By: Fern Sidman

On Thursday in Brooklyn, the voice of a Holocaust survivor finally reached a classroom from which it had been barred just weeks earlier. The moment, long delayed and freighted with controversy, unfolded not as a political spectacle but as a quiet act of testimony—one that cast into sharp relief the uneasy intersection of historical memory, contemporary anxieties, and institutional reticence in New York City’s public schools.

As The New York Post reported on Thursday, Sami Steigmann, 86, delivered his long-sought address to students at MS 447 in Boerum Hill after the school’s administration had previously rejected his request to speak, citing concerns about the war in the Middle East and the perceived political valence of his pro-Israel views. The belated invitation brought closure of a sort, but it also reopened wounds. No apology accompanied the reversal. No clear explanation was offered. And for many Jewish parents and educators who have watched antisemitic incidents rise across the city, the episode crystallized a deeper unease about how schools navigate the teaching of Jewish history in a climate of political tension.

Standing before reporters after his presentation, Steigmann was unequivocal about the substance of his talk. “Did I say anything about Palestine, did I ever mention it? No,” he said, as quoted by The New York Post. His presentation, he emphasized, was centered on combating hatred and preserving historical memory, steering deliberately clear of contemporary politics. “The Holocaust must be taught forever and ever because it’s the best example of what hate can do—not only to a person, but to a group of people, to a nation, to the world,” he told the assembled press. The gravity of his words, forged in lived experience, cut through the abstractions that often surround debates about curriculum and neutrality.

“The whole world was involved in trying to annihilate only one group of people,” he added, before noting that Israel is “disproportionately vilified,” a remark that, while not central to his classroom presentation, gestured toward the broader context in which his initial rejection occurred.

The New York Post reported that Steigmann’s December request to speak had been denied by MS 447 principal Arin Rusch, who had raised concerns about the political implications of hosting a speaker perceived as pro-Israel amid the ongoing conflict in the Middle East. The school later reversed course, allowing Steigmann to address students on Thursday, but the reversal was accompanied by neither apology nor public reckoning. After his talk, Steigmann described a cordial but unresolved exchange with Rusch. “I said, I hope that you find that I am qualified to speak, because at one time, she said that I’m not qualified to speak at public schools,” he recounted to The New York Post. “And she said, I never said that.” The exchange, polite on its surface, underscored the absence of institutional accountability. Steigmann said he remains uncertain why he was initially rejected, why the decision was reversed, and why no apology has been offered.

For Steigmann, whose life story encompasses survival through one of history’s most meticulously orchestrated campaigns of annihilation, the lack of apology did not diminish the personal significance of finally being heard. “I don’t hold a grudge. It’s not important,” he told The New York Post, a gesture of magnanimity that belied the emotional weight of the episode. What mattered most to him, he said, were the students’ reactions. Several approached him afterward to express gratitude. “A number of kids came to me. They thanked me, they loved it,” he said, adding that their engagement made the ordeal worthwhile.

In that small circle of young listeners, Steigmann glimpsed the enduring power of survivor testimony to pierce indifference and awaken empathy.

Yet for Jewish educators and communal leaders, the incident was not so easily laid to rest. Moshe Spern, president of the United Jewish Teachers, voiced sharper condemnation. “No apologies were made,” he told The New York Post, framing the absence of contrition as a symptom of a broader failure to reckon with the consequences of institutional decisions. “Apologies are needed and if they’re not gonna be happening… then actions need to happen.” Spern’s remarks pointed to what he described as a chilling effect on Jewish families’ sense of belonging within the public school system. “You’re causing Jewish families to take their kids out of New York City schools. You’re isolating them,” he said. “You’re making it political, and you’re making them uncomfortable.”

The implication was stark: when schools hesitate to host Holocaust survivors for fear of political controversy, they risk signaling to Jewish students and parents that their history is conditional, their trauma negotiable.

The New York Post report situated the MS 447 controversy within a broader context of rising antisemitism in New York City, a trend that has lent heightened urgency to efforts to bring Holocaust education into classrooms. Spern underscored that hearing directly from survivors is not a pedagogical luxury but a moral necessity. “We just have to remember that antisemitism is happening across New York City schools. This is not going away, which is why it’s really, really important,” he said. The implication is that institutional caution, however well-intentioned, may inadvertently exacerbate the very prejudices it seeks to avoid inflaming. In an environment where Jewish students encounter hostility or erasure, the presence of a survivor bearing witness to the consequences of hatred can serve as a potent antidote.

The silence from the school’s administration has only intensified scrutiny. Rusch did not immediately return requests for comment from The New York Post, leaving unanswered questions about the criteria that guided the initial rejection and subsequent reversal. In the absence of an official explanation, the episode has taken on a symbolic resonance, emblematic of a moment when educational institutions appear caught between competing imperatives: the desire to maintain political neutrality and the obligation to confront historical atrocities with clarity and moral seriousness. The New York Post report placed an emphasis on how this tension can play out in ways that leave communities feeling marginalized and unheard.

The controversy also raises broader questions about how public schools interpret neutrality in the teaching of history. The Holocaust, while embedded in geopolitical narratives, is not reducible to contemporary political alignments. To suggest that a survivor’s testimony is inherently political because of his views on Israel risks collapsing historical education into present-day ideological disputes. The New York Post has reported that Steigmann’s actual classroom presentation avoided such entanglements, focusing instead on the universal dangers of Jew hatred and the imperative of remembrance. That reality only sharpens the incongruity of the initial decision to exclude him.

For Jewish parents who have watched the episode unfold, the absence of an apology is not merely a matter of etiquette but of trust. Institutions that err but acknowledge their mistakes can repair relationships. Institutions that correct course without contrition risk appearing indifferent to the harm caused. The New York Post report captured this sense of lingering unease, even amid the relief that Steigmann was ultimately able to speak. The reversal, while welcome, has not dispelled fears that future educational opportunities may be constrained by similar anxieties.

At a deeper level, the MS 447 episode reflects the fraught terrain on which Holocaust education now stands in a polarized society. Survivors are dwindling in number, and with each passing year the opportunity for students to encounter living witnesses to history grows rarer. The New York Post report emphasized that these encounters carry a moral weight that cannot be replicated by textbooks alone. When schools hesitate to facilitate such encounters, they risk consigning memory to abstraction, depriving students of the visceral understanding that comes from hearing a survivor’s voice tremble with the accumulated weight of decades.

Steigmann’s composure in the face of rejection and belated acceptance stands in poignant contrast to the institutional equivocation that delayed his visit. His refusal to harbor resentment may reflect a lifetime of confronting far greater injustices, but it does not absolve institutions of their responsibility to act with moral clarity. As The New York Post reported, his words to the students were not about politics but about the corrosive power of Jew hatred and the necessity of remembrance. That message, delivered at last, resonated with the children who heard it. The question now confronting New York’s school system is whether it will absorb the lesson implicit in this episode: that teaching the Holocaust is not a political indulgence but an ethical imperative, especially in a city where antisemitism continues to rear its head.

In the end, the day belonged to Steigmann and the students who listened to him. Their encounter affirmed the enduring relevance of survivor testimony in shaping young minds. Yet the absence of an apology from school leadership, as documented in The New York Post report, ensures that the episode will linger as a cautionary tale. It is a reminder that in the effort to navigate contemporary controversies, institutions must take care not to marginalize the very histories that equip future generations to recognize and resist the seeds of hatred.