Bearing Witness: A Pilgrimage of Remembrance and Responsibility

January 27 is a day observed by many countries worldwide to honour the memory of the Holocaust. On this day, people reflect on the horrors of that time, remember the lives lost, and hear from survivors who are still with us. It serves as a solemn reminder to ensure such atrocities are never forgotten.

One question has haunted me for years: How could this have happened? The brutal murder of the Jewish people between 1941 and 1945, enshrined in German law, remains a tragedy that demands reflection. How could such atrocities unfold in the heart of civilized Europe while the world watched? This question has driven my lifelong commitment to understanding and educating others about these horrors.

In 2016, I spoke at the Essentials of Freedom Conference in Edmonton, where I worked to contextualize antisemitism and hatred toward Jews for a contemporary Canadian audience. This reinforced my belief that remembering the past is not just reflection but also responsibility.

History of Antisemitism and Jew Hatred, Abigail Hirsch

A Personal Pilgrimage to Poland

In 2023, I journeyed to Poland, visiting sites of Jewish destruction such as Auschwitz-Birkenau and Belzec, along with historic Jewish communities in Warsaw, Krakow, Lviv, and rural shtetls. Organized by my synagogue, the pilgrimage was led by Rabbi Reuven Poupko and guide Tzvi Sperber, allowing me to witness the remnants of a thousand-year-old Jewish civilization the Nazis sought to erase.

Standing in these ruins, I felt the weight of history in a way no book or documentary could convey. We were accompanied by a Torah scribe and an unfinished Torah scroll, which we completed as we visited abandoned synagogues across Poland. The journey culminated in a powerful moment when we carried the completed Torah through the gates of Auschwitz, symbolizing the survival of our people and faith—Am Yisrael Chai!

 

I am thankful to Tzvi Sperber for facilitating the participation of Yosef Lewkowicz, a Polish survivor in his nineties and former Montreal resident. Author of The Survivor: How I Survived Six Concentration Camps and Became a Nazi Hunter, a book I recently purchased, Yosef recounts his survival through six camps and his rescue of over 600 Jewish orphans hidden in monasteries, orphanages, and private homes, ultimately bringing them to Israel. He also played a key role in bringing Nazi figures like Amon Goeth, a sadistic officer portrayed in Schindler’s List, to justice—a testament to the resilience of the Jewish spirit.

Another influential figure is Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, whose musical ministry brought comfort and spiritual renewal to both Jews and non-Jews, especially in the aftermath of the Holocaust. His outreach reached Jewish communities in Poland, Ukraine, and Hungary—places deeply scarred by the destruction of their Jewish populations, often with local complicity. Carlebach’s message of unity extended even to the Vatican, which, for centuries, upheld supersessionist theology and played a role in the persecution of Jews. Since the Second Vatican Council in 1965, the Church has published Nostra Aetate, a declaration seeking to correct its relationship with Judaism and all other religions, rejecting supersessionism.¹

Carlebach’s music continues to serve as a bridge, fostering reconciliation in even the most challenging circumstances. I encourage you to watch the 2008 Religion and Ethics video about his ministry, a powerful testament to the healing power of music and faith.

Holocaust Remembrance: The Stakes and Complexities

On January 27, Holocaust Remembrance Day, I took a moment to reflect on the importance of remembering the Holocaust. Some news outlets have overlooked that Jews were the primary victims, fueling “Holocaust denial.” This distortion attempts to erase the undeniable Jewish connection to the Holocaust and absolve the perpetrators, allowing them to avoid accountability for the systematic annihilation of Jewish men, women, and children.

This denial aligns with the Nazi regime’s central objective: the eradication of the Jewish people. They built six death camps specifically for the systematic slaughter of Jews, and Hitler’s obsession with their destruction extended beyond Europe to places like Morocco, Iran, and the Middle East. Even at the risk of losing the war and against the advice of his generals, Hitler prioritized extermination over military logistics. He diverted resources necessary for supplying his troops in Russia to ensure that trains continued running to transport Jews to their deaths.

Holocaust Inversion

Holocaust denial continues to plague us, often driven by deliberate efforts to distort historical facts. One particularly troubling trend is “Holocaust Inversion,” in which some falsely accuse Jews and Israelis of behaving like Nazis. This tactic equates Israel’s actions toward Palestinians with Nazi Germany’s treatment of Jews, suggesting that Israel has committed similar atrocities—a claim that distorts both history and morality.

