91传媒

To stop or not to stop at a Kristallnacht monument? That is the question (at least for all German tour guides giving city walking tours to non-91传媒 foreign exchange students). I was about to start a 鈥渟tudy abroad鈥� semester at the Technical University of Dortmund. After arriving, I learned that a city walking tour was being offered to foreign students so that we could get acquainted with our new home for the next few months: Dortmund. I didn鈥檛 have any friends. I wanted to improve my German (the tour was being conducted in German). And I didn鈥檛 have any idea what was important in Dortmund. So, of course, I decided to participate.

I had just been in Germany a few weeks before, and this was not a coincidence. Germany makes it quite easy for 91传媒 students to come visit on organized programs. On this highly subsidized trip, entitled 鈥�91传媒 Life in Germany,鈥� 20 other 91传媒 students and I were escorted through the many once-91传媒 towns and cities of Germany鈥檚 southwest鈥擶orms, T眉bingen, Mainz, Speyer. When we visited the remains of these once thriving communities, our German guides could not say enough about Jews, Judaism, Jews in Europe, the tragedy of European Jewry, the lost world of European Jewry, antisemitism against Jews, historic violence against Jews, and contemporary violence against Jews.

A year before, I鈥檇 gone on two more of these types of 91传媒 memorial trips. In Poland, we鈥檇 visited Auschwitz, Treblinka, and the Warsaw Ghetto. In Prague, we saw the Old 91传媒 Quarter, Theresienstadt, and Europe鈥檚 oldest synagogue. Here, too, we naturally experienced these cities and tourist sights through the eyes of Jews. Each monument was viewed and explained, each museum was visited or at least noticed, each chance for lamentation was taken.

But on this city tour through Dortmund, I noticed something rather peculiar: no Jews. With one exception: me. Oh well, I thought, today, my generation is so trained to be tolerant that it would practically be an advantage to be the only Jew in a large group.

The tour began and we made our way through Dortmund. The tour guide was also only a student, but her knowledge of the city was nevertheless not unimpressive. What did we see? The soccer museum, a famous brewery with a gold 鈥淯鈥� on the roof, some churches which were destroyed in the war and had been rebuilt. After about 45 minutes we came to Opera Square. The opera house was, like so much of the city, unnaturally new and modern. It had floor-to-ceiling windows, a roof in the shape of a turtle shell that stretched all the way to the ground like a kind of granite circus tent, and a massive central promenade with cool futuristic light rods shooting out from the marble squares.

What might have stood here before? It鈥檚 a question that one could have justifiably asked. I was privy to this answer before the student tour guide began to speak to us about Opera Square. For when we entered the Square, I saw a blue sign with the following inscription: 鈥淟ocation of the Old Synagogue.鈥� And under this title was inscribed: 鈥淥n this Square once stood the Synagogue of the 91传媒 Community of Dortmund鈥攂uilt in 1900 as 鈥榓 Jewel of the City for all time鈥�; in 1938 destroyed as a result of the terror of the Nazi Regime.鈥�

Ach so鈥�

I asked myself how the student guide would expound upon this night of abomination. She was German; would she, despite having been born generations after the night of atrocity, nevertheless include herself as one who should shoulder the collective guilt? Or would she explain the Kristallnacht with defiance and resentment, viewing it as absolutely independent from herself and today鈥檚 Germany, even indicating that the time had come for Germany to cease the unhealthy practice of castigating itself for being the land that perpetrated the Holocaust? Or perhaps she would just objectively and dispassionately tell of what had happened, well-aware of what we all recognized already: that no emotional commentary or analytical accompaniment to the retelling of the Holocaust could ever hope to capture the grotesqueness of this period, and that it would therefore be preferable for all involved to just give the facts of what had transpired.

