Uncategorized
I can’t forget what the Nazis did to my family, but I can be grateful to a repentant Germany
(JTA) — Picture a cute-looking, 6 1/2-year-old girl with curly braided hair. She is standing on a sidewalk, on a cold, dreary day in Leipzig, Germany, together with her parents and my wife and me. My granddaughter Vivi is staring intently at a 75-year-old worker, kneeling on the ground. He is digging a hole through the pavers to install several 4” x 4” brass plaques mounted on cement cubes — memorials to relatives who perished at the hands of the Nazis more than 80 years ago.
In February, we traveled 9,500 miles round-trip to dedicate 12 Stolpersteine plaques in memory of relatives I never knew, or even knew I had. (All 16 of my family members would have stood with us that day, but Germany’s airport worker strike canceled the others’ flights.) They were just some of my late father’s aunts, uncles and cousins who were murdered in the Holocaust, and we regarded the ceremony as a pseudo-levaya, a quasi-funeral that would be the final act of respect and farewell Hitler had denied my relatives.
I couldn’t have imagined, 60 years earlier when I first visited Germany, that I would ever return in a spirit approaching forgiveness, or that I’d feel a deep connection to a country that was once synonymous with brutality, pain, humiliation and suffering.
Stolpersteine, a German word meaning “stumbling block,” refers to a design brilliantly conceived by the non-Jewish German artist Gunter Demnig in the early 1990s. Installed in front of the homes where innocent Jewish victims last freely lived, the brass plaques simply and artistically memorialize, honor and personalize those brutally persecuted. On each plaque are engraved the victim’s name, dates of birth and death. As Demnig once said, “A person is only forgotten when his or her name is forgotten.” Hence, 100,000 of his plaques throughout Europe remind us that Jews are part of a shared history, and a common memory.
Whether consciously or not, the “stumbling pedestrian” instantly recalls the extraordinary evil unleashed by ordinary people, on once vibrant Jewish communities, and the terrorized Jewish neighbors who lived within them. This evil was driven by a blind loyalty to a gratuitous hatred of “the other,” meaning non-Aryans.
Who were these relatives I recently memorialized? Recently uncovered documents suggest my relatives were all decent, law-abiding citizens who contributed to Leipzig’s economy, enriched its cultural life and strengthened its social fabric. Sadly, being model citizens did not spare them from torturous fates.
One of those relatives, Elfriede Meyerstein, my paternal grandfather’s sister, was born Feb. 27, 1871 in Breslau. At 20, she came to Leipzig where her husband Menny ran a textile trading company with his family. They lived at the same address for many years. By 1931, after Menny’s death, she lived with her daughter Käthe Huth.
The Nazis, once in power, immediately expropriated Elfriede’s assets, comprising foreign stocks meticulously accumulated by Menny. The Nazi “Ordinance on the Registration of Jewish Assets” of April 26, 1938, forced her to surrender those securities to the state. In 1939, shortly after Kristallnacht on Nov. 9-10, 1938, the Nazis collected a “reimbursement tax” as “atonement,” from Elfriede and the rest of Germany’s Jewish community, for the damage Nazis did that night.
Just prior to her Sept. 19, 1942 deportation to Theresienstadt at age 71, Elfriede was forced to sign a “home purchase agreement,” the Nazis’ final act of expropriation. The document falsely and cynically promised her a “retirement home,” with free lifetime accommodation, food and medical care, but paid for by her, in advance. The Reich Security Main office confiscated 65,000 Reichsmarks ($300,000 in today’s currency). Her “retirement home” was in a ghetto with disastrous hygienic conditions, starvation, and no medical care. Elfriede died one month later.
After considerable soul-searching and three visits to Germany, spaced over 60 years, my attitudes and feelings today, vis a vis Germany and its citizens, are dramatically different from when I first visited in 1966.