One of the earliest figures to make such a comparison was historian Arnold Toynbee, who argued that Jewish actions during the 1947-48 war resembled Nazi persecution of Jews. In response, Israeli President Chaim Herzog debated Toynbee at the University of Montreal in 1961, emphasizing a key distinction: Israel fought in self-defence during the 1948 Arab-Israeli War, whereas Nazi Germany sought the systematic annihilation of Jews—many of whom had been loyal German citizens, even serving in World War I.

 

These comparisons don’t just twist history—they also overlook some significant differences in how societies are governed and what values they uphold. Jewish teachings stress treating non-Jews with justice and kindness, which is why Israel granted citizenship to Arabs, Christians, and Muslims who stayed after it was established. On the other hand, Islamic history included something called “dhimmi” status, which protected non-Muslims but also came with restrictions like extra taxes and limits on religious freedoms. Understanding history is crucial, but political groups today often manipulate it to stir up conflict.

While much attention is given to Palestinian displacement after 1948, another refugee crisis—one often overlooked—occurred at the same time. Nearly a million Jews were expelled or forced to flee from Arab nations such as Iraq, Egypt, and Libya, where they had lived for centuries. Their homes, businesses, and cultural heritage were erased, yet this historical reality receives little acknowledgment in discussions about Middle Eastern refugees.

The land now known as Israel has deep historical roots in Jewish identity. Following the failed Bar Kokhba revolt in 135 CE, the Romans renamed Judea as Syria Palaestina in an attempt to erase Jewish ties to the land. This was part of a broader Roman policy that included the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE, a pivotal event in Jewish history.

Since Israel’s founding in 1948, groups like Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Iranian regime have used Holocaust Inversion as a propaganda tool, falsely equating Israel’s self-defence with Nazi aggression. Iranian leaders have repeatedly denied or downplayed the Holocaust, and Hamas has even accused Israel of “genocide” against Palestinians—a term carefully chosen to distort the historical facts. This kind of distortion not only erases the suffering of Jews but also fuels ongoing hostility toward Israel.

Israel agreed to the 1947 UN partition plan, which suggested separate Jewish and Arab states, but neighbouring Arab countries rejected it and went to war against the new Jewish state. To this day, the conflict remains a complex political and territorial struggle, with some factions advocating for a two-state solution while others reject Israel’s right to exist entirely. Understanding this conflict’s historical and ideological roots is essential to countering misinformation and ensuring that history is not weaponized for political purposes.

The Role of the Allies and Soviet Forces

It’s important to understand the true nature of the ‘liberation’ of Auschwitz. When the Soviets arrived in January 1945, the Nazis had already evacuated most of the prisoners, sending them on death marches to other camps. The Soviet forces didn’t liberate Auschwitz on purpose—they simply came across it, finding it mostly abandoned, with only the haunting remnants of what had happened there.

Stalin’s antisemitism, however, should not be overlooked in the context of Soviet involvement during and after the war. While the Soviet Union presented itself as a liberator, its treatment of Jews was often contradictory. During the war, Stalin strategically used Jews in diplomatic roles to gain support and financial aid from the Jewish American community, even sending Jewish ambassadors to the U.S. to assist with the Soviet war effort. However, after the war, Stalin’s antisemitic policies became more pronounced. There was a major crackdown on the Yiddish language and a growing number of restrictions on Jewish religious practices. Stalin also staged high-profile show trials, with the most notorious being the “doctors’ trials,” where Jewish doctors and artists were falsely accused of treason against the Soviet Union.

In addition to the role of the Nazis, the Allies also failed to prevent or mitigate the suffering of Jews during World War II. By the late 1930s, the Allies were well aware of the Nazi persecution of Jews, even though the full scope of the Holocaust hadn’t yet been revealed. In 1938, President Roosevelt called for the Evian Conference in France, hoping to address the refugee crisis caused by Hitler’s actions. The conference stressed the urgency of the situation, but only a few countries—like the Dominican Republic, the Philippines, and later Cuba—agreed to take in Jewish refugees from Germany.

Other nations, like Sweden, Shanghai, and Bolivia, also offered limited refuge, but major powers such as the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada hesitated to open their doors. They pointed to political, economic, and security concerns as reasons for their reluctance. This hesitation, along with the focus on military efforts during the war, only added to the suffering of many Jewish people trying to escape. The failure to take meaningful action at this critical moment allowed the Holocaust to unfold as it did. After the war, many survivors were left to rebuild their lives with little support in displaced persons camps.

