’s campaign to stop the shipment of weapons for Israel out of Los Angeles International Airport. (Municipal authorities have limited direct legal jurisdiction over international aviation and cargo regulations.)
The lengthy resolutions reflect the fierce competition between ideology and pragmatism inside the DSA as its members increasingly run for and win public office. With Zohran Mamdani at the helm of New York City, a Raman victory would mean DSA members run City Hall in the country’s two largest cities. But many in the organization believe Raman’s politics dilute the brand.
Raman, who in 2020 became the first DSA member elected to LA’s City Council, has sought to thread a needle on Israel during her time in office and on the campaign trail. DSA’s Los Angeles chapter voted to censure her after she accepted an endorsement from Democrats for Israel–Los Angeles, a liberal Zionist group. At the time, Raman told DFI-LA she believed Israel had a right to exist, departing from DSA dogma.
She also touts her support for the Jewish community after Oct. 7. In the wake of the attack, Raman — whose district includes some of the city’s largest Jewish neighborhoods — criticized the DSA for a statement she said was “unacceptably devoid of empathy.”
She has also disappointed some Jewish constituents by supporting a ceasefire in Gaza in early 2024 and by telling controversial left-wing influencer Hasan Piker earlier this year she believed the war was a genocide. She reiterated the genocide remark at the Jewish community forum Sept. 29, crossing what the local Jewish federation said was a “red line” for political candidates.
Thanks to a wave of support from less-active DSA members, the Los Angeles chapter endorsed Raman Sept. 2 by a 937 to 484 vote.
The Raman campaign declined to comment for this story.
‘For a Fighting Anti-Zionist DSA’
DSA-LA’s endorsement came under the microscope of the National Political Committee after it was revealed that the chapter had failed to include a question about BDS in its candidate questionnaire.
The omission of BDS violated a rule about pro-Palestinian policy the national organization passed last year. Known as R22, the rule outlines conditions for revoking endorsements or expelling a member if they make certain pro-Israel statements, such as saying that Israel has “a right to defend itself” or opposing BDS.
Chapter leaders called the missing question an “oversight.”
Meanwhile, Raman’s language on the Israel boycott — if not her stance on the issue — has changed over time.
Back in 2020, when she was running for council, Raman told the Jewish Journal of Greater Los Angeles, “I absolutely do not support BDS,” adding, “At a time when hate crimes are rising in LA and across the world, it is dangerous for a candidate to be so closely aligned with a political movement bent on demonizing Israel and the Jewish people.”
She has spoken less forcefully against boycotting during her campaign. In the Jewish community forum last month, she said that while BDS was a legitimate form of peaceful protest, it was not part of her platform or her focus on LA.
Massive groans in the Skirball auditorium when Nithya Raman defends BDS as a “legitimate form of protest.” Question from @AJCGlobal. https://t.co/W2Uml0lPMI
— Louis Keene (@thislouis) September 30, 2026
In a statement to LA’s DSA chapter sent in advance of Monday’s vote, Raman’s stance on BDS was vague, seemingly supporting BDS as a form of pressure on Israel but stopping short of adopting it herself.
“I believe the best way for working Angelenos to stand in solidarity with Gaza is through non-violent protest, legislative action and diplomatic pressure, including BDS,” Raman said.
DSA members on X appeared split on whether the statement satisfied the requirements of R22.
A second round of questions
The questions Raman will be expected to answer at an Oct. 31 town hall are a familiar list of anti-Zionist litmus tests. In addition to receiving a point-blank question about her support for BDS, she will be asked to make two commitments: to refrain from any affiliation with “Zionist lobby groups” and to oppose any legislation that harms Palestinians.
She will also be asked to oppose legislation “that would allow direct financial donations of any kind to Israel and/or settler NGOs who carry out the mission of Israeli settlement and Palestinian dispossession/displacement, such as the Jewish National Fund,” and to condemn weapons shipments from LAX.
If the meeting doesn’t happen by Oct. 31, the resolution says, the national committee will order DSA-LA to pull the endorsement. And if DSA-LA refuses to comply — either by not holding a meeting or maintaining its endorsement — the chapter and its leadership could be censured.
DSA-LA leadership didn’t seem particularly troubled by the possibility of a break from the national committee.
“As DSA-LA is a membership-driven organization,” Chang, its co-chair, said, “any decision around our electoral strategy lies with our members and we will be maintaining our endorsement of Nithya and all our candidates.”