Then, I came with unprocessed emotional baggage. In 1939, my father, Ralph Meyerstein, fled Dusseldorf and my mother, Cecily Geyer, fled Dresden, both for England. My paternal grandparents, Alfred and Meta Meyerstein, were deported from Dusseldorf on Nov. 8, 1941, to Minsk, where they were killed. My maternal grandmother, Salcia, was deported to Riga in January 1942; in November 1943 she was sent to Auschwitz and murdered.
My parents met in Ware, a small town north of London, where some German Jews took refuge. They moved to London where they married during the Blitz and we came to the United States in December 1947.
The German-issued ID card of Max Israel Meyerstein, the author’s great-uncle, who was murdered by the Nazis in 1942 at the age of 80. (Courtesy Michael Meyerstein)
As an only child, I shouldered much of my parents’ guilt over abandoning their parents, even though it was their parents who, thankfully, had urged them to flee Germany. When retelling their survival story, my eyes still well up with tears, revealing a lifetime of trauma I’ve absorbed on their behalf. That first visit felt almost adversarial in tone. It was I, representing my parents’ personal losses and those of the Jewish people, versus Germany and Germans. I reacted viscerally to hearing guttural Deutsch being spoken. I eyeballed Germans on the street and asked myself: How old are they? Did they commit heinous crimes against my family and my people?
By 2018, when I dedicated a Stolpersteine in my maternal grandmother’s memory, my judgmental attitudes and harsh feelings had softened. Maybe I realized that 75 years later, the ordinary citizen on the street could not be held responsible for the carnage of the Holocaust. Also, working with non-Jewish German volunteers in planning the ceremony showed me their humanity, sensitivity and outright remorse for Nazism’s impact on my family and their German state. Their kindness was an atonement for a past not of their making.
My visit in February shed further light on my evolving relationship with Germany and Germans. Today’s Germany is doing teshuva, or repentance, by strengthening democracy, creating an inclusionary society, responding resolutely to far-right extremism, educating its young about the Holocaust, offering sanctuary to Jews fleeing Russia and Ukraine and being a true friend to the State of Israel. It also is supporting Jewish communal institutions, paying reparations to Israel, to individual victims and their descendants.
My relationship became much more nuanced upon learning that Germany was once home to five generations of my family, as far back as 1760, in the small town of Grobzig where Matthias Nathan Meyerstein was born. On our visit to its mid-17th-century Jewish cemetery, I gazed incredulously at the graves of Meyersteins. I saw schutzbriefen, documents issued by the reigning duke, that assured my ancestors protection, commercial privileges and religious rights. In the old Leipzig Jewish cemetery, I visited 12 relatives’ graves from the 1800s and 1900s, which reflected much about their secure socio-economic status.
Before my retirement, I never knew that Grobzig or Leipzig or other towns were in my family’s history. This discovery led to one conclusion: Unquestionably, 1933 to 1945 was a tragic anomaly in human history, and especially Jewish history. However, I must also gratefully acknowledge the Germany that sustained my family for over 300 years, and Jewish communal life for 1,700 years.
Nazi Germany’s ill-treatment and intolerance of “the Other” still affects me today as I mourn my relatives’ death. On the other hand, I feel heartened by this sentiment written by a non-Jewish German who funded research about my family: “For me, as I am part of this country and its history, it will be a never-ending task to find ways to deal with this horrible past and most importantly, never to forget,” she wrote.
Navigating this complex relationship with Germany and Germans is intellectually and emotionally messy for Jews. My engagement with “the Other,” however, has been profoundly satisfying.
—
The post I can’t forget what the Nazis did to my family, but I can be grateful to a repentant Germany appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Uncategorized
The Energy Dilemma: Will Washington Let the Iranian Regime Survive?
A fire burns at South Pars gas field, in Tonbak, Bushehr Province, Iran, in this screen grab from a handout video released on June 14, 2025. Photo: Social Media/via REUTERS
For the first time since the “Second Iran War” began its lightning-fast escalation across the Persian Gulf, a palpable chill has settled over the direct line between the Prime Minister’s Office in Jerusalem and the White House.