 

Post-War Recovery and the Role of Jewish Organizations

After the war, Holocaust survivors who had lost everything—homes, businesses, and families—were not immediately welcomed by the nations that had fought against the Nazis. Many found themselves trapped in Displaced Persons (DP) camps in Germany and Austria for years, unable to return home or find new countries willing to accept them. With little government assistance, it was primarily Jewish charitable organizations that helped survivors resettle and rebuild their lives. My own family, fleeing Communist Hungary, lived in the Rothschild DP Camp in Vienna for two years before immigrating to Canada. These organizations played a vital role in helping survivors rebuild their lives.

For a realistic account of Jewish recovery after the war, I recommend the documentary Hidden Face, which tells the story of Klausenberger Rebbe, an Auschwitz survivor. After the war, he was in a DP camp and was selected to speak with General Eisenhower during his visit.

Another documentary on post-war recovery is my own Yiddish: A Tale of Survival, which recounts the post-war immigrant stories of three remarkable theatre professionals from three different generations: Shmuel Atzmon of Israel, Bryna Wasserman of Montreal, and Miléna Kartowski-Aïach from Paris.

Remembering the Survivors: Commemorating January 27, 2025

I attended a moving memorial in Montreal where Peter Mansbridge, Canadian journalist and former chief correspondent for CBC News, interviewed George Reinitz, a 92-year-old Hungarian survivor who was deported to Auschwitz at the age of 12. After the war, he immigrated to Canada, built a successful business, and became a national wrestling champion. His journey is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

I also participated in a Zoom lecture hosted by Lockdown University, which honoured Yehuda Bauer, a Holocaust historian who emphasized the moral guide of three commandments: “Thou shalt not be a perpetrator; thou shalt not be a victim; and thou shalt never, but never, be a bystander.” These words challenge us to stand against injustice and hatred.

A particularly moving moment came when I watched a video message from Frank Lowy, a 94-year-old Holocaust survivor and billionaire. He addressed the Israeli hostages still held in Gaza, offering them hope with a powerful message:

“Here is my message to the hatufim/hostages. I want to give them hope. I have risen from the darkest places in the world, and here I am, at 94, to speak to my friends and family, to speak to them in this holy holy place, in ‘Eretz Yisrael shelanu’—in our Holy Land of Israel. Never Give Up Hope!”

Museums dedicated to recounting the Holocaust have done an excellent job documenting and preserving the records of these historical events. The digitalization of testimonies allows future generations to connect with the firsthand experiences of survivors, preserving their stories and safeguarding them from distortion over time. Museums in cities such as Montreal, Washington, and Jerusalem, among many others, are important reminders of the horrific events that occurred during that period.

Over the past month, the Jewish community has faced the heartbreaking loss of Shira Bibas and her two young children, Kfir, who was nine months old, and Ariel, who was two years old. The trio was brutally kidnapped from their family home in Kibbutz Nir Oz on October 7, a Jewish holiday, and returned in coffins after 500 days of being held as pawns in the Palestinian war against Israel and the Jews. Their tragic deaths serve as a painful reminder of the ongoing violence and suffering inflicted upon innocent lives by genocidal groups like Hamas and Hezbollah.

Recognizing our shared humanity is more important than ever in today’s divided world. But for that to happen, we need to face our history honestly. If we encourage open conversations and exploration of ideas, we can create a society that truly values and celebrates our differences.

It is not enough to remember the Holocaust; we must act. Today, I’m reaffirming my commitment to making sure the lessons of the Shoah stay alive and continue to shape our future. It’s time to have honest conversations and pass those lessons on so we can prevent such horrors from ever happening again.

“Never again” must mean now for all of us!


Footnote:

  1. Paul VI, Pope. Nostra Aetate: Declaration on the Relation of the Church to Non-Christian Religions. Vatican, 28 Oct. 1965, https://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_decl_19651028_nostra-aetate_en.html.
  2. “Day to Mark the Departure and Expulsion of Jews from the Arab Countries and Iran.” Wikipedia,  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Day_to_Mark_the_Departure_and_Expulsion_of_Jews_from_the_Arab_Countries_and_Iran.

A Season of Miracles and Light

The holiday season always brings to mind the miracles surrounding us, even in the everyday things we might take for granted. Think about it: the electricity that powers our homes, the roads and cars that connect us to the world, the wonder of flight that lets us soar across continents, and the films and the internet that bring stories and people into our lives. And then there’s love—the most profound miracle of all—grounding us in peace and connection, whether at home or across the globe.

Reflecting on these modern miracles, I am reminded that they did not happen overnight. Behind every innovation were struggles, doubts, and an unwavering belief in the impossible. Perhaps that is why the miracles in my life feel even more profound—they came with challenges, making them all the more meaningful.

