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Can a Holocaust documentary have a happy ending? Should it?
(JTA) — Holocaust documentaries tend to sit along a scale from horrific to heartwarming. For every “Night Will Fall,” the rediscovered British film showing gruesome scenes from newly liberated Nazi concentration camps, there is a family-friendly film about a survivor, like “The Number on Great-Grandpa’s Arm.”
Some critics distrust Holocaust documentaries that have “happy” endings, or that focus on the second chance given to survivors, as if they betray the fate of the many more millions of Jews who died rather than survived. Raye Farr, the former director of the Steven Spielberg Film and Video Archive of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, once criticized Holocaust documentaries’ “increasing inclination to go for sentimentality.”
“How Saba Kept Singing,”a documentary airing on PBS on Tuesday in honor of Yom Hashoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, is firmly on the side of uplift. It’s about Cantor David Wisnia, whose unlikely survival tale was told in a memorable New York Times article in 2019. The film’s redemptive message is clear from its first line — “I’m a lover of life,” says Wisnia — to one of its last: “You are really the proof that Hitler did not win,” he tells his grandson.
Wisnia was a Polish Jew who survived Auschwitz by literally singing for his captors. Defying the perverse and inexplicable odds of the Final Solution, the former cantorial prodigy managed to live close to three years at the death camp and slave labor complex.
Perhaps as remarkable was his relationship with a fellow inmate, Helen “Tzippi” Spitzer, a similarly “privileged” prisoner who managed to stay in the Nazis’ good graces thanks to her skills as a graphic artist. Her assignments took her to places beyond the women’s barracks, where she met Wisnia, eight years her junior. Soon the two were arranging trysts in a loft where prisoners’ uniforms were stored. Fellow prisoners kept a helpful watch for guards.
Their death camp romance ended on the eve of liberation, when the Germans began emptying the camps and forced the prisoners on a series of death marches. Although David and Tzippi made plans to meet in Warsaw, life had other ideas. Wisnia eventually made it to America after the war, where he became a cantor at synagogues in Levittown, Pennsylvania, and Trenton, New Jersey. As for Tzippi, Wisnia wasn’t sure if she survived the war — and when he discovered the truth it set in motion the next remarkable chapter in their story.
The documentary recalls the horrors of the Holocaust — David speaks movingly about the murders of his parents and brothers in the Warsaw Ghetto, and having to stack bodies on a work detail at Auschwitz — but maintains a cautious distance. Writer and director Sara Taksler keeps the archive footage to a minimum, and when Wisnia relates his story of survival — with the help of Avi Wisnia, a singer-songwriter who accompanies his grandfather on a trip to Poland — it is usually over scenes of the camp as it looks today or black and white animation.
Still, “How Saba Kept Singing” is hardly saccharine. Grandfather and grandson are clear-eyed chroniclers of stories David told often (in 2015, he published a memoir, “One Voice, Two Lives: From Auschwitz Prisoner to 101st Airborne Trooper”). And David never takes his good luck for granted — the film is organized around his suspicion that there is a missing piece to his story of survival and that, as Avi says, “He could not have done it alone.”
About his time with Tzippi, David is both honest and discreet. “It was physical,” he admits. “She taught me everything. I knew nothing. I was a kid.”
Avi recounts the family’s shock when they first learned of their patriarch’s relationship with another prisoner at Auschwitz. “Even in the hell of a concentration camp you can still find some kind of a human connection,” says Avi.
Wisnia arrived in the United States in 1946 and lived with an aunt in the Bronx. He met his wife – the appropriately named Hope — and got work as an encyclopedia salesman and, for over 50 years, as a cantor. The couple would go on to have two sons, two daughters and six grandchildren.
As for Tzippi — it’s not giving away too much to say that she also survived the war and got married, to a bioengineering professor who eventually taught at New York University. Per the Times, the couple “devoted years of their lives to humanitarian causes.” She and David would meet again, in a reunion described in that 2019 New York Times story and heard in the documentary on audiotape. Suffice to say that David got an answer to the mystery that long nagged him: “How come I stayed in Auschwitz two and half years and never moved? How the hell can you explain it?”
