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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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How Michigan’s Senate race is testing pro-Israel Jews’ loyalty to the Democratic Party
(JTA) — Joel Tauber has been through many an election in his 92 years. And, with the exception of “one out of 100 times,” he’s always backed a Democrat — something even more important in the current midterm cycle, he believes.
“Winning the Senate and the House is the beginning of a way back to our democracy,” Tauber, a founding chair of Jewish Federations of North America who has hosted former President Bill Clinton and other Democratic leaders, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “It’s really, really important to me.”
But Tauber is a Michigan resident, and the state’s upcoming U.S. Senate primary is making him deeply uneasy. Like many a Jew in the mitten state, he is pulling for pro-Israel centrist U.S. Rep. Haley Stevens to win on Aug. 4.
Should her opponent, former county health official and staunch Israel critic Abdul El-Sayed, prevail instead, Tauber would take a step he’s said he’s never done before: leave the Senate ballot blank.
“I’d sit it out,” he said, of the general election. Of El-Sayed, he said, “There’s no way that I could vote for him.”
Some Jewish Democratic leaders in the state are prepared to go even further. Several prominent Metro Detroit Jews who have traditionally fundraised for Democrats are also planning fundraisers for the presumptive GOP nominee, former U.S. Rep. Mike Rogers, as a “hedge.” Others are planning to help him if El-Sayed wins the Democratic nomination, one Jew who is close to the Stevens campaign told JTA.
Others affirmed the idea that the Jewish Democratic donor class, feeling abandoned by the party, would back Rogers.
“There are leaders in our Jewish community who are longtime, lifelong Democrats and Democratic fundraisers, who are very concerned with where their party’s going,” said Dennis Bernard, national chair of government relations for the nonpartisan JFNA and a metro Detroit resident. “And if this is the case, they’ve made it clear, both financially and with their vote, that they would support Mike Rogers in the event El-Sayed wins the primary.”
Detroit-area Jewish Democrats have asked Bernard, over golf outings, for introductions to Rogers, he said.
The reason: They see El-Sayed — who has questioned whether Israel should be a Jewish state and suggested that Democrats who support Israel only do so because of financial motives — as portending an existential threat to the national Jewish community. If he wins in a purple state, one in which pro-Israel Jews have for years butted heads U.S. Rep. Rashida Tlaib, the pro-Palestinian Democrat, some fear more candidates with similar views will follow, and lead to an unsafe environment for Jews in Michigan and beyond. They worry that increasingly hostile discourse creates an environment in which antisemitic harassment becomes more acceptable and Jewish political activism is considered suspect.
“This is a truly once-in-a-lifetime moment where you have to become a single-issue voter,” Bernard said. “And that issue is antisemitism, our Judaism and Israel. This is where you put party third: our people first, our country second.”
Left-wing congressional primary wins in New York, Colorado and other states have stoked anxiety over the Senate race here, as Michigan — also home to a large Arab/Muslim population — is morphing into a litmus test for the relationship between pro-Israel Jews and the Democratic Party. For the majority of American Jews who back liberal policies, a decades-long bond is being tested like never before.
A similar dynamic played out on a smaller scale after Zohran Mamdani, a vocal anti-Zionist, secured the Democratic nomination in New York City’s 2025 mayoral election. Then, several prominent Jewish donors backed a rival bid by former Gov. Andrew Cuomo, who ran as an independent while maintaining Democratic ties. Despite recent polling showing that 44% of American Jews hold a favorable opinion of the mayor — a higher favorability score than Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu — pro-Israel voters still regard his pro-Palestinian rhetoric as disquieting.
The backlash against Israel’s handling of the war in Gaza and growing calls to shun the pro-Israel lobby AIPAC are further straining Jewish-Democratic bonds — and, for some of the most influential of Michigan’s estimated 129,000 Jews, are on the verge of breaking them.
Another Jewish leader told JTA there was also an effort underway to convince pro-Israel Republicans to vote for Stevens in the state’s open primary, even if they decide to later vote for Rogers in the general.
“Anyone who cares about the future of the U.S.-Israel relationship, Democrat or Republican, needs to vote for Haley Stevens in the Democratic primary,” they said, requesting anonymity because they did not want to be seen as speaking for the community. The Republican Party is currently engaged in its own tug-of-war over Israel and antisemitism, with Vice President JD Vance recently criticizing Israel while entertaining conspiracy theories about its ties to Jeffrey Epstein on a popular podcast.
