As a documentary lover, I am always searching for outstanding international films that reveal hidden realities from all over the world. Every year, this pursuit brings me to the Thessaloniki Documentary Film Festival, a prestigious festival where filmmakers from across the globe present stories that challenge, inspire, and provoke reflection. But in March Thessaloniki is more than just a cinematic destination for me. It is also a place of remembrance.

Alongside the festival, I join a Berlin delegation who come not just for the art of storytelling but to honor a city’s lost voices. We are here for the March of the Living, a solemn walk through Thessaloniki’s streets, retracing the steps of a once-thriving Jewish community that was nearly wiped out.

A City That Heard the Whistle

Eighty-two years ago, in March 1943, the first train left Thessaloniki’s railway station, carrying 2,800 Jewish men, women, and children to Auschwitz-Birkenau. It was the beginning of an irreversible tragedy. By August 1943, 43,850 Jews from Thessaloniki had been deported in 19 transport trains. The vast majority—more than 95 percent of the city's Jewish population—never returned.

The mayor stands before the crowd, his words cutting through the heavy air:

Standing at this very place, I try to grasp the enormity of what happened. But how can one truly comprehend such loss? The silence here is heavy, not empty. It holds memories, whispers of a past. 

David Saltiel, President of the Jewish Community of Thessaloniki, words were deeply resonating with the people attending:

"Over 43,850 souls perished, but today we gather here to honor them. To remember them. To ensure that such darkness never returns. We march, not just as a tribute to the past, but as a reminder that memory must be active. That the weight of history must be carried forward, not buried."

A City That Remembers

Thessaloniki today is not the same city it was before 1943. The Holocaust Museum, the long-overdue restoration of Freedom Square, and ongoing efforts to preserve Jewish history are signs that remembrance is being embraced, however belatedly.

But remembrance alone is not enough. Antisemitism and intolerance still find ways to creep into our societies. As documentary lovers, filmmakers, and storytellers, we have a duty—not just to witness history but to keep it alive in our work, in our words, in the images we create.