The film is also saved from sentimentality by the knowledge that David is among the last living witnesses to the Holocaust, which he and Avi sadly acknowledge when discussing whether David would return to Auschwitz for the 75th anniversary of its liberation in 2020. Cantor Wisnia died June 15, 2021, at the age of 94; Tzippi died in 2018 at age 100.
Rabbi Isaac Nissenbaum, another victim of the Warsaw Ghetto, purportedly gave permission for the Nazis’ prey — and perhaps future filmmakers — to see their survival as a sanctification of life, not an occasion for guilt. “Today when the enemy demands the body, it is the Jew’s obligation to defend himself, to preserve his life,” he is reported to have said.
Avi Wisnia picks up this theme during a performance with his saba, Hebrew for grandfather.
“I honor the past, and we sing for the future,” he tells the audience. “The greatest act of defiance is to live.”
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The post Can a Holocaust documentary have a happy ending? Should it? appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Australia to Hold Wide-Ranging Inquiry Into Antisemitism After Bondi Attack
An Australian flag sits amongst floral tributes honoring the victims of a shooting at Jewish holiday celebration on Sunday at Bondi Beach, in Sydney, Australia, Dec. 16, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Hollie Adams
Australia will hold a Royal Commission inquiry into the Bondi Beach mass shooting in which 15 were killed, the country’s most powerful public inquiry, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese said on Thursday.
The mass shooting at a Jewish Hanukkah celebration at Sydney’s famed Bondi Beach on Dec. 14 shocked a country with strict gun laws and fueled calls for tougher controls and stronger action against antisemitism.
Police say the alleged father and son perpetrators were inspired by the Islamic State terrorist group.
Albanese said the Royal Commission, a government inquiry which can compel people to give evidence, will be led by retired judge Virginia Bell.
It will consider the events of the shooting as well as antisemitism and social cohesion in Australia, and is expected to report its findings by December this year.
“This Royal Commission is the right format, the right duration and the right terms of reference to deliver the right outcome for our national unity and our national security,” Albanese told a news conference on Thursday.
Albanese had initially resisted calls to set up a Royal Commission, saying the process would take years, which attracted criticism from Jewish groups and victims’ families who urged him to reconsider.
“I’ve taken the time to reflect, to meet with leaders in the Jewish community, and most importantly, I’ve met with many of the families of victims and survivors of that horrific attack,” Albanese said.
The government last month announced an independent review into law enforcement agencies that will assess whether authorities could have taken additional steps to prevent the attack.
That review, which will examine whether existing laws or information gaps stopped police and security agencies from acting against the alleged attackers, will now be folded into the Royal Commission, Albanese said. It is expected to report its findings in April.
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Amnesty International Refuses to Admit That Hamas Wants to Kill All Jews and Annihilate Israel
Illustration with the logo of Amnesty International on the vest of an observer of a demonstration in Paris, France, Paris, on Dec. 11, 2021. Photo: Xose Bouzas / Hans Lucas via Reuters Connect
In its nearly 200-page report on the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust, “Targeting Civilians: Murder, Hostage-Taking and Other Violations by Palestinian Armed Groups in Israel and Gaza,” Amnesty International omitted years of statements by Hamas leaders and language from its charter demonstrating genocidal intent against Jews.
This omission renders Amnesty’s account of the Oct. 7, 2023, attack fundamentally flawed — because it disregards strong evidence of Hamas’ genocidal intent and distorts both the nature of the massacre and Israel’s response.
According to the former Deputy Director of Amnesty’s now defunct Israel branch, Yariv Mohar, this report on Hamas’ attack was delayed by eight months. It had already been nearly finalized by the same time the organization released its December 2024 report, titled, “‘You Feel Like You Are Subhuman’: Israel’s Genocide Against Palestinians in Gaza.”
The organization, according to Mohar, told Israeli staff that the two reports would be published within weeks of one another.
