An Unlikely Encounter: Descendants of a Holocaust Survivor and of a Former Nazi Commemorate the Liberation of Geislingen

Co-written by Michael S. Simon, Next Generation Speaker at The Zekelman Holocaust Center in Farmington Hills, Michigan, and Lilly Lindenthal, High School Student, in Geislingen, Germany

80th Anniversary of the Liberation of Geislingen

April 28, 2025, was a meeting across history and generations. We were at the commemoration of the 80th anniversary of the liberation of the slave labor camp in Geislingen, Germany. The event was held at the Württembergische Metallwarenfabrik (WMF), the factory where hundreds of Hungarian Jewish girls spent approximately nine months working as slave laborers.

Lilly Lindenthal, a high school student from the local community of Geislingen and the great-granddaughter of a former Nazi, mesmerized the audience with her words about the burden of history and family legacy. Michael S. Simon, an American son of a Holocaust survivor, followed and recounted the impact of his mother’s experiences at the camp in Geislingen. 

The Factory: Württembergische Metallwarenfabrik 

The Württembergische Metallwarenfabrik, incorporated in 1853, grew from a simple kitchenware shop to a large domestic and international company. At the onset of World War I, it supplied cartridges and shells to the armed services. While this operation was halted at the war’s end, arms production was again renewed with Hitler’s call for rearmament in 1936.

As World War II progressed, the need for labor grew, and in 1944, the factory applied to the SS for a transfer of prisoners from other camps. On July 28, 1944, a train arrived from Auschwitz carrying over 800 mostly Hungarian girls between the ages of 12 and 16.

After a brief quarantine, the girls were put to work on August 16, marching back and forth from camp to factory for their 12-hour shifts in wooden clogs, in full view of the city. The work was arduous. Young girls operated heavy machinery, and many suffered injuries to their hands. Some died, and others who were unable to work were sent back to an almost certain death in Auschwitz.

By April 10, 1945, with the approach of the Americans, the camp was evacuated and destroyed, and the girls were sent by train and foot to Allach, a sub-camp of Dachau, and liberated between April 29 and May 1, 1945. When the Americans arrived in Geislingen, all vestiges of the camp were gone.

The Evangelical Alliance 

In 2010, members of five Protestant churches in and around Gieslingen learned of the camp’s existence. Early on, a cross was placed in the town cemetery to mark the former camp, but it was later vandalized. On a trip to Israel, members of the Alliance met two survivors and their families, and located the list of the girls at Yad Vashem.

On March 8, 2015, the Alliance held its first memorial march titled “Remember-Honor-Reconcile,” which joined together church members, townspeople, survivors, and family members. A plaque listing all of the girls’ names was erected, and Stolpersteine (four-inch concrete cubes with brass plates inscribed with the names and life dates of victims of Nazi extermination) were placed. Later, a memorial and information kiosk were dedicated at the camp site. 

Hildegard L. Simon, nee Lustig 

Michael’s mother, Hilde, was born in Vienna, Austria, on April 11, 1928. She and her family fled after the Anschluss (Annexation of Austria by Germany) on March 25, 1938, to stay with her father’s family in Nagykanizsa, Hungary. On May 24, 1944, they were deported to Auschwitz, and only Hilde survived, sent later to work in Geislingen. Hilde injured her finger on the first night at work and received crude treatment for her injury.

She was fortunate to be placed on a one-month garbage detail and not returned to Auschwitz like other girls who were identified as unable to work. She recalled the brutality of her barrack Kapo (a prisoner functionary), and witnessed violence, which haunted her for the rest of her life. After liberation, Hilde arrived in America on June 12, 1947, and married on May 27, 1951.

Michael on the 80th Anniversary Commemoration 

Meeting other survivor families and standing together with descendants of the perpetrators was beyond belief. At the factory, I saw my mother’s name in a book of injuries, which brought chills down my spine. We were treated like royalty, and our visit was made both intense and meaningful by the extensive research and preparation, and the strong intention to honor and remember the survivors and victims. It felt as if the entire town rose up to welcome us in a warm embrace. 

