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I can’t forget what the Nazis did to my family, but I can be grateful to a repentant Germany
(JTA) — Picture a cute-looking, 6 1/2-year-old girl with curly braided hair. She is standing on a sidewalk, on a cold, dreary day in Leipzig, Germany, together with her parents and my wife and me. My granddaughter Vivi is staring intently at a 75-year-old worker, kneeling on the ground. He is digging a hole through the pavers to install several 4” x 4” brass plaques mounted on cement cubes — memorials to relatives who perished at the hands of the Nazis more than 80 years ago.
In February, we traveled 9,500 miles round-trip to dedicate 12 Stolpersteine plaques in memory of relatives I never knew, or even knew I had. (All 16 of my family members would have stood with us that day, but Germany’s airport worker strike canceled the others’ flights.) They were just some of my late father’s aunts, uncles and cousins who were murdered in the Holocaust, and we regarded the ceremony as a pseudo-levaya, a quasi-funeral that would be the final act of respect and farewell Hitler had denied my relatives.
I couldn’t have imagined, 60 years earlier when I first visited Germany, that I would ever return in a spirit approaching forgiveness, or that I’d feel a deep connection to a country that was once synonymous with brutality, pain, humiliation and suffering.
Stolpersteine, a German word meaning “stumbling block,” refers to a design brilliantly conceived by the non-Jewish German artist Gunter Demnig in the early 1990s. Installed in front of the homes where innocent Jewish victims last freely lived, the brass plaques simply and artistically memorialize, honor and personalize those brutally persecuted. On each plaque are engraved the victim’s name, dates of birth and death. As Demnig once said, “A person is only forgotten when his or her name is forgotten.” Hence, 100,000 of his plaques throughout Europe remind us that Jews are part of a shared history, and a common memory.
Whether consciously or not, the “stumbling pedestrian” instantly recalls the extraordinary evil unleashed by ordinary people, on once vibrant Jewish communities, and the terrorized Jewish neighbors who lived within them. This evil was driven by a blind loyalty to a gratuitous hatred of “the other,” meaning non-Aryans.
Who were these relatives I recently memorialized? Recently uncovered documents suggest my relatives were all decent, law-abiding citizens who contributed to Leipzig’s economy, enriched its cultural life and strengthened its social fabric. Sadly, being model citizens did not spare them from torturous fates.
One of those relatives, Elfriede Meyerstein, my paternal grandfather’s sister, was born Feb. 27, 1871 in Breslau. At 20, she came to Leipzig where her husband Menny ran a textile trading company with his family. They lived at the same address for many years. By 1931, after Menny’s death, she lived with her daughter Käthe Huth.
The Nazis, once in power, immediately expropriated Elfriede’s assets, comprising foreign stocks meticulously accumulated by Menny. The Nazi “Ordinance on the Registration of Jewish Assets” of April 26, 1938, forced her to surrender those securities to the state. In 1939, shortly after Kristallnacht on Nov. 9-10, 1938, the Nazis collected a “reimbursement tax” as “atonement,” from Elfriede and the rest of Germany’s Jewish community, for the damage Nazis did that night.
Just prior to her Sept. 19, 1942 deportation to Theresienstadt at age 71, Elfriede was forced to sign a “home purchase agreement,” the Nazis’ final act of expropriation. The document falsely and cynically promised her a “retirement home,” with free lifetime accommodation, food and medical care, but paid for by her, in advance. The Reich Security Main office confiscated 65,000 Reichsmarks ($300,000 in today’s currency). Her “retirement home” was in a ghetto with disastrous hygienic conditions, starvation, and no medical care. Elfriede died one month later.
After considerable soul-searching and three visits to Germany, spaced over 60 years, my attitudes and feelings today, vis a vis Germany and its citizens, are dramatically different from when I first visited in 1966.
Then, I came with unprocessed emotional baggage. In 1939, my father, Ralph Meyerstein, fled Dusseldorf and my mother, Cecily Geyer, fled Dresden, both for England. My paternal grandparents, Alfred and Meta Meyerstein, were deported from Dusseldorf on Nov. 8, 1941, to Minsk, where they were killed. My maternal grandmother, Salcia, was deported to Riga in January 1942; in November 1943 she was sent to Auschwitz and murdered.