When contacted by JTA, Halie Soifer, CEO of the Jewish Democratic Council of America (which is phone-banking for Stevens) and a native of East Lansing, Michigan, declined to comment directly on the possibility of the state’s Jewish Democrats backing Rogers over El-Sayed.
“Our focus is ensuring Haley Stevens wins the primary election,” Soifer said in a statement, also saying that El-Sayed’s “views are not aligned with the vast majority of Jewish Americans.”
At Michigan’s Democratic convention earlier this year in Detroit, Stevens was booed by the rank and file while state Sen. Mallory McMorrow, who was then also running for the seat, alleged that an attendee directed an antisemitic remark at her Jewish husband. At the same convention a lawyer for pro-Palestinian encampment participants, who himself had a history of social media posts supporting Hezbollah and retweeting antisemitic conspiracy theories from far-right podcaster Candace Owens, ousted a pro-Israel Jewish incumbent for the party’s nomination for University of Michigan board of regents, a statewide elected position.
The convention was an inflection point for many top Jewish Democratic supporters. Many of these Jewish leaders declined to comment to JTA. Others said much of the enthusiasm for the broader party goals among the staunchly pro-Israel Jews of the Detroit suburbs has been drained.
“I’m feeling kind of confused, and it must be how my Republican friends felt once the Tea Party took over,” said Neil Gorosh, a retired commercial mortgage banker in West Bloomfield and past president of a local Jewish senior living community.
Gorosh ran for office once: a local parks-and-recreation position in 1988. A Democrat during the George H.W. Bush-led GOP wave, he lost. Since then, he said, he has always backed Democrats while developing an elections calculus: He leads with local issues on local races, but Israel on contests of national import.
Accusing the Democrats of “completely rejecting Israel,” he added, “I’m rudderless right now.”
“If it came down to Mike Rogers and El-Sayed, I will vote for Mike Rogers,” Gorosh said. “I wouldn’t write a check, but I would vote for him, and I would tell my like-minded friends to do the same, and the reasons why.”
Michelle “Decky” Alexander, the Michigan Jewish Democratic caucus chair, was one of a very few Jewish leaders who told JTA on the record she would back El-Sayed over Rogers. She insists that there are many others.
“This is what I’ve heard from Jews, even in Detroit: The Supreme Court is too critical to not support a Democrat,” she said.
Alexander recently had an hours-long sitdown with El-Sayed, she said, and believes “he absolutely would be open to dialogue.” In his rallies, the candidate has welcomed Jews and stated, “AIPAC and Israel are not the same as Judaism and the Jewish people.”
For now, though, the focus is purely on Stevens, who is not herself Jewish but represents a large slab of Oakland County — affluent, heavily Jewish Detroit suburbs that have trended liberal over the last few election cycles after formerly electing Republicans. While the Stevens campaign has not responded to interview requests for JTA, she recently told The New York Times that Israel is not a central issue for her and added, “I am not a Netanyahu apologist.”
The congresswoman’s Jewish backers are hoping to drive a strong enough voter turnout to neuter both El-Sayed and the national progressive insurgent movement he represents. (The Democratic Socialists of America are behind many of the emerging candidates, though El-Sayed himself is not a member of the group and has distanced himself from the socialist label.)
Stevens’ supporters point to a growing number of encouraging signs, including endorsements from party leaders such as retiring Sen. Gary Peters, whose seat she hopes to fill. Chuck Schumer, the Jewish Senate majority leader, has also endorsed her. A recent poll commissioned by the Detroit News shows her ahead by seven points, though social media in recent days has been flooded with so many unflattering memes of Stevens on the campaign trail that El-Sayed himself denounced his supporters’ behavior.
Another Detroit News poll this week shows that most likely Democratic voters have a negative view of AIPAC, which according to an AdImpact analysis of the most recent filings has spent more than $28 million for Stevens to date. AIPAC’s support of Stevens is one of El-Sayed’s biggest attack lines. The candidate recently claimed that the group has spent more than $50 million against him, though a campaign representative told JTA that figure includes $20 million from new super PACs that have not disclosed their funding sources and have no immediately apparent links to AIPAC.
The Jewish Stevens supporters who spoke to JTA, some of whom are or have been AIPAC supporters themselves, argue that AIPAC has been unfairly demonized compared to other lobbying groups.
