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The Museum offers a wide selection of online resources about the Holocaust and other genocides and mass atrocities. These tools provide a variety of ways to learn and teach about this important history-whether for research, individual, or classroom use.

Visit our page Teaching About the Holocaust Online for lesson plans created to assist educators using distance learning platforms to teach about the Holocaust.

The Holocaust: History and Memory allows students to virtually experience the US Holocaust Memorial Museum. The virtual field trip includes nine different scenes from the Museum, including our permanent exhibition.

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Online Tools for Learning and Teaching - United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

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These US Holocaust Memorial Museum websites provide a variety of ways to learn and teach about the Holocaust and other genocides and mass atrocities.

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Antisemitism: how the origins of history’s oldest hatred still hold sway today

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Antisemitism: how the origins of history’s oldest hatred still hold sway today

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TASK: Draw a timeline with the names of antisemitic ideologists, their ideas and countries of their origin

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Antisemitism is on the march. From the far-right demonstrators in Charlottesville, Virginia, with their "Blood and Soil" chants and their "Jews will not replace us" placards to attacks on synagogues in Sweden, arson attacks on kosher restaurants in France and a spike in hate crimes against Jews in the UK. Antisemitism seems to have been given a new lease of life.

The seemingly endless conflicts in the Middle East have made the problem worse as they spawn divisive domestic politics in the West. But can the advance of antisemitism be attributed to the rise of right-wing populism or the influence of Islamic fundamentalism? One thing is clear. Antisemitism is here and it's getting worse.

Antisemitism rears its ugly head in every aspect of public life, whether internal debates within political parties or accusations of conspiratorial networks or plots in politics and business. Or even in the accusations that Hollywood mogul Harvey Weinstein's sexually predatory behaviour was somehow linked to his Jewish origins.

But by focusing narrowly on the contemporary context of modern antisemitism, we miss a central, if deeply depressing, reality. Jeffrey Goldberg, the editor of The Atlantic magazine, puts it correctly when he says that what we are seeing is an ancient and deeply embedded hostility towards Jews that is reemerging as the barbarous events of World War II recede from our collective memory.

Goldberg says that for 70 years, in the shadow of the death camps, antisemitism was culturally, politically and intellectually unacceptable. But now "we are witnessing ... the denouement of an unusual epoch in European life, the age of the post-Holocaust Jewish dispensation". Without an understanding of antisemitism's ancient roots, the dark significance of this current trend may not be fully understood and hatred may sway popular opinion unchallenged.

Antisemitism has been called history's oldest hatred and it has shown itself to be remarkably adaptable. It is carved from - and sustained by - powerful precedents and inherited stereotypes. But it also taking on variant forms to reflect the contingent fears and anxieties of an ever-changing world. Understood this way, it is the modern manifestation of an ancient prejudice - one which some scholars believe stretches back to antiquity and medieval times.
Listen to the audio version of this article on The Conversation's In Depth Out Loud podcast:
Ancient tradition of hatred

The word "antisemitism" was popularised by the German journalist Wilhelm Marr. His polemic, Der Sieg des Judentums über das Germentum (The Victory of Jewry over Germandom), was published in 1879. Outwardly, Marr was a thoroughly secular man of the modern world. He explicitly rejected the groundless but ancient Christian allegations long made against the Jews, such as deicide or that Jews engaged in the ritual murder of Christian children. Instead, he drew on the fashionable theories of the French academic Ernest Renan (who viewed history as a world-shaping contest between Jewish Semites and Aryan Indo-Europeans). Marr suggested that the Jewish threat to Germany was racial. He said that it was born of their immutable and destructive nature, their "tribal peculiarities" and "alien essence".

Antisemites like Marr strove for intellectual respectability by denying any connection between their own modern, secular ideology and the irrational, superstitious bigotry of the past. It is a tactic which is employed by some contemporary antisemites who align themselves with " anti-Zionism ", an ideology whose precise definition consequently excites considerable controversy. But this continuing hostility towards Jews from pre-modern to modern times has been manifest to many.

The American historian Joshua Trachtenberg, writing during World War II, noted:

Modern so-called 'scientific' antisemitism is not an invention of Hitler's ... it has flourished primarily in central and eastern Europe, where medieval ideas and conditions have persisted until this day, and where the medieval conception of the Jew which underlies the prevailing emotional antipathy toward him was, and still is, deeply rooted.

In fact, up until the Holocaust, antisemitism flourished just as much in western Europe as in central or eastern Europe. Consider, for example, how French society was bitterly divided between 1894-1906, after the Jewish army officer, Captain Alfred Dreyfus, was falsely accused and convicted of spying for Germany. It saw conservatives squaring up against liberals and socialists, Catholics against Jews.

Yet Trachtenberg was undoubtedly correct in suggesting that many of those who shaped modern antisemitism were profoundly influenced by the older "medieval" tradition of religious bigotry. The Russian editor of the infamous Protocols of Zion - a crude and ugly, but tragically influential, forgery alleging a Jewish world conspiracy - was the political reactionary, ultra-Orthodox, and self-styled mystic Sergei Nilus.

Wrought by fear and hatred of the challenges to traditional religion, social hierarchies and culture posed by modernity, Nilus was convinced that the coming of the Antichrist was imminent and that those who failed to believe in the existence of "the elders of Zion" were simply the dupes of "Satan's greatest ruse".

So modern antisemitism cannot be easily separated from its pre-modern antecedents. As the Catholic theologian Rosemary Ruether observed:

The mythical Jew, who is the eternal conspiratorial enemy of Christian faith, spirituality and redemption, was ... shaped to serve as the scapegoat for [the ills of] secular industrial society.

Antisemitism in antiquity?

Some scholars would look to the pre-Christian world and see in the attitudes of ancient Greeks and Romans the origins of an enduring hostility. Religious Studies scholar Peter Schäfer believes the exclusive nature of the monotheistic Jewish faith, the apparent haughty sense of being a chosen people, a refusal to intermarry, a Sabbath observance and the practise of circumcision were all things that marked Jews out in antiquity for a particular odium.

Finding examples of hostility towards Jews in classical sources is not difficult. The politician and lawyer Cicero, 106-43BC, once reminded a jury of "the odium of Jewish gold" and how they "[stick together]" and are "influential in informal assemblies". The Roman historian Tacitus, c.56-120AD, was contemptuous of "base and abominable" Jewish customs and was deeply disturbed by those of his compatriots who had renounced their ancestral gods and converted to Judaism. The Roman poet and satirist Juvenal, c.55-130AD, shared his disgust at the behaviour of converts to Judaism besides denouncing Jews generally as drunken and rowdy.

These few examples may point towards the existence of antisemitism in antiquity. But there is little reason to believe that Jews were the objects of a specific prejudice beyond the generalised contempt that both Greeks and Romans exhibited towards "barbarians" - especially conquered and colonised peoples. Juvenal was every bit as rude about Greeks and other foreigners in Rome as he was about Jews. He complained bitterly: "I cannot stand ... a Greek city of Rome. And yet what part of the dregs comes from Greece?" Once the full extent of Juvenal's prejudice has been recognised, his snide remarks about Jews might be understood as being more indicative of an altogether more sweeping xenophobia.

The 'Christ killers'

It is in the theology of early Christians that we find the clearest foundations of antisemitism. The Adversus Judaeos (arguments against the Jews) tradition was established early in the religion's history. Sometime around 140AD the Christian apologist Justin Martyr was teaching in Rome. In his most celebrated work, Dialogue with Trypho the Jew, Justin strove to answer Trypho when he pointed to the contradictory position of Christians who claimed to accept Jewish scripture but refused to follow Torah (the Jewish law).

Justin responded that the demands of Jewish law were meant only for Jews as a punishment from God. Although still accepting the possibility of Jewish salvation, he argued that the old covenant was finished, telling Trypho: "You ought to understand that [the gifts of God's favour] formerly among your nation have been transferred to us." Yet Justin's concern was not really with Jews. It was with his fellow Christians. At a time when the distinction between Judaism and Christianity was still blurred and rival sects competed for adherents, he was striving to prevent gentile converts to Christianity from observing the Torah, lest they go over wholly to Judaism.

Vilifying Jews was a central part of Justin's rhetorical strategy. He alleged that they were guilty of persecuting Christians and had done so ever since they "had killed the Christ". It was an ugly charge, soon levelled again in the works of other Church Fathers, such as Tertullian (c.160-225AD) who referred to the "synagogues of the Jews" as "fountains of persecution".

The objective of using such invective was to settle internal debates within Christian congregations. The "Jews" in these writings were symbolic. The allegations did not reflect the actual behaviour or beliefs of Jews. When Tertullian attempted to refute the dualist teachings of the Christian heretic Marcion (c.144AD), he needed to demonstrate that the vengeful God of the Old Testament was indeed the same merciful and compassionate God of the Christian New Testament. He achieved this by presenting the Jews as especially wicked and especially deserving of righteous anger; it was thus, Tertullian argued, that Jewish behaviours and Jewish sins explained the contrast between the Old and the New Testament.

To demonstrate this peculiar malevolence, Tertullian portrayed Jews as denying the prophets, rejecting Jesus, persecuting Christians and as rebels against God. These stereotypes shaped Christian attitudes towards Jews from late antiquity into the medieval period, leaving Jewish communities vulnerable to periodic outbreaks of persecution. These ranged from massacres, such as York in 1190, to "ethnic cleansing", as seen in the expulsions from England in 1290, France in 1306 and Spain in 1492.

