While many American Jews and Jewish legacy organizations were arguing over Nicholas Kristof’s article in the New York Times about the rape and torture of Palestinians (which led to fights over the backlash), I was focusing on the work of Combatants for Peace and the Joint Nakba Ceremony, which was held on May 15.
The previous week, on May 6, Combatants for Peace presented a webinar conversation on the Nakba, with Israeli Jewish and Palestinian speakers. It was a primer on the historical event that has been deliberately pushed under the radar since 1948—for both Israelis Jews and those in the Diaspora, in order to entrench Israel’s origin story.
Salman’s grandparents were pushed out of Haifa and forced to leave everything behind. She is a descendant of what she terms “loss and displacement.” She views the Nakba as “continual.”
Ben Zeev underscored, “It’s hard to overestimate the impact of the Nakba.” He spoke of the 750,000 Palestinians who were expelled or fled their homes, and the communities and villages that were demolished “well into the 1960s.” Ben Zeev related the story his grandmother, a Holocaust survivor, told him. She arrived in Palestine on the Exodus ship. When they got to Haifa, they heard the sound of trucks. It took time before she realized and understood that those trucks were filled with Palestinians being evicted and transported out. Ben Zeev said, “It’s [Nakba] not just an event. It’s an ongoing process.” He noted, “There is no conversation about the Nakba in Israeli society. Israelis see the Nakba as mourning Israeli independence.” He reflected on the “Israeli inability to feel secure” and “trying to sustain what cannot be sustained.” Ben Zeev discussed the level of violence as being commensurate with 1948. “We are very much in the same moment,” he stated. His goal is to “choose humanity and model a different future.”
Qassas discussed the lack of Nakba awareness in Israeli society. He articulated, “There is no teaching of the Nakba in Israeli schools, leading to a disconnect from history.” Qassas expressed his dream for a binational state, asserting, “The right of return is legitimate. The Nakba is a fact—you can’t move forward until you acknowledge the crimes.”
His thoughts dovetailed with Ben Zeev, who emphasized, “The Nakba doesn’t become complete until the right of return is concretized.”
Wishnitzer, who is a co-founder of Combatants for Peace, explained that thirty years ago, he didn’t know about the Nakba, even though ruins of “Palestinian houses dotted Kibbutz lands.” He continued, “The question was never asked, ‘Where did the people go?’” He clarified that “Most of the people ended up in Gaza because they were forced to go south.”
Speaking about the fact that the 1948 Israeli archives still deny what took place, Wishnitzer said, “The Joint Nakba event is a way to break the silence jointly.”
Going back to the reality of how Israelis and Jews around the world were raised, Wishnitzer said flatly, “We were the good guys, erasing everything that didn’t fit that narrative. When you grow up with a sense of moral superiority, it keeps repeating the victim pose.” He pinpointed, “The Nakba is haunting us [Israelis], not just the Palestinians.”
The books of Adam Raz were mentioned as a resource. As Wishnitzer indicated, “Leftist Israelis started with 1967. [Beginning with] 1948 was too scary.” Already speaking out and being branded as traitors, acknowledgment of the wrongs of 1948 was viewed as, “That will undercut our efforts.”
Wishnitzer addressed the call participants directly. He said, “I can no longer not see what I was taught not to see. This is where we need your help. It’s about all of us.”
You can watch the 7th Joint Nakba Remembrance Ceremony here.
I recently spent four days in Montreal. No, I’m not considering a move. It was a trip with my adult son. I had never been to Canada before, and it was special to speak French daily. I got pegged as a Toronto resident, and when I knew the coast was clear, I admitted I was an American citizen, albeit one who was part of the “resistance.”
The weather was consistently rainy, with the grayness of an early November New York day. That was disappointing, but I had a lineup of museums to visit, so it wasn’t overly problematic. I showed my son that I wasn’t afraid to get on the huge Ferris wheel overlooking the city, and I proved my mettle by walking up to Mont Royal, which is 764 feet above sea level and sits within a park that celebrates Montreal’s skyline.
Yet, my biggest takeaway was the constant reminder of the Indigenous lands on which Montreal was built and the efforts to educate the population and visitors about the history of those peoples. The recognition spanned the earliest days of colonization through the abuse by the Canadian government in the 20th century.
Before exploring the individual sections of the exhibit, I read an introductory wall panel that asked, “How can we heal?” The text called for the Indigenous right to “have access to better education” for their children and “healthcare adapted to their culture.” Underscored was the “exploitation of resources on [their] ancestral territories,” which ignores and negates Indigenous “environmental philosophies.”
