The Jewish Holocaust Deniers

President Trump recently spoke to the Republican Jewish Coalition in Las Vegas. The speech was vintage Trump: Lies, distortions, middle-school insults. Frankly, it’s no longer news worthy or even interesting. But what’s different here is the audience. They were Jews. And for me, as a Jewish attorney who represents asylum seekers, their reaction to the President’s comments were horrifying:

The President says our nation’s asylum program is “a scam” and claims that asylum seekers are “some of the roughest people you’ve ever seen–people that look like they should be fighting for the UFC.” The crowd laughs.

“They read a little page given by lawyers that are all over the place,” the President continued. “You know lawyers, they tell them what to say.” Imitating one of these allegedly-coached asylum seekers, the President deadpans, “I am very fearful for my life [and] very worried that I will be accosted if I am sent back home!” More laughter.

“No, no, he’ll do the accosting,” retorts the President. Laughter, applause.

Mr. Trump went on to mock those who support our asylum system: “Oh, give him asylum,” the President whined in the persona of one of these bleeding hearts, “He’s afraid, he’s afraid!” “We don’t love the fact that he’s got tattoos on his face–that’s not a good sign [and] we don’t love the fact that he’s carrying the flag of Honduras or Guatemala or El Salvador, only to say he’s petrified to be in his country.” More laughter and applause.

“To confront this border crisis,” Mr. Trump concluded, “I declared a national emergency.” Loud cheering.

Jews yucking it up, as the President denigrates and slanders people who are fleeing for their lives. To me, this is the ultimate in Holocaust denial.

Passover is a good time to decide: Are we the Egyptians or the Israelites?

Of course, these deniers are nothing like the anti-Semitic buffoons who claim the Holocaust was a hoax. The denialism of this group of Jews is much more profound and insidious than that of “traditional” deniers. That’s because this group knows better. And because they are Jewish.

They know that the Holocaust happened; that the Nazis and their allies murdered six million Jews and five million other “undesirables.” They know too that the international community largely turned its back on refugees fleeing Nazism. The Jews in Las Vegas likely celebrate Oskar Schindler and other “righteous gentiles” who rescued Jews during the War. They lament the tale of the St. Louis–a ship carrying hundreds of Jewish refugees that was denied entry into the U.S. and forced to return to Europe, where many of the passengers perished in death camps.

Indeed, the story of the St. Louis is just one episode in our country’s shameful response to Nazism. We enforced and over-enforced visa quotas to prevent Jews from finding safety in the United States. This response was fueled by lies and half-truths: The Jews fleeing Germany were enemy aliens, they were spies and Communists, Jews and other southern and eastern Europeans were inferior to Northerners, the Jewish refugees brought disease, they would take American jobs.

And of course, blatant anti-Semitism also helped shape American attitudes towards Jewish refugees. Witness the words of Charles Lindbergh at an “America First” rally in the autumn of 1941: “Leaders of the Jewish race are not American in interests and viewpoints,” he declared. There were three groups pressing the U.S. towards war, Lindbergh continued, “the British, the Jewish, and the Roosevelt Administration.” In other words, the Jews were a threat to the United States. Certainly, we should not be admitting more of them into our country.

Luckily, not all Jews were kept out. My wife’s grandfather was released from a concentration camp after he secured a U.S. visa. If not for that visa, his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren (including my wife and children) would never have been born. Three generations of Jews exist today because some unknown consular official issued a visa, and saved a life.

On a grander scale, the magnitude of the Holocaust, and the world’s indifferent response, led to the creation of international laws protecting refugees. Our own country’s asylum system derives directly from our commitment to “never again” sit idly by as innocent people are slaughtered on account of their religion, race, political opinion or ethnic group. In that sense, the sacrifice of the Six Million was not in vain. Their deaths helped galvanize the world to try–however imperfectly–to prevent future Holocausts.

Despite this history, the Jewish audience in Las Vegas laughed and cheered to affirm President Trump’s false statements about asylum seekers. Perhaps by pretending that today’s refugees are a threat to our country, or that they are mere economic migrants, the Las Vegas Jews hope to avoid the burden of history and the burden of Passover–to welcome the stranger and to comfort the widow and the orphan. These Jews should know better. When they mock desperate men, women, and children who have come to our country seeking protection, they mirror those who mocked us in our hour of need. In so doing, they dishonor the memory of our martyrs and–in the most fundamental way–they deny the lessons and sacrifices of the Holocaust.

A Passover Parable (Especially for Refugee Advocates)

This week marks the beginning of Passover (called Pesach in Hebrew), the holiday celebrating the Jewish people’s liberation from slavery in Egypt.

In some ways, the story of Passover is the quintessential refugee story: A persecuted people flees oppression, undergoes a long, transformative journey, and arrives in a new land. Of course there are some unique twists: G-d directly intervenes to save the Israelites and ultimately transform them into the Jewish people, and–for a change–the persecutors get their comeuppance (there’s quite a bit of smiting in the story).