While the last 24 hours have seen the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) systematically dismantle the command-and-control structures of the Islamic Republic, a new “Red Line” has emerged — not from Tehran, but from Washington.
Reports circulating early Wednesday suggest that the Trump administration has signaled a sharp hesitation regarding Israel’s planned strikes on Iran’s vital energy infrastructure, specifically the massive South Pars gas field.
As the IDF pushes for total “de-regimification,” the geopolitical friction between two of the world’s closest allies is reaching a boiling point. The question now haunts the halls of the Knesset: Will the American desire for global energy stability stop Israel from achieving a permanent victory?
The South Pars field is more than just a cluster of offshore platforms; it is the respiratory system of the Iranian regime. Holding an estimated 8% of the world’s natural gas reserves, it provides the hard currency that funds the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC)’s regional proxies and its domestic oppression apparatus. For Israel, the logic is simple: you cannot kill the beast while you are still allowing it to breathe.
However, the global markets have reacted with predictable tremors. With the “Second Iran War” already pushing Brent crude toward historic highs, Washington’s reluctance is rooted in the fear of a global “energy shock” that could destabilize the US and world economy. The reported message from the White House to Israel has been one of containment– urging the IDF to “finish the job” on the military leadership. while leaving the energy faucets intact.
But for those who have spent decades analyzing the Middle East, this “half-measure” approach is a recipe for disaster.
Letting the Iranian Regime Survive to Fight Another Day
If the South Pars field remains operational, the regime retains the ability to re-arm, regroup, and wait out the current political storm. History is littered with “half-finished” wars that sowed the seeds of the next generation’s bloodshed. By drawing a red line at Iran’s energy assets, Washington is effectively offering the IRGC a lifeline just as it is gasping for air.
The strategic divergence is clear: Washington is playing a game of global economic management, while Jerusalem is fighting an existential war for the survival of the Jewish State.
The tension comes at a delicate moment. The elimination of Ali Larijani and Intelligence Minister Esmail Khatib signaled that the regime’s political “mask” had been shattered. The “Axis of Resistance” is crumbling, with even longtime “bridge-builders” like Qatar expelling Iranian diplomats in the wake of the latest missile skirmishes.
In the streets of Tel Aviv and the Jewish diaspora, the sentiment is one of “never again.” There is a deep-seated realization that if the Islamic Republic is allowed to survive this conflict with its economic engine intact, the cycle of terror — from Hamas to Hezbollah — will inevitably restart.
“We are not interested in ‘de-escalation’ for the sake of a cheaper gallon of gas,” one senior Israeli defense official reportedly said under the condition of anonymity. “We are interested in a Middle East where our children do not have to run to bomb shelters every six months. That requires the total neutralization of the threat.”
The Geopolitics of Victory
Peace only occurs when the enemy is convinced they have lost. By shielding Iran’s energy sector, the United States is signaling to the remnants of the mullahs that they still have cards to play. It reinforces the regime’s belief that they are “too big to fail” because of their grip on the world’s thermostat.
Moreover, the “Energy Red Line” risks alienating regional allies who have finally begun to pivot away from Tehran.
If the US appears to be protecting the regime’s assets, the incentive for Gulf states to fully align with the Abraham Accords framework diminishes. Why risk everything for a “new Middle East” if the old one is being kept on life support by Washington?
The Choice Ahead
President Trump, who has frequently touted his role as a “disruptor,” now faces his own paradox. He can choose the short-term stability of the global energy markets, or he can support the long-term stability of a world without a nuclear-armed, terror-funding Islamic Republic.
The stakes couldn’t be higher. We have seen what happens when the world chooses “management” over “victory.” It results in Oct. 7, 2023; it results in 1979; it results in a perpetual state of siege.
Israel is ready to finish the war. The only question remains: Will Washington let them win?
Amine Ayoub, a fellow at the Middle East Forum, is a policy analyst and writer based in Morocco. Follow him on X: @amineayoubx
Uncategorized
Can James Talarico’s faith-forward politics invigorate the Jewish religious left?
