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How the Holocaust is remembered in the land of Anne Frank
(JTA) — You’d think that in a country so closely identified with Anne Frank — perhaps the Holocaust’s best-known victim — cultivating memory of the genocide wouldn’t be a steep challenge.
That’s why a recent survey, suggesting what the authors called a “disturbing” lack of knowledge in the Netherlands about the Holocaust, set off alarm bells. “Survey shows lack of Holocaust awareness in the Netherlands,” wrote the Associated Press. “In the Netherlands, a majority do not know the Holocaust affected their country,” was the JTA headline. “The Holocaust is a myth, a quarter of Dutch younger generation agree,” per the Jerusalem Post.
“Survey after survey, we continue to witness a decline in Holocaust knowledge and awareness. Equally disturbing is the trend towards Holocaust denial and distortion,” Gideon Taylor, the president of the Conference of Jewish Material Claims Against Germany, which conducted the study, said in a statement.
Like other recent studies by Claims Conference, the latest survey has been challenged by some scholars, who say the sample size is small, or the survey is too blunt a tool for examining what a country’s residents do or don’t know about their history. Even one of the experts who conducted the survey chose to focus on the positive findings: “I am encouraged by the number of respondents to this survey that believe Holocaust education is important,” Emile Schrijver, the general director of Amsterdam’s Jewish Cultural Quarter, told JTA.
One of the scholars who says the survey doesn’t capture the subtleties of Holocaust education and commemoration in the Netherlands is Jazmine Contreras, an assistant professor of history at Goucher College in Maryland. Contreras studies the historical memory of the Holocaust and Second World War in Holland. In a Twitter thread earlier this week, she agreed with those who say that “the headline that’s being plastered everywhere exaggerates the idea that young people in NL know nothing about the Holocaust.”
At the same time, she notes that while the Netherlands takes Holocaust education and commemoration seriously, it has a long way to go in reckoning with a past that includes collaboration with the Nazis, postwar antisemitism, a small but vocal far right and a sense of national victimhood that often downplays the experience of Jews during the Shoah.
“It’s such a complex issue,” Contreras told me. “There’s no one answer to how the Holocaust is remembered in the Netherlands.”
Today is International Holocaust Remembrance Day, and I took the opportunity to speak with Contreras not only about Dutch memory, but how the Netherlands may serve as an example of how countries deal with Holocaust memory and the national stories they tell.
Our interview was edited for length and clarity.
Jewish Telegraphic Agency: Tell me a little bit about when you saw the survey, and perhaps how it didn’t mesh with what you know about the Netherlands?
Jazmine Contreras: My major problem is that every single outlet is picking up this story and running a headline like, “Youth in the Netherlands don’t even know the Holocaust happened there. They cannot tell you how many people were killed, how many were deported.” And I think that’s really problematic because it paints a really simplistic picture of Holocaust memory and Holocaust education in that country.
There are multiple programs, in Amsterdam, in other cities, in Westerbork, the former transit camp. They have an ongoing program that brings survivors and the second generation to colleges, to middle schools and primary schools all across the country. And they also have in Amsterdam a program called Oorlog in Mijn Buurt, “War in My Neighborhood,” and basically young people become the “memory bearers” — that’s the kind of language they use — and interview people who grew up and experience the war in their neighborhood, and then speak as if they were the person who experienced it, in the first person.
You also have events around the May 4 commemoration remembering the Dutch who died in war and in peacekeeping operations, and a program called Open Jewish Houses [when owners of formerly Jewish property open their homes to strangers to talk about the Jews who used to live there]. It’s really amazing: I’ve actually been able to visit these formerly Jewish homes and hear the stories. And, of course, the Anne Frank House has its own slew of programming, and teachers talk a lot about the Holocaust and take students to synagogues in places like Groningen, where they have a brand new exhibit at the synagogue. They are taking thousands at this point. The new National Holocaust Names Memorial is in the center of Amsterdam.
I think, again, this idea that children are growing up without having exposure to Holocaust memory, or knowledge of what happened in the Netherlands, is a bit skewed. I think we get into a dangerous area if we’re painting the country with a broad brush and saying nobody knows anything about the Holocaust.
Have you anecdotal evidence or seen studies of Dutch kids about whether they’re getting the education they need?
Anecdotally, yes. I was invited to attend a children’s commemoration that they do at the Hollandsche Schouwburg theater in Amsterdam, which is the former Dutch theater that was used as a major deportation site. And it’s children who put on a commemoration themselves. Again, not every child is participating in this, but if they’re not participating in the children’s commemoration, then they’re doing the “War in My Neighborhood” program, or they’re doing Open Jewish Houses, or they’re taking field trips. That’s pretty impressive to me, and it’s pretty meaningful. They want to help participate in it in the future. They want to come back because it leaves a lasting impression for them.