According to Mohar, Amnesty delayed the Hamas report to keep the focus on Gaza, fearing that highlighting Hamas’ atrocities would undermine efforts to end the war. Mohar added that this was driven by a belief that Western audiences prefer a simplified moral narrative, and also because of Amnesty’s fear of backlash from its ultra-radical activist base.
Notably, the non-profit’s substantially longer Gaza report in 2024 used several out-of-context and debunked quotes by Israeli leaders to portray them as having genocidal intent.
Conversely, Amnesty’s treatment of Hamas sharply downplays the terror group’s own explicit ideology and objectives.
Hamas’ charter calls for the complete destruction of Israel as a condition for the liberation of Palestine, achieved through holy war (jihad). The charter specifically states that Hamas’ “struggle” is “against the Jews.”
This charter was never renounced by any of Hamas’ leaders, who have consistently called for the destruction of Israel and the Jewish people in speeches before Oct. 7, 2023, and afterwards, pledging to commit the same atrocities in the future until Israel meets its demise.
Slain Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar was recorded in Apr. 2018, saying, “We will take down the border [with Israel] and we will tear out their hearts from their bodies,” in reference to Israelis.
“Seven million Palestinians outside — enough warming up — you have Jews with you in every place. You should attack every Jew possible in all the world and kill them,” official Fathi Hammad said in July 2019. Hammad, in May 2021, called on Jerusalemites to “cut off the heads of the Jews with knives.”
Official Ghazi Hamad, on Oct. 24, 2023, declared that Israel must be eliminated and vowed repeated October 7s: “[N]obody should blame us for the things we do. On October 7, October 10, October 1,000,000 — everything we do is justified.”
In Jan. 2024, official Bassem Na’im wrote in Al Jazeera that the October 7 attack was a “scaled-down model of the final war of liberation and the disappearance of the Zionist occupation.”
While the Amnesty report includes some quotes by Hamas officials calling on Palestinians to attack Israelis, the report fails to mention the terror group’s official statements and charter — and omits that their raison d’etre is to kill Jews and wipe out Israel.
The organization also featured statements by Mohammed Deif saying that Hamas had launched the Oct. 7 attacks to end Israel’s military occupation and “its crimes,” as well as an Oct. 7 statement by Saleh Al-Arouri, then Deputy Head of the Political Bureau of Hamas, who indicated that the aims of the attacks were the liberation of the Palestinian people, breaking the siege on Gaza, stopping settlement expansion, and freeing Palestinian prisoners from Israeli prisons.
The quotes chosen by Amnesty to be featured in the report indicate that Hamas carried out the massacre for political and nationalist purposes. That is not true.
This cherry-picking sanitizes Hamas’ true motives, which are documented, consistent, and official, and leads readers to misunderstand why the massacre occurred.
Hamas’ 1988 charter describes its struggle against Jews as “extremely wide-ranging and grave” and calls on the Arab and Islamic world to support jihad against these “enemies.” It argues that Israel’s Jewish character contradicts Islam and must therefore be eliminated.
Without acknowledging Hamas’ ideology and intent, Amnesty’s legal conclusions — especially its accusations against Israel — rest on incomplete information.
October 7, 2023, was not merely a tactical or political attack, but part of an openly stated campaign to eliminate Israel. By omitting this context, Amnesty undermines its own account of October 7 and produces an unsound report.
Darcie Grunblatt is a US Media Researcher for CAMERA (Committee for Accuracy in Middle East Reporting in America).
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Israel Is Not a Cause to Me, It Is My Compass
People stand outside the International Criminal Court (ICC) as the United States is considering imposing sanctions as soon as this week against the entire International Criminal Court, in The Hague, Netherlands, Sept. 22, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Piroschka van de Wouw
I am a pro-Israel advocate in the Netherlands with Jewish roots, and my connection to Israel is not ideologically fashionable or politically convenient.
My connection to Israel is personal, inherited, and lived. Israel has shaped my identity since childhood, long before hashtags, before October 7, and before defending Israel became socially dangerous in Europe again.