My Recent Miracles

Miracle 1: Finding a Home in Jerusalem

Israel has always felt like a second home to me, where my roots are intertwined with my ancestors’ rich history and faith. Over the years, my trips to Israel have transformed into spiritual journeys shaped by my studies at Shiviti and Simhat Shlomo—two Jewish institutions.

On my last trip in April, I searched for a place to live. This task proved challenging, especially with my limited budget and Jerusalem’s tricky rental market. There were moments of doubt when I wondered if I’d ever find a place that felt right. Then, I discovered a small, affordable apartment—not luxurious, but in a neighbourhood I love.

I vividly remember stepping into that apartment for the first time. The cool air carried a faint scent of jasmine from a nearby garden. The space was modest yet filled with natural light, and as I stood in the empty rooms, a quiet sense of peace enveloped me, almost as if the city were welcoming me home. The apartment is tranquil, just a short walk from the lively Emek Refaim Street, with its bustling shops, cafes, and the cinemas I enjoy.

Returning to Israel right after the Jewish Fall Holidays, I was determined to make this place my own. Over the next five weeks, I poured my heart into transforming that small apartment into a home. Each step—arranging furniture and hanging mezuzot on the doorways—deepened my connection to this land.

Miracle 2: Rediscovering the Streets of Jerusalem

Decades ago, as a student at Hebrew University, I wandered the streets of Jerusalem on foot. Back then, the city had a quieter, more intimate feel, and its narrow lanes seemed to whisper secrets from the past.

During my recent visits, I was struck by Jerusalem’s transformation. The quiet, small city I once knew has become a lively, modern metropolis. Buses, trains, and highways now integrate seamlessly into its historic surroundings, creating a vibrant atmosphere filled with traffic, construction, and the lively chatter of a diverse crowd.

Before the Six-Day War in 1967, Jews could not access the Western Wall or the Old City. Today, these sacred sites are open to everyone, and the city has expanded in ways I never imagined. Yaffo Street, once a simple route to the Old City, now features a sleek tram—a surreal contrast of modern elegance against ancient stones. Ben Yehuda Street, where I used to stroll as a student, has transformed into a bustling pedestrian mall filled with cafes, shops, and the constant buzz of city life.

I was particularly fascinated by Kikar Hamusika, a lovely square near Ben Yehuda that I stumbled upon for the first time. Drawn by the enchanting music of a violinist, I found myself surrounded by people chatting and laughing at nearby tables. In that moment, I felt the vibrant energy of the city—deeply connected to its history yet incredibly alive in the present.

Miracle 3: Reconnecting with Old Friends

The day after I arrived in Jerusalem, my brother-in-law, Shragai, called to tell me about a gathering at Barbara Friedman’s apartment. Barbara, a fellow Montrealer, had invited us to catch up, making it the perfect way to reintegrate into the city’s social scene.

As I entered her apartment, the scent of freshly baked challah enveloped me, along with the warmth of familiar faces and old friendships. One friend had even brought a guitar, and before long, we found ourselves singing together, including a delightful children’s song about Noah’s Ark. It was a sweet moment, especially since it was the Friday before Shabbat, a time for reflecting on the stories of our ancestors and the lessons they teach.

Surrounded by music and laughter, our lasting connections felt even more meaningful despite the years and distance that kept us apart. It was a beautiful reminder that some bonds, like tree roots, grow stronger over time, keeping us tied to the people and places we hold dear.

Miracle 4: Immersing in the European Cantors Convention in Budapest

On November 1st, I travelled from Israel to Hungary to attend the European Cantors Convention at the Rumbach Street Synagogue in Budapest. This place is special to me as it’s where my parents married during World War II. Being in that space, filled with personal and communal history, was incredibly moving.

The synagogue itself was a marvel—its walls steeped in history, yet echoing with the voices of the present. To capture the essence of the convention, I hired a local cameraman to document the event. It was an opportunity to listen to incredible cantors like Benny Meisels, Deborah Katcko-Grey, and Leah Frey Rabiner and reconnect with my family’s roots. With my cousins, I explored Budapest and uncovered our shared history, making this trip about more than just music—it was a journey into my family’s past.

Standing in the synagogue where my parents once stood, under the same ceiling that had witnessed so much joy and sorrow, I felt a deep connection to them and the generations before them. These interviews and experiences are the foundation of a documentary I’m working on about the convention. The event was filled with meaningful discussions and beautiful music; I can’t wait to share that with others.