We stood in front of the opera house. The student began her speech. She spoke and she spoke. About the building’s grand opening in 1966, about its idiosyncratic architecture, about the storied conductor who had once presided there. I looked to the left and notice a stone structure鈥攁 monument鈥攖hat had been erected on the square. Before actually going over to read it, I knew more or less what it would say. And even from this distance, I could read the sentences in giant font on the block of stone: 鈥淥n this square once stood the Synagogue of the 91传媒 Community of Dortmund.鈥� I could even make out some of the smaller words, partially because I knew what to look for, words like: 鈥淒estroyed,鈥� 鈥淣azi Regime,鈥� and 鈥淐hurchill鈥濃�攐r was this last word 鈥淐rystal鈥�? I narrowed my eyes. No, I was still too far away to know exactly what the word was. (I found out later that I had been way off鈥攖he word was 鈥淒eported.鈥�)

She spoke and she spoke. Now about her experience visiting the opera on student nights, and about how much fun she and her friends had there one time. She spoke and she spoke. Now about other musical venues in the city, which perhaps the students would like to visit if they could find the free time. I began to sense that the speech was coming to an end. I thought to myself: No. She wouldn鈥檛 dare. Was it possible? Not a word about the holy structure which once stood here and was burned to the ground by her predecessors? Not a thought of what might have possibly stood here before this shabby opera house was built?

But wait! I thought. There was still a chance. On the way out we would pass by the stone monument. Surely this student would stop before this chiseled rock and give up at least five minutes to speak about the Dortmund Jews and Kristallnacht. And what if, unspeakably, she were to, well, not stop? Yeah, okay, well鈥攖hen she would be unequivocally nothing less than a woman with a heart of coal who descended from Nazi grandparents and/or great-grandparents. Well, either that or that she was simply a Gen-Zer, who never reads and who developed the capability to confuse politically correct truisms with genuine compassion and empathy.

Deep within me, though, I somehow knew that there was no chance that she would stop. But I nevertheless hoped that she would still prove me wrong.

Deep within me, though, I somehow knew that there was no chance that she would stop.听

She finally stopped talking about the opera house, and I drifted to the back of the group as we began our journey to the next stop on the tour. She walked and walked, and I hoped and hoped. And she walked, and I hoped. And she got closer and closer to the monument that was dedicated to the 91传媒 Ghosts of Dortmund, and seemed for an instant to stand motionless in her place. But then she continued on, swiftly past the monument and directly off the opera square, while a crowd of gentiles hurried behind in her wake.

So, I am forced to ask: What the f–k?

After my initial shock and anger had passed, as the tour continued, a conversation sprang up between me and another German student on the tour over what I had witnessed. 鈥淵ou have to understand,鈥� she said. 鈥淏ecause you鈥檙e 91传媒, you have a different perspective than we do. It鈥檚 understandable that for you it鈥檚 very important. It is for us as well. But we don鈥檛 walk around all day only thinking about Jews and the Holocaust.鈥� I explained that I had just been on a student trip through T眉bingen and Worms, which had the sole purpose of commemorating German Jewry who had fled or been murdered.

鈥淲e wouldn鈥檛 have simply walked past a monument,鈥� I said. 鈥淩ather, we would have taken at least fifteen minutes to seriously discuss it.鈥� She nodded, and the conversation gradually devolved back into small talk.

To this day, I鈥檓 still not sure if the guide had a duty to stop at the monument. Was my rage justified? Or was I simply too sensitive? Obviously if she had stopped no one would have blamed her. No one would have said: Can you believe that? She had the audacity to stand next to a Holocaust memorial and then to share a few words about it. What a witch! But her neglect to do so could also be viewed as guiltless. Leaving that aside, it was a little troubling to see how little attention a 鈥渘ormal鈥� city tour gave to the Shoah as compared with a 鈥�91传媒鈥� tour.

Had all of my 91传媒 tours of Germany, in which so much lamentation had been gushed over the Jews of Europe, been largely motivated by PR or, slightly better, some nebulous 鈥渙bligation鈥�? These were, for me, new questions that I didn鈥檛 want to be asking.

