Remarks by Kelley Szany, Senior Vice President for Education and Exhibitions at the Illinois Holocaust Museum & Education Center at the “Memory and Warning: A Kristallnacht Commemoration” held on November 10, 2025, at Am Shalom in Glenview.
We gather tonight not merely to observe a historical date, but to bear witness – Beginning on the night of November 9, 1938, and continuing through the 10th, the Nazis unleashed an unprecedented assault on the Jewish communities of Germany and its annexed territories. These attacks became known as Kristallnacht—the “Night of Broken Glass” – or the November Pogrom. With cooperation from the local population, police, and fire brigades, Nazis looted 7,500 Jewish-owned businesses and destroyed Jewish cemeteries, hospitals, schools, and homes, burned over 1,000 synagogues, and arrested 30,000 Jewish men aged 16-60 and sent them to concentration camps.
Legal persecution gave way to a coordinated, state-sponsored act of terror, shattering not just windows and synagogues but the last illusions of safety for German Jewry. Panic-stricken, Jews searched for countries of refuge, but many had already closed their borders.
The November Pogrom was the explosive climax to years of escalating persecution. The Nazi government systematically consolidated power, silenced opposition, and built an edifice of dehumanization. Propaganda successfully framed the “Jewish Enemy” as simultaneously subhuman and a cunning, existential threat. Hundreds of discriminatory laws were enacted, designed to ostracize Jews from public and civic life and definitively reveal the state’s intent: remove an entire community based on identity and scare them into self-deportation.
At this stage, the “solution to the Jewish question” was focused on expulsion, not yet mass murder. Nevertheless, the reality was terrifying: Jews were dehumanized, attacked, and arrested on the streets and in their homes simply because of who they were. The message delivered was clear: there was no place for Jews in Germany.
Eighty-seven years later, we gather at solemn events throughout the world to commemorate the victims of that night, and the millions who followed, by refusing to treat their suffering as a distant, sealed-off chapter of history. Chillingly, we see the warning signs in our own time.
The Jewish community around the globe is facing levels of fear and insecurity not seen in decades, fueled by a shocking and documented resurgence of antisemitism across the political spectrum. This insidious tide of hatred, whether through violent attacks, online harassment, or the normalization of anti-Jewish tropes, is a crisis that has reached a tipping point.
At the same time, across our country, we are witnessing the terrifying replay of the old, divisive, and dangerous playbook targeting yet another minority group — immigrants, particularly those from Latin American countries. We hear rhetoric that relentlessly paints these human beings as invaders, animals or existential threats to our culture and economy. The use of inflammatory terms like “influx,” “invasion,” and “poisoning our blood” is a calculated strategy designed to sow distrust, fuel fear, and justify extreme action. The chilling, real-world result is visible now: lives are being violently disrupted, with people ripped from streets, schools, and hospitals, leading directly to the irreparable tearing apart of families and communities.
To remember Kristallnacht is to remember the consequences of dehumanization unchecked. Words soften the ground for cruelty; they make violence imaginable, then permissible, then inevitable. When people are spoken of as vermin, invaders, or parasites, their humanity becomes negotiable—and once that happens, the unthinkable becomes thinkable.
So, what do we do? We take a stand for humanity. Every time we hear an entire group of people labeled as “the other,” we push back. Standing against dehumanization begins with small, deliberate acts of courage: challenge falsehoods wherever they surface, refuse to share or tolerate hate online, and use your voice to remind others of our shared dignity. Engage with stories that humanize rather than divide. Support organizations that defend targeted communities and hold public leaders accountable when rhetoric turns cruel.
The lesson of November 1938 is not only that democracy can be dismantled from within, but that moral boundaries erode long before the first window is smashed. We cannot dismiss hateful speech as mere rhetoric or excuse the targeting of minorities as political theater. When dehumanizing language goes unchallenged—against any group, anywhere—we open the door for history to repeat itself.
Kristallnacht reminds us that silence is never neutral. The truest way to honor those whose lives were shattered is not through remembrance alone, but through a living commitment to action. Your presence here tonight affirms that choice. The defense of humanity is not a spectator sport. It demands courage, clarity, and unwavering resolve.
And let us never forget: the world we live in is shaped by the stories we choose to tell—and those we refuse to ignore.