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I can’t forget what the Nazis did to my family, but I can be grateful to a repentant Germany
(JTA) — Picture a cute-looking, 6 1/2-year-old girl with curly braided hair. She is standing on a sidewalk, on a cold, dreary day in Leipzig, Germany, together with her parents and my wife and me. My granddaughter Vivi is staring intently at a 75-year-old worker, kneeling on the ground. He is digging a hole through the pavers to install several 4” x 4” brass plaques mounted on cement cubes — memorials to relatives who perished at the hands of the Nazis more than 80 years ago.
In February, we traveled 9,500 miles round-trip to dedicate 12 Stolpersteine plaques in memory of relatives I never knew, or even knew I had. (All 16 of my family members would have stood with us that day, but Germany’s airport worker strike canceled the others’ flights.) They were just some of my late father’s aunts, uncles and cousins who were murdered in the Holocaust, and we regarded the ceremony as a pseudo-levaya, a quasi-funeral that would be the final act of respect and farewell Hitler had denied my relatives.
I couldn’t have imagined, 60 years earlier when I first visited Germany, that I would ever return in a spirit approaching forgiveness, or that I’d feel a deep connection to a country that was once synonymous with brutality, pain, humiliation and suffering.
Stolpersteine, a German word meaning “stumbling block,” refers to a design brilliantly conceived by the non-Jewish German artist Gunter Demnig in the early 1990s. Installed in front of the homes where innocent Jewish victims last freely lived, the brass plaques simply and artistically memorialize, honor and personalize those brutally persecuted. On each plaque are engraved the victim’s name, dates of birth and death. As Demnig once said, “A person is only forgotten when his or her name is forgotten.” Hence, 100,000 of his plaques throughout Europe remind us that Jews are part of a shared history, and a common memory.
Whether consciously or not, the “stumbling pedestrian” instantly recalls the extraordinary evil unleashed by ordinary people, on once vibrant Jewish communities, and the terrorized Jewish neighbors who lived within them. This evil was driven by a blind loyalty to a gratuitous hatred of “the other,” meaning non-Aryans.
Who were these relatives I recently memorialized? Recently uncovered documents suggest my relatives were all decent, law-abiding citizens who contributed to Leipzig’s economy, enriched its cultural life and strengthened its social fabric. Sadly, being model citizens did not spare them from torturous fates.
One of those relatives, Elfriede Meyerstein, my paternal grandfather’s sister, was born Feb. 27, 1871 in Breslau. At 20, she came to Leipzig where her husband Menny ran a textile trading company with his family. They lived at the same address for many years. By 1931, after Menny’s death, she lived with her daughter Käthe Huth.
The Nazis, once in power, immediately expropriated Elfriede’s assets, comprising foreign stocks meticulously accumulated by Menny. The Nazi “Ordinance on the Registration of Jewish Assets” of April 26, 1938, forced her to surrender those securities to the state. In 1939, shortly after Kristallnacht on Nov. 9-10, 1938, the Nazis collected a “reimbursement tax” as “atonement,” from Elfriede and the rest of Germany’s Jewish community, for the damage Nazis did that night.
Just prior to her Sept. 19, 1942 deportation to Theresienstadt at age 71, Elfriede was forced to sign a “home purchase agreement,” the Nazis’ final act of expropriation. The document falsely and cynically promised her a “retirement home,” with free lifetime accommodation, food and medical care, but paid for by her, in advance. The Reich Security Main office confiscated 65,000 Reichsmarks ($300,000 in today’s currency). Her “retirement home” was in a ghetto with disastrous hygienic conditions, starvation, and no medical care. Elfriede died one month later.
After considerable soul-searching and three visits to Germany, spaced over 60 years, my attitudes and feelings today, vis a vis Germany and its citizens, are dramatically different from when I first visited in 1966.
Then, I came with unprocessed emotional baggage. In 1939, my father, Ralph Meyerstein, fled Dusseldorf and my mother, Cecily Geyer, fled Dresden, both for England. My paternal grandparents, Alfred and Meta Meyerstein, were deported from Dusseldorf on Nov. 8, 1941, to Minsk, where they were killed. My maternal grandmother, Salcia, was deported to Riga in January 1942; in November 1943 she was sent to Auschwitz and murdered.