They also shrug off Stevens’ recent critiques of Netanyahu during a debate, at which she said the Israeli prime minister “is a danger to Jews in America and around the world.” Many of her backers chalked up the language to a new political reality for Democrats that rewards criticism of Israel, rather than a shift in her own thinking.
“It’s the needle Democrats have to thread to have any credibility path at all,” Gorosh said. Referring to Israel’s own upcoming elections, he added, “I think he’ll [Netanyahu] be gone after October, but he’ll be gone eventually. Then what do you criticize?”
El-Sayed also has Jewish supporters, most notably former U.S. Rep. Andy Levin, a progressive member of a powerful Michigan political family who lost his House seat to Stevens after AIPAC spent heavily for her in 2022. There is also a Jews For Abdul affinity group.
Speaking to JTA, Levin dismissed concerns about Jewish Democrats rejecting El-Sayed in the general. He said the conversation was being dominated by hardline pro-Israel donors in the community who have pushed similar red lines for decades, rather than being a new shift from the Jewish mainstream.
“I do not take a backseat to any of these so-called ‘lifelong Democrats’ about self-determination for the Jewish people in the holy land, about fighting antisemitism at home and abroad,” he said. “I just have a different view of how we accomplish these things, and they do not have a monopoly in the Jewish community.”
Levin also defended El-Sayed’s record on Jewish issues, saying, “He is a strong advocate for Jewish safety here, in our community.”
For Jews who have long seen themselves as committed Democrats, the prospect of leaving the party is a tough sit. Tauber, for his part, says he still can’t bring himself to vote for any Republican “who is so controlled by Trump, who’s a man of immorality, no values.” (Rogers’ campaign touts his Trump endorsement, and the candidate has also backed Trump’s unfounded claims about election fraud in the state as well as supported the president’s holding up of an international bridge in Michigan. The candidate has also acknowledged antisemitism on the right.)
The Rogers campaign did not respond to a JTA request for comment.
The nationwide importance of this race and the Jewish vote was evident when New York state Republicans recently made an explicit appeal for Jewish Democrats, stating in a digital ad campaign that Jews were leaving the party “in droves” “from Maine to Michigan.” Before he dropped out last week as the Democratic Senate nominee in Maine over sexual assault allegations he has denied, Graham Platner put anti-Israel criticism near the center of his platform.
Some Jews who spoke to JTA comfort themselves by insisting that the House, at least, seems likely to flip, providing a check on Trump even if the Senate remains led by Republicans.
Shimon Levy, an Israeli-American entrepreneur who has lived in the Detroit area since 2014, said he was unconcerned about the prospect of Republicans keeping the Senate.
“F— that,” Levy told JTA. Levy has drifted between the parties over the years, he said, but “I stand and I lead with my Jewish identity. Safety and security of the Jewish community is my first and foremost goal.”
That wouldn’t be possible with El-Sayed on the ticket, he insisted: “El-Sayed has done nothing but put Jews at risk and in danger, and through his words has been so poisonous and has ostracized and villainized, single-handedly, the Jews of Southeast Michigan.”
He added, “If today, as a Jew, you’re still like, ‘Democratic all the way, Democratic down the ticket,’ you need to rethink your survivalist instinct.”
Recently Levy, who describes himself as a reluctant political activist, hosted a candidate meet-and-greet fundraiser that brought in more than $70,000 for Stevens. Attendees were not just Jewish, and not just Democrats. Republicans, too, showed up: “People who are concerned about common-sense politics, who would vote for Haley in a heartbeat.”
The question of how Jewish safety is linked to Israel discourse isn’t abstract in Michigan. West Bloomfield’s Temple Israel was the site of an attack this spring by a Michigan resident whose family members were killed when Israel targeted a Hezbollah outpost in Lebanon. The incident became a factor in the Senate campaign after El-Sayed said of the attacker, “Hurt people hurt people,” which critics felt minimized the crime and equated the attacker with his intended victims.
In late June, the temple itself — the largest Reform congregation in the country — sent an email to congregants stating, “This year, antisemitism is on the ballot.” Without naming candidates, the unsigned message concluded, “The Talmud reminds us that our leaders are chosen by us — silence is not a choice we can make right now.”
Mailers funded by AIPAC’s United Democracy Project and sent to some voters in Michigan, and circulated online, attacked El-Sayed for his friendship with left-wing streamer Hasan Piker and for his statement after the Temple Israel attack.