Let’s back up a bit. Anne Frank dominates everyone’s thinking about Holland and the Holocaust. And I guess the story that’s told is that she was protected by her neighbors until, of course, the Nazis proved too powerful, found her and sent her away. What’s right and what’s wrong about that narrative?
Don’t forget that Anne Frank was a German Jewish refugee who came to the Netherlands. And I think that part of the story is also really interesting and left out. She’s this Dutch icon, but she was a German Jewish refugee who came to the Netherlands, and the Dutch Jewish community was single-handedly responsible for funding, at Westerbork, what was first a refugee center. I think that’s really complicated because now we also have a discourse about present-day refugees and the Holocaust.
Jazmine Contreras, an assistant professor of history at Goucher College, specializes in Dutch Holocaust memory. (Courtesy)
I’ve also never quite understood the insistence on making her an icon when the end of the story is that she’s informed on and dies in a concentration camp. The idea that the Franks were hidden here fits really well into this idea of Dutch resistance and tolerance, and her diary often gets misquoted to kind of represent her as someone who had hope despite the fact that she was being persecuted. In the 1950s, her narrative gets adopted into the U.S., and we treat it as this globalizing human rights discourse.
We don’t talk about the fact that she’s found because she’s informed upon, and we don’t talk about the fact that you had non-Jewish civilians who were informers for a multitude of reasons, including ideological collaboration and their own financial gain.
And when it was talked about most recently, it was about a discredited book that named her betrayer as a Jew.
That was a huge controversy.
I get the sense from your writing that the story the Dutch tell about World War II is very incomplete, and that they haven’t fully reckoned with their collaboration under Nazi occupation even as they emphasize their own victimhood.
On the national state level, they have officially acknowledged not only the extensive collaboration, but the failure of both the government and the Crown to speak out on behalf of Dutch Jews. [In 2020, Prime Minister Mark Rutte formally apologized for how his kingdom’s wartime government failed its Jews, a first by a sitting prime minister.] Now, the question is, what’s happening in broader Dutch society?
Unfortunately, there was an increase in voting for the Dutch far right, although they’ve never managed to get a majority or even come close to it.
Something else that’s happening is that many ask, “Why should Dutch Jews get separate consideration after the Second World War, a separate victimhood, when we were all victimized?” The Netherlands is unique because it’s occupied for the entirety of the Second World War — 1940 to 1945. There is the civil service collaborating, right, but there’s no occupation government. So it’s not like Belgium. It’s not like France, not like Denmark. And there was the Hunger Winter of 1944-45 when 20,000 civilians perished due to famine. You have real victimhood, so people ask, “Why are the Jews so special? We all suffered.”
And at the same time, scholarship keeps emerging about the particular ways non-Jewish Dutch companies and individuals cooperated with the Nazis.
The NIOD Institute for War, Holocaust and Genocide Studies in Amsterdam, which has done so much of this research, found that Jews who were deported had to pay utility bills for when they weren’t living there. You have a huge controversy around the the Dutch railway [which said it would compensate hundreds of Holocaust victims for its role in shipping Jews to death camps]. The Dutch Red Cross apologized [in 2017 for failing to act to protect Jews during World War II], following the publication of a research paper on its inaction. A couple of decades ago, the government basically auctioned off paintings, jewelry and other Jewish possessions, and in 2020 they started the effort to give back pieces of art that were in Dutch museums. Dienke Hondius wrote a book on the cold reception given to survivors upon their return. Remco Ensel and Evelien Gans also wrote a book on postwar Jewish antisemitism.
So a lot has been happening, a lot of controversies, and, thanks to all of this research, a lot happening in order to rectify the situation.
It sounds like a mixed story, of resistance and collaboration, and of rewriting the past but also coming to terms with it.
There’s a really complex history here of both wanting to present it as “everybody’s a victim” and that the resistance was huge. In fact, the data shows 5% of the people were involved in resistance and 5% were collaborators. So it’s not like this wholesale collaboration or resistance was happening. It was only in 1943, when non-Jewish men were called up for labor service in Germany, that they got really good at hiding people and by then it was too late.
Right. My colleagues at JTA often note that the Nazis killed or deported more Dutch Jews per capita than anywhere in occupied Western Europe — of about 110,000 Jews deported, only a few thousand survived.
Yes, the highest percentage of deportation in Western Europe.