Meanwhile, the resolution calling for Raman’s expulsion if she has not complied by Jan. 1 adds that if she doesn’t win Nov. 3, “all deadlines and proposed disciplinary votes for CM Raman and the LA chapter in this proposal shall be null and void.”
If she does not win the election, Raman’s council term will end in 2028.
The post DSA to LA mayoral favorite Nithya Raman: BDS or our endorsement — pick one appeared first on The Forward.
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What can we make of the initial results of the Israeli elections?
אַ גרױסער יום-טובֿ איז געפֿײַערט געװאָרן אין ישׂראל, דעם 27סטן אָקטאָבער — אַ יום-טובֿ פֿאַר דעמאָקראַטיע און אַ יום-טובֿ פֿאַר ייִדן.
דאָ האָבן אַלע רעגיסטרירטע בירגער פֿון 18 יאָר און עלטער געהאַט די מעגלעכקײט צו שטימען פֿאַר אײנער פֿון 35 פּאָליטישע פּאַרטײען: סײַ ייִדישע און סײַ ניט-ייִדישע פּאַרטײען, כּדי אױסצוקלײַבן אַ נײַע רעגירונג פֿאַר אַ קאַדענץ װאָס — לױטן געזעץ — דאַרף אױסהאַלטן 4 יאָר. אין דער אמתן איז זעלטן װען עס האַלט אַזױ לאַנג אױס, נאָר אין די װאַלן פֿון 2022 האָט בנימין נתניהוס רעגירונג טאַקע אױסגעהאַלטן.
עטלעכע פֿאַקטן וועגן די איצטיקע װאַלן
- איבער 12,000 שטימערטער זײַנען געװען צעשפּרײט איבער אַרום 1,200 ייִשובים.
- טױזנטער ישׂראלים מיט שטימרעכט זײַנען ספּעציעל אָנגעפֿלױגן פֿון אַנדערע לענדער, כּדי אָנטײלצונעמען אין די װאַלן. צװישן זײ — די װעלט-באַרימטע אַקטריסע גל גדוט (גאַל גאַדאָט) װאָס האָט לעצטנס באַקומען אַן ערן־דאָקטאָראַט פֿון בר־אילן אוניװערסיטעט.
- צענדליקער טױזנטער סאָלדאַטן האָבן געשטימט פֿאַרן וואַלטאָג, דעם 27סטן. די רעזולטאַטן װעלן שפּעטער צוגעגעבן װערן און קענען האָבן אַ ממשתדיקע השפּעה אױף דעם אַרױסקום.
- עס האָבן געשטימט 5,695,682 פֿון די בירגער מיט שטימרעכט (7,331,981). דאָס איז אַרום 77.7% — דער העכסטער פּראָצענט מענטשן וואָס האָבן געשטימט במשך פֿון לאַנגע יאָרן.
די פּרעלימינאַרע רעזולטאַטן מיט אַ טאָג שפּעטער
לױט די אַנקעטעס פֿון עטלעכע טעג פֿאַר די װאַלן האָט מען פֿאָרױסגעזאָגט אַז פֿון די מעגלעכע 120 כּנסת־ערטער װעלן בערך 52 גיין פֿאַר די שותּפֿים פֿון נתניהון; 54 פֿאַר די קעגנערס פֿון נתניהו, און 14 פֿאַר די אַראַבישע פּאַרטײען.
װי נאָר דאָס װײלן האָט זיך געשלאָסן 10 אַ זייגער אין אָוונט , האָבן די פֿאַרשײדענע אױספֿרעג-פֿירמעס שױן אָנגעהױבן אַרױסזאָגן זײערע נבֿיאות. עס איז שוין אָנגענומען, אַז זײַט-בײַ-זײַט מיט אַ צאָל וויכטיקע שטימערטער, שטעלט מען אױס שטימקעסטלעך, און מע בעט די װײלער אַרײַנװאַרפֿן אין קעסטל אַ קאָפּיע פֿון זײער אױסװײל. בערך 600 אַזעלכע שטימקעסטלעך האָט מען אויפֿגעשטעלט איבער אַ צאָל ייִשובים. די אויספרעג-פֿירמעס באַאַרבעטן די דאָזיקע „פּאַראַלעלע“ רעזולטאַטן צוזאַמען מיט געװיסע אַנדערע פֿאַקטאָרן און מאַכן אַ סך-הכּל פֿון װי עס װעלן אפֿשר אױסזען די לעצטגילטיקע רעזולטאַטן.