The mailers accused El-Sayed of having “rationalized a terrorist attack on a Michigan synagogue filled with Jewish children.” (The synagogue preschool was open at the time of the attack.) El-Sayed had condemned the attack, but the mailers accused him of equivocating.
This was not a total break with all Democrats, many emphasized. Jewish pro-Israel state Sen. Jeremy Moss, who is running for Stevens’ congressional seat, and gubernatorial candidate Jocelyn Benson, along with others, continue to receive high marks from the Jewish donor class.
Across Michigan, particularly in the Detroit area, there are (literal) signs of strain. Last month the Oakland County roads commission ordered the removal of Adopt-a-Road signs, located a few miles from Temple Israel, that had been sponsored by a group called “Voices for Palestinians” after temple members voiced objections. A Fourth of July parade in Huntington Woods, another heavily Jewish suburb in the county, was briefly disrupted by a protest after parade organizers had put in place rules forbidding pro-Palestinian signs from being displayed.
In early July the state Anti-Defamation League chapter, together with Temple Israel, hosted a bipartisan delegation of Michigan lawmakers on the site of the attack, and advocated for increased synagogue security funding. Sen. Elissa Slotkin, a Jewish Democrat, as well as Rep. Shri Thanedar, a Democrat who has tacked from the left to the center on Israel since his election and is now facing a primary challenger endorsed by El-Sayed, were among those in attendance.
Rabbis at the temple gave voice to the uneasiness of the political moment for Jewish liberals.
Rabbi Paul Yedwab, who called the state Democratic convention “a shonda,” or shame, in a recent sermon, said during the same sermon, “The glib answer would be to say, I guess you become a Republican. But that is not as easy as it seems for a liberal Jew.” He went on to criticize the Trump administration’s legal assault on the Southern Poverty Law Center, a monitor of far-right extremism.
Yedwab concluded, “From here on in, it will be incumbent upon us as Americans and as Jews to evaluate each proposal, each issue, each platform, and, indeed, each candidate according to our own independent set of values.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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Aptly titled ‘The Darkest Light’ documentary wrestles with Shlomo Carlebach’s contradictions
One of the most influential rabbis of the last century, someone who brought tens of thousands of disaffected Jews closer to Judaism, who helped create Jewish spirituality as we know it today, and who wrote tunes so familiar that most people think they are hundreds years of old, was also, according to overwhelming evidence, a serial child molester who preyed on teenage girls who idolized him.
This is the impossible truth: that the same human being was a holy soul and a monster, a pioneering feminist and an abuser of girls, a person overflowing with love even for people he met on the street and yet so devoid of empathy that he was able to cause profound harm to dozens of young women and girls.
I am speaking, of course, of Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach.
This weekend marked the premiere of The Darkest Light, an aptly titled new film about Carlebach’s life, and about the ways his family, followers and community have wrestled with his profoundly contradictory legacy. The moral center of the film is one of Carlebach’s two daughters, Neshama, who was his musical and spiritual heir. It is heartbreaking to watch the many scenes of the two of them together, prior to his death (sudden, of a heart attack, on a plane set to leave LaGuardia Airport in 1994). She is so obviously in love with him, and he with her. If we didn’t know what was coming next, the videos would be achingly sacred and beautiful.
But we do know.
The revelations about Carlebach were first made public in a 1998 article in Lilith magazine, which, as I remember, was like an earthquake in the Jewish spiritual world. There had been whisperings of misconduct for years, but as the film and article emphasize, Carlebach was regarded by many as a saint, possessed of the ruach hakodesh, the holy spirit. And everyone knew that Carlebach was a loving, physical man — he hugged everybody. (I was hugged by him at the Yakar synagogue in Jerusalem in 1993. Charisma is real.) So, maybe some women felt uncomfortable; maybe he even crossed a line now and then. But he did so much good…
Only after his death did several women come forward — not with borderline stories of discomfort but accounts of sexual molestation and abuse. And more women followed.
In the subsequent 30 years, there has been a range of responses to these revelations. Some faithful continue to deny or minimize what Carlebach did. Others have banned Carlebach’s music from performance at synagogue. Wisely, director Simon Mendes does not take a particular stance on these questions, giving airtime to many of them. He even allows Carlebach’s defenders to insist, on camera, that nothing inappropriate ever took place and that theƒ women must be either confused or opportunistic or… something.