My parents met in Ware, a small town north of London, where some German Jews took refuge. They moved to London where they married during the Blitz and we came to the United States in December 1947.
The German-issued ID card of Max Israel Meyerstein, the author’s great-uncle, who was murdered by the Nazis in 1942 at the age of 80. (Courtesy Michael Meyerstein)
As an only child, I shouldered much of my parents’ guilt over abandoning their parents, even though it was their parents who, thankfully, had urged them to flee Germany. When retelling their survival story, my eyes still well up with tears, revealing a lifetime of trauma I’ve absorbed on their behalf. That first visit felt almost adversarial in tone. It was I, representing my parents’ personal losses and those of the Jewish people, versus Germany and Germans. I reacted viscerally to hearing guttural Deutsch being spoken. I eyeballed Germans on the street and asked myself: How old are they? Did they commit heinous crimes against my family and my people?
By 2018, when I dedicated a Stolpersteine in my maternal grandmother’s memory, my judgmental attitudes and harsh feelings had softened. Maybe I realized that 75 years later, the ordinary citizen on the street could not be held responsible for the carnage of the Holocaust. Also, working with non-Jewish German volunteers in planning the ceremony showed me their humanity, sensitivity and outright remorse for Nazism’s impact on my family and their German state. Their kindness was an atonement for a past not of their making.
My visit in February shed further light on my evolving relationship with Germany and Germans. Today’s Germany is doing teshuva, or repentance, by strengthening democracy, creating an inclusionary society, responding resolutely to far-right extremism, educating its young about the Holocaust, offering sanctuary to Jews fleeing Russia and Ukraine and being a true friend to the State of Israel. It also is supporting Jewish communal institutions, paying reparations to Israel, to individual victims and their descendants.
My relationship became much more nuanced upon learning that Germany was once home to five generations of my family, as far back as 1760, in the small town of Grobzig where Matthias Nathan Meyerstein was born. On our visit to its mid-17th-century Jewish cemetery, I gazed incredulously at the graves of Meyersteins. I saw schutzbriefen, documents issued by the reigning duke, that assured my ancestors protection, commercial privileges and religious rights. In the old Leipzig Jewish cemetery, I visited 12 relatives’ graves from the 1800s and 1900s, which reflected much about their secure socio-economic status.
Before my retirement, I never knew that Grobzig or Leipzig or other towns were in my family’s history. This discovery led to one conclusion: Unquestionably, 1933 to 1945 was a tragic anomaly in human history, and especially Jewish history. However, I must also gratefully acknowledge the Germany that sustained my family for over 300 years, and Jewish communal life for 1,700 years.
Nazi Germany’s ill-treatment and intolerance of “the Other” still affects me today as I mourn my relatives’ death. On the other hand, I feel heartened by this sentiment written by a non-Jewish German who funded research about my family: “For me, as I am part of this country and its history, it will be a never-ending task to find ways to deal with this horrible past and most importantly, never to forget,” she wrote.
Navigating this complex relationship with Germany and Germans is intellectually and emotionally messy for Jews. My engagement with “the Other,” however, has been profoundly satisfying.
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Left-wing Argentine lawmakers pledge allegiance to ‘free Palestine’ in their oaths of office
(JTA) — BUENOS AIRES — As 127 newly elected Argentine lawmakers took the oath of office in Buenos Aires last week, several departed from the standard formula to pledge allegiance to a “free Palestine.”
The demonstration by the left-wing elected officials transformed what is typically a boilerplate ceremony into a political showdown over Israel, with shouting on the floor of the legislature as well as a wave of criticism from both pro-government and opposition voices.
Argentina’s main Jewish umbrella organization filed a formal complaint over the incident, which took place on Wednesday.
At least four lawmakers participated. When left-wing deputy Nicolás del Caño was called to the podium, he used his brief time to swear on behalf of “the boys and girls massacred in Gaza.”
Another leftist lawmaker, Nestor Pitrola, took the oath wearing a Palestinian keffiyeh draped like a scarf and swore “for an end to the Zionist genocide and a free Palestine.”
Wearing a T-shirt with a large watermelon print — now used as a Palestinian symbol — Romina Del Plá took the oath declaring that she did so “for Palestine’s right to exist from the river to the sea.”
