The Holocaust remains the darkest stain on Europe’s conscience, a genocidal abyss where six million Jews were systematically annihilated while the continent either participated, collaborated, or stood by in silence. This unparalleled crime, orchestrated by Nazi Germany but enabled by a web of European complicity, exposed the depth of anti-Semitism that had festered for centuries—from medieval expulsions to modern pogroms.

Europe’s failure to fully atone for its role in this catastrophe—through inadequate restitution, persistent anti-Semitism, and selective historical amnesia—renders its criticisms of modern Israel’s actions not only hypocritical but morally illegitimate. Israel, born from the ashes of the Holocaust as a bulwark against Jewish annihilation, operates under existential imperatives that Europe, with its blood-soaked history, has no standing to judge. Until Europe confronts its guilt and eradicates the legacy of its betrayal, it must remain silent, its voice disqualified by the weight of unatoned sins.

The scope of Europe’s complicity in the Holocaust is staggering, extending far beyond Nazi Germany’s borders. France’s Vichy regime eagerly collaborated, with French police rounding up 76,000 Jews for deportation, many during the 1942 Vel’ d’Hiv operation, where families were torn apart and sent to Auschwitz. In Poland, where three million Jews perished, local populations often profited from Jewish suffering, seizing homes and businesses or, as in the 1941 Jedwabne pogrom, burning their neighbors alive. Hungary’s Arrow Cross militia deported over 400,000 Jews in 1944 with chilling efficiency, while Romania’s Iron Guard massacred thousands in pogroms like Iași. Even neutral nations like Switzerland grew rich from looted Jewish assets, rejecting desperate refugees at their borders. Norway, Denmark, and the Netherlands, despite their resistance narratives, saw high deportation rates due to bureaucratic compliance or local betrayal. This was not a German crime alone but a European one, rooted in a shared anti-Semitic culture that normalized the dehumanization of Jews.

Postwar Europe’s response only deepened the betrayal. The Nuremberg Trials targeted Nazi leaders, but countless collaborators—local police, officials, and civilians—escaped justice, reintegrating into societies that rarely questioned their pasts. Returning Jewish survivors often faced hostility, their stolen homes occupied by neighbors who showed no remorse. In Poland, the 1946 Kielce pogrom saw 42 survivors murdered, a stark reminder that the war’s end did not erase anti-Semitism. Restitution efforts were, and remain, woefully inadequate. Germany has paid over €80 billion in reparations, a significant step, but nations like Poland have resisted returning confiscated Jewish property, with a 2021 law effectively closing the door on most claims. Romania, Lithuania, and others offer token payments or none, forcing survivors to navigate hostile bureaucracies. The scale of loss—entire communities obliterated, generational wealth stolen—demands far more than these half-hearted gestures. Europe’s failure to restore what was taken underscores a refusal to fully acknowledge its moral debt.

Anti-Semitism’s persistence in modern Europe further proves that atonement remains elusive. Synagogues in Paris and Berlin are defaced with swastikas; in 2018, 85-year-old Holocaust survivor Mireille Knoll was murdered in France, a crime echoing wartime hatred. The European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights reported in 2023 that 40% of European Jews hide their identity in public due to fear. In Germany, neo-Nazi groups like the National Socialist Underground have carried out murders, while Austria’s Freedom Party, with its Nazi roots, gains political traction. These are not anomalies but symptoms of a continent that has not eradicated the ideologies that fueled the Holocaust. Europe’s leaders condemn these acts in speeches but fail to dismantle the cultural and political currents that sustain them, from far-right nationalism to leftist anti-Zionism that often masks anti-Semitism.

Education, too, reveals Europe’s shortcomings. Germany mandates Holocaust studies, but elsewhere, the truth is diluted. Hungary’s government under Viktor Orbán has glorified wartime collaborators, erecting monuments that equate victims with perpetrators. Poland’s 2018 “Holocaust law” sought to criminalize mentions of Polish complicity, a blatant attempt to sanitize history. In Eastern Europe, narratives often frame the Holocaust as a solely German crime, ignoring local collaboration. This revisionism ensures that younger generations grow up detached from the full scope of their nations’ guilt, perpetuating a cycle of denial. If Europe cannot teach its children the truth, it has not atoned—it has merely buried the past.

Israel’s establishment in 1948 was a direct rebuke to Europe’s failure. The Zionist vision, rooted in the necessity of Jewish self-reliance, became undeniable after the Holocaust proved that no nation could be trusted to protect Jewish lives. Israel is not a colonial outpost but a sanctuary, a state where Jews can defend themselves against a world that has repeatedly sought their destruction. Today, Israel faces existential threats—Hamas’s rockets from Gaza, Hezbollah’s 150,000 missiles in Lebanon, Iran’s nuclear ambitions—all aimed at erasing the Jewish state. Its policies, from security operations in the West Bank to airstrikes on terrorist targets, are not acts of aggression but survival in a region where peace is a fantasy. The 2005 Gaza disengagement, where Israel withdrew entirely, led not to peace but to Hamas’s takeover and endless rocket fire. The Oslo Accords, meant to foster coexistence, were met with suicide bombings. Israel’s actions, often labeled excessive, are responses to enemies who exploit civilian areas, forcing impossible choices in warfare.

Yet Europe, with sanctimonious regularity, condemns Israel’s self-defense. In 2021, the European Parliament criticized Israel’s response to Hamas’s 4,000-rocket barrage, ignoring the terror aimed at cities like Tel Aviv. France’s Emmanuel Macron calls settlements “illegal,” while Britain’s Foreign Office decries Israel’s security measures. These critiques sidestep context—Hamas embeds weapons in schools, Hezbollah uses villages as missile depots—while holding Israel to a standard no European nation meets in its own conflicts. France’s colonial wars in Algeria killed hundreds of thousands; Britain’s counterinsurgency in Kenya left tens of thousands dead. More recently, Spain’s 2017 crackdown on Catalan separatists and France’s post-2015 anti-terror laws show a willingness to prioritize security over ideals. Why, then, is Israel singled out? The Zionist answer is clear: Europe’s guilt fuels discomfort with a Jewish state that refuses to be a victim. Israel’s strength—its unapologetic defense of its people—challenges Europe’s narrative of contrition, reminding it of failures it would rather forget.

Europe’s practical record further undermines its moral posturing. The Yugoslav Wars of the 1990s saw Europe stand by as 8,000 Bosnians were slaughtered in Srebrenica, a genocide it failed to prevent. Today, France grapples with Islamist terror, Germany with far-right extremism, yet both presume to lecture Israel on proportionality. If Europe cannot secure its own streets, what right has it to judge a nation fighting for survival against enemies sworn to its destruction? The continent’s selective outrage—silent on Syria’s massacres or China’s Uyghur camps but vocal on Israel—betrays a double standard rooted in its unresolved guilt.