די פֿיר הױפּט טעלעװיזיע־סטאַנציעס האָבן אַלע געהאַט אָנגעשטעלט אױספֿרעג-פֿירמעס, און דרײַ פֿון זײ האָבן געהאַט מער אָדער װײניקער די זעלבע רעזולטאַטן: אַז נתניהוס בלאָק האָט פֿאַרשפּילט. די פֿערטע טעלעװיזיע־סטאַנציע, ארוץ 14, װאָס רעכנט זיך פֿאַר אַ גרױסן שטיצער פֿון די רעכטע און פֿון נתניהון – האָט לרובֿ געגעבן ענלעכע רעזולטאַטן, אָבער אָנגעװיזן אַז נתניהו װעט זײַן דער געװינער.
װי אַ רעזולטאַט פֿון די דאָזיקע מוסטער-שטימען, האָבן נאָך האַלבער נאַכט געמאָלדן סײַ גדי אײַזנקאָט פֿון דער „ישר“ פּאַרטײ, װאָס האָט באַװיזן 23 שטימען, סײַ נפֿתּלי בענעט פֿון דער „ביחד“ פּאַרטײ מיט יאיר לפּיד (מיט 12 שטימען) — אַז נתניהו און זײַן בלאָק האָט פֿאַרשפּילט.
נתניהו, דאַקעגן, האָט זיך ניט אונטערגעגעבן, און דעקלאַרירט אַז ער האָט די גרעסטע פּאַרטײ, און אַז מע דאַרף װאַרטן אױף די אמתע שטימען, װאָס מע װעט צומאָרגנס דערגאַנצן. און מיט דעם איז מען געגאַנגען שלאָפֿן – אַז נתניהוס קעגנערס האָבן געװוּנען.
אַ גאַנצע נאַכט האָט מען געציילט די אמתע שטימען. אין דער פֿרי האָבן מענטשן זיך אױפֿגעװעקט צו גאָר אַן אַנדער רעאַליטעט. סײַ נאָכן אױססאָרטירן און אָפּצײלן בערך אַ דריטל פֿון די שטימען 7 אַ זייגער אין דער פֿרי, סײַ ווען מע האָט שוין איבערגעציילט 50% מיט צוויי שעה שפּעטער, האָט אױסגעזען אַז נתניהו און זײַן בלאָק פֿון דער איצטיקער רעגירונגס קאָאַליציע װעט האָבן די מערסטע ערטער אין דער כּנסת און װעט קענען צוריק װערן די אָנפירענדיקע פּאַרטיי אין לאַנד.
די אַראַבישע פּאַרטײען האָבן אויך געהאַט גרױס דערפֿאָלג. זײערע שטיצערס זײַנען אַרױס אין די טױזנטער צו שטימען (מע זאָגט אַז בן-גבֿיר און זײַן פּאַרטײ האָט זײ אָנגעבייזערט) און באַקומען אַ גרעסערע צאָל ערטער אין כּנסת װי װען עס איז. די פֿאַרגרעסערטע צאָל אַראַבישע װײלער האָבן אױך פֿאַרגרעסערט דעם מינימום צאָל שטימען װאָס אַ קלענערע פּאַרטײ האָט געמוזט אָנזאַמלען כּדי צו דערגרייכן דעם מינימום פֿון 4 ערטער. אױב אין די פֿריִערדיקע װאַלן פֿון 2022 האָט אַ פּאַרטײ באַדאַרפֿט אַרײַנציִען 155,000 שטימען, איז שאַרף געװאַקסן דער מינימום נעענטער צו 184,000 צוליב דער הױכער צאָל װײלער (ייִדן און ניט-ייִדן) װאָס זײַנען אַרױס שטימען.
נאָכן איבערציילן בערך 77% פון די שטימען הײַנט ביז 2 אַ זייגער נאָך מיטאָג, ווערן די 120 כּנסת־מיטגלידער אײַנגעטיילט אַזוי: נתניהוס בלאָק — 54, די קעגנער — 49 און די אַראַבישע פּאַרטייען — 17.
צי די רעזולטאַטן וועלן זיך בײַטן נאָך דעם ווי מע האָט איבערגעציילט 100% וועט מען נאָך זען. מע דאַרף אויך אין זינען האָבן די עטלעכע הונדערט טױזנט שטימען פֿון די סאָלדאַטן. דאָס קען נאָך אַרױסראַטעװען יועז הענדעלס „מילואימניקים“ פּאַרטײ, וואָס איך האָב באַשריבן אין אַ פֿריִערדיקן אַרטיקל.