But it is Neshama Carlebach who is the film’s protagonist. As she tearfully explains, she was only 19 when her father died. She idolized him, and lost him in an instant. And so when the allegations came out, she stayed silent. How could the man she loved more than anyone in the world — a man also beloved by tens of thousands of devotees — also be such a monster? It was impossible, she relates, to comprehend.
Until the MeToo movement gained prominence in 2017. It was at that time that she, then a 43-year-old woman, realized she had to speak out, which she did in a series of articles and online posts accepting the survivors’ testimony of her father’s abuse. Also inspired by MeToo, many more women came forward with their own stories, and unlike 1998, society in general and the Jewish world in particular were more able to hear them. (Neshama Carlebach has published an essay about the film, which she said “approached an extraordinarily difficult story with compassion, courage and nuance.”)
How to respond? In the film, Rabbi Angela Buchdahl of New York’s Central Synagogue describes the painful process of introspection that the synagogue undertook, placing a one-year moratorium on using Carlebach tunes while they discussed internally what to do. (Perhaps surprisingly, the synagogue resumed singing them afterward.) I personally have been part of several such conversations.
While these debates are important and interesting, ultimately The Darkest Light is about the unknowable questions set forth above: how someone could be a spiritual genius and sexual abuser, a saint and among the worst kind of sinner.
There are hints that Carlebach himself wrestled with this dilemma. The film’s title is taken from an improvised homily in which Carlebach says that sometimes evildoers are better than those who claim to be righteous, because darkness never claims to be something it isn’t; it never claims to be light. But imagine, Carlebach continues, when the good turns out to be evil — that is the darkest light, darker even than darkness itself. It’s hard not to hear this as a kind of veiled confession.
The film also sets forth many of the relevant circumstances of Carlebach’s life. His family fled Germany in 1939, right before Hitler stopped Jewish refugees from leaving. One can only imagine the trauma he experienced. Next, Carlebach spent nearly 30 years in Orthodox Jewish environments, especially the Chabad-Lubavitch sect, in which men and women are strictly segregated and men are forbidden from even touching women or hearing their voices in song.
And then came the 60s. Carlebach was right in the center of the Summer of Love, founding his House of Love and Prayer in San Francisco in 1967. The film sympathetically describes what that might have been like: Suddenly, all the rules were canceled, and people were making love with one another in public. Carlebach was 42 at the time. He had lived a repressed life for decades, and now all was permitted.
Bob Dylan once wrote, “to live outside the law, you must be honest.”Inside a fixed legal system like traditional Jewish law, the rules are clear — Orthodox sexual abusers still break them, of course, but the boundaries are firmly set. But outside, you’re on your own. And Carlebach seemed to lack the inner resources to draw boundaries and live within them. In Kabbalistic language, he was all hesed, all lovingkindness, without boundary or limit.
That is dangerous. No matter how high the spiritual high may be, it must be accompanied by ethics, empathy, and remembering the humanity of the other. There is no experience of holiness that justifies harming another person, especially in such a grievous way.
I mentioned hugging Carlebach in 1993. While the experience was electrifying, I also remember feeling off — much as I felt in the presence of another eros-drenched, consent-challenged charismatic rabbi in the Jewish Renewal movement of the 2000s. The eros was overflowing, spilling out onto all of us. It was spiritual and sexual and charismatic — and, to me, a little bit nauseating as well. I am all for fusing spirituality and sexuality, and as a gay man, I’m fortunate to have lived a very full sensual life. But in these encounters, part of me wanted to run away. It felt like there was no consent, no boundary, no space.
This is not a specifically Jewish problem. When charismatic spiritual leaders infuse their teaching with erotic energy, there is a risk, it seems to me, that the energy takes over. Ethical considerations, rules of consent, even basic empathy, get drowned in the sea of sacred-sexual flow which is experienced subjectively by the guru. I have no idea what Carlebach was thinking or feeling when he reached under a large Jewish book on his lap to fondle the teenage girl he was “teaching.” But I’m not sure it was so separate from the spiritual-sexual Torah he gave over to legions of adoring fans. Maybe the two sides of Carlebach are less a contradiction than a continuum.
