April 14, 2026
On Yom HaShoah, Honoring the Story that Brought Me to HIAS
My grandfather grew up in Wiesbaden, Germany. When World War II broke out, he was a university student in neutral Switzerland. He could have stayed where he was, but he went back into Germany to get his parents out. That choice nearly cost him everything.
He and his family were swept up, deported, and imprisoned. Somehow, through circumstances I will never fully know, they managed to get out — moving through France and Spain until they reached Portugal.
Though I didn’t know it for many years, it was there, in the summer of 1941, that HIAS issued my grandfather his exit visa. I owe my very existence to HIAS, and as the CEO, I carry this story with me every day.
Like many survivors, my grandfather didn’t talk about what he had been through — not to my father, not to me. He passed away when I was eleven. Afterward, my father found a box of old photos and a letter in German. I couldn’t read it, but I recognized the names of European cities. And one word, with four capital letters: HIAS.
I didn’t understand the full story until I had the letter translated 25 years later. But as a child, I understood that HIAS was the organization that helped him, and other members of my family, find welcome in the United States.
When I started my career, I knew that I, too, wanted to help refugees find lasting safety for themselves and the generations after them. And I only knew one organization in that space. HIAS.
Yom HaShoah calls us to do more than mourn. It asks us to remember the history of our people — not just the suffering, but the resilience. The choices, the helpers, the narrow paths toward safety. It asks us to remember that there were always people and organizations who made a different future possible.
Beth Oppenheim on NBC: Refugees Deserve Dignity and Protection
Read MoreAs the people who survived the Holocaust pass away, we are the ones entrusted with these stories. We are the ones who must heed the lesson: that sanctuary was never accidental. It was the result of deliberate acts of courage — by individuals, and by organizations willing to stand in the breach.
HIAS was there for my grandfather. And for more than 120 years, we’ve been there — for Jews and refugees of every background — as a stepping stone, a source of hope.
Today, as our country grows more hostile to those seeking safety, that work is more urgent than ever. It is sacred.
Remembering his story, and stories like it, is not only an act of memory. It is a commitment: to ensure that the door to safety stays open, and that no one is ever left to face the world alone.