סך-הכּלען און מעגלעכע אױסקומען
געװיסע פּאַרטײען פֿון נתניהוס בלאָק האָבן פֿאָדערונגען װאָס קענען זײַן פֿאַר אים שװער אױסצופֿירן. למשל, די חרדים האָבן געזאָגט אַז זײ װעלן זיך דאָס מאָל ניט פֿאַראײניקן מיטן ליכּוד, כּל־זמן מע װעט ניט באַפֿרײַען צענדליקער טױזנטער פֿרומע יונגעלײַט פֿון מיליטער-דינסט. בן-גבֿיר האָט געפֿאָדערט אַז ער זאָל זײַן דער פֿאַרטײדיקונג־מיניסטער. אַנדערע פּאַרטײען װעלן זיכער האָבן נאָך פֿאָדערונגען.
עס קען זײַן, אַז נתניהו װעט װעלן זיך אָפּטשעפּענען פֿון די קאָפּװײטיקן פֿון זײַנע ביז-איצטיקע שותּפֿים, און זוכן זיך צו פֿאַראײניקן מיט געװיסע פּאַרטײען פֿון זײַנע פּאָליטישע קעגנערס.
די מערסטע ציוניסטישע פּאַרטײען װאָס האָבן זיך קעגנגעשטעלט נתניהוס בלאָק, װעלן זיכער ניט װעלן זיך פֿאַראײניקן מיטן ליכּוד כּל־זמן נתניהו איז אין דער שפּיץ. צי װעט ער זײַן גרײט צו זײַן אויפֿן צװײטן אָרט? לױט די איצטיקע געזעצן קען ער ניט װערן אַ מיניסטער אַזוי לאַנג ווי מע פֿירט קעגן אים אַ משפּט. צי װעט עמעצער צוליב דעם אײַנפֿירן אַן ענדערונג אינעם געזעץ?
די װאָס האָבן הײַנט אפֿשר דעם גרעסטן כּוח זײַנען די צװײ אַראַבישע פּאַרטײען. װי פּראַגמאַטיש װעלן זײ קענען זײַן? זײ װעלן כּמעט װי זיכער זיך ניט פֿאַראײניקן מיט אַ טײל פֿון נתניהוס בלאָק. די גרעסערע גרופּע האָט זיך אױסגעדריקט אַז זײ זײַנען גרײט אַלץ צו טאָן כּדי נתניהו זאָל ניט קענען צוריק װערן דער פּרעמיער. פֿון דער אַנדערער זײַט זײַנען ליכּודס אײנציקע מעגלעכע שותּפֿים די פּאַרטייען אין דער אַנטי-נתניהו מחנה. די מערסטע פֿון זײ האָבן צוגעזאָגט זײערע װײלער אַז זײ װעלן קײנמאָל ניט װערן שותּפֿים פֿון די אַראַבישע פּאַרטײען.
אין מײַן פֿריִערדיקן אַרטיקל האָב איך דערציילט וועגן דעם קאַנדידאַט יואבֿ סעגאַלאָװיטש – דעם געוועזענעם, פֿאַרדינסטפֿולן הויפּט פֿון דער ישׂראל־פּאָליציי וואָס פֿיגורירט אויפֿן צווייטן אָרט אין דער איסלאַמישער רע״ם פּאַרטײ. איז מעגלעך אַז די ציוניסטישע פּאַרטייען וועלן זײַן גרייט צו מאַכן אַ קאָאַליציע מיט זיי? ס׳קלינגט אוממעגלעך אָבער אין דער ישׂראל־פּאָליטיק קענען תּמיד פֿאָרקומען סורפּריזן.
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A famed rabbi’s yeshiva reopens for students for the first time since World War II
(JTA) — Dovid Hofstedter was visiting Belarus five years ago when he discovered that a historic Jewish school had turned into something else.
Hofstedter, a Canadian rabbi, was joining a group of rabbis from around the world at the Radin Yeshiva, nestled in the small town of Radun in western Belarus. The school was founded in 1869 by the famed Lithuanian rabbi Israel Meir Kagan, known as the Chofetz Chaim, and housed 300 students before World War II.
As Hofstedter delivered a lecture in the building, he was surprised to see it fill up with locals, who then gradually wandered out. He realized they didn’t know the building had once housed a yeshiva in a town where no Jews live today.
Instead, people had walked in expecting a play — and left when they didn’t get one.
