Mark Hotz One Sunday morning when I was about 9 years old, my Hebrew school class was ushered into a large room to watch a film about the Holocaust. While I don’t remember much of it, one sequence was irrevocably burned onto my brain. At the liberation of Bergen-Belsen, with the camp littered with emaciated bodies and a few walking dead, a British soldier sat on a bulldozer shoving naked dead Jews into a mass grave. I thought about this for a considerable time. But rather than rage at the Nazis, my anger was at the Jews. Why hadn’t the...
Monitoring Antisemitism Intel
