Tim Kurockin, a 21-year-old Jewish student from Bavaria, moved to Berlin shortly before October 7, 2023 — the day of Hamas’ terrorist attack on Israel. Since then, he says, some Jewish friends have been “physically assaulted simply because it was clear they were Jewish.” Kurockin describes himself as “not visibly Jewish,” since he neither wears a kippah nor a Star of David.
He studies at the Berlin School of Economics and Law and is active in student Jewish organizations, including the Hillel movement and the Jewish Student Union of Germany (JSUD). When in Berlin, he is “very cautious when out and about” and avoids telling “many people” that he is Jewish. Still, he says he does not live in “constant fear,” though he avoids demonstrations whose slogans he disagrees with.
Jewish institutions in Berlin have been under police protection for decades, but since autumn 2023 the atmosphere has become markedly tenser. In December, major security measures were implemented at the public Hanukkah candle-lighting at the Brandenburg Gate; where people once watched up close, the celebration is now heavily secured. Heavy bollards have been placed in front of Jewish cultural centers across the city.
That protection existed before October 7, in which more than 1,200 people were killed and around 250 taken hostage. But in the wake of the Gaza war — during which the territory’s Health Ministry, regarded as reliable by the UN and many human rights organizations, reports at least 70,000 Palestinian deaths at the hands of the Israeli military — threats in Berlin grew, prompting further intensification of security measures.
Some Jewish people, like Kurockin, speak openly about life in the city; others remain silent. Some young Jews say they have not personally encountered hatred and discrimination. Kurockin regards January 27, the day of remembrance for victims of Nazism, as a “day of genuine mourning,” but he finds much Holocaust commemoration in Germany hollow — often limited to the same social media posts or black-and-white images of Auschwitz. “That is not enough. Do something real against antisemitism! In parts of Germany, we now have a far-right party polling in second place, sometimes even first. We also see left-wing extremism growing; antisemitism linked to Israel increasing; and a constant rise in antisemitism overall. Political leaders are not doing enough.”
He adds that the “firewall” against political collaboration with right-wing extremists is “crumbling more and more” in conservative circles. The rise of the Alternative for Germany (AfD) deeply worries him.
It is hard to know exactly how many Jews live in Berlin. The city’s official Jewish community counts around 10,000 members, but the real number is considerably higher and has grown with Jewish arrivals from Ukraine. Estimates suggest between 15,000 and 30,000 Israelis alone live in Berlin.
Lilach Sofer, 20, studies in Potsdam and lives in Berlin. She has avoided posting political comments on social media because “the reactions very quickly turned offensive and lacked substance.” Sofer, whose mother is Israeli and father German, says life in Berlin can generally be lived “quite normally.” She does not fear university but is cautious — she avoids speaking Hebrew loudly in public after friends were once threatened with a knife for doing so. “In the past, I sometimes wore a Star of David necklace. At the moment, I don’t,” she says. “Right now, anywhere in Berlin, you’d have to be crazy to wear one.”
For David Gorelik, the risk of being targeted is something he “thinks about every day.” The 21-year-old says his life has “changed very, very much” since October 7. He is active in “Meet a Jew,” a project organizing personal encounters between Jewish and non-Jewish people run by Germany’s Central Council of Jews, and is a member of the Chabad community. He studies social work and divides his studies between Erfurt and the university for Jewish studies in Heidelberg, reflecting that in parts of Germany wearing a kippah is less problematic and offers a more protective sphere.
After October 2023, some Jews questioned whether it still made sense to stay in Germany. Gorelik disagrees: “It does make sense. You can drive out darkness with light. That is what we stand for. And we want to stand together.” He notes that Jewish life in Germany has “grown enormously” in the last five years, with improved infrastructure: every state capital now has a synagogue, the German armed forces have a Jewish military chaplaincy, and Berlin’s Chabad has launched a Jewish campus intended to be open to wider society.
Although Gorelik is more cautious in conversations about Israel or the Middle East, he asserts his presence: in the aftermath of October 7 he chose to wear his tzitzit openly. “Because the antisemites want to pressure us into hiding.” He also finds the slogan “Never again” insufficient for the present and calls for more direct dialogue so those who know little of Judaism can meet Jews and their everyday realities “against all prejudices.”
Gorelik says one factor that could compel him to leave Germany for Israel is political: not antisemitism alone, but if the AfD were ever to take the office of chancellor.
This article was originally written in German.
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