Today, we commemorate Yom HaShoah and return to a question that still haunts humanity:

How did the Holocaust happen?

How did an advanced, cultured Europe descend into industrialized murder? How did ordinary people participate, benefit, or remain silent? How did neighbors turn against neighbors, and how did hatred become normalized?

These are not only questions about the past. They are questions about human nature—and about the present.

There is also a part of the story that is often overlooked. When Holocaust survivors returned home after the war, many found their houses occupied. Some were attacked or even killed upon their return. Jewish property, wealth, and dignity were taken on a massive scale. Much was never restored. Much was never honestly acknowledged.

Beyond Europe, hundreds of thousands of Jews were forced out of Arab lands, leaving behind homes, businesses, and possessions, with little recognition and almost no justice.

When people speak today as if Jewish history begins in 1948, they erase this deeper reality—of exile, dispossession, persecution, and the repeated failure of the world to protect Jewish life.

Nazism was defeated militarily. But the hatred that drove it did not disappear. It adapted. It resurfaced in new forms, new ideologies, and new centers of power. It can be seen today in radical movements, in regimes like Iran, and in those who excuse or romanticize forces committed to Israel’s destruction.

For many years, I believed—like many others—that education would be enough. That museums, testimony, and the promise of “Never Again” would ensure that humanity had learned its lesson.

But over the past two and a half years, that belief has been steadily shaken.

And since October 7, it has been profoundly challenged.

What we are witnessing is not something entirely new. It is something that has been building—gradually, quietly—before erupting into the open.

The hatred we thought had been pushed to the margins was not gone. It was dormant.

And when the moment came, it re-emerged.

And with it came something equally troubling: moral confusion.

A world turned upside down

We are living through a time in which narratives have become deeply distorted.

Israel—the state established in the aftermath of the Holocaust—is now, in some circles, described in terms that echo the very evil it was created to survive.

Part of the answer lies in the slow reshaping of narrative over decades. As Michael Oren reflects in Ally, the reframing of Israel’s story did not happen overnight. It developed gradually through academia, diplomacy, media, and political movements.

But over the past two and a half years, that shift has accelerated—and become far more visible.

Context has been stripped away. Complexity flattened. History reframed.

Since October 7, many Jews have come to recognize something unsettling: the hatred was always there. Holocaust education and remembrance did not eliminate it. In many places, it simply remained beneath the surface.

Today, we are witnessing a striking inversion. Israel, the state of the Jewish people, is being cast by some as the new Nazi. The accusation is not only false—it is grotesque. Yet it has spread widely across campuses, media platforms, and international discourse.

This is not accidental.

The media does not only report events; it shapes the moral framework through which those events are understood. Context disappears. Terror is detached from ideology. Years of rocket fire, terror infrastructure, and openly declared genocidal intent toward Israel are minimized or ignored.

In their place, a simplified narrative emerges: Israel as oppressor, Israel as colonizer, Israel as criminal.

What was once antisemitism expressed in older language has, in many cases, been repackaged in political terms. Hatred of the Jew has been redirected toward the Jewish state.

On the misuse of “genocide”

One of the most painful distortions is the use of the word genocide.

War is tragic. Civilians suffer. The suffering in Gaza is real, and no moral person should be indifferent to it.

The Holocaust was the systematic extermination of a people. It was total, deliberate, and absolute.

To equate that with a modern conflict—however painful and complex—is not only inaccurate. It is a distortion of history and morality.

Israel is fighting an enemy that openly calls for its destruction, that embeds itself within civilian populations, and that has built a vast terror infrastructure beneath homes, schools, and hospitals. This does not remove the tragedy. But it does make clear that this is not genocide.

To use that word in this context is to empty it of meaning—and to weaponize Holocaust language against the Jewish people themselves.

Pirkei Avot and the responsibility of words

At this time of year, between Pesach and Shavuot, we study Pirkei Avot.

Its teachings feel strikingly relevant today.

“Sages, be careful with your words” (Avot 1:11).

In an age of headlines, social media, and instant commentary, this reads like a warning written for our time.

Words are not neutral. They shape reality. They influence how millions understand events. When used carelessly—or dishonestly—they have consequences.

Pirkei Avot also teaches us to distance ourselves from falsehood. Truth is not automatic. It requires effort, discipline, and moral clarity.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks often emphasized that a society depends on moral language—a shared commitment to truth, responsibility, and human dignity. When that language erodes, even strong societies begin to lose their way.

There are parts of history that are frequently omitted.

The dispossession of Jewish survivors. The expulsion of Jews from Arab lands. The long history that predates the modern state of Israel.

These are not marginal details. They are essential context.

When history is remembered selectively, the present becomes distorted.

A time for reflection

Yom HaShoah is not only about remembering the past. It is about understanding how such events become possible.

They do not begin with violence.

They begin with words—with distortion, with silence, and with the gradual erosion of truth.

Over the past two and a half years, we have seen how quickly that erosion can accelerate—and how dangerous it becomes when left unchallenged.

We may not control global narratives. But we do control whether we participate in that distortion—or stand against it.

The challenge of our time is not only to remember.

To recognize when lies become normalized. To recognize when moral inversion takes hold. To recognize when “Never Again” risks becoming just another phrase.

And to respond—not with noise, but with clarity.

Because memory without truth is fragile.

But memory guided by truth—that is what gives it power.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)