A room at the Anne Frank House museum where she and her family hid for two years during the Holocaust in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. (Photo Collection Anne Frank House)
Since this week is International Holocaust Remembrance Day, let me ask what Holland gets right and wrong compared to maybe some other European countries with either similar experiences or comparable experiences.
The framing of that question is difficult because there’s so many unique points about the Holocaust and the occupation in the Netherlands. Again, it was occupied for the entirety of 1940-45. You have a civil service that was willing to sign Aryan declarations. The queen, as head of a government in exile in London, is basically saying, “Do what you need to just to survive.”
One of the big problems is there are people like Geert Wilders [a contemporary right-wing Dutch lawmaker] who practice this kind of philo-Semitism and support of Israel, but it’s really about blaming the Muslim population for antisemitism and saying none of it is homegrown. They don’t have to talk about the fact that there was widespread antisemitism in the aftermath of the Holocaust.
In the Netherlands they’re not instituting laws around what you can and can’t say about the Holocaust like in Poland [where criticizing Polish collaboration has been criminalized]. There are so many amazing educational initiatives and nonprofit organizations that are doing the work. And even these public controversies ended up being outlets for the production of Holocaust memory when survivors, but mostly now the second and third generations, use that space to talk about their own family Holocaust history.
Tell me about your personal stake in this: How did the Holocaust become a subject of study for you?
I specialize in Dutch Holocaust memory. I’m not Jewish, but my grandparents on my mother’s side are Dutch. For my first project I looked at relationships between German soldiers and Dutch women during the war during the occupation, and I eventually kind of made my way into the post war, when these children of former collaborators were still very marginalized in Dutch society. It ties into this. I do interviews with members of the Jewish community, children of resistance members and children of collaborators and how these memory politics play out.
What is the utility of events like International Holocaust Remembrance Day and the major Holocaust memorials in educating the public about the Holocaust and World War II?
International Holocaust Remembrance Day and May 4 result in the production of new memories about the Holocaust and the Second World War. I was at the 2020 International Holocaust Remembrance Day commemoration when the prime minister formally apologized. It was a really big moment, and it allowed the Jewish community, and the Roma and Sinti community, a space to remember and to share in that and to speak to it as survivors and the second and third generation.
Unlike the United States, the Netherlands is a small, insular country, so the relationship between the public and the media and academics is so close. So in the weeks before and the weeks after these memorials, academics, politicians and experts are publishing pieces about memory. That’s useful to the production of new memories and information about the Holocaust.
But what about the other days of the year? Will putting a monument in the center of Amsterdam actually change how people understand the Holocaust? That is a question that I think is harder to answer. The new monument features individual names of 102,000 Jews and Roma and Sinti and visually gives you the scope of what the Holocaust looked like in the Netherlands. But does that matter if somebody lives outside of Amsterdam and they’re never going to see this monument?
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Her parents fled Mexico and Mandatory Palestine, taking their traumas with them
When Colette Ghunim’s parents first met in 1978, they quickly learned they had something in common: They both were forced to leave their homelands.
In her documentary Traces of Home, Ghunim travels with her immediate family back to her parents’ home cities. Hosni, Ghunim’s father, was expelled with his family from Safed, Mandatory Palestine, in 1948, when he was four years old. Ghunim’s mother Iza left Mexico City as a child to escape her abusive father. The film uses archival footage from Ghunim’s childhood, photos from her parents’ past, and animation to portray the harrowing journeys both her parents took. It’s a moving study of how trauma is inherited, but skirts some of the geopolitical issues at its core.
Ghunim, director of The People’s Girls, a documentary about sexual harassment in Egypt, explains in Traces that she never felt truly connected to either of her ethnic backgrounds, Mexican or Palesitnian. Her parents’ goal, she says, was to “make my life simple, safe, and American.”
It was also supposed to be tidy and unemotional. Archival footage shows Ghunim at five years old reading a letter from “Santa” reminding her of her promise to her mom: “No more crying.” Such a display of unpleasant feeling would disrupt the image of a perfect household.
The film unpacks how these expectations were in part the way Ghunim’s parents responded to their traumatic pasts — but these restrictions had unintentional consequences for their children: Ramsey developed an abusive relationship with alcohol in college; Ghunim turned to binge eating as a coping mechanism.
The trickling down of emotional damage from Ghunim’s parents to her feels like an apt metaphor for the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The Jews that came to Israel were carrying pain of their own, fleeing persecutions and pogroms in Europe. The resulting conflict has further harmed both Israelis and Palestinians.
Although the parallels between how the region and Ghunim have inherited burdens feels apparent, it’s not part of the film. Hosni summarizes the founding of Israel as Britain supporting Jewish European settlers by giving them Palestine. For some, the broader context of why Jews were fleeing Europe may seem irrelevant, but within the context of a film about transitory trauma, its absence feels striking.