The statement addressed why numerous “Indigenous voices” have been outspoken about the concept of “reconciliation,” emphasizing that first it must “be preceded by healing.” Clearly delineated was that a shift cannot be established “before a true encounter between the different populations occupying this territory can take place.” At the forefront and essential was “reparation and rebuilding on new foundations.”
The taped personal testimonies were intense, especially those outlining the abuses at state-run schools (in partnership with various church affiliations) whose key mission was to separate children from their families and culture (as happened in the United States and Australia). These “residential schools” were the site of abuse that was emotional, sexual, physical, and psychological, resulting in intergenerational trauma.
There are 1.6 million Indigenous people living throughout Canada, with seventy different languages spoken in 630 communities. “Interrupted and fragmented history” is pointed to, resulting from the “cultural genocide of Indigenous peoples across the entire planet.” Visitors are asked to “embrace the encounter and understand the need for it…in order to work together toward a better future for all.”
The Montreal Holocaust Museum was the only museum open on Sunday, so it had been our first stop. It featured audiovisual presentations, including survivors’ stories, along with extensive artifacts. Before focusing on the World War II period, there was an overview of Jewish life in Canada, with a reference to the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue, founded in Montreal in 1768.
A large influx of Eastern European Jews began coming to Canada at the beginning of the 20th Century, with continuous waves following. By 1922, 131,000 Jews from the working-class sector had emigrated. They spoke Yiddish, founded schools, created organizations, libraries, and political groups, and built a strong, proactive labor movement. The immigrants brought their version of deli (thickly sliced smoked meats) and developed the “Montreal-style bagel.” (I like New York’s better!)
A section on diverse Jewish global communities, including North African and Sephardic Jewry, preceded the presentation on Eastern Europe and the “Shtetl,” “Berlin,” and the “Initial Persecution of the Jews: 1933-1935.” There was also a nod to “Redeeming the Land,” via a metal charity box for the Jewish National Fund.
In the section labeled “The Persecution Intensifies: 1936-1938,” a statement under the heading “Terror and Obedience” is featured. Unfortunately, the description sounds chillingly like Timothy Snyder’s descriptions of what is taking place in the United States today. (“Nothing less than complete obedience to Hitler and the Nazi Party was tolerated…Every organization in the country complied with Nazi principles or was destroyed.”)
By 1938, the exhibit verifies that 130,000 Jews had left Germany, “In Search of Safety.”
A presentation of Stars of David, each with the word “Jew” written in different languages, was included. One, which looked like an abstract work of art, was a stitched yellow-and-orange piece that left me wondering about its backstory. Perhaps it was made by someone who acquiesced to wearing a star, but insisted on creating one that reflected their own individuality.
Drawing: Marcia G. Yerman
The young man at the exhibit’s entry desk spoke with us at length. We learned that he was from Vienna and had been awarded a competitive NGO exchange scholarship, which he chose to replace his year of compulsory service in the Austrian military. Our conversation covered the school classes he had interacted with and other dialogues with the general public. He mentioned that when he had greeted two Hasidic student visitors, they asked where he was from. When he responded, one said to the other, “He’s one of the people who killed us.” Unfortunately, that comment didn’t take into account the Museum’s mission, which, beyond educating the public to the history of the Holocaust, strives to “sensitize the public to the universal perils of antisemitism, racism, hate and indifference.”
On our second-to-last day, we went to see the Écomusée du fier monde in the Center-Sud neighborhood, which had previously been a working-class area. Housed in an Art Deco bathhouse, it defines itself as “celebrating collective memory and civic engagement.” Not far from the location, a poster had been put up by the Antifasciste Populaire Front, asking, “If you are not antifascist, who (or what) are you?”
The time away from the daily barrage of news that usually fills my days brought some calming relief. However, all the questions I think about ad nauseam remained…Human rights, democracy, global violence, ethnic supremacy, and the rise of authoritarianism.
On our final day, as we walked through the streets, I saw a printed bill affixed to the facade of a black granite building. In italics, it had a quote from Mahmoud Darwish, the Palestinian poet and author who wrote about the Nakba, and the expulsion and exile of Palestinians. A dove with an olive branch was rendered in green, with teardrops in fading red.
The connective tissue between the three traumas—Indigenous oppression, the Holocaust, and Palestinian displacement—was impossible to ignore. I wondered when a recognition of these histories would lead toward a future rooted in empathy and understanding?