Although it was real people who often suffered as a result of this ugly prejudice, antisemitism as a concept largely owes its longevity to its symbolic and rhetorical power. American historian David Nirenberg concludes that "anti-Judaism was a tool that could usefully be deployed to almost any problem, a weapon that could be deployed on almost any front". And this weapon has been wielded to devastating effect for centuries. When Martin Luther thundered against the Papacy in 1543 he denounced the Roman Church as "the Devil's Synagogue" and Catholic orthodoxy as "Jewish" in its greed and materialism. In 1790, the Anglo-Irish conservative Edmund Burke published his manifesto, Reflections on the Revolution in France, and condemned the revolutionaries as " Jew brokers " and "Old Jewry."

From Marxism to Hollywood

Despite Karl Marx's Jewish ancestry, Marxism was tainted at its very birth by antisemitism. In 1843, Karl Marx identified modern capitalism as the result of the "Judiasing" of the Christian:

The Jew has emancipated himself in a Jewish manner not only annexing the power of money but also through him and also apart from him money has become a world power and the practical spirit of the Jew has become the practical spirit of the Christian people. The Jews have emancipated themselves in so far as the Christians have become Jews ... Money is the jealous god of Israel before whom no other god may stand ... The god of the Jews has been secularised and has become the god of the world.

And there remain those, from across the political spectrum, who are still ready to deploy what Nirenberg referred to as "the most powerful language of opprobrium available" in Western political discourse, commonly using the language of conspiracy, webs and networks. In 2002, the left-leaning New Statesman included articles by Dennis Sewell and John Pilger, debating the existence of a "pro-Israeli lobby" in Britain. Their articles, however, proved less controversial than the the cover illustration chosen to introduce this theme, which drew on familiar tropes of secret Jewish machinations and dominance over national interests: a gold Star of David resting on the Union Jack, with the title: "A Kosher Conspiracy?" The following year, veteran Labour MP Tam Dalyell accused the then prime minister, Tony Blair, of "being unduly influenced by a cabal of Jewish advisers". It is still language that is being used now.

On the far right, white supremacists have been quick to project their own time-honoured fantasies of Jewish malfeasance and power onto contemporary events, however seemingly irrelevant. This was quickly apparent in August 2017, as the future of memorials glorifying those who had rebelled against the union and defended slavery during America's Civil War became the focus of intense debate in the United States. At Charlottesville, Virginia, demonstrators protesting against the removal of a statue of Confederate General Robert E Lee, began chanting "Jews will not replace us". When journalist Elspeth Reeve asked one why, he replied that the city was "run by Jewish communists".

When accusations of serious sexual misconduct by Weinstein were published by The New York Times in October 2017, he was quickly cast by the far right as a representative of the "eternal conspiratorial enemy" of American society as a whole. David Duke, former head of the Ku Klux Klan, would write on his website that the "Harvey Weinstein story ... is a case study in the corrosive nature of Jewish domination of our media and cultural industries".

'The hatreds of our time ...'

Responding to such language, The Atlantic's Emma Green astutely commented on how "the durability of anti-Semitic tropes and the ease with which they slide into all displays of bigotry, is a chilling reminder that the hatreds of our time rhyme with history and are easily channelled through timeless anti-Semitic canards".

There is real danger here as the spike in antisemitic hate crimes shows. This peculiar way of thinking about the world has always retained the potential to turn hatred of symbolic Jews into the very real persecution of actual Jews. Given the marked escalation of antisemitic incidents recorded in 2017, we are now faced with the unsettling prospect that this bigotry is becoming "normalised".

For example, the European Jewish Congress expressed " grave concerns " over an increase in antisemitic acts in Poland under the right-wing Law and Justice government which won the 2015 parliamentary election with an outright majority. The group said the government was "closing ... communications with the official representatives of the Jewish community" and there was a "proliferation of 'fascist slogans' and unsettling remarks on social media and television, as well as the display of flags of the nationalist ... group at state ceremonies".

In response to these fears, a survey investigating antisemitism within the European Union will be undertaken in 2018, led by the European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights. The agency's director, Michael O'Flaherty, commented, correctly, that: "Antisemitism remains a grave worry across Europe despite repeated efforts to stamp out these age-old prejudices."

Given the phenomenon's deep historical roots and its epoch defying capacity for reinvention, it would be easy to be pessimistic about the prospect of another effort to "stamp it out". But an historical awareness of the nature of antisemitism may prove a powerful ally for those who would challenge prejudice. The ancient tropes and slights may cloak themselves in modern garb but even softly-spoken allegations of conspiratorial "lobbies" and "cabals" should be recognised for what they are: the mobilisation of an ancient language and ideology of hate for which there should be no place in our time.

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Antisemitism: how the origins of history's oldest hatred still hold sway today

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Antisemitism is on the march. From the far-right demonstrators in Charlottesville, Virginia, with their "Blood and Soil" chants and their "Jews will not replace us" placards to attacks on synagogues in Sweden, arson attacks on kosher restaurants in France and a spike in hate crimes against Jews in the UK.

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TASK: Watch the video, add new facts to the timeline and discuss the suggested questions

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[Narrator] Between 1939 and 1945, the Nazis killed about six million Jews and millions of other civilians throughout Europe.

These are some who were slaughtered in the Holocaust-a generation lost forever.

[Text on screen] EUROPEAN ANTISEMITISM FROM ITS ORIGINS TO THE HOLOCAUST

[Narrator] Jews are the people of the Hebrew Bible who lived in a land now known as Israel. They believe that there is only one God.

Christianity emerged from Judaism. Jesus of Nazareth was a Jew who preached a singular religious message. The first Christians were Jews who prayed in Hebrew and observed the customs and religious rituals of Judaism. The Last Supper was a Jewish religious meal, probably at Passover.

Jesus was put to death at the hands of Roman authorities under Pontius Pilate in Judea, but the gospel accounts were interpreted as blaming all Jews for the crucifixion. To his followers, Jesus was the Christ, the Messiah. His death, sacrificial atonement. Most Jews believed the Messiah had not yet come. Redemption was not at hand.

Soon after the crucifixion, Roman armies destroyed the Temple in Jerusalem. Jews were exiled and scattered-to live as a dispersed minority. By the 5th century, Christianity had become the dominant religion in the Roman Empire.

The early Christian church portrayed Jews as unwilling to accept the word of God; illuminations showed Satan binding the eyes of the Jews. Some church leaders intensified the charge-condemning Jews as agents of the devil and murderers of God. The accusation was not renounced until the 1960s when the Second Vatican Council officially repudiated the ancient charge that Jews had murdered Christ.

For centuries, state and Church laws restricted Jews, preventing them from owning land and holding public office. Guilds excluded Jews from most occupations, forcing them into pursuits like money-lending, trade, commerce. Excluded from Christian society, Jews maintained their religious and social customs.

In 1095, Pope Urban II called for the liberation of Jerusalem. Christian crusaders set off to free the Holy Land from the Muslims. On the way, they slaughtered thousands of Jews.

Throughout the Middle Ages, Christians persecuted Jews. Portrayed as alien, Jews were regarded as usurers. It was said Jews poisoned the wells of Europe, causing the Black Plague. Illustrations depicted Jews as the devil, with horns and cloven feet, and showed them using the blood of Christian children in ritual sacrifices. These lies came to be taken as truth.

But where they were needed, Jews were tolerated. When they were allowed to participate in the larger society, Jews thrived.

In many places, secular and religious states forced Jews into segregated districts later called ghettos. England, France, Spain, Portugal, and many German states expelled masses of Jews-most of whom migrated eastward taking with them their religious convictions and traditions.

In 1517, Martin Luther attacked the Pope and corruption within his own Roman Catholic Church, beginning the Protestant Reformation. The young Luther hoped that tolerance would persuade Jews to convert. But when Jews adhered to their own religious beliefs and refused to join his new reformed church, Luther's disappointment turned to hatred.
What then shall we Christians do with this rejected and condemned people, the Jews? . . .Their synagogues . . .should be set on fire, and what does not burn must be covered over with earth so that no man will ever see stone or cinder of them again. . . .Their houses also should be razed and destroyed. . . . All their prayer books. . .should be taken from them.
The Protestant Reformation brought no end to the anti-Jewish tradition of Christianity.

With the 18th century Enlightenment's emphasis on reason, the domination of the Church diminished. Some Enlightenment thinkers called for full rights for Jews, but only on the condition that they discard their religious customs. Others blamed Judaism as the source of irrational religious faith.

Even though many Jews assimilated socially and culturally, prejudice did not disappear.

In France in 1894, Captain Alfred Dreyfus, the only Jewish member of the French Army's general staff, was convicted of passing military secrets to Germany. Later, proof of forgery confirmed his innocence, but Dreyfus remained the victim of a cover up to divert attention from army corruption. A century after the French Revolution proclaimed Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity, giving Jews their freedom, frenzied mobs in the streets of Paris chanted Death to the Jews.

[Text on screen] It is not a question of religion. The enemy is JUDAISM!

[Narrator] Religious discrimination had gradually changed into a thriving secular, political, and social antisemitism.

Nevertheless, freed from some restrictions, many Jews entered the Christian World and became prominent citizens.

Then, around 1900, a new lie was promoted: that Jews conspired to dominate the world using their money and intelligence to manipulate trusting Christians. Russian secret police forged a document to support the story of a take-over plot supposedly authored by a conference of Jewish leaders. A proven forgery, The Protocols of the Elders of Zion was nevertheless translated into every major language and distributed worldwide. It is circulated even today despite indisputable proof that it is a fake.