We do see how badly trust has broken down in the Middle East. While trying to find Hosni’s old home in Safed, Hosni approaches a local man, telling him “I could tell from your face you are Arab.” The man turns out to be a Syrian Jew who has lived in Safed a long time. While trying to help them locate Hosni’s house, he grows visibly agitated thinking about what Hosni has lost. He rushes to assure the group that he feels bad for Hosni, telling them “Don’t think that I’m a bad Israeli.”
As their search starts to prove futile, Ghunim begins to cry.
“It’s OK,” her father assures her as he hugs her. Maybe worried about her breaking the promise she made to her mom when she was five, he tells her “Calm down.”
But keeping our feelings inside is often easier said than done. And, as Traces shows, it rarely is the right thing to do.
Traces of Home is premiering at DOC NYC on November 14, with a subsequent screening on November 15.
The post Her parents fled Mexico and Mandatory Palestine, taking their traumas with them appeared first on The Forward.
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So, there was a swastika at my Airbnb
A few weekends ago I went upstate for a wedding, and briefly lived like a Victorian gentleman with a problematic taste in interior design.
Staying in a historic mansion (h/t Airbnb) in Newburgh, New York, I felt transported into a game of Clue, minus the murder. Was it me in the study with a sandwich? The parlor had a marble bust redolent of antiquity. From my top floor room there were panoramic views of the Hudson hills bursting with fall foliage. And then there was, at the corner of the landing … well, as I told my girlfriend, it’s more of a visual.
“Please do not be alarmed, but there are sauvastikas (more commonly known as swastikas) inlaid in the corners of the floors dating back to 1866, before Hitler was born,” the extensive house instructions said.
I wasn’t alarmed, more amused. (For context, the guests were almost entirely Asian with a couple of Ashkenazi Jews — and a miniature poodle.)
Of course I knew the Eastern origins of the motif. And I noted, as did our hosts, that these swastikas faced the opposite direction of the hooked cross favored by the Third Reich. The owners were right to say in their literature that the symbol “was stolen.”
Nazis really do ruin everything.
The architect, Frederick Withers, could only really be faulted for orientalism, which at the time wasn’t a dirty word. In any case, this was a landmark building registered with the historical society, and as such the swastikas couldn’t be altered. (“On a positive note,” our hosts added, “the original Tiffany stained glass window is well preserved up in the dining room.”)
At the wedding, I made the possible faux pas of mentioning the floors to friends of ours, one of whom grew up in India. It had just been Diwali, and he said kids draw swastikas everywhere during the festival.
“You’re taking it back,” I joked.
On the contrary, he said, they never really let it get taken away. Indians still use the swastika to signify peace and prosperity — its original meaning.
Maybe there’s a lesson there. Not really about ancient Indian symbols, but about what we feel comfortable letting Nazis get away with.
It’s long been a pet peeve of mine that so much of Jewish culture is boiled down to a period of about 12 years in a history that stretches back millennia. That public figures caught saying something antisemitic are immediately dispatched to the nearest Holocaust museum, rather than a Shabbat dinner or a museum of Jewish art.
When people online get defensive about their views on the Jews, they often mention how moved they were by Anne Frank’s diary, as if that was the answer key for understanding our peoplehood, and not just assigned reading. (In most schools in the U.S., the only time students hear anything about Jews is in a unit on the Holocaust.)
Members of the tribe are far from immune to this phenomenon. To be an educated, secular Jew, for many, is to have endured a screening of Schindler’s List — or, if you’re more ambitious, the more than 9 hours of Claude Lanzmann’s Shoah. You don’t see the Talmud in every Jewish home (granted, it takes up a lot of shelf space), but you can probably find a copy of William Shirer’s Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.
Jewish identity has been shaped by our persecution — and remembrance is an important Jewish imperative — but as I’m far from the first to point out, when we take history and memory culture to extremes, we end up ceding our own narrative to those who wanted to erase us.
As scholar Miriam Udel put it in her recent book, “The Holocaust is, in a profound sense, not a Jewish story.” This stopped me when I first read it, but the more I considered it, the more I saw her point. The way the Shoah is typically related, it’s not a story where Jews have a great deal of agency. Jews weren’t passive. Tales of resistance abound — and should be emphasized — but it’s still primarily a story in which something was done to the Jews, and for reasons the Jews had no real control over.
Indians don’t let Nazis have a monopoly on the swastika — why should Jews allow them to define Jewishness?
