On the golden sands of Alicia Beach, where the Caribbean’s turquoise waves crash against the shore, I found myself caught between two worlds: the vibrant life of the Dominican Republic today and the desperate voyage of the few hundred Jews who, in 1940, first set foot here as refugees from Nazi terror.
It was Holocaust Remembrance Day, and in this unlikely corner of the globe, I was reminded that, amid the world’s indifference, one nation dared to open its doors.
In July 1938, representatives from 32 countries gathered at Évian-les-Bains, France, summoned by US President Franklin D. Roosevelt to confront the mounting Jewish refugee crisis. Delegates spoke eloquently of compassion, yet each returned home to tighten immigration quotas, bound by economic anxieties or political calculations.
Only one government rose above reticence: under Rafael Trujillo, the Dominican Republic pledged to accept up to 100,000 Jewish refugees – an offer inspired in part by a sense of humanitarian responsibility in the wake of the 1937 Parsley Massacre, and by a belief that welcoming European immigrants could spur economic development and cultural exchange.
In practice, just 700 to 800 souls made the arduous journey, most settling in Sosúa, a nascent agricultural colony on the island’s northern coast. Each family received 33 hectares of land, cattle, mules, horses, and a modest loan to cultivate a new life.
Though the fields yielded little in those first years – unforgiving soil, unpredictable rains, and isolation tested the settlers’ resilience – the seeds of community and hope took root. Today, descendants of those settlers still walk Sosúa’s streets, named in tribute to pioneers such as Elbarote and others whose names quietly line the signposts.
Standing before the large sculpture of a Magen David at the memorial on Alicia Beach – an Israeli flag unfurled beside the Dominican standard – I closed my eyes. I pictured those first boats, their silhouettes emerging through the palm fronds.
How surreal to think that here, where tourists now bask under the sun, refugees fleeing the horrors of Europe first glimpsed sanctuary. The gentle Caribbean breeze carried the echoes of their gratitude and the weight of the world’s shame.
The memorial ceremony at the synagogue
The following day, we traveled south to Santo Domingo’s main synagogue, where the Israeli Embassy had draped its blue-and-white banner, and diplomats from the United States and Germany filled the pews alongside members of the Jewish community.
The ceremony opened with the lighting of candles, after which Isaac Lalo, president of the Centro Israelita, stepped to the podium: “On behalf of the Centro Israelita, I express our profound gratitude to the government and people of the Dominican Republic. While many nations closed their doors, this country had the courage and humanity to offer refuge to Jews fleeing for their lives. We will never forget.”
Lalo’s voice carried across the sanctuary, bridging past and present. He spoke of the obligation to recognize and remember kindness and vowed that every year the community would honor this historic act of compassion.
Next, Israeli Ambassador Raslan Abu Rukun addressed the gathering: “Our responsibility is to learn, educate, and work together against all forms of hatred and racism. This year’s commemoration feels even more urgent. Since the horrific massacre of October 7, we have witnessed an alarming rise in antisemitism – loud, visible, often disguised as ‘justice.’ But at its core, it is the same age-old hatred.”
His words struck a chord beyond the walls of the synagogue. In a world where the shadows of bigotry persist, the Dominican Republic’s example from 87 years ago still shines as a beacon.
Finally, Adi Rabinowitz Bedein – founder and director of the Network for Innovative Holocaust Education – presented the results of a recent survey shared with over 200 Holocaust educators from 28 countries: "Ninety-four percent of our members say antisemitism today creates unique challenges for Holocaust educators, and 85% find it increasingly difficult to teach the Holocaust without addressing contemporary antisemitism. Only 54% have encountered barriers when discussing today’s political realities, and just 44% feel supported by existing Holocaust remembrance organizations in meeting these challenges.”
Her data underscored that remembrance must be active, not passive: education must evolve to confront the hatred of our own time.
As the ceremony concluded with the solemn cadence of “El Malei Rahamim,” I thought back to that breezy afternoon at Alicia Beach. There, in the heart of a tropical paradise, I had seen how memory and gratitude can transform a place.
The Dominican Republic’s singular act of moral courage in 1938 reminds us that even when the world looks away, individual nations, communities, and leaders can stand against injustice.On Holocaust Remembrance Day, from a seaside memorial to a capital synagogue, that lesson resonated louder than ever.
The writer is a photojournalist specializing in sustainable tourism, wellness, and nature conservation, currently on a family emissary mission across North and Central America with Bedein – Agents of Hope.