To divert popular discontent at appalling living conditions and autocratic control, Russian authorities encouraged antisemitic violence. Jews were blamed for the assassination of Czar Alexander II in 1881. Pogroms, murderous rampages against Jews, erupted in Russia many times during the next three decades.

The second half of the 19th century saw the emergence of yet another kind of antisemitism. At its core was the theory that Jews were not merely a religious group but a separate "race"-Semites-set apart because of genetically inherited characteristics.

Antisemites believed racial characteristics could not be overcome by assimilation or even conversion. Jews were said to be dangerous and threatening because of their "Jewish blood." Antisemitic racism united pseudoscientific theories with centuries old anti-Jewish stereotypes. These ideas gained wide acceptance.

The devastation of World War I, the demeaning peace of Versailles, the hyperinflation of the 1920s, and the depression of 1929 fueled mass discontent.

The presence of Jews in German cultural, economic, and political life made them convenient scapegoats for Germany's misfortunes.

Enter: Adolf Hitler. Hitler viewed world history as a racial struggle for survival of the fittest. He saw Jews as the source of all evil: disease, social injustice, cultural decline, capitalism and all forms of Marxism, especially Communism.

Antisemitism would become the predominant ideology of the Third Reich.

Nazi racism victimized many groups of people, but it was against the Jews that the Nazi state mobilized all its resources for terror.

After the Nazi takeover of power, anti-Jewish measures were put into effect one after another: Jewish businesses were boycotted, then seized. Jews were defined, separated from non-Jews. Jews were excluded from professions and studies. Jewish children were barred from schools. Jews were subjected to public humiliation.

The changes-whether gradual or sudden-were incomprehensible. Few could imagine what would happen. Even Jews.

The Nazis took antisemitism to an unprecedented level of violence. Genocide: the systematic murder of millions of people deemed inferior. Six million Jews. These are some of them.

[Text on screen] In the aftermath of the Holocaust, some Christian churches, including the Roman Catholic and Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, have re-examined their teachings on the Jews and Judaism.

Many denominations are continuing to address the role played by centuries of Christian antisemitism in contributing to circumstances that made the Holocaust possible.

Antisemitism did not end with the Holocaust and persists in Europe, the United States, and around the world today. Efforts to minimize, deny, or even celebrate the Holocaust are among the many ways antisemitism endures.

Hatred of Jews is fueled by myths, lies, and conspiracy theories. Some advocates of religious, political, and racial ideologies continue to exploit the hatred of Jews to achieve their own ends.

As the Holocaust demonstrates, antisemitism often appears alongside other forms of hatred, with potentially devastating consequences for individuals, communities, and nations.

Learn more at ushmm.org/antisemitism.

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Why the Jews: History of Antisemitism - United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

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This 13-minute film explains the history of antisemitism from the days of the early Christian church until the 20th century.

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TASK: Find out when and where the term "antisemitism" was coined

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The word antisemitism means prejudice against or hatred of Jews. The Holocaust is history’s most extreme example of antisemitism. Learn more.

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The purpose of these educational modules is to help students learn about the following themes:

Being an Outsider

Fighting Prejudice

Holocaust Denial and Hate Speech

Propaganda and Media

Religion and Identity

Rescue and Resistance

Responding to Genocide

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The purpose of these educational modules is to help students learn about the following themes:

As a teaching resource, the modules:

Illustrate the existence and broad impact of contemporary antisemitism

Demonstrate the ongoing relevance of the Holocaust to law, faith, the arts, and other areas

Introduce, punctuate, or end sections of study, as homework or in-class listening

Each module is divided into six sections:

Episodes from the Museum's Voices on Antisemitism series relevant to the theme

Rationale, which explains why this theme is important today

History, which connects the Holocaust to the theme and can be a resource to use with students

Questions for discussion or writing

Activities for students

Resources for further information and material

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Educational Modules Based on Audio Podcasts

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The purpose of these educational modules is to help students learn about the following themes: As a teaching resource, the modules: Illustrate the existence and broad impact of contemporary antisemitism Demonstrate the ongoing relevance of the Holocaust to law, faith, the arts, and other areas Introduce, punctuate, or end sections

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For the nation’s estimated 200,000 Jews, new forms of old hatreds are stoking fear.

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Solomon Michalski at home in Berlin. Credit... Joakim Eskildsen/Institute, for The New York Times

Feature

For the nation's estimated 200,000 Jews, new forms of old hatreds are stoking fear.

Solomon Michalski at home in Berlin. Credit... Joakim Eskildsen/Institute, for The New York Times

O ne of Wenzel Michalski's early recollections of growing up in southern Germany in the 1970s was of his father, Franz, giving him some advice: "Don't tell anyone that you're Jewish." Franz and his mother and his little brother had survived the Holocaust by traveling across swaths of Eastern and Central Europe to hide from the Gestapo, and after the war, his experiences back in Germany suggested that, though the Nazis had been defeated, the anti-Semitism that was intrinsic to their ideology had not. This became clear to Franz when his teachers in Berlin cast stealthily malicious glances at him when Jewish characters - such as Shylock in "The Merchant of Venice" - came up in literature. "Eh, Michalski, this exactly pertains to you," he recalls one teacher telling him through a clenched smile. Many years later, when he worked as an animal-feed trader in Hamburg, he didn't tell friends that he was Jewish and held his tongue when he heard them make anti-Semitic comments. And so Franz told his son Wenzel that things would go easier for him if he remained quiet about being Jewish. "The moment you say it, things will become very awkward."

As a teenager, Wenzel defied his father's advice and told a close friend. That friend quickly told his mother, and the next time Wenzel saw her, she reacted quite strongly, hugging him and kissing his face: "Wenzel! Oh, my Wenzel!" Now a stocky, bearded 56-year-old, Wenzel recalled the moment to me on a recent Saturday afternoon. He raised the pitch of his voice as he continued to mimic her: "You people! You are the most intelligent! The most sensitive! You are the best pianists in the world! And the best poets!" In his normal voice again, he added, "Then I understood what my father meant."

Wenzel Michalski is now the director of Human Rights Watch for Germany. He and his wife, Gemma, an outgoing British expat, live in a cavernous apartment building in the west of Berlin. In their kitchen, Gemma told me that after arriving in Germany in 1989, she often got a strangely defensive reaction when she told people she was Jewish; they would tell her they didn't feel responsible for the Holocaust or would defend their grandparents as not having perpetrated it. And so, to avoid conversations like these, she, too, stayed quiet about being Jewish.

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Recently, the Michalskis' youngest son became the third generation of the family to learn that telling people he is Jewish could cause problems. The boy - whose parents asked that he be called by one of his middle names, Solomon, to protect his privacy - had attended a Jewish primary school in Berlin. But he didn't want to stay in such a homogeneous school for good, so just before he turned 14, he transferred to a public school that was representative of Germany's new diversity - a place, as Gemma described it, where he "could have friends with names like Hassan and Ahmed."

The first few days there seemed to go well. Solomon, an affable kid with an easy smile, bonded with one classmate over their common affection for rap music. That classmate introduced him to a German-Turkish rapper who would rap about "Allah and stuff," Solomon told me. In return, he introduced the classmate to American and British rap. Solomon had a feeling they would end up being best friends. On the fourth day, when Solomon was in ethics class, the teachers asked the students what houses of worship they had been to. One student mentioned a mosque. Another mentioned a church. Solomon raised his hand and said he'd been to a synagogue. There was a strange silence, Solomon later recalled. One teacher asked how he had encountered a synagogue.

"I'm Jewish," Solomon said.

"Everyone was shocked, especially the teachers," Solomon later told me about this moment. After class, a teacher told Solomon that he was "very brave." Solomon was perplexed. As Gemma explained: "He didn't know that you're not meant to tell anyone."

The following day, Solomon brought brownies to school for his birthday. He was giving them out during lunch when the boy he had hoped would be his best friend informed him that there were a lot of Muslim students at the school who used the word "Jew" as an insult. Solomon wondered whether his friend included himself in this category, and so after school, he asked for clarification. The boy put his arm around Solomon's shoulders and told him that, though he was a "real babo " - Kurdish slang for "boss" - they couldn't be friends, because Jews and Muslims could not be friends. The classmate then rattled off a series of anti-Semitic comments, according to Solomon: that Jews were murderers, only interested in money.

Over the next few months, Solomon was bullied in an increasingly aggressive fashion. One day, he returned home with a large bruise from a punch on the back. On another occasion, Solomon was walking home and stopped into a bakery. When he emerged, he found one of his tormentors pointing what looked like a handgun at him. Solomon's heart raced. The boy pulled the trigger. Click. The gun turned out to be a fake. But it gave Solomon the scare of his life.

When Solomon first told his parents about the bullying, they resolved to turn it into a teaching moment. They arranged to have Wenzel's father visit the school to share his story about escaping the Gestapo. But the bullying worsened, Gemma told me, and they felt the school did not do nearly enough to confront the problem. The Michalskis went public with their story in 2017, sharing it with media outlets in order to spark what they viewed as a much-needed discussion about anti-Semitism in German schools. Since then, dozens of cases of anti-Semitic bullying in schools have come to light, including one case last year at the German-American school where my own son attends first grade, in which, according to local news reports, students tormented a ninth grader, for months, chanting things like "Off to Auschwitz in a freight train." Under criticism for its handling of the case, the administration released a statement saying it regretted the school's initial response but was taking action and having "intensive talks" with the educational staff.