My parents met in Ware, a small town north of London, where some German Jews took refuge. They moved to London where they married during the Blitz and we came to the United States in December 1947.
The German-issued ID card of Max Israel Meyerstein, the author’s great-uncle, who was murdered by the Nazis in 1942 at the age of 80. (Courtesy Michael Meyerstein)
As an only child, I shouldered much of my parents’ guilt over abandoning their parents, even though it was their parents who, thankfully, had urged them to flee Germany. When retelling their survival story, my eyes still well up with tears, revealing a lifetime of trauma I’ve absorbed on their behalf. That first visit felt almost adversarial in tone. It was I, representing my parents’ personal losses and those of the Jewish people, versus Germany and Germans. I reacted viscerally to hearing guttural Deutsch being spoken. I eyeballed Germans on the street and asked myself: How old are they? Did they commit heinous crimes against my family and my people?
By 2018, when I dedicated a Stolpersteine in my maternal grandmother’s memory, my judgmental attitudes and harsh feelings had softened. Maybe I realized that 75 years later, the ordinary citizen on the street could not be held responsible for the carnage of the Holocaust. Also, working with non-Jewish German volunteers in planning the ceremony showed me their humanity, sensitivity and outright remorse for Nazism’s impact on my family and their German state. Their kindness was an atonement for a past not of their making.
My visit in February shed further light on my evolving relationship with Germany and Germans. Today’s Germany is doing teshuva, or repentance, by strengthening democracy, creating an inclusionary society, responding resolutely to far-right extremism, educating its young about the Holocaust, offering sanctuary to Jews fleeing Russia and Ukraine and being a true friend to the State of Israel. It also is supporting Jewish communal institutions, paying reparations to Israel, to individual victims and their descendants.
My relationship became much more nuanced upon learning that Germany was once home to five generations of my family, as far back as 1760, in the small town of Grobzig where Matthias Nathan Meyerstein was born. On our visit to its mid-17th-century Jewish cemetery, I gazed incredulously at the graves of Meyersteins. I saw schutzbriefen, documents issued by the reigning duke, that assured my ancestors protection, commercial privileges and religious rights. In the old Leipzig Jewish cemetery, I visited 12 relatives’ graves from the 1800s and 1900s, which reflected much about their secure socio-economic status.
Before my retirement, I never knew that Grobzig or Leipzig or other towns were in my family’s history. This discovery led to one conclusion: Unquestionably, 1933 to 1945 was a tragic anomaly in human history, and especially Jewish history. However, I must also gratefully acknowledge the Germany that sustained my family for over 300 years, and Jewish communal life for 1,700 years.
Nazi Germany’s ill-treatment and intolerance of “the Other” still affects me today as I mourn my relatives’ death. On the other hand, I feel heartened by this sentiment written by a non-Jewish German who funded research about my family: “For me, as I am part of this country and its history, it will be a never-ending task to find ways to deal with this horrible past and most importantly, never to forget,” she wrote.
Navigating this complex relationship with Germany and Germans is intellectually and emotionally messy for Jews. My engagement with “the Other,” however, has been profoundly satisfying.
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Israel Remembered the Shoah; Fatah Glorified a Palestinian Mass Murderer
Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas attends the World Economic Forum (WEF) in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, April 28, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/Hamad I Mohammed
Earlier this week, Israel remembered the six million Jews murdered by the Nazis in the Holocaust, along with those who valiantly fought the Nazis.
Israel learned from the Holocaust that we must always remain vigilant, and this remains an absolute survival directive, living as we do next to the Palestinian Authority (PA), which, like the Nazis, celebrates the murder of Jews and Israelis.
One of the terrorists released by Israel in exchange for Israeli hostages in last year’s Hamas extortion deal was a Palestinian terrorist who murdered 12 people. He was expelled to Egypt, where he died from an illness last week. The mass murderer is now being eulogized by Palestinian Authority and Fatah officials as exemplifying the values cherished by all Palestinians.