And then there are his most devoted followers, still venerating the smashed idol of Carlebach’s sainthood. One thing The Darkest Light does not explore is that this group of spiritual quasi-hippies overlaps with some of the most extreme religious nationalists in Israel. These are the people whose kids are conducting pogroms in the West Bank. And to be honest, I see a connection. Israel, like Carlebach, offers these spiritual “mad ones” (in Kerouac’s term) the real deal: actual spiritual energy, infused with love and community and holiness. Yet Israel, like Carlebach, also harms a lot of people — often at the hands of Carlebach-singing, weed-smoking ‘hippies’ themselves. In both cases, I see a group of enthusiasts whose very real spiritual ecstasy has blinded them to ethics — or to anything that would destroy their good vibes.
I have felt these vibes myself. I have prayed ecstatically with Hasidim in Jerusalem and on Mount Meron. I have hiked and camped in the nature of the Land of Israel from the Eilat mountains to the finger of the Galilee. Whatever it is, even if it’s just in our imagination, the experience of spiritual ‘energy’ is real. I can appreciate the yearning to keep it pure, holy, and free from defilement.
But that urge, itself, leads to injustice. There is no responsible spirituality without ethics. There is no moral eros without boundary. And if anyone defiled anything, it was Carlebach himself who did so, not his victims or his critics or his family. That truth may be hard to accept, but it is the truth.
In the end, Carlebach was not a god or a demon; he was a deeply beautiful and even more deeply broken human being with capacities for good and evil within him. He only had a lot more of each than most of us. And as another Jewish teacher of mine once told me, the greater the light… the greater the shadow.
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Mamdani orders review of whether New York can arrest Netanyahu when he visits this fall
New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani has revived one of his most controversial election promises, raising once again the prospect of arresting Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu when he comes to New York in September for the United Nations General Assembly. It’s a move that legal experts say Mamdani is unlikely to be able to carry out.
In a video interview with The New York Times published Saturday, Mamdani said he ordered a review by the city’s Law Department to consider his options to comply with an International Criminal Court arrest warrant. “Whatever the law allows me to do in New York City, that’s what we will do. But we won’t be writing our own laws to that end,” Mamdani said, remarks that drew a strong online reaction.
In a post to social media on Sunday, Netanyahu’s office dismissed concerns of a possible arrest, calling the ICC a “kangaroo court” and saying that “Mamdani should focus on fixing the damage his policies have caused New York.” In an interview last week, Netanyahu said Mamdani “hates America.”
The United States does not recognize the court’s authority over American citizens or foreign nationals on U.S. soil, and the federal government could likely challenge the legitimacy of such an order.
Mamdani’s statement reflects the tension that has defined his first months in office: balancing the activist politics that propelled him to City Hall with the legal constraints and governing responsibilities of the mayor of the city with the largest Jewish population outside of Israel.
A political gift to Netanyahu
Mamdani’s actions could have unintended consequences abroad.
Former U.S. ambassador to Israel Dan Shapiro, who has frequently criticized Netanyahu, warned that even a failed attempt to arrest the prime minister would likely strengthen Netanyahu politically in a tough reelection bid, set for Oct. 27.
“Many Israelis are sick of him and hope to vote him out,” Shapiro wrote on X. “The only possible outcome of a fruitless attempt to arrest him in NYC would be to give him a political boost at home. That would be an own goal.”
Recent polls show that Netanyahu, seeking a seventh term in office, is trailing an opposition bloc led by two contenders — former Prime Minister Naftali Bennett and former IDF chief Gadi Eisenkot.
A confrontation with New York’s outspoken anti-Zionist mayor could allow Netanyahu to cast himself once again as Israel’s defender against international efforts to isolate and punish the country. Netanyahu already labeled Mamdani as someone who “champions” Hamas and “apologizes” for Iran.
That message could resonate even with Israelis who oppose him. American Jewish opinion illustrates the same complexity. While recent polling shows many American Jews view Netanyahu unfavorably, and that Mamdani is more popular with that group, that has not translated into support for an attempt to arrest Israel’s elected leader.
A Honan Strategy Group poll in December found that although 40% of New York City voters believed Mamdani had a moral obligation to uphold international human rights standards by ordering Netanyahu’s arrest, seven in 10 of the 131 Jewish respondents said doing so would damage New York’s global standing.
In the end, Mamdani may be able to avoid acting at all by pointing to the legal opinion that New York City lacks the authority to arrest Netanyahu.