And Myriam Bregman, a Jewish socialist, swore “against the genocide in Palestine.” She also protested the U.S. threat to Venezuelan president Nicolas Maduro, saying, “Yankees out of Venezuela.”
All of them replaced the formula for the oath of office — “Sí, juro” (I swear) — with political statements, triggering an immediate backlash in the chamber.
Lawmakers from President Javier Milei’s right-wing and libertarian coalition interrupted with boos and shouted insults, arguing that the oath should not be used for foreign-policy slogans. Lila Lemoine, a member of Milei’s party, rebuked Bregman, to whom she was formerly close, saying, “You must swear for your country.”
While largely left-wing lawmakers in countries around the world have sought to demonstrate their solidarity with the Palestinians or advanced legislation on their behalf, the show in Argentina represented an unusual level of intrusion for the cause into a government’s regular operations.
After these oath-taking ceremonies — broadcast nationwide by major media outlets — political analysts and journalists strongly criticized the lawmakers who departed from the established protocol. Later in the week, a legislator introduced a bill that would prevent those who do not take the oath in accordance with the chamber’s regulations from assuming their seats.
“Let’s put an end to this circus,” said the lawmaker, Sabrina Ajmechet, who is Jewish and from a right-wing political party. She added, “That there are members of parliament who have taken office swearing allegiance to another territory … it’s more than just ugly, it’s problematic.”
Whether the lawmakers who made the unusual oaths will face consequences is not clear. The Argentine government adopted the IHRA definition of antisemitism, which defines some forms of Israel criticism as antisemitic, in 2020, adding to an anti-discrimination law that has been on the books since 1988. There is already one lawmaker facing prosecution over antisemitic posts.
Argentina’s Jewish political umbrella, DAIA, said in a statement that the oaths, particularly those using the phrase “from the river to the sea,” which many Jews interpret as a call for Israel’s destruction, were inappropriate for the occasion and amounted to discrimination.
“This expression is neither a neutral slogan nor a simple protest chant. It is a phrase of hate, used to call for the destruction of a sovereign state and the elimination of its Jewish population. It promotes violence, legitimizes terrorism, and fuels an atmosphere of hostility toward Jews everywhere,” the statement said. “By using it, one makes an openly anti-Jewish declaration, incompatible with democratic values and with respect for pluralistic coexistence.”
The pro-Palestinian lawmakers were not the only ones to depart from the standard oath, which is taken over the text of the Bible. Patricia Holzman, a newly elected Jewish deputy who has been the executive director of a Jewish community organization founded in the wake of the 1994 AMIA bombing in Buenos Aires, adjusted her wording to say “Sí, prometo” (I promise) instead of “Sí, juro,” and she pledged her oath on a Tanakh.
The swearing-in ceremony was also derailed when a left-wing lawmaker, Juan Grabois, made what resembled a Nazi salute toward Milei, who was present. People close to Grabois said the gesture was meant to evoke the salute in “The Hunger Games,” the young-adult series about protagonists defying an oppressive regime.
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In defense of the Sarah Hurwitz we know — and the nuance we all need in this moment
(JTA) — Over the course of the Obama and Biden administrations, each of us served as the White House liaison to the American Jewish community. In that role, we were responsible for reaching out to Jewish Americans from across the political and denominational spectrum, listening to their concerns, understanding their needs, and representing their voices in the White House.
Over the past couple of weeks, we were stunned to watch as our friend and former colleague, Sarah Hurwitz, became the subject of a mob attack on social media.
It is hard to watch anyone you care about be savaged online, but it was particularly painful to see this happen to Sarah. In the White House, where she served as a speechwriter first for President Barack Obama and then for First Lady Michelle Obama, Sarah was known for her kind heart, integrity and fierce loyalty to her colleagues and the leaders she served. We often marveled at the compassion she wove into the speeches she wrote for our bosses. Her empathy for the plight of Americans of every background and her commitment to social justice and equality were evident in her devotion to serving our country.
We watched with pride as she went on to write widely acclaimed books about Jewish ritual, tradition, and spirituality and about the effects of antisemitism on Jewish identity. Meticulously researched, her books are an exercise in nuance, empathy, and complexity as she articulates and wrestles with competing viewpoints. In her most recent book, for example, she both passionately defends Zionism, the national independence movement of the Jewish people, and also fiercely criticizes the current Israeli government.