Manhattan University, a Lasallian Catholic university in the Bronx, is home to the Holocaust, Genocide, and Education Center, a gem in the New York metro area. While focusing on the “lessons of the Holocaust,” it names its commitment to “understanding and respecting differences and similarities between peoples of all religions, races, ethnicities, and nationalities.” Led by Mehnaz M. Afridi, whose area of expertise is Islam and the Holocaust, the promotion of Jewish-Catholic-Muslim “discussion and collaboration” is a core premise.
I have previously attended numerous talks and exhibitions at the space. When I saw a reproduction of one of Roux’s drawings, I was anxious to see the presentation. Showcased are twenty-six drawings Roux made in the closing days of World War II. At the opening reception, I had the opportunity to hear comments from those who mounted the show.
The exhibit presents two parallel stories. The first features Marcel Roux, a French political prisoner who was liberated from the Langenstein-Zwieberge concentration camp in Saxony-Anhalt, Germany, one of Buchenwald’s numerous subcamps. Although it was designated as a “labor” camp, due to the extreme conditions, war correspondent John M. Meeklin wrote that it was “a death camp.” He described the 1100 survivors as “barely alive.”
Side by side with Roux’s story, the exhibition additionally highlights the provenance of the works, which were dedicated to Dr. William A. Epstein, who was serving with the 20th Field Hospital of the American Army Medical Corps when the camp was liberated.
They were found in a closet in 1993 by Helene and Ken Orce during the renovation of a house they had purchased in Greenburgh, New York. The drawings, along with photographs, postcards, handwritten notes, and other ephemera, were stored inside a leather case marked, “Capt. Epstein – Please Return 20 Field Hosp.” The Orces notified Epstein’s widow, who was uninterested in recovering the materials.
In 2009, the Orces contacted Yad Vashem and learned that Roux’s drawings were created between April 18 and May 1, 1945, immediately after the camp’s liberation by American forces. Roux’s background was shared. He was born in Arles, France, in May 1904. Before his time in Buchenwald and Langenstein-Zwieberge, he was interned in May 1942 in Sachsenhausen, outside Berlin. His first wife, Marie-Louise Leger Roux, was arrested and deported to Ravensbrück, where she died in 1944.
Orce, who graduated from Manhattan College in 1965 as the recipient of a full scholarship, donated the documentation to the Center. Dr. David Buyze came on board to contribute archival research, thereby providing greater depth of understanding and context for the drawings.
Roux was a French Protestant resistance activist. According to the exhibit, he was not a professional artist, but rather an individual who created a “visual testimony.” The gallery wall panels state that his drawings occupy a “liminal space between documentary and memory.” It posits that Roux functioned as a “survivor artist” creating a “visceral visual testimony” out of “historical necessity.” In recording his immediate memories, Roux’s visual account serves as a form of testimony from “an insider’s view.” Paradoxically, in the camp records, Roux is listed as “kunstmaler,” which is German for “artist” or “painter.”
To me, the images did not feel like they were rendered by a novice, even one motivated by an urgent story to tell. They are composed either in graphite or combined with colored pencils. (I pondered where the latter could have come from, and some exploration suggested that they may have originated from the camp’s administrative office.) The color images portray the prisoners in the standard blue-and-white camp uniforms. Faces are rendered with exquisite sensitivity. Cheeks and noses are often accented with strokes of red. The pieces are inscribed, “a mon ami le Capt Epstein.”
Two black-and-white drawings, yellowed with age, capture with full force the brutality of the camps. The first foregrounds a prisoner, whose pickaxe has fallen to the ground. He is raising his arm to protect his face from the blow of an oncoming rifle butt. The attacking soldier has his booted foot on the inmate’s midsection. The background shows another man, his face in shock, while others continue their labors.
The second observes a hanging. Prisoners have been gathered to watch the execution, overseen by two SS officers. All the prisoners’ uniforms carry an upside-down triangle, but there is no way to determine their classification. With the stool overturned and the victim dangling in death, Roux depicts the individual reactions of the assembled witnesses.
Courtesy of Manhattan University
Daily camp life is represented through detailed images: inmates marching in unison, receiving a ladle of gruel, and enduring beatings. One drawing records a prisoner caning another; there is documentation of a man held in a torturous stress position. The work on paper titled “massacre des juifs” (Massacre of Jews) recounts six soldiers, rifles raised, who executed four prisoners who appear to be returning from a work detail. This scene is labeled as taking place at Sauchenhausen.
Courtesy of Manhattan University
The exhibition titles Roux’s drawings, “Liberation Art: A Story of Memory and Preservation.” Supplemental text breaks down Roux’s imprisonment through the three camps he survived, with backstory on each. There is also a reproduction of a “Chart of Prisoner Markings” used in German Concentration Camps. It shows how ID-Emblems were employed to designate the prisoner’s identification “category.”
