“Soldiers! Brothers! If you are ordered to shoot at your brothers, then remember: no enemy stands before you — you are being told to shoot your brothers — your brothers, workers and proletarians like you! Refuse! Refuse to shoot!”
Rosa Luxemburg.
(This quote should now include “sisters,” “female soldiers,” “female workers,” and “female proletarians.”)

Just yesterday, I requested the Wehrmacht records of my grandfathers.
I don’t know what I’ll find. I already know some things — the usual stories of being “just a soldier.”
But what does that mean?
Did they kill innocents?
Did they follow every order?
Were they part of the mass murder of families — while living their lives as “normal” Nazi soldiers?

Does being aware of German history mean ignoring international law?
Does loyalty to the so-called German reason of state mean staying silent while Palestinians starve?

Do I — as the grandchild of Nazi soldiers (or worse) — have to stay quiet to prove that I’ve truly understood the horror of the Holocaust?

How can silence in the face of crimes against humanity be seen as an act of remembrance?

I am confused.

There is no question: Israel must be safe.
The Jewish people must have a secure homeland.
And it is the responsibility of the international community to protect that safety — even with armed force if necessary.
Period. No “but,” no “although,” no debate.

German media now report that many Israeli citizens want the “war” (which is not technically a war, since Palestine is not a state and has no formal army) to end — so that the hostages may be released.

That’s the only reason?
I refuse to believe that.
There must be more.

I believe the Israeli people want this war to end because they know: it’s the only path toward a safer, better future.

Let me be clear:
The hostages must be released — now.
Not someday. Today.

German journalists love to write:
“Critics say it might resemble a genocide of the Palestinian people.”
Then German politicians respond:
“Terrible, beyond imagination. Humanity must be upheld.”
And that’s it.

No word about starvation as a weapon.
No word about hospitals bombed.
No mention of medics murdered while on duty.
And no mention of German weapons.

The newly appointed German foreign minister tries to find a balance between critique and solidarity.
But still — no clear statement condemning the starvation of millions, used as a weapon “against Hamas.”

Is this what we’re supposed to accept now?
That starving babies is a form of protection — as long as it doesn’t violate international law?

When we look at Staatsräson — the “reason of state” — not morally but pragmatically, the whole picture shifts.

Post-war German politicians needed Israel.
They needed the forgiveness of the victims.
To gain it, the children of Nazis approached survivors and asked for forgiveness.
And they received it.

That remains one of the most overwhelming, extraordinary acts of human resilience in history.
Only a truly strong and wounded community could have offered such grace.

And now, just a few decades later, we Germans can say — with pride and gratitude — that Israel has become a friend.
Not just a partner.
Not just a distant country.
A friend.

I believe in something we often forget when we talk about “German culture”:
Honesty.

One thing I genuinely admire about Germans is that we can be brutally honest.
Even when planning to wipe out entire peoples, we told the world openly.
Even when committing horrifying crimes, we explained them — in broad daylight.
(To be clear: I’m joking. But only partly.)

Still: I believe in that kind of honesty.
It opens wounds — but it can also help us move forward.

Richard von Weizsäcker’s speech on May 8, 1985, is an example of such honesty.
He said that the crimes of the Nazis mean that all Germans must carry the weight of history.
And the Aufarbeitung of Nazi terror — in memorials, in art, in schools — is a shining example of the kind of honesty I want to believe in.

So what does that mean today — for Germany’s position on Israeli policy?

A position fully aware of the Holocaust.
A position that recognizes the threat posed by Hamas, by Iran, by a volatile U.S. president, and by an Israeli Prime Minister playing every political card to stay in power.

How do we remain true friends to Israel?

By being honest.

Let’s imagine Germany and Israel as very close friends — like family.
What do you do when you see a dear friend spiraling out of control?

You don’t walk away.
You step in.
You stand in their way.
You use everything — love, compassion, commitment — to help them rethink.
And when things calm down, you don’t vanish.
You stay.
You stay even closer.
You help them change — with your support.

That’s what I expect from German politics.
From journalists.
From our society.
That’s what I expect from the politicians of my country — the country that perfected genocide.

Stand up. Be honest. Speak without fear.
Yes — that may end your career.
So what?
Do it anyway.

We forget the power of visions — of what if.

What if we all went to Gaza — and formed a human shield around civilians?
That’s what I wish for:
I want every politician who claims to want peace for both Israel and Palestine to go to Gaza — in person.
All of them.
Together.

That’s what real friendship would look like.

But instead, you sit comfortably in Germany.
You twist words. Reframe facts. Shift positions.

That’s not friendship.
That’s not even partnership.
That’s just lazy, ordinary, Nazi-grandchildren playing politics as usual.

Stop acting like the heartless neoliberals you are.
Be real. Confront the facts.
Prove that you are worthy of the forgiveness and friendship Israel offered you.

It is your duty to step in — to stop the ongoing crimes against humanity — and help build peace.

And yes — I know I couldn’t have written this in German.
The Nazis took our language and used it to build horror.
And still, that language is recovering.

To speak German about this conflict would be a way to reclaim it.
But for me, it’s impossible.
Maybe it’s still the language of the Nazis.

And that’s a shame — because we need to reclaim this beautiful, complex language.
Words like Wurzelgeflecht, Astwerk, Verästelung, sich verwurzeln, Wurzeln schlagen —
these are not Nazi words.
They are ours.
They mean something.
And they are worth reclaiming.