So you can imagine our dismay when several far left and far right X accounts posted and retweeted a video clip of remarks she made at a recent Jewish conference that was selectively edited to cut off the actual point she was making. What followed was a torrent of outrage from people who claimed Sarah was arguing that we shouldn’t teach Holocaust education because doing so makes young people think the Israel-Hamas war in Gaza is a genocide. Others claimed she was saying that genocide only matters when it’s perpetrated against Jews.
Such sentiments would obviously be obscene, and we were shocked that people would attribute them to Sarah, someone who just published a book in which she expressed profound anguish about the unbearable deaths of civilians in Gaza. And we were appalled when people began circulating more out of context videos of Sarah with the intent of portraying her as callous and cruel.
Those who took the time to track down and watch the entire original video, including the part that was cut off, would have seen the actual points Sarah was making about antisemitism education, which were as follows: Some forms of prejudice are about a majority dominating a minority whom they see as inferior — a kind of “punching down.” But as many scholars have noted, antisemitism is about “punching up.” The Holocaust happened in part because the Nazis insisted that the Jews, who were 1% of the German population, were actually the powerful ones and were using their power to harm ordinary Germans. They accused Jews of undermining Germany’s World War I efforts and destroying the German economy. The Nazis claimed that killing Jews was therefore a form of self-defense, that they were protecting themselves against a powerful, depraved enemy.
Sarah was also conveying that, contrary to the impression young people get on social media, what happened in Gaza is not analogous to the Holocaust. It was a devastating war that does not fit neatly into a simplistic frame of oppressor versus oppressed. That black and white paradigm disregards the complex challenges that continue to stymie a resolution to this heartbreaking conflict.
But just try having this kind of complex discussion on social media where algorithms are designed to prize outrage and gin up hatred and too often amplify dissension sown by foreign actors.
Sarah certainly could have been more sensitive in the language she used, but the points she was actually making are worth considering.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.
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Rep. Ilhan Omar says Stephen Miller’s comments on immigrants sound like how ‘Nazis described Jewish people’
Rep Ilhan Omar, Democrat of Minnesota, on Sunday likened the Trump administration’s immigration rhetoric to Nazi depictions of Jews.
“It reminds me of the way the Nazis described Jewish people in Germany,” Omar said in an interview on CBS’s Face the Nation, commenting on a social media post by Stephen Miller, President Donald Trump’s senior adviser, in which he suggested that “migrants and their descendants recreate the conditions, and terrors, of their broken homelands.” Miller, who is Jewish, is the architect of the Trump administration’s immigration policy.
Omar called Miller’s comments “white supremist rhetoric” and also drew parallels between his characterization of migrants seeking refuge in the U.S. to how Jews were demonized and treated when they fled Nazi-era Germany. “As we know, there have been many immigrants who have tried to come to the United States who have turned back, you know, one of them being Jewish immigrants,” she said.
Now serving as Trump’s deputy chief of staff for policy, Miller is central to the White House’s plans for mass deportations and expanded barriers to asylum. During Trump’s first term, Miller led the implementation of the so-called Muslim travel ban in 2017, which barred entry to the U.S. for individuals from Iran, Iraq, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen, and pushed to further reduce a longtime refugee program.
Rep. Ilhan Omar: “When I think about Stephen Miller and his white supremacist rhetoric, it reminds me of the way the Nazis described Jewish people in Germany.” pic.twitter.com/GAjIMqFq26
— Aaron Rupar (@atrupar) December 7, 2025
Miller’s comments echoed similar rhetoric by Trump after an Afghan refugee was accused of shooting two National Guard members near the White House last month, killing one.
Trump told reporters at a cabinet meeting last week that Somali immigrants are “garbage” and that he wanted them to be sent “back to where they came from.” The president also singled out Omar, a Somali native who represents Minnesota’s large Somali-American community. “She should be thrown the hell out of our country,” Trump said.
In the Sunday interview, Omar called Trump’s remarks “completely disgusting” and accused him of having “an unhealthy obsession” with her and the Somali community. “This kind of hateful rhetoric and this level of dehumanizing can lead to dangerous actions by people who listen to the president,” she said.
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