The terrorist, Riyad Al-Amour, was no exception.
The PA honored the terrorist with a “mourning tent” — which was visited by top officials, including Fatah Central Committee Secretary Jibril Rajoub.
Official PA TV reporter: “The Fatah Movement, the Ramallah and El-Bireh District, the [PA-funded] Prisoners’ Club, the [PLO] Commission of Prisoners’ [Affairs] … set up a mourning tent for Martyr and released prisoner deported to Egypt Riyad Al-Amour, who died as a Martyr…”
Fatah Central Committee Secretary Jibril Rajoub: “The most sacred thing in the eyes of the Palestinians is those who sacrificed their lives and their freedom – our Martyrs.”
[Official PA TV News, April 9, 2026]
Fatah issued an official statement revering the terrorist as “an example of sacrifice, courage, and perseverance” who was imprisoned by Israel since he “did not hesitate to fulfill his national duty.” [emphasis added]
Posted text: “Fatah announces with sorrow the death of released deported prisoner Riyad Al-Amour…
Al-Amour died while being distanced from his homeland, after a path of struggle in which he constituted an example of sacrifice, courage, and perseverance.…
Martyr Al-Amour joined Fatah in his youth and added that he did not hesitate to fulfill his national duty against the occupation until he was imprisoned in the occupation’s prisons, where he spent 23 years.
Fatah expressed its sincere condolences to the family…
High-level Fatah officials also mourned the terrorist on social media:
Posted text:“Fatah Central Committee members Abbas Zaki and Tawfiq Tirawi expressed their condolences over the death of released prisoner Riyad Al-Amour during a visit to the mourners’ house in Bethlehem.
The delegation expressed its deep sorrow over the death as a Martyr of Al-Amour, and emphasized that the sacrifice of the prisoners [i.e., terrorists] will remain present in the hearts of our people and that the struggle for freedom and independence must continue.”
[Fatah Central Committee member Abbas Zaki, Facebook page, April 5, 2026]
The family of Al-Amour — a “Pay-for-Slay” millionaire — will now have to wait and see if they will qualify for continued payments as family members of a “Martyr killed resisting the occupation,” since many PA officials also libeled Israel as being responsible for his death.
The Palestinian salute to Al-Amour is shameless, but as we have seen time and time again, for the PA and its leadership, terrorism is never something to be embarrassed about or part of one’s past to run away from.
On the contrary, in the PA’s “terrocracy,” the more you kill, the greater the respect you are given in life — and in death.
An additional homage to Al-Amour was made by Fatah’s “Shabiba” youth movement:
Fatah Deputy Chairman and Fatah Central Committee member Mahmoud Al-Aloul: “These Martyrs, Rashida [Mughrabi], and Riyad [Al-Amour], are among the patient ones fighting for their people, seeking freedom and independence for this Palestinian people.” …
Fatah Shabiba Youth Movement Nablus District Coordinator Rawhi Oudeh: “The message is a message of loyalty to their sacrifices, and a message of loyalty to keep their wills, and it is also a message that if Rashida and Riyad have departed in body, they will remain as a path, an idea, and an essence in the eyes, hearts, and conscience of the Fatah youth.”
[Official PA TV News, April 4, 2026]
Itamar Marcus is the Founder and Director of Palestinian Media Watch (PMW). Ahron Shapiro is a contributor to PMW, where a version of this article first appeared.
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Proposed Antisemitism Laws in France, Italy Stir Free Speech Debate
Procession arrives at Place des Terreaux with a banner reading, “Against Antisemitism, for the Republic,” during the march against antisemitism, in Lyon, France, June 25, 2024. Photo: Romain Costaseca / Hans Lucas via Reuters Connect
French and Italian lawmakers are due to vote on new laws defining antisemitism, proposed in the wake of a surge in anti-Jewish incidents but which critics say could be used to censor criticism of Israel.
