From Pharaoh to Bergen-Belsen to Today: Passover, Memory, and the Fight Against Injustice
- Dan Weiss
- Apr 14
- 7 min read
Updated: Apr 15
As Jewish families gather each spring to retell the ancient story of Passover, we are reminded that memory is not merely heritage—it’s a form of resistance.
We retell the ancient story of liberation from bondage not just to remember the past, but to examine the present. We recall how Pharaoh, out of fear and insecurity, enslaved the Israelites and sought to strip them of their humanity. We tell this story not as distant myth, but as a living narrative. We are taught:
“In every generation, we must see ourselves as though we personally were liberated from Egypt.”
It’s a moral imperative to recognize when others are still in chains – and to speak out when oppression repeats itself. This is more than ritual or a spiritual reflection—it’s a call to action.
Holocaust Memory: Sacred and Urgent
Eighty years ago, in 1945, my great uncle Josef “Jupp” Weiss observed Passover inside Bergen-Belsen, the Nazi concentration camp where he was imprisoned. Approximately 50,000 people died in the Bergen-Belsen camp complex. Among them was Anne Frank, the most well known child diarist of the Holocaust era.
After his liberation and recovery from typhus that same year, he wrote a letter to his family in America, England, and Palestine about his experience.
There was no matzah. No wine. No freedom.
Just memory. Scraps of food. Whispers of ancient prayers. And unshakable faith.
He and fellow inmates recreated the Seder from memory. It was an act of courage and resistance.
The complete letter, translated by my father Gerald Weiss, can be found at the end of this post. It is also available from the Leo Baeck institute for the Study of German-Jewish History and Culture.
The Holocaust killed 6 million Jews—and 5 million others, including Roma, LGBTQ+ people, political prisoners, people with disabilities, and Slavic civilians. “Never Again” became a vow passed from generation to generation.
But “Never Again” must not mean never again just for us. It must mean never again for anyone.
A Disturbing Echo in Our Time
Today, in the United States, we are witnessing disturbing parallels to past injustices. Government policies have increasingly targeted immigrants, refugees, and marginalized communities. We are again watching the rise of authoritarian tactics:
Deportations carried out without due process - without fair hearings or access to legal counsel
Immigrant families torn apart
Legal protections undermined
Fear wielded as policy
When human beings are denied basic rights under the law, we are not just failing—we are reenacting the very patterns we swore to never repeat. When due process is stripped away, and people are denied basic protections, we are not merely failing to uphold American ideals—we are echoing the very tools that past authoritarian regimes used to oppress and dehumanize.
Gaza, and the Genocide in Our Time
Right now, as we recite the Ten Plagues and speak of deliverance, tens of thousands of civilians in Palestine—including thousands of children—have been bombed, starved, and displaced. Entire neighborhoods have been leveled. Hospitals turned to rubble. Refugee camps attacked.
And across the globe:
Rohingya Muslims in Myanmar have faced ethnic cleansing
Masalit People in Sudan face genocide and massacres in Darfur
Uyghur Muslims in China are imprisoned in re-education camps
Tigrayans in Ethiopia face mass atrocities
Indigenous peoples in the Americas continue to be displaced and dehumanized
And right here in the United States, immigrants and asylum seekers are deported without due process, while extremist policies take aim at vulnerable communities
If we believe in the Passover story—if we believe in liberation—then we must ask:
Who is being enslaved, bombed, or silenced today?
And what is our responsibility?
Our Tradition Demands More
Jewish ethics do not ask us to be neutral. They ask us to remember, to protest, and to act.
“You shall not oppress the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”— Exodus 23:9
If our freedom means anything, it must lead us to fight for the freedom of others.
Never Again Is Now—And For Everyone
This Passover, let us honor those who made Seders in the shadows of death.
Let us remember our ancestors who marched out of Egypt and through Bergen-Belsen.
Let us recognize the suffering in Gaza and beyond.
And let us commit, not just to telling the story—but to changing it.
Never Again for anyone. Never Again is now.
Seder Evening in Bergen-Belsen 1945
From a July 1945 letter by
Josef (“Jupp”) Weiss
in Holland to his family in America, England, and Palestine
Translated by Gerald Weiss
“Tonight you have to give a talk in every barracks,” my wife reminded me when I greeted her in the morning in her barracks. “What can I possibly say?” I replied. “Eighty percent of the people are ill: spotted typhus, general exhaustion. We are quarantined. There is hardly any bread left; for 10 days we have received at most one fifth of the rations to which we are entitled. Butter and bread spread don’t exist for us.”