Five “reflective questions” are posted to encourage viewers to engage in a deeper examination of their reaction to Roux’s depictions.
In her remarks to those gathered for the exhibit’s opening, Afridi spoke about creating “a more just and compassionate world rooted in social consciousness.”
She concluded with, “Right now, we need this kind of light.”
Despite some trees in bloom, it was a cold day in the Bronx on Saturday, March 28. That didn’t deter a crowd of over 400 people from turning out for the Bronx No Kings Day. The gathering was held at Lou Gehrig Plaza, directly across from the courthouse and a 3-minute walk from Yankee Stadium. I could see the street sign for the Grand Concourse, where my mother grew up.
I arrived early. The House of Jax, a well-known Bronx DJ operation, was getting the sound system and vibe in order. The event was organized by NW Bronx Indivisible, which handled logistics and curated a lineup of speakers featuring the district’s top elected officials and community activists. Co-sponsors included the Working Families Power, New York Progressive Action Network (NYPAN), NYCD16/15 (Full disclosure: I am a member), and two Bronx Democratic political clubs.
Surveying the area, I noticed a table with printed materials set up at the bottom of the plaza. It featured information on Jose Vega, a two-time challenger to incumbent Congressman Ritchie Torres. The campaign coordinator informed me that even if Vega lost the primary, he would be “running as an independent.”
Midway to the speakers’ platform and off to the side, Bernadette Forward was creating “balloon crowns,” which I later saw atop the heads of both children and adults. Forward said, “Power to the people! No Kings!” Then she added, “We need to bring some joy. Joy is a form of resistance.”
Extreme concern about the diminishment of citizens’ rights was expressed by everyone I interviewed. The war in Iran, the desire to be physically present as part of a larger community, and meeting others pushing back against the Trump regime were repeatedly invoked.
Gay Rosenblum-Kumar told me, “I’m distraught about what Trump is doing here and around the world. He’s totally broken the Constitution. I’m here to be part of the resistance.”
Health rights advocate and an organizer of the day’s rally, Helen Krim, said, “We chose this site because of the importance of the Grand Concourse in the history of the Bronx and the importance of the Bronx County Courthouse as a symbol of the rule of law in the Bronx.”
That exact sentiment was echoed by Donna LeBron, a Kingsbridge resident. She said, “It’s horrible that the rule of law is not being adhered to by parts of the government and that people are suffering.” Also expressed was the need for “affordable housing,” “ICE Out,” and disgust with a war that has not been approved by Congress.
Signs encompassed the messages, “Thank you, Minnesota, for Your Courage,” “Stop Fascism,” and “No Police State!” One canine in attendance sported the placard, “Dogs for Democracy.”
Yellow-vested safety marshals and orange-vested organizers were on hand to ensure everything proceeded smoothly. There were plenty of relaxed beat cops on the sidelines.
Promptly at 2:30 p.m., the House of Jax announced, “Put your hands in the air! Show them how we do it in the Bronx! Who’s ready to get this started?”
The program began, led by Melissa Martinez and Ramdat Singh. Passing cars honked horns in support. Martinez announced, “Power belongs to the people.” Roberta Todd, a vice president of Our Bronx and a leader in the North West Bronx Community and Clergy Coalition, led a moment of silence, flanked by clergy from various denominations. She asked for “prayers for those in the world harmed by the actions of the U.S. government.” Todd concluded with a recitation of the word “peace” in different languages.
Borough President Vanessa Gibson was first up. “Thanks for standing in unity. We deserve to live in a democracy. We stand against ICE.” The crowd cheered in response. She continued, “There are attacks on safety nets that the Bronx depends on. The Bronx is filled with fighters.” She ended with, “We are together in this work.”
Continuing the call for action, Councilwoman Althea Stevens declared, “I stand here today grounded in those who came before me. There are no kings in this country. We demand our voices to be heard.” She referenced the fight for freedom dating back to the era of slavery. Reflecting on how most voters presumed they wouldn’t be impacted by the Trump regime, Stevens pointed out, “Too many people were comfortable saying, ‘It’s not going to be me.’ ”
Emérita Torres, Assemblywoman for the 85th A.D. in the South Bronx, decisively verbalized her take. “Our democracy runs on accountability, not Trump’s ego.” Torres recounted her career background, which included ten years in the U.S. State Department and several tours of diplomatic service. She discussed how tariffs and trade policy impact all Americans and become a “local issue.” Her evaluation of Trump’s handling of these matters was, “He runs it like a reality show.” On Trump’s Iran debacle, Torres said, “War has to be a last resort.”
