This Monday, Jan. 27, the world will mark International Holocaust Remembrance Day — a day to honor the six million Jewish lives lost and countless others persecuted under the Nazi regime. Cornell, a university that prides itself on intellectual engagement and social responsibility, should also take a moment to ask a pressing question: How can we preserve memory in a world driven by immediacy and fractured by noise and division? At a time when the power of listening has never been more urgent, this day calls on all of us to respond to the voices of history and conscience.
As a historian at Cornell, I grapple with the challenge of listening every day. This spring, I am teaching a course titled “The Past and Future of Holocaust Survivor Testimony,” where we explore the profound responsibility of keeping survivor voices alive in a rapidly changing world. In our weekly discussions, we examine how digital archives and other technologies are reshaping how we interact with memory, challenging us to reflect on what it means to “bear witness” in the 21st century. The rise in Holocaust distortion, combined with broader societal shifts toward polarization, amnesia and nationalist whitewashing in Eastern Europe, makes this work all the more vital. At its core, this course is about more than history — it is about the transformative power of active, ethical listening and its relevance to the challenges we face in today’s society.
Listening, in this context, is not passive. It is an ethical choice and a deeply human connection. Particularly, I am reminded of the testimony of one survivor from eastern Poland, describing the moment she returned home after the war to find her family gone and her neighbors hostile. It was the silence, she recalled, that made her feel like she did not exist. Her words remind us that silence, whether born of fear, indifference or power, can perpetuate harm. But listening — truly hearing these stories — has the potential to counteract that silence, fostering empathy and understanding in its place.
Holocaust testimonies bear witness to humanity at its most vulnerable. They urge us to confront the fragility of memory and the weight of history. These stories are rarely neat or complete — they are raw, fragmented and profoundly human. Yet, it is precisely in their complexity that they offer vital lessons in a world that continues to grapple with division and the consequences of silence.
In my course, Cornell students explore not only the nature and ethics of listening but also how it intersects with innovation. One focus is on applying artificial intelligence methods to preserve and present testimony. AI-powered tools, such as interactive holograms that allow users to “ask” survivors questions in real time, offer new ways to connect with these narratives and put a face to those stories. However, they also raise pressing ethical questions: Can a digital avatar ever replicate the emotional depth of a conversation with a living survivor? How do we ensure that these tools amplify rather than diminish the power of testimony?
At the same time, active listening is not just limited to technology. It demands a mindful, empathetic approach that engages with ethical dilemmas and the challenges of representation. Through this work, Cornell students are not only learning about the past — they are helping to shape the future of memory and justice by applying the lessons learned from history to today’s divided world.
Recent events on campus have highlighted just how much this kind of listening is needed. On Tuesday, Jan. 21 — the first day of the semester — pro-Palestinian activists vandalized the Andrew Dickson White statue, expressing dissent over the University’s actions. I unequivocally condemn the vandalism of campus property, which undermines any hope for a constructive dialogue. Yet this incident underscores the importance of mutual listening: to hear each other out, to hear perspectives rooted in deeply held convictions, even as we struggle with their implications in a polarized world. Disagreement and debate are vital to any university community, but they must take forms that foster understanding, not deepen divisions. Implementing this kind of listening on our campus requires intentional action from all members of the Cornell community — students, professors, administrators and activists alike. For students, it means approaching conversations with curiosity rather than defensiveness, asking questions to understand rather than to debate. For administrators, it involves creating spaces where dialogue can take place safely and inclusively, perhaps through moderated forums or structured conversations that encourage diverse perspectives to be shared respectfully. Professors can model this approach in the classroom, fostering environments where students feel empowered to voice their opinions. In my class this spring, for instance, I will integrate structured debate formats and collaborative projects.As we approach International Holocaust Remembrance Day, I urge everyone in the Cornell community to reflect on the transformative power of listening. In a world saturated with distraction and division, personal testimony offers something rare and essential: a chance to connect deeply with the voices of those who endured. It also challenges us to build a future rooted in compassion, justice and understanding. Survivor voices, when actively heard and shared, do not truly fade; instead, they weave themselves into the fabric of our communities, carried forward by each of us, like echoes resonating through time. This is why listening today is not just an act of memory but also a moral responsibility, one that sustains the human connection at the heart of these narratives.
Jan Burzlaff is a Post-Doctoral Associate in the Program for Jewish Studies. He can be reached at [email protected]
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