The French law, which is scheduled to be debated on Thursday, proposes to sanction “implicitly” justifying terrorism, calling for the destruction of a state recognized by France, and comparisons of Israel to the Nazis.
The Italian bill, if adopted, would make Italy the first country to write into law the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition of antisemitism, which lists certain criticisms of Israel as examples of antisemitism.
DEFINING ANTISEMITISM IN LAW
Proponents of the laws point to the historic rise in antisemitism after Israel began its military campaign in Gaza following the Hamas-led invasion of and massacre across southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023.
Critics – including some rights groups, academics, and left-wing politicians – say that they will censor legitimate activism for Palestinian rights and contribute to conflating Jews with the state of Israel.
“The [IHRA] definition confuses what is permitted speech – and that is criticism of Israel as a state – with what is prohibited speech, which is antisemitism and racial and religious incitement to violence,” UN special rapporteur on free speech Irene Khan said.
The French law, which references the IHRA definition without fully adopting it, contained vague language, she added.
The Italian bill was approved by a large majority in the Upper House last month and is expected to begin its passage through the Lower House on Thursday. The French law has lost some political backing following a petition on the French parliamentary website signed by more than 700,000 people.
SHARP RISE IN INCIDENTS SINCE OCT. 7 MASSACRE
In Italy over two years from 2023, antisemitism rose by 100 percent to a record 963 incidents in 2025, according to the Italian Antisemitism Observatory. By comparison, there were 877 recorded incidents in 2024, preceded by 453 such outrages in 2023 and just 241 in 2022.
In France, antisemitism remained at alarmingly high levels last year, with 1,320 incidents recorded nationwide, according to the French Interior Ministry. Although the total number of antisemitic outrages in 2025 fell by 16 percent compared to 2024’s second highest ever total of 1,570 cases and 2023’s record high of 1,676 incidents, the ministry warned that antisemitism remained “historically high.” There were 436 antisemitic acts recorded in 2022, before the Oct. 7 atrocities.
France’s human rights commission, the CNCDH, has said that antisemitic acts in France regularly peak in relation to operations carried out by the Israeli army.
The commission, which was not consulted for the law, wrote to MPs and the prime minister in January to warn of the dangers of conflating “the hatred of Jews and the hatred of the state of Israel.”
Responding to this warning, Caroline Yadan, the French MP proposing the law, said that her text aimed to tackle “new forms of antisemitism” and that the “essentialization that Jews equal Israel exists in today’s society.”
The Israel-Hamas war has led to a wave of anti-Israel, pro-Hamas demonstrations around the world, which Israel and its supporters say are antisemitic.
Protesters say their criticism of Israel and its actions in Gaza should not be conflated with antisemitism.
Livia Ottolenghi, representative of the Union of Jewish Communities in Italy, said the new law was necessary and did not prevent criticism of Israel.
“In Italy, we do not live well,” she said. “Our children have bars on their school windows; when they go out, they must be escorted.”
IHRA DEFINITION OF ANTISEMITISM
The IHRA working definition of antisemitism has been adopted by 45 countries as a guide but has not previously been written into law anywhere.
IHRA — an intergovernmental organization comprising dozens of countries — adopted the “working definition” of antisemitism in 2016. Since then, the definition has been widely accepted by Jewish groups and lawmakers across the political spectrum, and it is now used by hundreds of governing institutions, including the US State Department, European Union, and United Nations. Law enforcement also uses it as a tool for matters such as hate-crime investigations and sentencing.
According to the definition, antisemitism “is a certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews. Rhetorical and physical manifestations of antisemitism are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities.”
It provides 11 specific, contemporary examples of antisemitism in public life, the media, schools, the workplace, and in the religious sphere. Beyond classic antisemitic behavior associated with the likes of the medieval period and Nazi Germany, the examples include denial of the Holocaust and newer forms of antisemitism targeting Israel such as demonizing the Jewish state, denying its right to exist, and holding it to standards not expected of any other democratic state.
The Council of Europe Human Rights Commissioner Michael O’Flaherty said he viewed the IHRA definition as a useful tool but was concerned about its application, especially in Germany.
