Israeli Rehab Village: Connections With German Town and Nazi Descendants

Evil swarmed into Israel last October 7. The brutality, destruction and anguish have been unending. Like the biblical Joseph, abandoned in a viper-infested pit, we seek humanity and hope.

The unlikely, interconnected stories of a unique rehabilitation village in Israel’s south, a charming medieval town in southern Germany and descendants of Nazi perpetrators provide needed rays of light.

In mid-March, when I visited Adi Negev Nahalat Eran Rehabilitation Village (Adi Negev), its accessible playground was a busy, happy place. Along with other Jewish National Fund-USA (JNF-USA) volunteers, I jumped into the mix to sing Hebrew and English songs with kids with severe disabilities.

It’s hard to imagine the beautiful grounds and airy spaces at this JNF-USA affiliate that empowers people from all backgrounds, religions, medical conditions and abilities to achieve their best possible lives.

Here, more than 300 residents and special education students with severe disabilities learn and live under the watchful and caring eyes of multi-cultural staff and volunteers. Embodying the Village’s focus on abilities, not disabilities, the beautiful 40-acre grounds and organic nursery are maintained by people previously deemed “unemployable”.

Try to picture residential villas for individuals with multiple disabilities, an innovative kindergarten integrating children with disabilities with more typical peers, therapeutic horseback riding, a petting zoo, a cutting-edge rehabilitation hospital, a hydrotherapy center and much more.

This serene, amazing international role model was founded in 2005 by Didi and Major General (Res.) Doron Almog to honor their late son Eran Almog. It is located just 12 miles from the Gaza border.

On that calm, sunny March day, pierced only by sounds of shrieking, laughing kids playing on specially adapted equipment, I was moved knowing that, with war raging mere miles away, the most vulnerable members of Israeli society continued to be prioritized and protected. Doron’s maxim “the strength of the human chain is only as strong as its weakest link” was laid out in front of me.

While neighboring communities were viciously attacked and brutalized by Hamas on October 7, Adi Negev was miraculously spared. In short order, its hospital began treating injured IDF soldiers and civilians, evacuated civilians were integrated, and 400 IDF soldiers were housed (for eight weeks) to protect the Village and surrounding areas.

Travel with me now to Tübingen, a medieval German town near Grafeneck Castle, the Nazi’s first centralized Euthanasia Program center used to kill institutionalized individuals with mental and physical disabilities.

Tübingen’s pretty, half-timbered houses belie its vile past. On Kristallnacht (Night of Broken Glass), the town’s synagogue was burned down. A pigsty was built with the remaining bricks and its Torahs were dumped into the river. The University of Tübingen was a breeding ground for numerous high-ranking Nazi officers and mass murderers – most whom lived on after the war generally with no consequences. Streets were named after Nazis.

As in most of Germany, there was a “veil of silence” about what happened in Tübingen. When asked, most people would say, “It was so long ago, why talk about it now?” or they’d make light of their family’s role during the Holocaust.

Pushing back on the prevailing norm, some members of Tübingen’s TOS Ministries church began to question why so many of their brethren had nightmares about the war, eating disorders and mental health issues.

They wondered whether “transgenerational trauma” could apply to them, and felt compelled to investigate forbidden topics: What happened in Tübingen? What did my own family members do during the war?

These questions led to the March of Life movement which focuses on personal research (using books, letters, meticulous Nazi archives and Israeli resources) to uncover the past. Via worldwide marches at Holocaust sites, and other actions, it also fosters reconciliation between descendants of perpetrators and Holocaust victims. It’s also a public voice against antisemitism and friend of Israel.

Adi Negev came into the picture when pastor and theologian Jobst Bittner, March of Life’s founder and president, sent an emissary to meet with Doron Almog. Relationships between the two organizations blossomed and a volunteer program was born. Over the last eight years, around thirty young German volunteers have come to Adi Negev to donate their time and energy.

Anna-Suzette Pfeiffer (“Setti”), great-grandchild of senior Nazi officials, was shocked by “huge” antisemitic demonstrations and conspiracy theories swirling in Germany during the COVID pandemic. She told me that these were her “ringing bells” to volunteer at Adi Negev and, after that, at the Yad Vashem Holocaust museum where she continued to research her family’s war-time history.

During her eighteen months at Adi Negev, Setti “fell in love” with the children with severe disabilities whom she taught and cared for. She was welcomed by neighboring communities, including Kibbutz Be’eri. Friends who invited her for Shabbat dinners, other holidays and events “became like family”.

Along with the positives, Setti, then nineteen, experienced frequent rocket attacks and needed to get Adi Negev’s children to bomb shelters in mere seconds. She truly understands that “Israel is always fighting for its existence.”

Setti’s parents were part of the original church group that began March of Life. They saw changes take place in Tübingen: the University said “we were guilty”; streets were renamed; and the town had a Jewish mayor. Over time, they told Setti about her family history including one great-grandfather who was an engineer who built the gas chambers and electric fences surrounding Auschwitz and another who was an SS sniper who killed Jews and partisans in the Netherlands. They took her to Auschwitz when she was fourteen.

Setti says “I can’t change a single thing about history and the fact that my great-grandfathers were terrible people. I have no sense of shame or guilt” or “need to atone” for my ancestors’ deeds. Instead, Setti says her dedication to the Jewish people and Israel comes from a “strong sense of responsibility”.

Hamas murdered many of Setti’s dear friends and her Israeli “big brother” died fighting in Gaza. She says October 7 “broke my world.”

It’s a year since October 7. Where do the pieces of this story stand now?

Adi Negev is still peaceful and serene, but there are changes. Along with many others, injured IDF soldiers make great physical and mental health strides using Adi Negev’s hydrotherapy pool, sports therapy complex and adaptive and inclusive sports program.

Adi Negev has taken a leadership role coordinating help for hard hit neighbors. It also now uses its extraordinary resources to offer resilience programing for kids and families of all abilities greatly impacted by the war. Programs for young international volunteers are on hold for security reasons, but Adi Negev hopes to get them back on track in 2025.

Working through her grief, Setti began university studies on October 9 and keeps in close touch with her Israeli “adopted family”. She says that social media and press coverage of the war is “not the Israel I know,” and it’s a “huge privilege” to continue advocating for Israel. “Silence equals indifference”, she adds, and “I will never be silent.”

In May, Setti came back to Israel to march with many others and show her support and friendship in other ways. Via March of Life, there have been tens of thousands of people who have marched since October 7 in 100 cities in 20 nations to proclaim “Am Yisrael Chai – the People of Israel Lives.”

Tübingen has a small museum that documents the town’s Jewish history back to the Middle Ages, how Nazi ideology manifested itself in Tübingen, and the March of Life’s ongoing reconciliation work. Over 10,000 visitors have come to learn about the past and present. The present, sadly, includes the horrors of October 7 and skyrocketing antisemitism.

These unlikely, interconnected stories provide some needed light and important takeaways. Among them: Israel and the worldwide Jewish community are not alone; support can come from unlikely places; silence is not an option; good and evil can coexist; hearts and minds can change; and empowering our “weakest links” makes us strong.