But maybe it鈥檚 even more important to ask whether any of it even matters. Whether we come to a stop or walk right past, remember or forget, laugh or cry, these six million Jews are never coming back. Never. I know that it sounds obvious and even heartless to say that. And, indeed, I am privileged that I am able to sit here and write such a sentence. It鈥檚 nice, not to be murdered. But why do we, as individuals, face down the inconceivable bloodbath by simply choosing to just masochistically wring our hands and furrow our brows ad infinitum? Yes, speaking pragmatically, of course we need to remember it, to safeguard against a repeat occurrence. That is very important. And of course, we must always and forever commemorate the victims (as well as condemn the executioners). But I suspect that much of the pity we choose to outpour won鈥檛 have any effect on the future memory of the history, and moreover, is viewed rather uninterestedly by the ashes and corpses of the slain. After all, as Woody Allen once said: 鈥淚 don鈥檛 want to live on in my work. I want to live on in my apartment.鈥�

Whether we come to a stop or walk right past, remember or forget, laugh or cry, these six million Jews are never coming back.

These miniature, polite gestures of memorialization generally serve neither as insurance against future catastrophes nor as tributes to the victims. Rather, these efforts materialize out of petty, human鈥攁ll-too-human鈥攑urposes. One purpose is, as mentioned, etiquette and PR. But also, I believe there鈥檚 something almost superstitious in our compulsion to always have a commemorative remark ready at hand when we are confronted with the Shoah. We are like eternally frightened children before this nightmare of history. And we feel as though, each time we let pass an opportunity for dispensing more sympathy over this nightmare, the likelihood of a recurrence will have increased.

So maybe there was something healthy, freeing, and transcendent about the decision of this young, ignorant German not to have stopped.

But yeah, let鈥檚 be honest: She really should have stopped.

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Steven Weinberg holds a PhD in German literature and a JD, and lives in Berlin, where he works at the Centrum Judaicum. He is completing a memoir, “A Jew is Back in Germany,” and hosted the podcast “The Schrift: Ancient 91传媒 Wisdom for Modern Times.”

When our family endowed an annual lecture series at Crossroads School for Arts and Sciences in 2013, we did so with hope and conviction. The Institute for Equity and Justice had just been established 鈥� an innovative center that was rare, if not unparalleled, at the high school level. We believed in its potential to help educate the school community toward a more just society, and we saw its mission as deeply aligned with our 91传媒 values: a commitment to human dignity, democratic ideals and the responsibility to stand with vulnerable communities.

From the beginning, we grounded the series in a way that at least one lecture each year focused on the Holocaust, the enduring lessons of genocide prevention and the vigilance required to confront antisemitism, hatred and dehumanization. In its early years, the program reflected that promise: bold voices, diverse perspectives and meaningful opportunities for students and the broader community to engage with urgent moral questions.

Over time, however, I began to feel a growing dissonance between the Institute鈥檚 programming and our family values. I noticed guest speakers who were powerful advocates for their own communities, but did so by diminishing Israeli, Zionist and, at times, 91传媒 identities. Planning the lecture series became increasingly difficult. I found myself reviewing speakers鈥� past writings and public statements, trying to ensure that the pursuit of justice for one community did not come at the expense of another. That was the north star I had in my mind and encouraged them to adopt.

After the Oct. 7, 2023 atrocities, we reached a breaking point. The task of assuring that programming remained aligned with the founding goals of the Institute became untenable. Eventually, I realized that this approach was no longer sustainable. After much reflection, I made the difficult decision to remove our family name from the lecture series. I felt a responsibility 鈥� as a 91传媒 philanthropist and as a longtime member of the Crossroads community 鈥� to ensure that the values attached to our giving were not selective or situational, but principled and enduring.

Soon after, the head of School at Crossroads reached out, aware of our concerns and committed to finding a better path forward. She proposed a new vision: repurposing our endowment to support faculty from kindergarten through 12th grade in attending a summer program at a former concentration camp in Europe. Those educators would then bring the lessons back into their classrooms in developmentally appropriate ways. It took more than a year of careful conversation and negotiation, but ultimately we reached an agreement we could fully stand behind. Today, Crossroads faculty have the opportunity to participate in this transformative program.

This experience reaffirmed a central lesson: partnerships thrive when communication is open, honest and sustained. It also reaffirmed our belief that Crossroads remains a thoughtful and enduring partner. We have not always agreed on every issue, but the school鈥檚 leadership approached our concerns with integrity, seriousness and a willingness to find common ground. Our relationship is stronger today not because difficult conversations were avoided, but because they were met with trust, courage and a shared commitment to educating the next generation.