Miracle 5: Rediscovering Our Family Heritage in Hungary

I had the opportunity to travel with Rachel, Tehila, her daughter, and Effy Fadida from Israel to the ancestral lands of our Hungarian Jewish forefathers. During our visit, we explored places like Tokay, Szabolcs, Kereztur, and Debrecen, accompanied by locals who helped us understand our family’s deep connections to these locations.

In Kereztur, we paid our respects at the resting place of Reb Shiele, a revered Hassidic Rebbe, and enjoyed kosher meals that felt like a link to our ancestors. The air was filled with the aroma of traditional Hungarian dishes, and as we gathered, the conversation flowed easily, full of stories of the past and hopes for the future. It was a meaningful experience to be in these places that still hold the echoes of our heritage, connecting us to a legacy of faith and community.

Our time in Tokay and Debrecen was remarkable. Visiting the Rebbe’s resting place at night felt almost dreamlike—a moment of quiet reflection after a day of exploring our roots. The stillness of the night, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the distant sound of a river, created an atmosphere of calm and peace. In Debrecen, we connected with relatives who survived the horrors of the Holocaust, their resilience serving as a strong reminder of the strength of our people. Our experience was even documented in the Hungarian Jewish Debrecen Community Bulletin, where I translated our visit into English.

Miracle 6: The Resilience of My Christmas Cactus

When I returned to Montreal, I was greeted by a small but significant miracle—my Christmas cactus was in full bloom. It had been cared for by a talented local plant expert while I was away, and seeing those bright blossoms felt like a symbol of hope and resilience. The vibrant pink flowers, standing against the gray of winter, were a reminder that life persists, even in the harshest conditions.

In a world that often feels dark, small lights—whether a blooming plant, a cherished friendship, or a connection to our heritage—remind us of the miracles surrounding us. Like the Maccabees, who overcame great odds, we can find strength and light in the most unexpected places.

As we move through this holiday season, may our homes be filled with peace, joy, and the warmth of these everyday miracles.

Am Yisrael chai—The People of Israel are alive! Am Yisrael thrives! And when Am Yisrael thrives, the world thrives!

Wishing you all a happy and meaningful holiday season.

With warmth,
Abigail

International Holocaust Remembrance Day: A Personal Journey of Remembrance

January 27, International Holocaust Remembrance Day, carries the weight of history and personal loss, a day set by the United Nations General Assembly on November 1, 2005, to honour the victims of the Holocaust. It commemorates the liberation of the Auschwitz concentration camp by the Soviet Army in 1945 and serves as a reminder of the fragility of humanity and the importance of collective memory.

A Personal Connection

For my family, January 27 is not just a date; it’s a reflection of our history. Both of my parents lived through the Nazi era in Hungary, and tragically, three of my grandparents, along with many relatives, were victims of Auschwitz. From a young age, the Holocaust, or Shoah, profoundly shaped my understanding of our family’s history and the heavy burden of this tragedy.

Parents of Abigail Hirsch (Montreal)

Family History and Immigration

After the war, my sister Anita and I were born in Hungary, but we grew up in Montreal after our parents and uncle escaped Communist Hungary in 1949 in search of safety. By 1951, Montreal had become a vibrant community of Hungarian-speaking survivors, where stories of resilience and survival were woven into our upbringing. Questions of why, who, and how constantly lingered, fueled by our family’s experiences and discussions within our community.

Echoes of the Past

Both of my parents worked tirelessly during my childhood. I remember my mother hiring a teenager to accompany me to school. Against the backdrop of the Holocaust that echoed through our community, surviving relatives openly shared their wartime experiences. These gatherings created an environment rich in reflection and understanding, instilling a deep connection to our history and a sense of responsibility to carry it forward.

Continuing Struggles and Reflections

My search for understanding continues to this day. Even in retirement from my career as a psychotherapist, I acknowledge that none of us can avoid the enduring impact of our family histories. Whether dealing with the effects of slavery, residential schools, oppressive governments, or the consequences of poverty, we all grapple with the legacies passed down through generations. These histories shape how we see the world and what we owe to others, urging us to consider our roles in fostering healing and understanding.

Collective Responsibility

International Holocaust Remembrance Day serves as an important reminder for governments and institutions worldwide to reflect on the decisions that led to genocide. It fosters a collective commitment to honouring the victims through education aimed at addressing the root causes of hatred. Many countries have implemented Holocaust education programs in schools to ensure that future generations grasp the dangers of intolerance. As we reflect on this day, let’s commit to preventing such atrocities from occurring again. Together, we can strive to build a world rooted in compassion and understanding, each of us playing our part in the narrative of remembrance.