The Radin Yeshiva had been converted into a theater, with a stage and red seats, Hofstedter told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. Like many Jewish sites across Eastern Europe, where the Nazis’ annihilation was followed by decades of Soviet rule that stifled Jewish memory and communal life, the school’s history had been buried.
“In other places that I’ve been to in Eastern Europe, some yeshivas were used as a post office,” said Hofstedter. “Some were used as government buildings.”
This month, Hofstedter and another group of 100 international rabbis filled the building again, this time to inaugurate the reopened Radin Yeshiva, now fully restored to serve Torah students as a functioning school.
Yad Yisroel, a nonprofit dedicated to strengthening Jewish life in Belarus, bought the yeshiva building from the municipality of Radun (or Radin, according to its Yiddish pronunciation) in 2025. That spurred a year of planning and construction, headed internationally by Hofstedter, who founded the Torah study organization Dirshu, and locally by Moshe Fhima, who directs Yad Yisroel’s projects and leads a yeshiva in the southern city of Pinsk.
The restoration team replaced the building’s roof and windows, which had deteriorated over years of neglect. Inside, they installed a new Torah ark and recreated the wooden lecterns and chairs that filled the yeshiva before World War II. A library of books is being transported from Israel to stock the school’s shelves.
The Radin Yeshiva closed after the outbreak of World War II, when the Soviet Union occupied the region and Soviet authorities seized the building. Nazi Germany captured Radun in 1941. Some yeshiva students escaped to Japan, where they received aid from the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee. Rabbi Mendel Zaks, the Radin Yeshiva’s then-leader and the Chofetz Chaim’s son-in-law, fled in 1941 to the United States and reestablished the yeshiva in New York City. In the 1950s, the new school moved upstate to Suffern, New York, where it remains active.
Meanwhile, more than 2,000 Jews from Radun and neighboring villages were interned in a ghetto; most were killed by the Germans and local police.
Hofstedter believes that the Radin Yeshiva will draw interest from Jewish communities across Belarus. Though the country’s 30,000 to 50,000 Jews today are largely secular, Hofstedter said a subset of the community has shown interest in reconnecting with facets of their Jewish identity that were quashed under the Soviets, and the yeshiva can serve as a focal point for that rediscovery. Many of its students will also come from abroad, as Orthodox Jews make regular pilgrimages to study the Chofetz Chaim’s teachings and visit his gravesite.
The Chofetz Chaim, who lived from 1838 to 1933 and whose sobriquet is the title of his first and most famous book, was widely hailed as the leading Jewish scholar of his generation. His establishment of the Radin Yeshiva brought the town fame in the Jewish world of Eastern Europe, where current-day Belarus and Lithuania were home to many “Litvak” Jews who followed a rigorous, anti-Hasidic religious tradition. He remains influential among Orthodox Jews globally for his works codifying Jewish law and ethics, especially his guidance on refraining from “lashon hara,” or “evil speech” about others, said Hofstedter.
There are recent signs of renewed attention to Belarusian and Lithuanian sites of Jewish heritage, according to Alena Kuliounich, the deputy chair of the Union of Belarusian Jewish Public Associations and Communities. The Volozhin Yeshiva, another jewel of Lithuanian Jewish history founded in 1803, reopened as a museum in 2024. Today, no more than a handful of Jews are estimated to live in Volozhin, now in western Belarus.
“Volozhin demonstrates that a historic Jewish site can attract considerable interest even in the absence of a substantial local Jewish community,” Kuliounich told JTA.
Hofstedter, whose parents survived the Holocaust in Auschwitz and Mauthausen before rebuilding their lives in Toronto, had a different vision for the Radin Yeshiva. He explicitly did not want it to become a museum.
“We didn’t want to just have some sort of tribute to the past,” said Hofstedter. “We wanted to be in continuity with the future, the teachings of the Chofetz Chaim for future generations.”
At the Radin Yeshiva’s rededication ceremony, he was moved to watch rabbis from the United States, Israel, Britain, France and elsewhere join to celebrate the Chofetz Chaim. The Lithuanian sage’s teachings are followed by Jews across Orthodox movements. It was rare to see rabbis with a range of backgrounds and beliefs “come together with such a feeling of solidarity,” said Hofstedter.
“There was an enormous amount of emotion at that gathering,” he said. “After almost 100 years, to be able to come back to the Chofetz Chaim’s yeshiva, to rejuvenate it and have the yeshiva functioning — it was just incredible.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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