“To somehow attribute responsibility for the actions of a government to the Jewish community in Europe is totally unacceptable, and indeed, it does raise the specter of antisemitism,” he said. “But to somehow conflate any criticism of Israel with antisemitism is ridiculous.”
Sarya Kabbani, a French-Syrian woman, was put on trial under existing laws on antisemitism over carrying banners that drew parallels between Israeli politicians and Nazi Germany at a protest in Paris in December 2023. The 67-year-old, whose husband is Jewish, was later acquitted by a court.
“It is freedom of expression to be able to say that Israel is committing war crimes, is committing genocide, is carrying out ethnic cleansing, is occupying,” said the activist, who will join demonstrations against the French law this week.
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The Era of Pointing Fingers Is Over: Jews Must Unite
Jewish Americans and supporters of Israel gather at the National Mall in Washington, DC on Nov. 14, 2023 for the “March for Israel” rally. Photo: Dion J. Pierre/The Algemeiner
For decades, the American Jewish community operated under an incorrect assumption: we were strong enough to remain siloed. The center-left focused on their spaces, the center-right on theirs, and both sides believed they could combat rising Jew hatred within their own ideological bubbles.
We lived with a false sense of security, believing that our internal divisions were a luxury we could afford.
October 7, 2023, shattered that illusion forever and ushered in a sense of recalibration.
As Jonathan Greenblatt, CEO of the ADL, eloquently put it: “The time for pointing fingers is over.” He rightly diagnosed that those on the right must fight Jew-hatred on the extreme right, and those on the left must fight it on the left.
Implicit in his remarks was a telling recognition that we must all face: the Jewish people are not strong enough to stand divided. We must find common ground, or we will be overwhelmed by the tides of hate rising from every direction.
For the last two and a half years, I have been involved with a movement called Impact. Our mission is simple but vital: to organize individuals into a cohesive greater community capable of reacting — and pro-acting — to events as they unfold in the United States.
While we began with a focus on social media, the reality of the post-October 7 world has forced a crystallization of our goals. We are organizing both online and offline, because the “good fight” is now being waged on every front: from TikTok comments to letter-writing campaigns, and from political advocacy to physical presence.
The logic of organization is one of simple math. Imagine 10,000 individuals each posting their own grievances on social media; the impact is nearly impossible to quantify. But imagine those same 10,000 people acting in concert or even 50,000 people –amplifying a specific message, supporting a courageous micro-influencer, or flooding a representative’s inbox. That is meaningful power.
This isn’t just about the goal of moving the needle; it’s about the empowerment of the people involved. On the road to impact we attain empowerment. When we move from being passive vessels for receiving news to active participants in shaping the narrative, we transform as individuals as well as a community. By liking a post, signing a petition, or showing up at a rally, a person transitions from a concerned citizen to an “unknowing activist.” We are building a community where activism is the default, not the exception.
However, this strength is predicated on a shared definition of who “we” are. True leadership requires representation, and representation requires a base that shares fundamental values. In this era of recalibration, we must be sober about one thing: Jewish unity does not mean including those who actively support our enemies. While they may have been born Jewish, those who deny the basic right of Israel to exist as a democratic Jewish state have placed themselves outside the communal tent.
To build a resilient future, we must rally around our common denominators. We must recognize that the person across the political aisle who shares our commitment to Jewish survival is a much closer ally than the ideological extremist who seeks our dismantling.
The era of the “siloed Jew” ended on October 7. Today, we must choose to be the “organized Jew.” We must utilize this moment to bridge the gaps between the center-left and the center-right. We are stronger together, not because it is a nice sentiment, but because it is a survival necessity. The time for finger-pointing is indeed over; the time for Impact has begun.
Daniel M. Rosen is the chairman and co-founder of IMPACT, a 501c3 dedicated to organizing individuals into communities to combat Jew hatred on social media and beyond. He is a regular contributor to The Jerusalem Post, JNS, Times of Israel, The Algemeiner, and other publications