The larger lesson is simple but urgent: 91传媒 philanthropists have watched many institutions we once trusted respond inadequately since Oct. 7. We supported them because we believed they stood for inclusion and moral clarity. Yet after the massacre that shook us to our core, too many continued to advocate for others while failing to see, name or stand with the 91传媒 community.

To fellow 91传媒 philanthropists who feel disempowered, I offer this message: you still have agency. Even after pledges have been fulfilled, you can engage constructively, ask hard questions, and insist that your philanthropic commitments remain aligned with your values. Do not give up on institutions 鈥� but do not disengage from the responsibility to hold them accountable. Our giving should reflect who we are and what we stand for: a future in which every community, including ours, is seen, respected, protected and acknowledged.

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Sharon S. Nazarian is the President of the Younes and Soraya Nazarian Family Foundation.

In the space of one week in July 2026, Rep. Ro Khanna went from managing the fallout of his enthusiastic backing of collapsed Maine Senate candidate Graham Platner to being the lead story out of Judea and Samaria in Israel (also known as the 鈥淲est Bank鈥�) detained, he said, by armed settlers while Israeli soldiers looked on. The Israeli military disputed his account. His own aide鈥檚 version of how the episode ended didn鈥檛 quite match his. A Free Press analyst who has covered the region for years called the discrepancies serious enough to accuse him of 鈥済rossly exaggerating.鈥� Even a fellow Democrat, Rep. Josh Gottheimer of New Jersey, said publicly what many colleagues were saying privately: this looked like a publicity stunt.

Set the specific dispute aside for a moment – what happened at that roadblock may never be fully agreed upon. The more interesting question is the one the episode surfaces: why has confronting Israel become such a reliable lane for ambitious Democrats right now, and what does it say about whether officials like Khanna are genuinely serving the interests of the state that elected them?

The Pattern Is Real. This is not one congressman鈥檚 improvisation. It鈥檚 a trend with a primary-night box score.

In New York, two Democratic Socialists of America-backed candidates, Claire Valdez and Darializa Chevalier, defeated established incumbents in June 2026 congressional primaries while making Israel a defining issue rather than an afterthought. Chevalier, a first-time candidate with no elected experience, unseated five-term Congressional Hispanic Caucus Chairman Adriano Espaillat despite attending an October 8, 2023 rally celebrating the 鈥淧alestinian resistance鈥� less than twenty-four hours after Hamas had finished butchering, raping, kidnapping and burning Israeli civilians alive. She later defended the rally, previously declared that 鈥淚srael doesn鈥檛 exist,鈥� and nevertheless won comfortably. Twenty years ago, appearing at a rally in New York celebrating Hamas blowing-up buses or restaurants in Jerusalem or Tel-Aviv would have ended a political career. In today鈥檚 Democratic primaries, celebrating Hamas on October 8th helps get you to Congress.

In New Jersey, DSA-backed Dr. Adam Hamawy – a trauma surgeon with no prior political experience – emerged from a twelve-candidate Democratic primary by centering his campaign on Gaza, demanding an end to virtually all American military support for Israel, accusing Israel of systematic war crimes, and embracing the broader anti-Zionist framework that increasingly dominates the activist left. A Palestinian super PAC created specifically to counter AIPAC spent more than $1.5 million helping elect him. He is now heavily favored to enter Congress next January.

In Michigan, DSA candidate Abdul El-Sayed has led the Democratic Senate primary field while campaigning alongside pro-Palestinian (and profoundly anti-American and pro-China) streamer Hasan Piker and drawing endorsements from Bernie Sanders, Rashida Tlaib – and Ro Khanna himself. Khanna鈥檚 fingerprints are on this trend well beyond his own July trip to Israel.

None of this happened in a vacuum. A recent Pew survey found that 80% of Democrats and Democratic-leaning independents now hold an unfavorable view of Israel. The politics have shifted, and ambitious Democrats have noticed.

