Lessons from the Past on Immigration and Persecution

It seems we haven’t really taken the lessons from history to heart, particularly regarding figures like Anne Frank.

The danger lies in how easily the line between security and persecution can become blurred. This idea of immigration registration in the U.S.—tracking individuals based on nationality and religion—strikes me as not just discriminatory but also as a painful echo of the Holocaust. When we declared “Never again,” I doubt we meant “never again for anyone.” Yet, here we are, almost a century later, in a chillingly similar situation.

Back in the 1930s, a significant step towards the horrors of Nazi Germany was bureaucratic in nature. Jews were singled out, registered, and separated from the broader population through various forms of documentation. These records facilitated the enforcement of oppressive laws and ultimately led to mass deportations and, tragically, murder.

This didn’t unfold overnight. For instance, Rabbi Mordecai’s parents had their papers stamped with “Jews.” It all began with that registry—almost as if, at first, someone just needed to keep tabs.

The parallels we see unfolding today are disturbing. Proposals from the current administration to create registries targeting immigrants, particularly from Latin and Muslim-majority countries, are less about national security and more about racism and oppression. We already have an extensive immigration tracking system in place. These suggestions seem more aimed at branding entire populations as suspects based on who they are, rather than what they’ve done.

This distinction forms the heart of injustice and, frankly, can lead to evil outcomes. I think about the Torah, particularly where it tells us in Exodus 1 that, when a new king arose in Egypt, he feared the power of the Hebrews—leading to oppression and forced labor. Similarly, in Matthew 2:16, Herod commanded the killing of boys under two in Bethlehem, driven by fear. Today, we see those echoes in how immigrants are often dehumanized and targeted.

America isn’t Nazi Germany, but actions taken by the current administration could lead us there. It would be a grave mistake to think we are beyond the same temptations that fueled that fear back then. Germany in the 1930s was a remarkably advanced society, educated and cultured. The slide into fascism was gradual, rooted in fear, nationalism, and the belief that some people were inherently a threat. We saw the Holocaust happen almost quietly, with many complicit in various forms of injustice that supported the power of the Nazi regime.

Normalizing dangerous and discriminatory policies isn’t just hypothetical—it’s rooted in history.

Consider the Japanese internment camps justified as a national security measure during World War II. It took many years for us to acknowledge that these actions were shameful violations of our American values.

Additionally, look at the Trail of Tears in the 1830s, where thousands of Indigenous peoples, along with Cherokee, Creek, Choctaw, Chickasaw, and Seminole tribes, were forcibly relocated from their ancestral lands. This brutal chapter, sanctioned by the Indian Removal Act of 1830, led to thousands of deaths due to illness, exposure, and starvation. Up to 90% of these communities faced extinction, and the lands they were given instead were significantly less fertile.

Identity-based registries lay the groundwork for systematic oppression. They simplify targeting and exclusion, ultimately enabling harm. Such policies don’t bolster safety—in fact, they compromise our morals and constitutional values. In the worst cases, they lead us to lose our humanity entirely.

The true strength of America lies in its diversity and its core values: freedom, equality, and due process. When we start to categorize groups based on identity, we are essentially discarding those very principles. We’re trading freedom for fear, betraying the essence of democracy.

History has already painted a bleak picture of what could happen if we continue down this path. We need to muster the courage to learn from our past and actively reject repeating it.