(JTA) — In a recent interview for his New York Times podcast, Ezra Klein asked Texas State Rep. James Talarico why the Christian right puts so much focus on abortion and gay marriage.
“I’m Jewish, but when I read the New Testament, I always come away a little bit amazed that politicized Christianity is so worried about gender and sexuality, and so unconcerned with greed,” said Klein.
Talarico, 36, answered in the religious language that has made him not just a political darling in Texas, where he hopes to do the unthinkable and flip a Senate seat from red to blue, but a national figure.
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Talarico responded with a knowing laugh. “Absolutely. Concern for the poor, concern for the oppressed, is everywhere. Economic justice is mentioned 3,000 times in our Scriptures, both the New Testament and the Hebrew Scriptures. This is such a core part of our tradition, and it’s nowhere to be seen in Christian nationalism or on the religious right.”
His response was what the Texas Tribune has called “archetypal Talarico fare”: a blend of religion and “progressive, populist politics.” It has also made him the standard-bearer for a resurgent religious left, which includes more than a few Jews, in Texas and beyond, who have longed for a liberal politician who can speak from and to the language of faith.
“We need the kind of religious values [that] tell us that we are all made in God’s image,” said Joshua Shanes, a historian at the University of California-Davis, explaining why he’s excited by Talarico’s candidacy. “Religious values tell us that the government should be there to create a social safety net and create a healthcare system that helps everyone, and progressive taxation.”
The majority of Jews have tended to consistently support such positions, and vote accordingly. What Talarico adds to the mix is the faith-first rhetoric of the budding minister – which he is, pursuing a degree in theology at a Presbyterian seminary.
While mainstream Democrats will invoke their religious faith on the campaign trail, they rarely make it a signature. When the late Rabbi Michael Lerner, in the pages of his Tikkun magazine in the 1990s and early 2000s, called for the need of a religious left as an alternative to the Christian right, he found few Jewish allies. Jews were long wary of a Christian right that seeks to erase the line between church and state, and, like many liberals, tended to favor what the writer Cynthia Ozick has called the “unadorned public square” — a politics where religion remains a private matter.
Jewish conservatives, meanwhile, had long made peace with the Christian right, sharing its views on public funding for parochial schools and uncritical support for Israel.
In polling done in 2024, however, the Pew Research Center and other surveys indicated that younger progressives are open to candidates whose religious faith motivates social justice commitments, as long as it doesn’t translate into restrictive policy.
Perhaps noting this trend, Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro, in his recent autobiography, centered his religious Jewish identity in describing his political philosophy. “Now more than ever, we yearn for and need a world defined by faith,” writes Shapiro. “It’s universal, this belief in others to help us through what feels unsettled, uncivil, un-American.”
Shanes, whose specialty is modern Jewish political and cultural history, counts himself among those who were once doctrinaire about a secular public square but who now think Americans crave “the transcendent,” even in their politics. He views Talarico’s political message not just as a novelty, but as a necessity.
“My goal is a humanist morality,” he said, “and I don’t think a secular version of it is going to succeed, not in America.”
Talarico similarly talks about his religion as a source of his political values, but not as a means of coercion. Last year, Talarico opposed legislation requiring the Ten Commandments to be displayed in public school classrooms. “I found it offensive as an educator that we would impose one religious tradition onto all of our students, including students that don’t belong to that particular tradition,” Talarico, who taught language arts at a public school in San Antonio, explained at the time.
“He thinks that protections in the Constitution are good for Christianity, good for Judaism and good for all people and religion, because teaching religion is appropriate in the churches and not in the government,” said Marc Stanley, a Houston attorney, former U.S. ambassador to Argentina and prolific Democratic fundraiser.
Raised in the Austin suburb of Round Rock by a single mother, Talarico grew up attending a Presbyterian church. His grandfather was a Baptist minister. In 2018, he flipped a swing district in Round Rock, becoming the youngest member of the Texas House at 29.
