Holocaust Remembrance Day began as a day of commemoration, a day to remember the lives destroyed, the world we lost, and the unspeakable tragedies inflicted on our people.
It also charged us with a responsibility to ensure that this would never happen again. “Never again” became the vow to which the generations after the Holocaust bound themselves.
Over time, the day has become more than commemoration of what was lost in the Holocaust. It has become a moment to reflect on the trajectory and arc of Jewish history in its aftermath, and on what the Holocaust has taught us about the enduring nature of antisemitism. It is not only a day that looks backward to those horrific years and renews the pledge of “Never again.” It is a day on which we consider Jewish history more broadly, the stage we currently occupy, and the responsibilities that rest on us.
There is something of Tisha B’Av in its atmosphere, a quiet gravity that invites reflection on Jewish identity and Jewish destiny through the lens of the greatest tragedy to befall our people since the destruction of the Temple.
Normalizing the Jew
Theodor Herzl and the early Zionists were horrified by the persistence of antisemitism burning across Europe. After close to a century of emancipation, Jews had become full members of the best of European society. They helped drive remarkable growth in culture, science, technology, politics, and commerce. And yet the hatred remained. It took different forms in different countries, but beneath it all lay a common denominator, an inexplicable hostility toward the Jew.
For Herzl, the solution appeared straightforward. Remove what was perceived as the root of that hatred, and the hatred itself would fade. If Jews no longer lived as a foreign presence within host countries but instead in a sovereign state of their own, others would have no reason to resent them. The uneasy condition of living as guests in lands not their own, often achieving striking success within those societies, seemed to him to generate friction and suspicion. Eliminate that condition, and antisemitism would dissipate. He assumed that once Jews lived as a normal nation among nations, the hatred would recede.
He was wrong. Establishing the State of Israel has not eliminated antisemitism; it has redirected it. The haters still hate us, and the opportunists still wait for their moment to turn against the people of God. Antisemitism appears woven into the fabric of human history. It can be restrained, and the immense efforts of recent generations, dialogue, museums of tolerance, and legislation have significantly reduced its reach. But it refuses to disappear. It will end only when history itself comes to a close, not a moment earlier.
THE RECENT resurgence of antisemitism has reminded us of the familiar patterns of older hatred. The language has shifted, the framing has changed, but the underlying structure feels unsettlingly similar. Then, as now, alliances of hostility form, bound together only by their hatred of Jews. A century ago, socialists accused Jews of global capitalism, while capitalists blamed Jews for fomenting communist revolutions. It did not matter that these camps were sworn enemies. Antisemitism forges unlikely alliances.
Today, we face a different coalition. Hyper-progressive voices that see Western civilization as inherently corrupt have cast Israel as the embodiment of oppression, labeling it with the language of occupation, apartheid, and imperialism. At the same time, elements on the far Right revive older tropes, portraying Jews as quietly controlling events behind the scenes. They are joined by strands of Islamic fundamentalism and their sympathizers, who would, given the opportunity, turn against both of these groups as well.
This alliance feels jarring. It should. Anyone familiar with Jewish history recognizes the pattern.
NOW, AS then, false narratives are being constructed to justify hatred and even murder. The accusations are baseless, but in an age of social media, amplified by bots and algorithms, the voice of the loud and angry can distort reality and overshadow truth. Increasingly, part of our struggle is a struggle over truth itself. Our enemies generate AI-produced fabrications, while we work to present what is accurate and grounded.
There is a deeper danger. A lie, repeated often enough, begins to feel familiar, and what feels familiar can begin to feel credible. Many people across the world have absorbed these narratives not out of malice but because they have not taken the time, or do not possess the independence, to examine facts and understand the situation carefully.
We must be careful not to fall into the same trap, not to internalize the distortions directed against us or begin to believe the fictions others create about who we are.
It appears that we may be witnessing a profound unraveling across parts of Europe, a continent that persecuted us for generations and gave rise to the ideas that culminated in the Holocaust. In a measure of historical irony, the strain now seems to be emerging from within. The trauma of 20th-century racism, which scarred Europe through Nazism and fascism, produced an overcorrection. In response, borders were opened and national confidence weakened.
As Europe struggles with large-scale migration and questions of identity, it faces a real challenge to its sense of nationhood and cohesion.
At the same time, as these pressures intensify, much of Western Europe has begun to pull back in its support for the State of Israel.
THERE ARE several important differences between our moment and that of a century ago. For the first time in centuries, Jews are not merely subjects of history but active participants within it.
In the aftermath of the Holocaust, Jewish pride and identification reached a painful low. Survivors describe a deep sense of shame. Jews felt exposed, uncertain, even embarrassed to be visibly Jewish in public spaces. They were confronted by voices that pointed to the Holocaust as proof that we had been abandoned, that we were no longer chosen. Many fled Europe entirely, scattering as far as possible from the killing fields that had consumed our people.
So much has changed since then. The State of Israel has become the anchor of Jewish identity. Its successes have sustained and deepened Jewish self-understanding across generations. The victory of 1967’s Six Day War reignited Jewish identity for millions of Soviet Jews whose connection had been suppressed under decades of oppression. Oct. 7 and the determined struggle that followed to defend our land have had a similar effect, strengthening Jewish identification both in Israel and across the world. Jewish identity today is far stronger and more confident.
The most important difference is that we are no longer defenseless. Watching our air force systematically dismantle enemies who seek our destruction calls to mind a moment from two decades ago. In 2003, the Israeli Air Force participated in a visit to Poland and arranged a symbolic flyover of Auschwitz. As the squadron leader brought his planes into formation, he declared:
“We, pilots of the Israeli Air Force, flying in the skies above the camp of horrors, arose from the ashes of the millions of victims. We carry their silent cry and salute their courage. We promise to be the shield of the Jewish people and its nation, Israel.”
When one hears those words, it is hard not to think back to the spring of 1944. A single bombing mission over the railway lines leading to Auschwitz might have disrupted the deportation of Hungarian Jewry. Despite urgent appeals to Franklin D. Roosevelt and Winston Churchill, that mission never took place. Decades later, we had an air force of our own, declaring that Jewish lives would no longer depend on the decisions of others.
More than two decades have passed since that flyover. Today, that declaration is no longer symbolic. The Israeli Air Force continues to fulfill that promise, defending our people with determination and resolve against those who seek our destruction.
The skies that had once been silent are no longer empty. No enemy is beyond our reach. ■
The writer is a YU-ordained rabbi at Yeshivat Har Etzion (Gush), a hesder yeshiva. His latest book, Reclaiming Redemption, Vol. II: Faith, Identity, Peoplehood, and the Storms of War, is available at mtaraginbooks.com.