The principal of Solomon's school, in an interview with the German newspaper Die Welt, also said his school had made a concerted effort to resolve the problem. When the reporter asked him if the bullying illustrated the "unreflective behavior of pubescent youths" or "rooted anti-Semitism," the principal paused to say this was a "very dangerous" question but then answered: "It's very possible that anti-Semitism is the motive. But we can't look inside the heads of these students." (When asked for comment, a representative for the Berlin Senate Department for Education, Youth and Families, which oversees Berlin's public schools, said it had put into place anti-discrimination measures such as training courses and workshops for students and faculty.)

For the Michalskis, all this was evidence that German society never truly reckoned with anti-Semitism after the war. Germany had restored synagogues and built memorials to the victims of the Holocaust, Wenzel said: "So for a lot of mainstream, middle-class people, that means: 'We've done it. We dealt with anti-Semitism.' But nobody really dealt with it within the families. The big, the hard, the painful questions were never asked." In Wenzel's view, the Muslim students who tormented his child were acting in an environment that was already suffused with native anti-Semitism. "A lot of conservative politicians now say, 'Oh, the Muslims are importing their anti-Semitism to our wonderful, anti-anti-Semitic culture,' " he said. "That's bull. They're trying to politicize this."

Jewish life in Germany was never fully extinguished. After the Nazi genocide of six million Jews, some 20,000 Jewish displaced persons from Eastern Europe ended up settling permanently in West Germany, joining an unknown number of the roughly 15,000 surviving German Jews who still remained in the country after the war. The new German political class rejected, in speeches and in the law, the rabid anti-Semitism that had been foundational to Nazism - measures considered not only to be morally imperative but necessary to re-establish German legitimacy on the international stage. This change, however, did not necessarily reflect an immediate conversion in longstanding anti-Semitic attitudes on the ground. In the decades that followed, a desire among many Germans to deflect or repress guilt for the Holocaust led to a new form of antipathy toward Jews - a phenomenon that came to be known as "secondary anti-Semitism," in which Germans resent Jews for reminding them of their guilt, reversing the victim and perpetrator roles. "It seems the Germans will never forgive us Auschwitz," Hilde Walter, a German-Jewish journalist, was quoted as saying in 1968.

Holocaust commemoration in West Germany increasingly became an affair of the state and civic groups, giving rise to a prevailing erinnerungskultur, or "culture of remembrance," that today is most prominently illustrated by the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, a funereal 4.7-acre site near the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, inaugurated in 2005. But even as Germany's remembrance culture has been held up as an international model of how to confront the horrors of the past, it has not been universally supported at home. According to a 2015 Anti-Defamation League survey, 51 percent of Germans believe that it is "probably true" that "Jews still talk too much about what happened to them in the Holocaust"; 30 percent agreed with the statement "People hate Jews because of the way Jews behave."

The reactionary, far-right Alternative for Germany, or A.f.D., entered the German Parliament for the first time in 2017 - becoming the third-largest party - with an anti-immigration, anti-Islam platform, while politicians in the party also railed against Germany's remembrance culture. A.f.D. politicians have often relativized Nazi crimes to counteract what some of them call a national "guilt cult." In a speech last June, one of the party's leaders, Alexander Gauland, referred to the Nazi period as "only a bird poop in over 1,000 years of successful German history."
[Read more about Germany's New Right.]
Now some 200,000 Jews live in Germany, a nation of 82 million people, and many are increasingly fearful. In a 2018 European Union survey of European Jews, 85 percent of respondents in Germany characterized anti-Semitism as a "very big" or "fairly big" problem; 89 percent said the problem has become worse in the last five years. Overall reported anti-Semitic crimes in Germany increased by nearly 20 percent last year to 1,799, while violent anti-Semitic crimes rose by about 86 percent, to 69. Police statistics attribute 89 percent of all anti-Semitic crimes to right-wing extremists, but Jewish community leaders dispute that statistic, and many German Jews perceive the nature of the threat to be far more varied. Slightly more than half of Germany's Jewish respondents to the E.U. survey said they have directly experienced anti-Semitic harassment within the last five years, and of those, the plurality, 41 percent, perceived the perpetrator of the most serious incident to be "someone with a Muslim extremist view."

Fears within the Jewish community of what some call "imported anti-Semitism" or "Muslim anti-Semitism" brought into the country by immigrants from the Middle East and often entangled with the conflict between Israel and the Palestinians emerged after 2000, when during the Palestinian uprising known as the Second Intifada, a wave of anti-Jewish attacks rippled across parts of Europe. The large-scale influx of refugees into Germany from countries such as Syria and Iraq that began in 2015 further fueled worries. Amid the early wave of pride many Germans felt over the welcoming of refugees, Josef Schuster, the head of the Central Council of Jews in Germany, the country's largest umbrella Jewish organization, urged caution. "Many of the refugees are fleeing the terror of the Islamic State and want to live in peace and freedom, but at the same time, they come from cultures in which hatred of Jews and intolerance are an integral part," he told a reporter from Die Welt.

The exact nature of the anti-Semitic threat - and indeed, whether it rises to the level of an existential threat at all - is intensely debated within Germany's Jewish community. Many see the greatest peril as coming from an emboldened extreme right that is hostile to both Muslims and Jews, as the recent shootings by white supremacists in synagogues in Pittsburgh and Poway, Calif., and mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand, horrifically illustrated. Multiple surveys suggest that anti-Muslim attitudes in Germany and other European countries are more widespread than anti-Semitism. At the same time, a number of surveys show that Muslims in Germany and other European countries are more likely to hold anti-Semitic views than the overall population. The 2015 Anti-Defamation League survey, for instance, found that 56 percent of Muslims in Germany harbored anti-Semitic attitudes, compared with 16 percent for the overall population. Conservative Jews see the political left as unwilling to name this problem out of reluctance to further marginalize an already marginalized group or because of leftist anti-Zionism. The far right, anti-Islam A.f.D. - the very political party that, for its relativizing of Nazi crimes, many Jews find most noxious - has sought to exploit these divisions and now portrays itself as a defender of Germany's Jews against what it depicts as the Muslim threat.

An incident that garnered considerable attention and highlights some of the complexities of this new dynamic occurred on a Berlin street in April 2018, when a 19-year-old Syrian of Palestinian descent took off his belt and flogged a young Israeli man named Adam Armoush, who was wearing a yarmulke. The attacker yelled "Yehudi!" - Arabic for "Jew." Armoush recorded the attack with his phone for "the world to see how terrible it is these days as a Jew to go through Berlin streets," as he later put it in a television interview. Schuster advised Jews in cities against openly wearing yarmulkes outside. Almost lost in the uproar was Armoush's bizarre admission that he was not Jewish but rather an Israeli Arab. He said he received the yarmulke from a friend along with a caveat that it was not safe to wear outside. Armoush said he initially debated this. "I was saying that it's really safe," he said. "I wanted to prove it. But it ended like that."
[Read about one Bavarian village as it grapples with an influx of refugees.]
Many Muslims criticize the notion of "Muslim anti-Semitism" as wrongly suggesting that hatred of Jews is intrinsic to their faith. Muhammad Sameer Murtaza, a German scholar of Islam who has written extensively on anti-Semitism, argues that European anti-Semitism was exported to the Middle East in the 19th century and was only "Islamized" starting in the late 1930s, a process later catalyzed by the Arab-Israeli conflict. Anti-Semitism is indeed a mainly European invention with a proven capacity to mutate. Often intertwined with economic and social resentments, demonization of Jews was long part of Christian tradition, and, with the growth of European nationalism in the 19th century, it took on delusive notions of race. Now as a worldwide resurgence of racist tribalism fuels a rebellion against the liberal democratic order, Germany's renewed confrontation with anti-Semitism will say much not just about the fate of its unnerved Jewish communities but also about the endurance of any nation's capacity to build a tolerant, pluralistic society resistant to the temptations of ethnonationalism.

The early signs are mixed. Sigmount Königsberg is the anti-Semitism commissioner for Berlin's Jewish Community, the organization that oversees synagogues and other aspects of local Jewish life. At a cafe next to the domed New Synagogue, which was spared destruction during the pogroms of November 1938, Königsberg, an affable 58-year-old, told me his mother had been liberated from the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp and had intended to move to Paris. Instead, she became stranded in the German border town of Saarbrücken, and she soon met Königsberg's father, also a Holocaust survivor. Like other Jewish families, they were ambivalent about remaining in Germany. Königsberg employed an often-used metaphor to describe this unsettledness: Until the 1980s, he said, German Jews "sat on a packed suitcase." After East and West Germany reunified, many Jews feared a nationalist revival. Despite a wave of racist attacks on immigrants, that revival did not seem to materialize. In fact, the European Union, which was created to temper those impulses, was ascendant. Jews felt more secure, Königsberg told me: "We unpacked the suitcase and stored it in the cellar."

Now, he believed, that sense of security has eroded. People aren't heading for the exits yet, he said, but they are starting to think, Where did I put that suitcase?

On a cool, overcast day in late 2017, Yorai Feinberg, an Israeli citizen, then 36, was standing in front of the Israeli restaurant he owns in central Berlin, bundled up in a down coat and smoking a cigarette, when a middle-aged German man stopped on the sidewalk and declared, "You people are crazy."

"Why?" Feinberg asked, as a friend filmed the encounter on a mobile phone.

"Very simple," said the man. "Because you've warred against the Palestinians for 70 years."