Even before last month’s Democratic primary, he attracted an enormous online following (for a politician) for videos explaining his religious, liberal worldview. On TikTok, where he posts clips with titles like “Love can win” and “There is nothing more un-Christian than stealing from the poor to give to the rich,” he has 1.6 million followers.
But it was his conversation last month with Stephen Colbert that brought him national attention, and arguably led to his victory over U.S. Rep. Jasmine Crockett in the Democratic primary for the Senate seat. When CBS told Colbert that broadcasting the interview on “The Late Show” would violate “equal time rules,” it ran instead on YouTube, where the controversy drove over 7.5 million views.
That interview also suggests another aspect of his appeal to a religious Jewish left: He disdains Christian nationalism, a movement to codify in law and culture that the United States is a Christian nation. “There is nothing Christian about Christian nationalism,” he told Colbert. “It is the worship of power in the name of Christ and it is a betrayal of Jesus of Nazareth.”
“His entire appeal to a lot of people is that he is using scripture to come at the right-wing Christian fundamentalist element in the state of Texas,” said Art Pronin, president of Meyerland Area Democrats in a heavily Jewish part of Houston.
Talarico’s language has won over even Jewish liberals who don’t regard themselves as religious, but see in his message a necessary corrective to the politics of the Texas Statehouse and the Trump White House.
“He has succeeded in reviving a certain kind of humanism which was, going back to the Renaissance, tied to religious belief, tied to Christian values, tied to Jewish values,” said Robert Zaretzky, a historian at the University of Houston and a self-described “cultural” Jew. “And when I talk about Jewish values, what I have in mind is menschlichkeit … a kind of decency for one’s fellow man. And that is just so evident in Talarico’s words, in his actions, and in the way that he has voted in the Texas State Legislature.”
Zaretzky also sees in Talarico a connection to Jewish tradition, whether it is the prophet Micah — “Act justly and love mercy” — or the Talmudic sage Hillel: “What is hateful to you, do not do to others. All the rest is commentary.”
“That is the essence of Talarico’s message, and something that drives Texas Republicans absolutely crazy,” said Zaretzky. Indeed, many conservative Christians regard Talarico’s views as heretical, because he uses church vocabulary to promote liberal views. Angry evangelicals often refer to him as a “wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
Of course, even a politician in such heady company as Micah and Hillel has liabilities. In December, the Jewish news site JNS reported that some Jewish leaders in Texas were “alarmed” by Talarico’s views on Israel. Among other things, he had decried “the atrocities in Palestine,” and pledged that he wouldn’t “fund these war crimes” and will vote “to ban offensive weapons to Israel.”
Talarico also said he wouldn’t accept support from AIPAC, the pro-Israel lobby that has become radioactive on both the left and far right.
Pronin remembers a town hall back in December, when Talarico repeated his criticisms of Israel.
“It has set up a lot of conflicted feelings in the Jewish community on his candidacy,” he said. “On the one hand, he is a very appealing candidate on many other key issues that we would care about, like health care and the economy. Israel? Not as much.”
Stanley, a Talarico supporter, isn’t troubled by the candidate’s views on Israel, which are becoming increasingly common in the Democratic Party.
“I think that we as a Jewish community make a mistake vilifying people or casting people as anti-Israel or antisemitic because they have the nerve to criticize somebody like Netanyahu,” said Stanley.
In January, in an email to Jewish supporters in Texas, Talarico promised that if he is elected to the Senate he will vote for arming Israel with defensive weapons. He wrote that he supports a two-state solution and removing Hamas from power, and referred to Oct. 7 as “the deadliest day for Jews since the Holocaust.”
“I think it is a very balanced and very bold position,” said Stanley.
And for pro-Israel Jews inclined toward progressive domestic politics, it may be a position that they will have to tolerate, or cede elections to Republicans who don’t criticize Israel, but disagree with them on nearly everything else.
Rabbi Nancy Kasten, the chief relationship officer at Faith Commons, an interfaith organization in Dallas, says there is “a lot of enthusiasm” for Talarico in the Jewish community. Still, she acknowledges that some of the things he has said about Israel have given critics the opportunity to pounce.
