On January 26, 2024, MedPage Today published an op-ed titled, “Medicine, Nazism, and the Holocaust: Essential Lessons for Health Professionals.” Exactly 1 year later, I was honored to give a lecture to a group of local medical students at the Holocaust Museum of Los Angeles. It was titled, “Clinical concerns for caring for Holocaust survivors and their children.” Prior to my presentation, the students were given a private tour of the museum. Their focus was on Nazi medical experimentation and the diseases rampant in the ghettos and camps. It was tied to the 80th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz.
The students had hoped to have a Holocaust survivor speak to them, but that could not be arranged. It is obvious why. The number of Holocaust survivors who tell their stories to students was always small and is dramatically diminishing. The most recent data show that the median age of Holocaust survivors is 86 years old!
The event where I spoke was entirely organized by one of the medical students. Despite numerous attempts, she could not get her school to provide any education to her class about the Holocaust. She wrote, “We have a whole year-long course on medical ethics, yet not a single slide even says the word ‘Holocaust’.”
In my presentation, I read the students a quote from the MedPage op-ed. The authors wrote, “Finally, health professionals have particular responsibilities in fighting against discrimination. They have distinct credibility to challenge false scientific claims made by antisemites, racists, sexists, and other bigots, and they are in key positions to prevent, detect, document, or remedy human rights violations.”
I hoped the quote would inspire my audience to take up that responsibility. In the authors’ report (which the op-ed stemmed from) and its appendix, they described ways to improve education and inspire educators. Unfortunately, now a year later, it seems that their call for change fell on deaf ears.
It seems the most fundamental ethical failure of the medical profession is still not included in the education that many healthcare professionals receive. They are not told how German doctors enthusiastically embraced eugenics. They are not told that these doctors adhered to the single guiding value of their society at the time: that those who are different (whether that difference is genetic, due to a birth defect, country of origin, or religion), must be eliminated. Every single medical school should be teaching this history to their future physicians.
I told the students that most Holocaust survivors did not talk about their experiences. This led to what has been called a “conspiracy of silence.” This silence has impeded the survivors’ healing, diminished the facts that we know about the Holocaust, and for their children (like me), robbed us of not just the events of the war, but the stories of our families before the war.
“Going to silence” is a common human response when someone feels unsafe, or is in a shocking situation that they never experienced before. Unfortunately, we still live in a time where those who want to stand up against discrimination and false claims have reasons to feel unsafe. The students of our schools are no exception.
Fortunately, there are many brave individuals that stand up and speak out. A great example is the medical student that organized her peers’ Holocaust education.
During the lecture, I tried to follow the education-focused recommendations from the report authors: Herwig Czech, PhD, Sabine Hildebrandt, MD, and Shmuel Reis, MD, MHPE. The students’ feedback was that it was one of the only transformative learnings that they’ve experienced in medical school. The event was filmed, and hopefully, someday will be used to educate other healthcare professionals.
Noachim (Noah) Marco, MD, is chief medical officer of Los Angeles Jewish Health.
Please enable JavaScript to view the