The law is not on Mamdani’s side
The ICC, based in The Hague, issued arrest warrants in Nov. 2024 for Netanyahu, former Israeli Defense Minister Yoav Gallant and Hamas military commander Mohammed Deif, accusing them of war crimes and crimes against humanity related to the Israel-Hamas war. Hamas confirmed in Jan. 2025 that Deif was assassinated in July 2024 by an Israeli strike on Gaza.
But even if Mamdani wanted to enforce the warrant, New York City has little authority to do so.
Because the United States is not a member of the International Criminal Court, the NYPD has no legal authority to arrest Netanyahu based on an ICC warrant. Last week, Secretary of State Marco Rubio launched a sweeping campaign of sanctions, visa bans and diplomatic pressure to “systematically disable” the ICC “brick by brick.”
U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations Mike Waltz, in a post on X, also pointed to the 1947 U.N. Headquarters Agreement, which requires the United States to allow accredited foreign representatives to attend U.N. meetings, as well as the customary international law doctrine that grants immunity to sitting heads of government traveling on official business. Netanyahu would also arrive in New York under Secret Service protection afforded to foreign leaders.
Even carrying out such an order would appear unlikely.
Police Commissioner Jessica Tisch, who is Jewish, has repeatedly kept a distance from the mayor on Israel-related issues. Her public statements on Israel have been unequivocal. In June, Tisch served as grand marshal of the annual Celebrate Israel Parade, which Mamdani skipped. “I understand that for many of you, having a Jewish police commissioner is deeply comforting,” she told Jewish leaders in May.
Mamdani’s foreign policy reach has already been limited. Last month, the U.S. State Department blocked a planned meeting between Mamdani and Colombian President Gustavo Petro in New York, a fierce Israel critic, who had his visa revoked last fall after he appeared at a pro-Palestinian rally in Manhattan and was attending a UN Security Council session under strict terms. Earlier this month, the Trump administration stopped a meeting between Ana María Archila, Mamdani’s commissioner for international affairs, and Iran’s ambassador to the United Nations.
Why does Mamdani keep talking about it?
While the legal answer is largely settled, the political one is not.
By keeping the question open, Mamdani signals support to the pro-Palestinian movement that fueled his rise, while acknowledging the institutional limits of his office.
Targeting Netanyahu was central to Mamdani’s mayoral campaign. After leading chants of “Netanyahu, you can’t hide, we charge you with genocide,” during a protest in Oct. 2023, Mamdani first pledged to arrest Netanyahu shortly after he declared his candidacy. He later repeated the pledge, including in front of Jewish audiences, arguing that he did not want New York to be a place where leaders accused of war crimes felt welcome.
The approach follows a similar pattern Mamdani confronted with a politically charged issue earlier this year. As anti-Jewish incidents continue to make up a majority of reported hate crimes, the city considered placing buffer zones around houses of worship, spurred in part by a November protest outside the Park East Synagogue that included antisemitic slogans.
After expressing reservations about the legislation, Mamdani referred the bill to the city’s Law Department before ultimately allowing it to become law without his signature, only after the City Council passed it with a veto-proof majority.
Mamdani vetoed a companion bill that would potentially limit pro-Palestinian demonstrations, particularly on campuses. (The council later passed a modified version, and the state passed a 50-foot buffer zone bill that equally applies to all community centers and schools being used for services, education and religious observance across the state.)
Mamdani’s real test
Whether Mamdani’s careful balancing act satisfies either side may become clear when Netanyahu arrives in New York this September.
While the mayor cannot dictate U.S. foreign policy or enforce ICC warrants, City Hall still plays an important role in coordinating logistics, demonstrations and municipal services during the annual gathering of world leaders.
Mamdani can influence how unwelcoming New York feels to the Israeli leader.
The Israeli prime minister’s appearance at the United Nations is expected to draw massive demonstrations, putting City Hall’s handling of protests and policing under intense scrutiny.
History suggests that symbolism matters.
In 1995, Mayor Rudy Giuliani triggered a diplomatic dispute after ejecting Palestinian Authority President Yasser Arafat from a United Nations anniversary concert at Lincoln Center. President Bill Clinton, protesting the move, invited the Palestinian leader to a White House reception.
For all the attention given to Netanyahu’s return to New York, he may not arrive alone. During a White House meeting last year, Netanyahu laughed off the threat as “silly” and quipped that he might travel to New York “with President Trump.” Trump responded: “I’ll get him out.”
Now, that exchange may prove to have been less a joke than a preview of where the real power lies.
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