"Oh, so this is a left-wing story," Feinberg said.

"I'm not a leftist," the man said, leaning in toward Feinberg. "You're leading a war. And you want to install yourselves here." The man became increasingly belligerent. "Get out of here!" he went on. "This is my homeland. And you have no homeland."

Feinberg asked him to back off.

"You'll get your reckoning in 10 years. In 10 years you won't be living," the man said. He then added: "What do you want here after '45?"

It seemed like a rhetorical question, but Feinberg, taking a drag of his cigarette, ventured an answer. "With so many people like you, that's a very good question."

Feinberg spotted a passing police car and ran to get help. "No one will protect you," the man taunted. Then, looking directly at the camera as if addressing Jews everywhere, he added: "All of you go back to your stupid gas chambers. Nobody wants you." The man had no known connections to any extremist groups, Feinberg later told me. People had considered him to be a regular guy.

A video of the affair went viral on social media. "This heinous attack demonstrates once again that anti-Semitism has arrived in the middle of society and is now articulated openly and bluntly," Schuster said. In December, a year after the incident, the Anti-Semitism Research and Information Center, or RIAS, a German organization that has been documenting anti-Semitic incidents in Berlin since it was founded in 2015, chose Feinberg's restaurant to announce an initiative to more actively gather information from other parts of the country.

On the day of the event, Feinberg sat underneath a series of paintings of the Star of David before a score of reporters. "It has not been the easiest year of my life," he said. Since the incident, he had received a torrent of anti-Semitic messages. One person using the name Greta texted him a poem called "Emancipation," written in the 19th century by August Heinrich Hoffmann von Fallersleben, who also wrote the words used today in the German national anthem. Addressed "To Israel," the lesser-known work reads, "You rob from underneath our feet, our German fatherland." On Facebook, someone named Mahmoud commented, "The reckoning will come, just like the German in the video said."

After Feinberg spoke, the head of RIAS, Benjamin Steinitz, said that the organization had documented well over 3,000 anti-Semitic incidents since it was founded. One reporter asked Steinitz who was perpetrating the physical attacks: "Are they totally normal citizens? Or are they right- wing extremists?" Steinitz said that from descriptions provided by victims, there appeared to be a difference between big cities and rural areas. In metropolises, perpetrators often came from an "Islamist milieu or a milieu that is based on a left-wing, anti-Israel ideology." In rural areas and small cities, he added, "it is clearly different."

A RIAS report released in April illustrated the complexity of the problem. When researchers looked at all reported anti-Semitic incidents - including threats, harassment and targeted vandalism - in Berlin in 2018, they were unable to determine the ideological motivation in nearly half the cases. They could attribute 18 percent of the incidents to right-wing extremists, making it the largest known group, but with such a large proportion of missing information, the numbers were hardly conclusive about which views predominated. The political motivations of violent attackers were even harder to parse. Of 46 reported anti-Semitic attacks in Berlin in 2018, RIAS could identify the ideological motivation of the perpetrators in just 19 cases. Five attacks were carried out by people espousing a "left-wing anti-imperialist" view; five attacks were classified as "conspiracy-ideological" in nature; four were classified as "Israel-hostile"; two as "Islamist"; two others as "right-wing extremist"; one attack was attributed to a "political middle" worldview.

After the event, as guests nibbled on falafel and hummus, Felix Klein took a seat at a corner table. A 51-year-old career diplomat in rimless glasses, Klein is Germany's first federal Commissioner for Jewish Life in Germany and the Fight Against Anti-Semitism, a lengthy job title for a position that was created just last year. He told me at the event that a feeling of urgency to create the position set in after pro-Palestinian protesters, angered over President Donald Trump's decision to recognize Jerusalem as Israel's capital, burned Israeli flags at demonstrations in Berlin in December 2017. The incidents embarrassed the German government and Chancellor Angela Merkel, who, early in her tenure, declared Israel's security to be a German staatsräson, or "reason of state."

Klein listed several things the German government should be doing at the federal and state levels to fight anti-Semitism; chief among them was training teachers and the police simply to recognize it. He also said school books should include more lessons about Jewish contributions to Germany. "We only started to talk about Jews when the Nazi period came up in our history lesson," he said. "We didn't speak about Jewish life before that, and we didn't speak about Jewish life after."

The rise of anti-Semitic acts, Klein told me, was not just a matter of rising hate but a rising willingness to express it. This was because of social media, he said, as well as the A.f.D. and its "brutalization" of the political discourse. There are also the challenges that are caused by anti-Semitism from Muslims, he said, though, he added, according to criminal statistics, this was not the main problem.

Klein was citing the federal statistic that attributed a vast majority of anti-Semitic crimes in Germany to right-wing extremists, the one that many Jewish community leaders disputed. I asked Klein if he thought the statistic was reliable. He acknowledged that, in fact, the methodology was flawed: When it was unclear who the perpetrators were, they were automatically classified as right-wing extremists. "I've already started the discussion within the government to change that," he said.

He added that the existing statistics should not be used as a pretext "to avoid a discussion regarding anti-Semitism from Muslims." I asked him if there was any fear that such a conversation would raise tensions between minority groups instead of protecting them. "I think there is a fear," he said. "This is why I think the right strategy is to denounce any form of anti-Semitism, regardless of the numbers. I don't want to start a discussion about which one is more problematic or more dangerous than the other."

He leaned in to underscore this point. "You should not start this discussion, because then you start using one political group against the other. We should not do that."

German anti-Semites are clearly drawn to the A.f.D. One 2018 survey conducted by the Allensbach Institute, a respected polling organization, found that 55 percent of A.f.D. supporters believe that Jews have "too much influence on the world," far more than the 22 percent average for the overall population. The A.f.D. does not, however, agitate directly against Jews like the far-right parties of old. Its politicians traffic in more insidious forms of secondary anti-Semitism. In a 2017 speech in Dresden, Björn Höcke, the head of the party in the eastern German state of Thuringia, lamented the existence of the Holocaust memorial near the Brandenburg Gate - a "monument of shame," as he referred to it - and called for a "180 degree turn" in Germany's "politics of memory." To deny the Holocaust is illegal in Germany, a country with legal restrictions on hate speech. But to suggest that it be forgotten is a circuitous way of reaching the same end.

Yet since the A.f.D.'s entry into Parliament in 2017, its politicians have increasingly presented the party as steadfastly pro-Jewish and pro-Israel. After the attack on the Israeli wearing a yarmulke in Berlin, Jörg Meuthen, a leading A.f.D. politician, tweeted that Germany had become a "world champion of importing Muslim anti-Semitism." Recently, an A.f.D. parliamentarian, Beatrix von Storch, accused Germany's United Nations ambassador of "relativizing" and "trivializing" the threat Israel faces from Hamas. The A.f.D. is not alone in the effort. In France, the far-right National Front - recently renamed National Rally - was founded by Jean-Marie Le Pen, who has been convicted of Holocaust denial. It now portrays itself as the protector of Jews fearful of Muslim immigration. In 2014, Marine Le Pen, Jean-Marie's daughter and successor as party leader, called National Front the "best shield" to protect Jews against "the one true enemy, Islamic fundamentalism."

Last year, two-dozen Jewish A.f.D. supporters founded a group called "Jews in the A.f.D.," or J.A.f.D., asserting, in a "statement of principles," that it is the only party willing to "thematize Muslim hatred of Jews without trivializing it." In response, the Central Council of Jews in Germany and 41 other Jewish organizations released a joint statement condemning the A.f.D. as racist and anti-Semitic and warned Jews not to fall for its "apparent concern" for their safety. "We won't allow ourselves to be instrumentalized by the A.f.D.," the statement read. "No, the A.f.D. is a danger to Jewish life in Germany."

On a Sunday afternoon last October, J.A.f.D. held its inaugural event in a gymnasium on the outskirts of the Hessian city of Wiesbaden. A J.A.f.D. supporter in the crowd of attendees, who wore a yarmulke and a Star of David necklace that dangled outside his shirt next to an A.f.D. pin, told me, in a strong Russian accent, that he had emigrated from Moscow in the early 1990s. As reporters gathered around him, he rattled off a series of claims often recited at far-right political gatherings: Muslim immigrants come from an "absolutely alien" culture. They would "bring Shariah law" and "rape" to Germany. When a reporter from the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung tried to get his name, the man refused to give it. He didn't trust the lügenpresse - "the lying press" - he said, using a phrase that, long preceding "fake news," had been deployed by propagandists in Nazi Germany to spread conspiracy theories about newspapers controlled by "world Jewry."

Another reporter approached the anonymous J.A.f.D. supporter and said he was from RT, the Russian state-backed news network. "RT I trust!" said the supporter happily as he broke off to chat with the reporter in Russian. It was not surprising to see RT interested in the story; it makes a special effort to show and to sow social division in the West as part of the Russian government's influence campaign. But there was also a more specific Russian angle. After the fall of the Berlin Wall, Germany admitted, along with a few million ethnic German "resettlers" from the former Soviet Union, some 200,000 Russian-speaking Jews and their family members. The vast majority of Germany's Jewish population today has roots in the former Soviet Union. The A.f.D. has tried to win the support of immigrants from former Soviet states - who in Germany have tended to vote conservative - believing them more likely to be receptive to the party's politics, including support for closer ties to the Russian government. Indeed, in some voting areas with large numbers of immigrants from the former Soviet Union, the A.f.D. has performed disproportionately well. Several members of J.A.f.D. had roots in the former Soviet Union; the chairwoman is a doctor born in Uzbekistan.