I am not advocating for the return of parquet-inlaid swastikas in Western homes, whatever their direction. I’m not even for a revival of the Hitler mustache that Michael Jordan once attempted to resuscitate in a Hanes undershirt commercial. But I do think there’s a wisdom in not permitting our enemies to distort our much older tradition.
In Yiddish, we say “mir veln zey iberlebn,” we will outlive them — them being Nazis, antisemites and the various Hamans that rise up in every generation. While today that seems aspirational, we must remember we were here first, and there’s far more to Jewish life than death.
The post So, there was a swastika at my Airbnb appeared first on The Forward.
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UK Health Secretary Warns of ‘Chilling’ Antisemitism in NHS as Jewish Patients Report Fear, Discrimination
Wes Streeting, the British secretary of state for health and social care, is seen in Westminster as he appears on Sunday politics shows, London, England, United Kingdom, Oct. 26, 2025. Photo: Tayfun Salci/ZUMA Press Wire via Reuters Connect
UK Health Secretary Wes Streeting called it “chilling” that some members of the Jewish community fear discrimination within the country’s National Health Service (NHS), as reports of antisemitism in Britain’s health-care system continue to rise.
In an interview with the local LBC radio show on Friday, Streeting was asked about the recent case of Dr. Martin Whyte, a pediatrician and former executive member of the British Medical Association (BMA), who received only a formal warning but was allowed to continue working despite several of his antisemitic posts going viral.
“My immediate gut reaction was unrepeatable on the radio at this time of the morning,” the British official said.
“This has been such a big story because we’ve seen undeniable, outrageous examples of vile antisemitism by people who clearly identify as NHS doctors,” Streeting continued.
“Those people have forgotten not only basic humanity, but also their professional responsibility to patients. No one entering the NHS should feel afraid or question whether they will be treated fairly because of their race or religion,” he said during the radio show.
On Monday, the UK’s top medical regulatory body, the General Medical Council (GMC), cleared Whyte to continue working as a pediatrician despite spreading hateful and antisemitic messages online, including references to “Jew banker goblins” and “gas the Jews.”
In the course of its investigation, the medical regulator concluded that Whyte did not hold bigoted beliefs and that his actions “fall just short of that which would be considered serious enough to pose a risk to public protection.”
This latest incident has sparked outrage among the local Jewish community and public officials, fueling broader concerns across the UK as rising antisemitism in health-care settings in recent months has left Jewish communities feeling unsafe and marginalized.
During the interview, Streeting recognized that many Jewish people hold a negative perception of the NHS.
“In my own constituency, which is very diverse and includes a significant Jewish community, people are afraid,” he said.
“People in the Jewish community fear they’re going to be treated unfairly or discriminated against because they are Jewish in our National Health Service. I think that’s chilling,” Streeting continued.
Amid a rising climate of hostility, Jewish expectant mothers are hiring doulas — a non-medical professional who supports women during childbirth — to shield themselves and their babies from bias, antisemitic attitudes, and the looming threat of inadequate medical care.
In an interview with the Jewish Chronicle, London-based doula Shoshana Maurer said that nearly every pregnant Jewish woman who has hired her since the Hamas-led Oct. 7, 2023, attacks on Israel feared encountering antisemitism from medical staff.
“There is no question that nearly every Jewish client I’ve had since Oct. 7 has had the same anxiety about antisemitism in hospitals: are they going to be treated the same way as everyone else, will they be treated badly?” Maurer said, referring to the Hamas-led invasion of and massacre across southern Israel.
According to media reports, many South African Jewish emigrants in the UK have also encountered — or fear encountering — antisemitism within the NHS.
In one instance, a South African-born radiographer working in a diagnostic breast-cancer unit outside London told the South African Jewish Report that the period after Oct. 7 left her “scared and unsafe” at work, ultimately prompting her to resign after management failed to take steps to make her feel protected.
Last month, British Prime Minister Keir Starmer unveiled a new plan to address what he described as “just too many examples, clear examples, of antisemitism that have not been dealt with adequately or effectively” in the NHS.
One notable case drawing attention involved Dr. Rahmeh Aladwan, a trainee trauma and orthopedic surgeon, who local police arrested on Oct. 21, charging her with four offenses related to malicious communications and inciting racial hatred.
Aladwan was arrested after the GMC allowed her to continue treating patients, despite several of her antisemitic social media posts going viral, including claims that the Royal Free Hospital in London is “a Jewish supremacy cesspit” and that “over 90% of the world’s Jews are genocidal.”
In a separate incident two months ago, a North London hospital suspended a physician who was under investigation for publicly claiming that all Jews have “feelings of supremacy” and downplaying antisemitism.