Following these remarks, the Singing Resistance Choir took the stage to lead everyone in a responsive music set in English and Spanish, providing an invigorating break before the final speakers.
New York City Councilwoman Pierina Sanchez, the daughter of Dominican immigrants, tackled the fear of ICE within the borough. “ICE is here today,” she said. “And we send you a strong message. GET OUT!” She advised people to get trained on their rights.
Assemblyman Jeffrey Dinowitz mentioned the reality of ICE lurking outside local hospitals. He also told the story of district resident Dillion Lopez Contreras, a high school student who was under threat of being deported to Venezuela during the period he had been held in a detention center for ten months. He was released in March.
Advocates at the forefront of progressive initiatives in education, the environment, criminal justice, and health rights drilled down on the hyperlocal challenges to residents.
Leslie Vasquez, who works in the environmental justice space, shared that the Bronx has the highest asthma rate in New York City and is known as “Asthma Alley.” Edwin Santana tackled the fight to close Rikers Island jail, reminding people, “We fought to keep ICE out of Rikers, and we won!”
A key concern Carrie Tracy, the Senior Director of Health Initiatives at Community Service Society (CSS), raised was the possibility that a wide swath of Bronxites would lose their health care coverage on July 1 if no aggressive action was taken. “Healthcare is a human right,” she pronounced. “Call the Governor!” Tracy notified those gathered that Assemblywoman Amy Paulin and State Senator Gustavo Rivera (S.9589) were working on bills to protect medical coverage taken away by Trump’s Big, Beautiful Bill, HR 1.
Amaretta Mathai
The New York Civil Liberties Union (NYCLU) was represented by Amaretta Mathai, who was adamant about her organization’s commitment to “equal justice for all.” She stated, “There will be no warehouses in our community.” She ticked off the number of lawsuits the NYCLU has put into play against the Trump agenda, and underscored the ongoing fight “for birthright citizenship.”
Perhaps it was fitting that the final speaker was Gustavo Rivera, the popular State Senator who always has a joke to lighten the atmosphere. However, on Saturday, his comments were intense and heartfelt.
“Despair is an easy place to go when you are by yourself,” Rivera began. “Being with other people is how we succeed. These are the folks who chose to show up today.” His staff circulated two bilingual cards. One outlined procedures for using whistle signals to alert others to the presence of ICE. The other was “Know Your Rights,” which shared resources and had responses to hand to an agent if approached. He also advised about “Private Room” strategies for businesses.
“We need to sabotage the actions of the federal government,” Rivera stressed. “We refuse to turn our backs on neighbors. This is a long-term thing.” His closing comments summed up the ethos of the No Kings movement:
“Nobody can do everything, but everyone can do something. Do a little bit every day.”
Children are less physically able to withstand and survive severe weather occurrences. Ironically, they contribute the least to factors creating the climate crisis while suffering the most significant impacts.
With a shift in American and Israeli leadership, the armed hostilities between the Israeli government and Hamas in May, and street riots within mixed Israeli cities, Diaspora Jews are beginning to question the traditionally...
Mohammed believed that all women, including those in the LGBTQ community, needed to achieve social integration and equality in order for democracy to occur in Iraq.
“Ministers of Chaos,” profiling Itamr Ben-Gvir and Bezalel Smotrich,
takes a deep look at the tentacles of racism and ethnonationalism in today’s state of Israel.
Ascherman said, “One thing I can promise [to Palestinians], you will not be alone.” His voice broke. “Like when our doors were broken down. You will not be alone. We will do whatever, whatever, whatever we can.”
Common threads are apparent worldwide. The populist right stokes economic fears, nationalism, and anti-immigration sentiment, mixed with “culture war” talking points, to foster an environment of ongoing turmoil. These approaches are combined with attacks on checks and balances, freedom of the press, and scapegoating specific groups.
Three months later, the film accompanies Liat to Yad Vashem, where she leads her class through an exhibit on the Warsaw Ghetto. She focuses on the separation wall that divided the Jews from the Poles and the Germans. It obviously has a specific meaning for her.
With a call to recognize a “shared humanity” as a basis for moving forward, Green repeated the oft-stated phrase: “No one is going anywhere.” Which led back to Lander’s question, “What kind of relationship do we want to be in with each other?”
“Political blacklists are a way of taking away people’s voices. If you are not allowed to participate or speak, no one can hear your ideas. You might lose friends, jobs, and your home. As you go through this exhibition, think about who is being allowed to speak and who is being silenced.”
“We need to go back to the Judaism of our prophets,” Maoz told me. “The opposite of what Israel is now. We can’t wait for the prophets. Where is Shalom?”
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