“As you know, I have spoken on every previous Yom Tov [holiday]. We organized small meetings in each barrack. Think of our Hanukkah and Purim children’s parties, so uplifting for young and old alike. Or Hanukkah eve when we lit candles simultaneously in every barracks, including the infirmary and the old people’s and children’s barracks. This wasn’t just for the religious people, all Jews took part, not a negligible achievement in one of the vilest German camps. It is a sign of the strength and will to survive of Jews from 45 countries who are pressed into these barracks under inhuman conditions.”
“But to speak today, when I am required to recite ‘All who are hungry, come and eat with us?’ No, Erna, that is too difficult for me. I am only human. I shall have to confess to them that we have no more supplies, not even for the most sick and debilitated. And as it looks now, we cannot expect any new food deliveries for the time being.”
“But that is exactly why you have to speak. The Haggadah verse you just cited will have to be the keynote for your talk,” answered my wife in her customary quiet and persuasive manner.
We had been invited to participate in the Seder in the children’s barrack. In the evening, I visited all the barracks in our section (Bergen-Belsen was divided into nine sections, isolated from each other by barbed wire), and what I said went something like this:
“It is true that it is a paradox to recite the Haggadah verse ‘Come eat with us’ when the opposite is the case here. We all are hungry. We in the leadership cannot get anything for you; our food situation looks hopeless. I cannot give you bread, all I have is words to persuade you to have courage. Hold out five minutes longer. These are the last five minutes, we can feel it, even though we have no newspapers or radio. We are among the very few European Jews who might possibly survive extermination. We must stick it out because we have an obligation to take part in the rebuilding of the Jewish people. We have seen many nations perish, and the Jewish people has outlived them all. Even after this war, with all our personal sacrifices, the sun will shine for us again.”
“At first I was scared to tell you this tonight. But, on entering your barrack, I saw candles burning on the few available tables, on the bunks, in the aisles, and small groups conducting a Seder. Speaking then became easy for me, because I can tell that you feel the same way.”
At the end of my speech the listeners responded with a loud “Omeyn” from the Ashkenasim and “Amen” from the Sephardim, in every one of the barracks.
After ten such speeches I arrived at the children’s barracks where they had been waiting for me before starting the Seder. Here everything was a complete surprise, and as I write these lines today I am filled with pride at what Jewish adults were able to do for Jewish children despite all the humiliation and suffering.
There was a marvelously set table. Seating was provided on benches for two sides and on the lowest bunk of triple-deckers for the other two. A few adult guests were present, among them the widow and children of one of the Dutch Chief Rabbis who had died a few days earlier, and the children of the other Dutch Chief Rabbi who, with his wife, had died of hunger edema at about the same time. Some 30 children dressed in their “best” camp clothes sat beaming around the table. Father Birnbaum conducted the traditional Seder, including all the explanations and answers to the children’s questions. The Seder plate was as prescribed, although with Ersatz [imitation] ingredients.
After the first part of the Seder came a marvelous meal, with various dishes which surprised children and adults alike. They were the artistic creation of Mother Birnbaum who together with her daughters took charge of the guests’ bodily welfare. Wine in Ersatz form was served as well.
Our principal food in our 15 months at Bergen-Belsen had been beets and turnips, but only once did I appreciate the value of the turnip, namely that evening: the Seder plate, the meal with its various dishes, and the “wine” (i.e., juice) were 90% turnip derived, created by Mother Birnbaum’s artistic hands.
The second part of the Seder was as solemn as the first. The Passover hymns were chanted by the children. Never had I heard them sung more beautifully than by these young voices. At the conclusion we all joined in the Leshanah Haba’ah Birushalayim [Next Year in Jerusalem].
We left the children’s barracks deeply moved and returned to the “real world.” I walked my wife and son back to their respective barracks. Then I went to the office in order to compile with my colleagues the usual daily mortality list, by name, for the entire KZ [concentration camp]. Today there were 596 dead, approximately 500 of them Jews.
Twelve days later we were placed on a transport destined for Theresienstadt. After a thirteen day meandering voyage of deprivation and torment, we were liberated by Soviet [Russian] troops. They put us up in the village of Tröbitz, near Luckau, in the Frankfurt-on-the-Oder district.
Fourteen days later, one day before the end of hostilities, on May 6, 1945, my dear wife died of spotted typhus. She was allowed to experience freedom for a few hours. But her dearest wishes (and mine), to be reunited with her older son who as a halutz [pioneer] went into hiding in Holland, and the Leshanah Haba’ah Birushalayim, were both denied to her.
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