J.A.f.D. board members took their seats in a row on a stage as party politicians and functionaries applauded. Before the event, there was much discussion about the Jewish credentials of one J.A.f.D. member not on the stage who had identified himself on Facebook as a "follower of Jesus Christ." A reporter asked how the group defined Jewishness. One J.A.f.D. board member, a goateed student of German literature named Artur Abramovych, interjected with a reflection that neatly inverted the historical suffering of European Jewry along the axis of ethnonationalism. Abramovych defined Jews as an "ethno-cultural community." In contemporary Germany and Europe, he went on, "the appreciation for the importance of ethno-cultural community had mostly been lost." Rightist parties, however, wanted to revive this sense of community, and Jews, he suggested, intrinsically understand this because of their own sense of tribal belonging. "This is the reason that there's a certain affinity of Jewry to the right-wing parties of Europe."

Another reporter asked the board members how they viewed the call for a "180-degree turn" in Germany's politics of memory. "We are not excited about such statements," responded Bernhard Krauskopf, a retired mechanical engineer who, earlier in the day, said more than 50 members of his family had been murdered in Nazi death camps. He went on to criticize the Social Democratic Party for its "180-degree turn in practice against Jewish Israelis," for failing to support Israel. The next affront, he added, was the "180-degree turn against Jewish Germans" by the political establishment. "They say, 'We are so against anti-Semitism,' " Krauskopf said, modulating his voice to connote spurious compassion. "And then," he added in his own ardent cadence, "they import a population group that consists of at least - at least! - 60 percent inveterate Jew haters!"

It was unclear whether this messaging would gain much traction with Jews in Germany beyond the confines of the gymnasium. Josef Schuster, the head of the Central Council of Jews in Germany, told me the number of Jewish A.f.D. supporters is "very small." But experience in France suggests a modest level of support would not be far-fetched. In 2012, the National Front leader Marine Le Pen was backed by 13.5 percent of Jewish voters, according to the French polling company IFOP, as reported by France 24. Even so, at stake for these parties is not the relatively small number of Jewish votes but rather an appearance of legitimacy and ideological distance from past fascist movements. The J.A.f.D. allows the A.f.D. to reject as absurd accusations that they are Nazis or traffic in Nazi ideology. During the J.A.f.D. event, a series of non-Jewish A.f.D. politicians addressed attendees, and one of them, a member of Parliament named Petr Bystron, professed delight: "I'm looking forward to the wondrous leaps that will be required to depict you, the Jews in the A.f.D., as Nazis."

The Fraenkelufer Synagogue sits on Berlin's Landwehr Canal, a snaking, several-mile-long waterway that meets the city's major river, the Spree, on each end. In September 1945, according to a Chicago Sun reporter, the canal still stank of decayed corpses when 400 Jewish survivors and about 30 American Jewish soldiers gathered for the first postwar synagogue service in Berlin. The main neo-Classical sanctuary that had once stood at the site sat in ruins, but a Jewish-American lieutenant stationed in Berlin named Harry Nowalsky, who could see the synagogue from his bedroom window, had made it a personal mission to restore a smaller, still-intact sanctuary in time for Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. On the cool holiday evening, the congregants, as one reporter wrote, "sang songs of Israel with tear-stained faces." Today, the trendy and gentrifying neighborhoods near the synagogue - Kreuzberg and Neukölln - are home to a large number of Turkish and Arab immigrants, and for this reason, are considered "no-go areas" among some Jews who live elsewhere, though most of the synagogue's congregants don't see it that way.

One Monday morning last year, a 39-year-old local congregant named Shlomit Tripp welcomed a class of fourth graders to the synagogue. Tripp, who wore a tie-dyed headband and carried with her a redheaded puppet she calls Shlomo, runs a Jewish puppet theater. She sometimes gives presentations about Judaism to non-Jewish schoolchildren at the synagogue in order "to open our doors," she told me, "and to show that we are not a mysterious club you can come up with conspiracy theories about." Such openness is all the more important because Fraenkelufer Synagogue, like others around Germany, resembles something of a fortress: with an iron fence, security cameras, bulletproof glass covering the stained-glass windows and an incessant police presence on the street in front. Synagogues in Germany have been under police protection since around 1969, when Marxist militants tried to bomb a Jewish community center in West Berlin. The following year, a still-unsolved arson attack on a home for Jewish seniors in Munich left seven people dead. Congregants told me they understand the need for the precautions but also lamented the impossibility of natural exchanges with the outside community.

The children put on yarmulkes available for guests and sat in benches facing the ark. Tripp began with a question:

"Where do Jews actually come from?"

"Israel?" one child said.

"Canaan?" another said.

"Where do you think I come from?" Tripp said.

There was a moment of silence before one girl volunteered: "Germany?"

"Correct!" Tripp said. "I was born here in Berlin. Like a lot of you."

She then showed the children a blue-striped learner's tallit, a prayer shawl, and, draping it around her shoulders, imitated a man proudly strutting into the sanctuary on the Sabbath. "I'm a Jew. I'm a Jew. I'm a Jew," she said in a deep voice, eliciting giggles from the children. She tucked herself into the tallit, wrapping it around her head to show how it's used in deep prayer. "It's a bit like a meditation," she said. "So you can feel really close to God." The children then came up one at a time and Tripp advised them to think of something "really, really nice" as she folded the tallit over each child for a silent moment. Tripp later told me that, during this part of the talk, she imagines a bell - "ding!" - signifying one less anti-Semite for each child that passes.

After the children left, Tripp told me she has never experienced anti-Semitism from the visiting kids or from her Muslim neighbors and considered fears of Muslim anti-Semitism to be exaggerated. "I don't want to be naïve," she added. "Sure there's a problem. But it's not like you have to pack your bags and move to Israel."

Fraenkelufer Synagogue would not exist today without immigration. After the war, Jews from Eastern Europe formed a small congregation. After 1989, Jews from the former Soviet Union joined, but by the turn of the millennium, the congregation had dwindled. That began to change several years ago, with the immigration of young Jews from around the world to the neighborhood, including some of the thousands of Israelis who have migrated to Berlin in recent years - many of whom lean to the political left and are troubled by Israel's rightward political shift.

Among the newcomers to the synagogue are Nina and Dekel Peretz. Dekel, a full-bearded historian and tour guide who arrived in Berlin in 2002 after serving in the Israeli military, told me that his mother was "totally shocked" about the move. "I grew up in this 'You don't go to Germany' mind-set,' " he said. To illustrate this, he told me a story about a childhood family road trip through Europe that involved crossing German territory. The family intended to traverse the country without stopping, but somewhere in the Black Forest, young Dekel had to pee. On the side of the road, he got a stinging nettle rash. He deemed this karmic punishment for stopping. His wife Nina's family, it turns out, is from the Black Forest. "I didn't know any Jews or anything about Judaism, except the stuff you read in history class," she told me. After meeting Dekel, she converted to Judaism and now sits on the synagogue's board. At the time we first sat down to talk, she was eight months pregnant with their first child.

Dekel pointed out that Israelis who live in Germany are often criticized by Israeli right-wing politicians who, as he put it, find fault with Israelis who choose the "easy diasporic life" over the "building up of a strong Jewish state." At the same time, Israeli politicians, including Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, have urged European Jews to escape the threat of growing anti-Semitism in Europe by coming "home" to Israel. In January, Netanyahu emphasized the threat to European Jews posed by "the combination of Islamic anti-Semitism and the anti-Semitism of the extreme left," even as Israel's Diaspora Affairs Ministry warned that, in 2018, it was the far-right threat that had become the most perilous to Jews in the United States and Europe.

Dekel told me that he envisioned Fraenkelufer Synagogue as a kind of sanctuary from many of these ideas: a community that isn't defined by fear of anti-Semitism or an orientation toward Israel, but by a local brand of German Judaism. "The question is, What do we want to create for our children?" Dekel said. "We are not sitting on a packed suitcase. We are here to stay."

In July, Nina gave birth to a girl, Ronja Sarah. On a Shabbat morning a few weeks later, the couple brought her to the synagogue for a baby-naming ceremony. Afterward, the congregation gathered at tables for the Kiddush, a post-service reception. People drank wine and vodka and ate dishes of herring and salmon. The mood was jovial. Nina's father held the baby as Dekel stood to say a few words about his grandmother Sarah, who inspired the baby's middle name. Sarah had survived a labor camp in Romania and eventually settled in Tel Aviv with Dekel's grandfather, a Moroccan Jew. Sarah stuck to her Ashkenazi ways, Dekel told the congregation. She watched German television shows and cooked borscht. After Dekel moved to Berlin, he said, she was the first in the family to accept it. "She liked being able to speak German with me," Dekel said. "And I think she would have been happy to know that a little girl named Sarah was born in Berlin."

One evening last summer, three generations of the Michalski family - Wenzel and Gemma, Wenzel's father, Franz, and his mother, Petra, as well as Solomon's siblings - sat in a row at an English-language theater in Berlin to watch Solomon, now 16 and enrolled in a new private school, perform in a play inspired by his experience with anti-Semitic bullying.

The play began with a scene in a classroom where an assignment was written on the board: "Tribalism Divides Communities - Elucidate." The teenagers portrayed two tribes, the Whoozis and the Whatzits, who, because of ancient rivalries, fight. Eventually, everyone falls to the floor and perishes in a final battle. But then everyone slowly rises.