Our two days were packed. There was a 2-hour dialogue with the mayor and tours of the factory, cemetery, and camp site. The main event was standing-room only, attended by two members of parliament, and included a written message of welcome from the President of Germany, as well as numerous speeches and music from the town choir and the student Klezmer group (Jewish music derived from and built upon the tradition of Eastern European music). 

Particularly moving, we had the opportunity to meet local high school students and hear five of them speak about the five women represented by the visiting families. Then, they showed a symbolic empty chair and gifted a white origami rose for each family member. One of those students was Lilly Lindenthal, who developed a one-of-a-kind friendship with the Simon family.

Lilly Shares Her Story as a Descendant of a Nazi

Growing up, my first instinct wasn’t to actually learn more about the Holocaust. As a little girl, I begged my mother to move away, far away to any other country, one without a bloody history, as though I could simply “escape” my family’s history and the responsibility I was given with knowledge of that history. Of course, not many young children feel so drastically about the Holocaust, and I believe that many young people in Germany just want to forget that it ever happened.

“You have to draw the line now, let the past be past, and move on without looking back.” Comments like those are becoming more regular and should terrify us. Objectively speaking, every German child in school learns about our country’s gruesome history. We dedicate an entire year to it. Half my history book is filled with tragic retellings. On the surface, the effort to process our past is there. 

And yet—I fear it’s only that: surface-level. I pass Württembergische Metallwarenfabrik several times a week. I glance at the wide halls, the small offices, and I think nothing of it. Like most people my age, I’ve gotten used to passing by without remembering what happened. Most of us have. Because stopping, taking a step back, and really thinking about it all is uncomfortable. And comfort has become our default.

Remembrance and Responsibility

So why, we ask ourselves, should we remind ourselves? There are many teenagers today who can’t even wrap their heads around how all of this could have happened. Why didn’t more people fight back? Why did so many stay silent? Was it fear? Was it survival? Or was it just the desire to stay comfortable? Almost every family has a past that they try to make more bearable. 

My grandma often tells the story of her own grandmother, who risked her life smuggling food into the washrooms of the women forced to work in the factory. But she doesn’t talk much about her father, who was a Nazi. That silence, too, is part of our history. I believe that it is our responsibility to remember what happened in those halls. Not long ago, the history of this factory wasn’t even taught in schools. It wasn’t common knowledge.

The world has always been a mess, but I believe we are at a tipping point.

Partially extremist parties are gaining more and more voters—especially among young people. Social media radicalizes users daily, and it feels deafening. And yes—it’s not all young people. But even a few should be enough to spark an outcry. Enough to make us ask: how do we protect our democracies? It’s exhausting, I know. 

It’s frustrating that we are still so far from a world where we can simply co-exist in peace. And it’s not fair. But peace is not just the absence of war. Peace is respect. It’s contentment. It’s allowing ourselves to grow—beyond where we came from. The real art is to never stop. Even when it feels like a Sisyphean task. Even when it seems impossible. Because in the end, it will always be worth it. And deep down—we know it.

Michael Reflects on His Trip to Geislingen

What lessons should we carry with us from this 80th-anniversary commemoration? I believe that the path of friendship and historical understanding that we forged is a constructive way forward for survivor families and the people of Geislingen. I hope that everyone hears the voice of my mother, Hilde, as she used to say, “I respect everyone’s religion, everyone’s belief, I always did.”

Hilde never lost hope and saw the good in everyone. I believe that the motto of the Evangelical Alliance, “Remembering-Honoring-Reconciling,” is the legacy that all of the survivors would have wanted to leave. My mother’s legacy of inner strength and resilience, and the potential for inner strength and resilience in all of us, will help carry us forward to a brighter future. 

Reflections from Lilly on Why Choices Matter

My core message is my belief that no one is predisposed by our ancestors. Our community and our education shape us—this is undeniable—but what truly matters in the end are the choices we make. For my generation in Germany, this means choosing to remember our history. We have a huge responsibility to bear, but it is not a burden. Our responsibility means holding ourselves accountable every day.

We cannot change the past, but we can change the way we respond to discrimination. It starts with the little things—harmless jokes, casual cruelty, things we let slide in the workplace, at school, on the streets.

It starts with us—choosing to speak up, to stand firm for values that should be obvious but are constantly being twisted and rearranged all over the world. It’s a choice. And right now, it’s a crucial one.