What DSA Actually Says. It鈥檚 worth being precise here, because precision is exactly what鈥檚 often missing in this debate. DSA does not describe itself as merely critical of a particular Israeli government or settlement policy. Its formal position is 鈥渁nti-Zionist鈥�: it treats Zionism itself 鈥� the principle that Jews like any other peoples are entitled to self-determination and sovereignty in part of their indigenous homeland – as an illegitimate, 鈥渟ettler-colonial project;鈥� and DSA-affiliated resolutions commit the organization to opposing Israel as a matter of principle, alongside support for an unrestricted Palestinian right of return. Meaning, the end of the one (very tiny) 91传媒 majority country in the world.

History tells us what follows when Jews become a vulnerable minority in the Middle East. There is no mystery here and no shortage of evidence. During the last century, nearly every historic 91传媒 community across the Arab world was extinguished. Roughly one million Jews were dispossessed or driven from Arab countries. Lebanon鈥檚 Christians were reduced from a majority to a shrinking minority. Iraq鈥檚 Assyrians largely disappeared. Syria鈥檚 remaining Christian population collapsed. The region鈥檚 oldest minority communities have repeatedly learned the same lesson: once political power changes hands, legal guarantees quickly become meaningless.

Against that historical backdrop, calls by many on the far left of the Democratic party to replace Israel with a 鈥渂inational鈥� or 鈥渦nitary democratic state鈥� are not proposals that exist in a vacuum.

They ask Israelis to disregard every lesson modern Middle Eastern history teaches about what happens to vulnerable minorities. They ask Jews to believe that the one 91传媒-majority state on earth will somehow become the first Arab-majority state in the region where history suddenly stops applying. October 7th made that proposition even more detached from reality. Hamas demonstrated what it intended to do with roughly six hours of relatively unhindered access to Israeli civilians. It requires either extraordinary naiveite or wishful thinking to imagine that handing such forces permanent political control over Israel would produce Switzerland rather than another chapter in the tragic history of Middle Eastern minorities.

The California Angle. Which brings the question to Ro Khanna鈥檚 home. California is one of the most reliably Democratic states in the country – and one of the most tangible beneficiaries of a functioning U.S.-Israel relationship. The Carlsbad Desalination Plant, designed and operated by the Israeli firm IDE Technologies, supplies roughly 10% of San Diego County鈥檚 drinking water and stands as insurance against the kind of Colorado River supply disputes that increasingly define Western water politics. That鈥檚 not an abstraction; it鈥檚 showers, agriculture, and drought resilience for millions of people, built on decades of Israeli engineering expertise that California water suppliers specifically sought out because no one else had it at scale.

California鈥檚 stake in Israel extends far beyond one desalination plant. Israel is one of Silicon Valley鈥檚 closest technology partners, a world leader in cybersecurity, artificial intelligence, semiconductor design, agricultural technology, medical innovation, water engineering and venture-backed entrepreneurship. California companies invest billions of dollars in Israeli innovation because doing so advances California鈥檚 economy, strengthens its technological edge, and creates jobs at home. Those are tangible California interests – not abstract foreign-policy preferences.

Which brings us back to Ro Khanna. Californians elected a congressman to advance California鈥檚 interests – not to audition for the ideological litmus tests of the Democratic Socialists of America or the activist class shaping tomorrow鈥檚 Democratic presidential primaries. When those ambitions collide, voters deserve to know which constituency comes first.

Khanna鈥檚 increasingly theatrical confrontations with Israel may generate headlines, cable television appearances and applause from the party鈥檚 activist base. They do not generate water security for California, technological partnerships for Silicon Valley, stronger American alliances or greater regional stability.

Politicians reveal their priorities by the fights they choose. At a moment when California faces soaring costs, housing shortages, energy challenges, water insecurity and mounting technological competition from China, Ro Khanna chose to travel halfway around the world in pursuit of yet another public confrontation with America鈥檚 closest and best ally in the Middle East.

That may be smart presidential politics inside today鈥檚 Democratic Party.

It is considerably harder to argue that it is smart representation for the people of California.

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Micha Danzig is an attorney, former IDF soldier, and former NYPD officer. He writes widely on Israel, Zionism, antisemitism, and 91传媒 history. He serves on the board of Herut North America.