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For decades, Germany’s commitment to Israel has been a moral constant, rooted in the weight of its history. But can that history remain a compass when so many of today’s voices feel unmoored from it?
By LYNN DASCHA ENGELHARDT DECEMBER 22, 2024 02:16
PRIME MINISTER Benjamin Netanyahu and German Chancellor Olaf Scholz hold a joint news conference at the Prime Minister’s Office in Jerusalem earlier this year.
(photo credit: OLIVIER FITOUSSI/FLASH90)
In Germany, history, demographics, and the left-right political divide are colliding in unexpected ways as the conflict in the Middle East intensifies.
Germany’s commitment to Israel’s security has been a central part of its post-war identity, grounded in Holocaust remembrance. However, since the 2015 refugee crisis, the country’s demographics have shifted dramatically.
Growing Arab and Muslim communities and a more vocal segment of the political Left sympathetic to the Palestinian cause now share space with Germany’s deep-rooted responsibility to Israel. This shift has led to increasing tension, as the German government continues its staunch support for Israel, while public sentiment has become far more divided.
As tensions flare in the Middle East, the streets of Berlin and Frankfurt, where Holocaust memorials stand side by side with vibrant Arab communities, reveal a country at a crossroads, facing challenges in balancing its historical responsibility with the diverse perspectives of its present-day citizens.
Like many other countries, Germany has seen the Israeli-Palestinian conflict capture widespread attention, both online and in daily life. Protests have become a defining feature of cities around the world – and Germany’s cities are no exception. However, protests here are notably different due to the country’s complex historical context.
Germany’s government takes its historical responsibility seriously, with strict laws against antisemitism, including penalties for using terms like “intifada” and heightened scrutiny of anti-Israel sentiment at protests. The government also funds the security of Jewish institutions and launched the “National Strategy Against Antisemitism and for Jewish Life” in 2022. Yet, despite these efforts, antisemitic incidents in Germany have almost doubled since October 7, 2023.
The line between criticism of Israel and outright antisemitism is becoming increasingly blurred in these protests. Slogans equating Zionism with nationalism, calls for boycotts, and the disturbing appearance of red triangles marking potential attack sites against Jewish institutions are all too common. These actions carry unsettling parallels to the rhetoric and symbols of World War II.
As a result, many Jews feel increasingly vulnerable, reluctant to publicly identify as such, while the broader public struggles to distinguish between genuine political critique and antisemitic hate – a particularly complicated issue in a country with such a painful history.
Adding another layer of complexity to these protests is the prominent display of Turkish flags, reflecting the significant role of ethnic Turks in Germany, its largest minority group, and Turkey’s influence in shaping the discourse surrounding Palestine.
Many in this community strongly support President Recep Tayyip Erdogan, as reflected in their overseas voting patterns – a dynamic that has caused tensions between Turks in Germany and those in Turkey. Erdogan’s refusal to label Hamas as a terrorist organization has only intensified these tensions.
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Influencers like Abdurrahman Uzun and Tugrul Selmonoglu, along with the Union of International Democrats (UID) – a lobby group supporting Erdogan’s interests – encourage young Turks to engage in protests, often in a confrontational manner.
This infuses the protests with a religious element, as Erdogan frames support for Palestine as a religious duty rooted in Islamic values, urging the Turkish diaspora to stand in solidarity with Palestinians. Similarly, many Muslim minorities in Germany with Arabic backgrounds, particularly those who arrived during the 2015 refugee crisis, express solidarity with Palestine, driven by shared cultural and religious ties and common experiences of displacement.
A complex political landscape
The political landscape in Germany has also become more complex. Its traditional left-right divide has been upended, with the rise of the far-right party “AfD” (Alternative For Germany), which now positions itself as an ally of Israel and Jewish life, opposing what it deems as Islamism.
This marks a shift from the Right’s historical association with antisemitism, creating an odd, paradoxical situation where the political Right is now the primary supporter of Israel, while parts of the political Left – traditionally the vanguard against antisemitism – are increasingly accused of harboring antisemitic views, especially in their criticism of Israel.
The political Left has long been associated with supporting marginalized groups, which explains some of its sympathy for the Palestinian cause. However, this support for Hamas presents a stark contradiction. While the Left champions values like social and gender equality, these are directly opposed by Hamas, which imposes strict restrictions on both.
This dissonance highlights the complexity of supporting movements that clash with the very values the Left traditionally stands for. Both the political Right and Left now seem to be at odds with their traditional values, complicating the discourse and deepening the national divide.
Germany’s current predicament is not just about politics – it is about identity. As its population diversifies, the country must reconcile an undeniable truth: The memory of the Holocaust is no longer universally shared or understood within its borders.
For decades, Germany’s commitment to Israel has been a moral constant, rooted in the weight of its history. But can that history remain a compass when so many of today’s voices feel unmoored from it?
The stakes are existential. If Germany lets go of its responsibility to Jewish life and memory, it risks severing the very foundation of its post-war identity. But if it ignores the voices of its new citizens – those who carry their own histories of displacement and struggle – it risks becoming a country divided against itself.
This is a moment of reckoning. Germany must decide whether it can carry its past into the future without being consumed by it. Will it rise to this challenge, or will it prove that even the deepest lessons of history can fade? In choosing, Germany does not just define itself – it defines what it means to remember.
The writer is a policy fellow at the Pinsker Centre, a campus-based foreign policy think tank, which facilitates discussions on international affairs and free speech. The views in this article are the author’s own.
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