"So that's it?" one tribe member said. "Everyone dies in the end?"

"That sucks," another said.

"Yes, but it's realistic," another said.

Solomon had the last line.

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not leaving until we get this right."

After the play, Gemma told me that she didn't hold grudges against the kids who bullied her son. "I didn't give up on those kids," she said. "The school gave up on those kids." The attitude from many of the teachers, she said, was: "You can't talk to them; they're just Muslims." This revealed a troubling unwillingness to stand up for, as she put it, "life in a liberal, tolerant democracy for everyone, beyond racism."

I asked Solomon if he had thought much about anti-Semitism before the bullying episodes. He told me about a trip he took with his grandparents just before the bullying began. They visited the places in Poland, the Czech Republic and eastern Germany where his grandfather had hidden from the Gestapo. "That really opened my mind," he told me. "I knew about my grandpa's experiences, but I just, you know, felt really proud to be Jewish after that trip. Then after this whole thing happened, it makes me even more proud to be Jewish. I wouldn't say I feel more religious. But it's just the identity, the ethnic background of being Jewish and walking in Berlin as a Jewish boy." His mother later told me that she found it sad that her son had formed a stronger sense of tribal identity based on the experience of mistreatment. She had not wanted him to forge his identity in fear. "I wanted him to be free," she said.

Solomon told me that he was happy at his new school. He had made new friends of diverse backgrounds, and they had formed a band called the Minorities. Still, he added, he did not feel free to express his newfound Jewish identity in public. He had wanted to wear a Star of David necklace, he told me, but he and his parents had decided that this was not a good idea. The necklace could be exposed if someone were to pull his shirt back. "The thing is," he said, "it's still really dangerous. I mean, it's not like, 'O.K., everything is fine now.' "

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The New German Anti-Semitism (Published 2019)

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Feature For the nation's estimated 200,000 Jews, new forms of old hatreds are stoking fear. Solomon Michalski at home in Berlin. Credit... Joakim Eskildsen/Institute, for The New York Times O ne of Wenzel Michalski's early recollections of growing up in southern Germany in the 1970s was of his father, Franz, giving him some advice: "Don't tell anyone that you're Jewish."

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Violent antisemitism and hatred did not end with the Holocaust and are on the rise. Using examples from Europe, the Middle East, and the United States, this seven-minute film explains how antisemitic violence and Holocaust denial are a threat to liberal society today.

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Antisemitism Today - United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

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Antisemitism didn’t end with the Holocaust. This seven-minutes film explains why rising antisemitic violence is still a threat today.

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Antisemitism in Europe Today: the Phenomena, the Conflicts (Introduction) by Werner Bergmann

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Antisemitism in Europe Today: the Phenomena, the Conflicts (Introduction) by Werner Bergmann

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What Do We Mean When We Say ‘Antisemitism’?Echoes of shattering glass

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What Do We Mean When We Say ‘Antisemitism’?Echoes of shattering glass

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by Brian Klug

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Antisemitism, Anti-Zionism and Criticism of Israel in GermanyThe Dynamics of a Discursive Field

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Antisemitism, Anti-Zionism and Criticism of Israel in GermanyThe Dynamics of a Discursive Field

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Antisemitism in Europe Today: the Phenomena, the Conflicts

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Antisemitism in Europe Today: the Phenomena, the Conflicts

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Online Publication Arising from the Conference of the Same Name at the Jewish Museum Berlin

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Because the common spelling "anti-Semitism" indicates the existence of a "Semitism" that is preceded by the hyphenated prefix "anti-" to form its opposite, here "antisemitism" will be written as one word, contrary to common usage.

This publication does not express the opinions of the Center for Research on Antisemitism at the Technical University Berlin, the Jewish Museum Berlin, or the Foundation "Remembrance, Responsibility and Future." The authors bear responsibility for their own statements.

Traditional Forms of Antisemitism in Europe

Antisemitism in the Context of Racism and Hostility towards other Minorities

New Antisemitism - Criticism of Israel or Antisemitism?

Anti-Judaism - Religion and anti-Jewish and pro-Israeli Reactions

Remembering the Holocaust and Antisemitism

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Antisemitism in Europe Today: the Phenomena, the Conflicts

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This publication is devoted to manifestations of antisemitism in Europe today. It adopts a comparative perspective and includes findings from eleven European countries. The essays are based on talks that were held at the conference of the same name organized by the Center for Research on Antisemitism at the Technical University Berlin, the Foundation Remembrance, Responsibility, and Future, and the Jewish Museum Berlin.

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Council declaration on fighting antisemitism, 02.12.2020

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The Council today approved a declaration on mainstreaming the fight against antisemitism across policy areas.

With this declaration the Council emphasises that the fight against antisemitism is a cross-cutting issue involving various levels of government and policies at local, national and European level Awareness of antisemitism therefore needs to be raised across policy areas and responsibilities. The EU member states have agreed to mainstream the prevention and countering of antisemitism in all its forms.

Antisemitism is an EU-wide phenomenon. To counter it effectively, we need an appropriate set of European instruments and a sufficient basis. This is precisely the approach taken by the declaration, which I greatly welcome. In my view, tackling antisemitism as a comprehensive and networked task extending across policy areas and levels of government is a real milestone.

Felix Klein, Federal Government Commissioner for Jewish Life in Germany and the Fight against Antisemitism

The Council expresses its concern at the increase in threats to Jewish people in Europe, and the resurgence of conspiracy myths, especially in the context of the COVID-19 pandemic, as well as the increase in antisemitic incidents and hate crime.

It stresses that antisemitism has developed into various forms and must be combated with complementary public policies. Illegal hate speech and online terrorist content must be removed promptly and consistently by internet service providers. A strong and systematic judicial response to antisemitic acts is also necessary.

Education about the Holocaust, antisemitism and Jewish life remains one of the most important tools in preventing antisemitic prejudices. Sharing good practices to foster media literacy and awareness of conspiracy myths is also key.

The member states also welcome the European Commission's decision to make the fight against antisemitism a priority, as well as the strengthening of the institutional basis for the coordinator on combating antisemitism and fostering Jewish life.

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Antisemitism: Council declaration on fighting antisemitism

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The Council today approved a declaration on mainstreaming the fight against antisemitism across policy areas. With this declaration the Council emphasises that the fight against antisemitism is a cross-cutting issue involving various levels of government and policies at local, national and European level Awareness of antisemitism therefore needs to be raised across policy areas and responsibilities.

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In Germany, Anti-Semitism Creeps into Covid-19 Protests

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In Germany, Anti-Semitism Creeps into Covid-19 Protests

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Attacks Against Jews, Jewish Institutions Rose 13 Percent Last Year

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Across German cities last weekend, thousands of people from many walks of life protested German government measures taken to control the spread of Covid-19. Yet some people used the protests as a pretext for displays of anti-Semitism, or open or thinly veiled support for neo-Nazi ideology.

The right to peaceful protest is fundamental, but when demonstrations become a platform for racism, that has to be called out.

Some protesters reportedly wore yellow stars, drawing an inappropriate and offensive comparison between requirements to wear a face mask and the symbol Jewish people were forced to display on their clothing in the Nazi era. There were banners with anti-Semitic conspiracy theories about compulsory vaccinations for Covid-19.

This had also happened in earlier protests against the German government's Covid-19 containment measures, and groups monitoring anti-Semitism have observed a growth in anti-Jewish sentiments during these demonstrations. Thomas Haldenwang, president of Germany's domestic intelligence agency BfV said on Sunday: "We see a trend, that extremists, especially right-wing extremists, are exploiting demonstrations".

Sadly, this is not an isolated trend. In 2019 there were around 2000 attacks on Jewish people or Jewish institutions in Germany, a 13 percent increase on the 2018 figure of 1,799, according to media reports quoting the government's annual report on politically motived crimes. Among the attacks last year, one that took place at a synagogue in Halle on Yom Kippur, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, left two people dead.

Germany should reinforce initial steps it has taken, such as expanding the BfV's capacity in tackling right-wing extremism, to counter intolerance and racism, including anti-Semitism. A time like this, in which far-right anti-Semites can weave their toxic ideology into what should be peaceful protests about public health measures, requires vigilance. Federal intelligence agencies and regional police forces need to be attentive to the far-right hijacking demonstrations.

Thorough and timely investigations of hate crimes, and prosecutions of those responsible, are important, as are education and information campaigns against intolerance. More assistance for survivors of attacks is key too, according to support groups.

Addressing Germany's Jewish community on the night of the Halle synagogue attack, Chancellor Angela Merkel declared her government would "do everything possible to ensure that you can live in safety." The Covid-19 crisis is a sad reminder that work is still needed to make this a reality.

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In Germany, Anti-Semitism Creeps into Covid-19 Protests

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Across German cities last weekend, thousands of people from many walks of life protested German government measures taken to control the spread of Covid-19. Yet some people used the protests as a pretext for displays of anti-Semitism, or open or thinly-veiled support for neo-Nazi ideology.

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Important measures to counter anti-Semitism

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Important measures to counter anti-Semitism

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Report on the recommendations of the Independent Panel on anti-Semitism

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The German government shares the view of the Panel's experts that fighting anti-Semitism is, and will remain, a permanent duty for the political level and for society as a whole. The report now adopted documents the many and varied measures taken by the government to date to combat anti-Semitism.

The German government has already implemented key demands of the Independent Panel on anti-Semitism, including the appointment of a Federal Government Commissioner for Jewish Life in Germany and the Fight against anti-Semitism and the establishment of a committee that brings together federal and state governments.