The Baal Shem Tov’s stories are the Besht ever.
The Baal Shem Tov’s stories are the Besht ever.

Like most Jewish holidays, over the years, many traditions and stories have been incorporated into our celebration. One of my favorite stories involves the tradition of welcoming the prophet Elijah—who heralds the coming of the Messiah—into our homes by opening our door near the conclusion of the Passover meal (called a Seder). Here is my favorite Elijah story. It originates with the Baal Shem Tov, also known as the Besht, a Jewish spiritual leader from the eighteenth century, and comes to me via the late writer Leonard Fein (who apparently heard it from his mother, an eighth-generation descendant of the Besht himself):

It happened that a Hasid (a disciple of the Besht) came one day to the master and said: “I don’t understand. Every year, we have a wonderful Seder, we do everything we have been instructed to do, and every year, we open the door for Elijah — and he never arrives. How can this be? I feel we are spurned.”

The Besht considered his disciple’s complaint, and then told him to load a wagon with food, wine, matzos, and also clothes and gifts for the children, and travel to a certain hut in a nearby village and spend the first two days of Pesach with the destitute family that lived there; it was there that he would certainly see Elijah.

The Hasid followed the Besht’s instructions punctiliously, and the next morning he arrived at the dilapidated hut in the nearby village. He was greeted warmly, his gifts were accepted with tears of gratitude, and that night, the entire family — mother, father, five children, along with their surprise guest, celebrated Pesach together.

Yet when the door was opened for Elijah — no Elijah.

Bitterly disappointed, the Hasid returned to the Besht and told him what had happened — and, more important, what had not happened. The Besht explained that Elijah must have been delayed, but that at Pesach time next year, the Hasid would surely encounter him. So he must at the time of the holiday return to the hut, once again with a wagon filled with food and gifts — but this time, before knocking on the door, he must first eavesdrop on the goings-on within the hut.

The next year at Pesach, the Hasid did as told, putting his ear to the door before knocking. He heard the mother’s lament: “We have no food for the holiday. Nothing. How can we celebrate?” And he heard the father’s reply: “Not to worry! Don’t you remember that last year, Elijah came with all that we needed, and gifts for the children as well? Have faith; he will surely come on time once more.”

So ends the story, save for its moral: Rabbi Hillel taught, “Where there is no man, be thou a man.” The Besht, through this story, taught, “Where there is no Elijah, be thou Elijah.” Through acts of loving kindness, each of us has the power to bring us all closer to redemption.

For those who have devoted themselves to helping refugees (or helping anyone else, for that matter), I think this story has particular resonance. While we continue to hope that the world situation will improve, and that fewer people will be forced from their homes by war and persecution, we must also continue our efforts to help those in need. As we read in Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers), “You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.” In other words, Keep on Truckin’ and have a Happy Pesach!

Pity the Persecutors

Passover is the holiday where we remember the Jews’ exodus from slavery in Egypt. As we all know, it didn’t end well for the Egyptians, what with the 10 plagues (including death of the first born – oy vey!), and then the business about drowning in the Red Sea.

The Passover Seder is the meal where we re-tell the story of the Exodus. At the Seder, we dip our finger (or a spoon for the germ-o-phobes among us) into  our wine 10 times, and remove one drop each time. This reminds us that the joy of our liberation is diminished by the suffering of the Egyptians.  

Don't you Jews eat any other part of the Matzah?
Don’t you Jews eat any other part of the Matzah?

I often think about how the source countries for my clients are affected by my clients’ departure. Many of my clients are well educated and talented people. They are exactly the type of people the source countries need in order to improve. The only problem is that such people are often targeted by fascist regimes (like the Syrian government) or extremists movements (like the Taliban).

Some would argue that people like my clients should stay in their countries and work (or fight) for change. That is easy to say for people who do not live in such places, and who do not face threats to themselves and their family members. Many of my clients did, in fact, work for change in their countries before they left. For example, I am about to file the case of an Afghan man who worked for various NGOs helping children and women. After receiving many threats, he was brutally attacked with a knife (necessitating numerous surgeries), and finally fled for his life. His case is in some ways typical of my clients. They continue their good work in the face of death threats, but at some point, they feel compelled to leave. International humanitarian law exists to help such people, and my feeling is that each person needs to make his own decision about whether to stay or go (the Washington Post recently ran a depressing photo essay about this choice in the context of Syria).

One thing that seems obvious is that when such people leave, their home countries are diminished. While I can’t say I pity the persecutors, I do feel bad that good people–people who could make a difference in their home countries–are forced to leave. This harms the people who are left behind and helps create a vicious cycle: Conditions are bad, so good people leave, and then conditions get worse, so more good people leave.

My one hope, which I see with my clients, is that they often remain engaged trying to help their homelands. Many of my clients are journalists and human rights activists. They can continue to support change in their home countries (by working for the media, for human rights organizations or for the U.S. government), while living safely in the United States. 

So as we celebrate Passover, I am thankful for freedom and safety. But I will also try to remain cognizant of those who are left behind.