On my father’s side, my family came from Poland. They fled rising antisemitism, passed through what is now the Czech Republic, and eventually ended up in the Netherlands around 1900. On my mother’s side, the story is fragmented and partly lost by design. My grandfather was involved in resistance work during World War II, and secrecy was a survival strategy that carried over long after the war ended.
When my parents later lived in the Middle East, they voluntarily assisted Israeli intelligence. They could move freely because of a white card, and they chose to help. That choice mattered. It shaped how I was raised and what I understood early on: Israel was never an abstract state to me. It was a responsibility.
For many years, Israel viewed the Netherlands as an ally. In hindsight, that belief was painfully naïve. The historical record tells a far more uncomfortable story.
During the Nazi occupation, only a tiny fraction of the Dutch population actively resisted. Roughly 45,000 people, about half a percent, were engaged in active resistance. Even using a broad definition, only around five percent could be considered supporters of resistance. At the same time, approximately 425,000 people were investigated for collaboration. The rest of the population largely chose silence. They looked away as Jews were rounded up, deported, and murdered. Some actively helped the occupiers. Most did nothing.
That history reveals a national instinct that never truly disappeared. After October 7, the mask finally slipped. The genie came out of the bottle, and what followed was an explosion of antisemitism, often disguised as “anti-Zionism” — because open antisemitism is officially forbidden in the Netherlands. What spread through society did so faster and more aggressively than any virus I have ever witnessed.
For me, the consequences were immediate and deeply personal. Walking through Amsterdam became a nightmare. People recognized me from weekly Israel support actions and felt emboldened to curse, threaten, and intimidate me. I refused to hide my Star of David necklace, but I watched others quietly tuck away their Jewish symbols for safety. That image still haunts me.
I lost my job shortly after October 7. On November 3, 2023, I was asked a seemingly innocent question at work: “What is your favorite vacation destination?” I answered honestly: Israel. That answer cost me my livelihood.
As I searched for new work, recruiters demanded that I shut down my LinkedIn company page, which at the time had around 90,000 followers. The reason was obvious. I refused. As a result, my chances of employment collapsed. I was rejected repeatedly — and explicitly — because of my visible pro-Israel stance.
Because my company was registered at my home address, the harassment followed me there. Eggs were thrown against my windows. A dead pigeon was left at my door in a bag. I received threats, online and offline, telling me I would be gassed.
These were not anonymous global trolls. This was my reality in the Netherlands.
Social media platforms, especially LinkedIn under Microsoft’s ownership, played a disgraceful role. Pro-Israel voices and Jewish advocates who spoke factual truths were targeted, restricted, or silenced, while open Nazi rhetoric, incitement, and fabricated “Pallywood” narratives were allowed to spread with impunity. The message was clear: Jewish safety and truth were expendable.
The years since 2023 have taken a severe toll on my mental health. Depression, exhaustion, and a deep alienation from Dutch society became constants. At the same time, my longing for Israel intensified. Eventually, I made a decision that felt inevitable: I would try to live and work for Israel full time. I began the Aliyah process, believing that my commitment, experience, and lifelong dedication would matter.
They did not.
Because I can only provide indirect proof of my Jewish roots, and because I refuse to convert to Judaism for the wrong reasons, my path to Aliyah has been blocked. The Jewish Agency declined to consider special circumstances. I wrote letters to the President’s office, to the Prime Minister, and to other officials. I reached out again and again.
From the Israeli side, I received silence. No response. No explanation. Only closed doors.
That silence broke something in me. Not because I feel entitled, but because I know, without arrogance, that I could contribute more to Israel than many others. I am not driven by religion; I have none. I am not driven by political camps or prejudices. I am driven by loyalty, truth, and responsibility.
Israel is not a trend to me. It is not negotiable. It is not conditional. It is my priority, always. Even when the world turns hostile. Even when allies reveal themselves to be illusions. Even when the doors I knock on remain closed.
I will not stop standing with Israel. History has taught me what silence does. I refuse to repeat it.
Sabine Sterk is CEO of Time To Stand Up For Israel.