Academics and representatives of civil society organisations involved in researching and preventing anti-Semitism sit on the Independent Panel on anti-Semitism.

Anti-Semitism is a cross-cutting issue

The German government's goal is to mainstream the fight against anti-Semitism as a cross-cutting issue in all policy areas, and to hone the awareness of the general public.

The murderous attack in Halle on 9 October 2019, fuelled by anti-Semitic motives, illustrated with dreadful clarity just how important this is. But this is also currently demonstrated by the anti-Semitic conspiracy myths and hate speech seen in conjunction with the COVID-19 pandemic.

Second meeting of the Cabinet Committee for the fight against racism and right-wing extremism

The adoption of the report on the implementation status and the assessment of the recommendations for action made by the Independent Panel on anti-Semitism on Wednesday, coincided with the second meeting of the Cabinet Committee for the fight against racism and right-wing extremism. The report and the work of the Cabinet Committee are mutually reinforcing and underline the commitment of the German government in the field of anti-Semitism.

In 2018, the overwhelming majority of the German Bundestag condemned anti-Semitism. Members of the German Bundestag called on the government, among other things, to present a regular report on the status of combating anti-Semitism in Germany.

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federal government commissioner for jewish life in germany

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Important steps taken to counter anti-Semitism

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The German government shares the view of the Panel's experts that fighting anti-Semitism is, and will remain, a permanent duty for the political level and for society as a whole. The report now adopted documents the many and varied measures taken by the government to date to combat anti-Semitism.

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One in four Germans hold anti-Semitic beliefs, study finds

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One in four Germans hold anti-Semitic beliefs, study finds

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More than a quarter of Germans surveyed said they agreed with anti-Semitic statements, including that Jews have "too much power over the economy." Over 40% said they thought Jews "talk about the Holocaust too much."

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Anti-Semitism is gaining a stronger foothold in German society, the Süddeutsche Zeitung newspaper reported on Wednesday, citing a new study from the World Jewish Congress (WJC).

Out of the 1,300 Germans who took part in the representative survey, 27% agreed with a range of anti-Semitic statements and stereotypes about Jewish people.

Some 41% said they agreed with the statement that "Jews talk about the Holocaust too much." The same portion said they believed "Jews are more loyal to Israel than to Germany."

Over 20% of respondents said they agreed that Jewish people have "too much power" over the economy, international financial markets and the media. Another 22% agreed that "people hate Jews due to the way they behave."

"These are cliches, stereotypes, envy but there is also some truth to it. Jews are successful. What's the problem with that?" Cologne Rabbi Yechiel Brukner told DW. "Why are Germans not envious that, as a percentage of the population, Jews have many more Nobel Prize winners? Why doesn't that bother anyone? What does it always concern the aspect of 'money'? Judaism places an emphasis on intellectual intelligence and that has meant that Jews are often very successful. They also work hard, but why does someone not like them for that?

"Think about this: There are still living Holocaust survivors and Germans already dare to entertain anti-Semitic thoughts - and even to take action based on them. That's incredible," Brukner added.

The survey was carried out two months ago, prior to the anti-Semitic attack targeting a synagogue in the eastern German city of Halle.
Hostility towards Jews growing among 'elites'
Anti-Semitism is also growing among the wealthy and well-educated, according to the study.

The WJC found that 18% of "elites" - respondents with at least one university degree who make at least €100,000 ($111,300) per year - agreed with anti-Semitic sentiments.

Within that group, over a quarter said they believed Jewish people have "too much power over world politics" and the economy.

Read more: German groups combating far-right extremism face uncertain future
'It's time for German society to take a stand'
The president of the World Jewish Congress, Ronald S. Lauder, told the Süddeutsche Zeitung that the state of anti-Semitism in Germany has reached a "crisis point."

"We've seen what happens when ordinary people look away or remain silent," he told the paper.

Lauder added that Germany has an obligation to prevent the return of intolerance and hatred, and if one quarter of the population adheres to anti-Semitic beliefs, then the remaining three quarters must take action to defend democracy and a tolerant society in Germany.

"It's time for German society to take a stand and combat anti-Semitism head-on," he said.

Read more: In Germany, memorials for Nazi terror victims vandalized
Resistance rises
While anti-Semitism is spreading in Germany, the study found that the readiness to combat it is also growing.

Two-thirds of "elites" said they would sign a petition against anti-Semitism, while a third of all the respondents said they were willing to take part in demonstrations against anti-Semitism.

The vast majority of respondents recognized there was a rise in hostile behavior toward Jewish people in Germany, with 65% saying that rise was tied to the success of "right-wing extremist parties."

One in four respondents said it was possible that "something like the Holocaust could happen in Germany again."

Read more: German politicians slam right-wing populist AfD over rising anti-Semitism
Nastassja Shtrauchler contributed to this report.

Attacks on synagogues in Germany

Halle, 2019: Shooter on Yom Kippur

About 80 people were in the synagogue on Wednesday afternoon to observe Yom Kippur, the Jewish calendar's holiest day. The alleged attacker reportedly attempted to shoot his way into the synagogue but was prevented by a safety door. Two passersby were shot to death and two were injured. The suspect, who has a history of right-wing extremist, anti-Semitic, and misogynist rhetoric, was detained.

Author: Bettina Baumann

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One in four Germans hold anti-Semitic beliefs, study finds | DW | 24.10.2019

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Anti-Semitism is gaining a stronger foothold in German society, the Süddeutsche Zeitung newspaper reported on Wednesday, citing a new study from the World Jewish Congress (WJC). Out of the 1,300 Germans who took part in the representative survey, 27% agreed with a range of anti-Semitic statements and stereotypes about Jewish people.

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Federal Government Commissioner for Jewish Life in Germany and the Fight against Antisemitism

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Federal Government Commissioner for Jewish Life in Germany and the Fight against Antisemitism

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Federal Ministry of the Interior, Building and Community

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Source: BMI

Hello and Shalom,

Welcome! Thank you for your interest in my website, where you will find current updates and background information on the fight against antisemitism, on Jewish life in Germany, and on my work as Federal Government Commissioner. In this capacity, I am pleased and grateful that, 75 years after the Shoah and the crimes of National Socialism, vibrant and self-confident Jewish life in all its diversity has developed in our country. This also bears witness to the strength of our living democracy.

At the same time, however, the effects of National Socialism continue to resonate and to influence the present; they are still part of our reality today. Everyone living in Germany bears responsibility for remembering this. History demands it of us. A society is strong only if it faces every aspect of its past honestly and unflinchingly. Combating antisemitism is an ongoing task, requiring steadily renewed effort. Antisemitism, that is, hatred of Jews, is not directed only at Jewish people; it is an expression of a deeply anti-democratic mindset and rejects the achievements of our modern, free society. The people of Germany are responsible for upholding the fundamental rights guaranteed in our Constitution, regardless of religion, origin, nationality and political convictions. These rights ensure that the dignity of every individual is inviolable. In this society, we all have the responsibility to oppose antisemitism in all its forms. Fighting antisemitism means defending the values which constitute the foundation of our peaceful and prosperous life together as a society.

My primary aim - and fortunately I am finding growing support for it - is to raise awareness among the public and to encourage them to get involved in combating antisemitism, while also encouraging those who have so far remained silent to speak up when that is called for. The minority who engage in antisemitic behaviour must know that they cannot count on the silence of the majority. They must be made to feel that their actions are contemptible and that inciting hatred of Jews, like other forms of group-focused enmity, is not freedom of expression.

Antisemitism today has returned with renewed strength. In Germany, Jews and people thought to be Jews are insulted, spit on and threatened in public; on social media, they face an absolute barrage of abuse. Antisemitism has become so obvious and visible that we need new strategies to fight it.

The creation of my office marks a turning point. On 18 January 2018, the German Bundestag voted by a large majority to adopt a resolution calling for decisive action to combat antisemitism and condemning hatred of Jews in all its forms.

Since this office was established, we have achieved a great deal. But the horrific attack on the synagogue in Halle in October 2019 shows that we must do even more. It is important to find the right combination of preventive and punitive measures.

I am working to further improve the coordination of activities to fight antisemitic developments. Many people in our country are involved in these activities. An important step in the effort to coordinate activities was the founding last year of the Joint Federal and State Commission to fight antisemitism and protect Jewish life. The federal states are represented in the joint commission by their antisemitism commissioners. I co-chair the commission together with one of the state commissioners in rotation. Fifteen federal states have already appointed an antisemitism commissioner or have announced their intention to do so. I am very pleased about this, because the fight against antisemitism requires establishing a common front with the federal states, which are responsible for around 80 percent of measures to combat antisemitism. Education, police, criminal prosecution and sentencing: all are the responsibility of the federal states, which now make up a strong network to oppose antisemitism.

I also believe it is important to increase public awareness of Jewish life in Germany, which has been firmly rooted here for some 1700 years. The impressive Jewish contributions in the fields of science, medicine, literature, music and art in Germany are too often forgotten or overlooked. So I hope you will view this website as encouragement: encouragement to become interested in Jewish life. To make contact. To read up. To speak out against hatred of Jews - and to speak up for our democratic society.
Yours sincerely,

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Federal Government Commissioner for Jewish Life in Germany and the Fight against Antisemitism

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Source: BMI Hello and Shalom, Welcome! Thank you for your interest in my website, where you will find current updates and background information on the fight against antisemitism, on Jewish life in Germany, and on my work as Federal Government Commissioner.