David Goldmann

Every morning, as the first light filtered through the curtains of my small apartment in Tel Aviv, Israel, I found myself grappling with the weight of memories that stretched back to a childhood lost in the darkness of the Shoah. At 94, the passage of time had etched lines of sorrow and resilience into my weathered face, a testament to the journey I had endured.

I was just 12 when I lost my parents in Germany, swept away by the unfathomable horrors of hatred and prejudice. Alone and frightened, I clung to the fragments of my shattered world, finding solace in the promise of a new beginning in Israel. It was here, amidst the echoes of generations past, that I forged a new life from the ashes of my past.

But even as I built a home and a family in this land of my ancestors, the specter of anti-Semitism lingered on the fringes of society, a chilling reminder of the darkness that once engulfed the world. Now, as I witness the resurgence of right-wing ideologies and the alarming rise of hatred and violence, I am filled with a profound sense of dismay.

How is it possible, I wonder, that after the unimaginable atrocities of the Second World War, humanity has failed to heed the lessons of history? The current global shift to the right is not just a political phenomenon—it is a moral reckoning, a damning indictment of our collective failure to uphold the values of tolerance and compassion.

As I reflect on the journey that has brought me to this moment, I am filled with a sense of urgency. We must stand united against the forces of hatred and division, lest we allow the shadows of the past to engulf us once more. For me, and for all those who survived the Shoah, it is not simply a matter of politics—it is a matter of preserving the dignity and humanity of every individual, regardless of religion or background.