This week, I immersed myself in Lithuania’s history during World War II.
The Holocaust, in a way, began here with the region that was once under Soviet control. It wasn’t solely marked by concentration camps and gas chambers; many Jews faced execution at close range.
In Auschwitz, the Nazis mechanized mass murder, highlighting an appalling disregard for human life. Surprisingly, the brutality didn’t seem to weigh heavily on the perpetrators either.
In a small Lithuanian town, soon to host a museum called The Lost Shtetl Museum (opening next month), local residents joined in the killings.
How did this occur?
Some of the murderers were undoubtedly psychopaths—individuals that can be found in any society. The chaos of war offered them distinct opportunities.
But there were also nationalists driven by ideology, convinced they were liberating their nation from “foreign” influences. They believed that aiding the Nazis would restore Lithuania’s independence by helping to eliminate communists and Jews.
At the same time, we can’t ignore the Soviet Union’s critical role in paving the way for genocide. Their actions dismantled the Lithuanian state, executing or deporting leaders and intellectuals, along with seizing significant property and businesses.
The initial Soviet occupation lasted just a year, and yet it caused tremendous suffering, erasing an array of institutions that might have curbed nationalist resentment.
The Soviets particularly targeted Jews, dismantling their communal systems and plunging Jewish business owners into poverty. In 1940, they even exiled Zionist leaders to Siberia.
But the following year, the Nazis prompted Lithuanian militias to eliminate Jews, linking them unfavorably to communism due to various Soviet Jewish groups.
Extremist left movements often disrupt social norms and threaten independent institutions, fostering a climate where morality bends to power. Conversely, extreme right ideologies, whether based on race or state, tend to forge a notion of virtue through conflict with “others.”
In this context, the Jews became both victims in Lithuania.
While I’m cautious about suggesting events similar to those in Nazi Germany or Lithuania could unfold in the US, it’s essential to recognize that extreme voices from both ends of the political spectrum here echo themes from Lithuania’s grim past.
Lithuania serves as a reminder that atrocities don’t only stem from authoritarian regimes; sometimes, they arise from grassroots movements.
Today, younger Lithuanians have different perspectives. Those raised in the liberty of post-Soviet Europe are seeking to understand their past and engaging with Jewish visitors like myself. They strive to address gaps in their knowledge and confront the silence surrounding suppressed histories.
Moreover, they impart important lessons about the dangers of political extremism that we all must confront.