Kasten also said that some of his religious language is “jarring” for Jews, especially in invoking certain New Testament tropes.
She was looking forward to an upcoming meeting with the candidate, and hopes that he will be open to a conversation about how his language on Israel and religion lands in the Jewish community.
“Personally, I want a voice for separation of church and state, which we don’t have anymore,” she said. That said, she added, “I’m happy that there’s a different religious voice in the public square. Ceding that voice to the white, Christian, nationalist voice is harmful, and so I’m grateful that there’s somebody who seems to have the ear of people who speak that language and desire that language in politics and I’m grateful to have someone like that under the circumstances.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Can James Talarico’s faith-forward politics invigorate the Jewish religious left? appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
JB Pritzker once sat on AIPAC’s national board. Now he says he wants nothing to do with it.
(JTA) — Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker blasted AIPAC, the pro-Israel lobbying group, and other special interest groups that poured money into Illinois’ House and U.S. Senate races this week.
A Jewish Democrat who was once an AIPAC donor, Pritzker called the $70 million in outside spending “interference,” and said AIPAC in particular had lost its way as a truly bipartisan group.
“It became an organization that was supporting Donald Trump and people who follow Donald Trump,” Pritzker told the Associated Press. “AIPAC really is not an organization that I think today I would want any part of.”
AIPAC’s spending in a handful of Illinois congressional primaries was often at the center of the races’ coverage. The pro-Israel group claimed victory after none of the “Squad”-type, anti-Israel progressives won the nomination, though two of its four preferred House candidates lost.
Critics panned AIPAC for spending mostly through “shell PACs,” with innocuous-sounding names like “Elect Chicago Women” and “Affordable Chicago Now,” and said that was an indicator of AIPAC’s rapidly diminishing popularity among Democrats.
Pritzker, who is from one of Illinois’ wealthiest and most philanthropic families with a record of giving to Jewish causes, has a long record of supporting Israel. In 2013, he was honored at a fundraiser for Friends of the Israeli Defense Forces. He was once on the national board of AIPAC, and he spoke at a pro-Israel rally in the days following the Oct. 7, 2023, attack on Israel.
He is also a possible presidential candidate in party where a poll this week found that only 13% of members say they have a “positive” view of Israel, and where refusal of AIPAC support has become something of a litmus test.
California Gov. Gavin Newsom, also seen as likely to run in 2028, proudly said last month that he never has and “never will” accept any money from AIPAC.
While many Democrats’ positions on Israel have shifted over the course of the Gaza war, AIPAC has remained steadfast in drawing a red line against candidates who are open to conditioning military aid to Israel. Pritzker would be one of those candidates.
Though governors do not vote on matters of foreign policy, Pritzker came out in support of Sen. Bernie Sanders’ resolutions limiting weapons sales to Israel in 2025, saying it would send “the right kind of message.”
His comments on Wednesday were not his first public criticism of the group that he was once a donor to.
“I abandoned AIPAC more than a dozen years ago,” he said in a New York Times interview earlier this month. “It was an organization that had at one time been bipartisan in nature and really all about preserving a strong relationship between the United States and Israel. But about a dozen years ago, the organization began to lean much more to the right and much more pro-Trump, who had then become a candidate for president, and that disturbed me greatly.”
Pritzker noted that AIPAC was purely a public affairs council, and not a PAC at the time, meaning that it did not give money to candidates. It began donating directly to candidates only after forming a PAC in 2021.
“But the organization became political,” he said. “They created a super PAC. They began to get involved in elections directly and choosing to support candidates who were MAGA and right-wing and Trumpy.”
AIPAC, which prides itself on supporting candidates on both sides of the aisle, has faced criticism for endorsing more than 100 lawmakers who’d voted to overturn the election results after Trump’s loss on Jan. 6, 2021.
“I just didn’t want anything to do with that,” Pritzker said.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post JB Pritzker once sat on AIPAC’s national board. Now he says he wants nothing to do with it. appeared first on The Forward.
