Simon Wallfisch grew up in London as the grandson of an Auschwitz survivor who swore to never return to the country that murdered her parents and six million other Jews.

But more than 70 years after the Holocaust, Brexit has prompted Wallfisch and thousands of other Jews in Britain to apply for German citizenship, which was stripped from their ancestors by the Nazis during the Third Reich.

“This disaster that we call Brexit has led to me just finding a way to secure my future and my children’s future,” said Mr Wallfisch, 36, a well-known classical singer and cellist who received his German passport in October. “In order to remain European I’ve taken the European citizenship.”

Britons holding dual citizenship from an EU country like Germany will retain the privilege of free movement and work across the soon-to-be 27-nation bloc.

Many Britons whose ancestors came from other parts of Europe have been claiming citizenship in other EU member states so they can keep ties to the continent. But for Jews whose families fled Germany to escape the Nazis, the decision has meant re-examining long-held beliefs about the country.

Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Show all 12 1 /12 Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Middlesbrough After midnight, New Year’s Eve. A girl looks at her phone and smokes, framed against a line-up of antiquated postcard features of Britain. She’s the most authentic part of the scene, however, a glimpse of modern Britain, while the red phone box belongs to the past Richard Morgan/The Independent Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Middlesbrough I walk through a field by the industrial estate where several horses live chained to the ground. They feed on thinning grass. The Transporter Bridge lies in the background: an emblem of movement and motion and crossing divides, like a cruel joke played on the animals, stuck and fixed and static Richard Morgan/The Independent Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Middlesbrough The first second of 2019, welcomed with with a kiss, a hug, with stares and smiles, with a shot thrown down a throat, with phones and photos and forgetting Richard Morgan/The Independent Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Middlesbrough Shoes hang from lines of communication, sagging between houses, pulling down on the words and silences that somehow run through these black wires. It reminded me of the view from my bedroom window in Poland Richard Morgan/The Independent Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Middlesbrough A queue to keep going, into the night, further into 2019 before sleeping. Vape rises distinctly, a new sight on the street in the last few years, bringing atmospheric emissions to the image. There’s sweat and purpose and promise Richard Morgan/The Independent Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Middlesbrough I’m struck by this naming and shaming, by the identification of supposed disloyalty, clearly marking the public space of the city for all to see, whether they care or not, whether they know or not Richard Morgan/The Independent Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Hartlepool A view from inside the Market Hall, looking out, onto another person sitting on the street and another person faced with the experience of walking by. Both lower their heads, as if in acknowledgement of the difficulty of the situation Richard Morgan/The Independent Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Hartlepool I walk to the end of a long jetty by the marina. Fisherman stand at the furthest tip, waiting for a bite, looking to the horizon where faint puffs of smoke appear and vanish from factories further down the east coast Richard Morgan/The Independent Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Seaham Dwelling spaces of the dead and the living, closer than usual, occupying the same public space, both observable in one view, the burial ground of the local church acting as a garden for the housing estate behind Richard Morgan/The Independent Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Sunderland A walk by the River Wear is comically framed from the Wearmouth Bridge, a view unavailable to the couple, who probably have no idea they’re walking into shot. Some things just cannot be appreciated at ground level and can only be seen from above Richard Morgan/The Independent Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Sunderland Somebody once wrote this on a wall. That’s all. But now it’s part of the scene, part of the view, part of the experience of walking up High Street West into town. It’s tiny and anonymous, but noticeable and affecting Richard Morgan/The Independent Britain Before Brexit: Northeast England Sunderland Three elements of the city: a flapping pigeon; an austere grey tower block; purchasable sex Richard Morgan/The Independent

Mr Wallfisch’s grandmother, Anita Lasker-Wallfisch, was 18 in December 1943 when she was deported to Auschwitz, the Nazi death camp in occupied Poland where more than one million Jews were murdered.

She survived because she was a member of the camp’s girls’ orchestra. As a cellist, she had to play classical music while other Jews were taken to the gas chambers.

In November 1944, she was taken to Bergen-Belsen – the concentration camp where diarist Anne Frank died after also being transferred from Auschwitz at about the same time – where she was eventually liberated by the British army in April 1945.

Ms Lasker-Wallfisch immigrated to Britain in 1946, got married and had two children. Her career as a famous cello player took her around the world, but it took decades until she overcame her hatred enough to set foot on German soil again in the 1990s.

In recent years, Lasker-Wallfisch, 93, has become a regular visitor, educating children in Germany about the Holocaust.

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On Sunday’s International Holocaust Remembrance Day, Ms Lasker-Wallfisch, her grandson Simon and her daughter Maya Jacobs Lasker-Wallfisch performed for the first time together on stage at the Jewish Museum Berlin in commemoration of their family. They played music with other members of their extended family and read letters from the past as a tribute to those who survived and those who perished in the Shoah.

Before the show, the three generations sat together on the red couch in the museum’s dressing room and told The Associated Press about the emotional thoughts that went into the younger two’s decision to take German citizenship.

“We cannot be victims of our past. We have to have some hope for change,” said Maya Jacobs Lasker-Wallfisch, a 60-year-old London psychotherapist who is Simon’s aunt and is still waiting for her German citizenship to be approved. “I feel somehow in a strange way triumphant. Something is coming full circle.”

Her application is one of more than 3,380 requests that the German Embassy in London has received since the Brexit referendum in June 2016. In comparison, only around 20 such requests were made annually in the years before Brexit. Article 116 of the German Constitution allows the descendants of people persecuted by the Nazis to regain the citizenship that was removed between 1933 and 1945.

More than just retaining the ability to travel easily from country to country or maintain business ties, Jacobs Lasker-Wallfisch said there are other, more emotional reasons to acquiring German citizenship, with Britain due to leave the European Union on 29 March.

“I feel an aliveness here [in Berlin] that I have not experienced before, but it totally makes sense because after all I am German,” Jacobs Lasker-Wallfisch said. She added that if the country behind the Holocaust is now one that welcomes the descendants of the victims, “that’s a good thing”.

But Anita Lasker-Wallfisch, who lived through the horrors of the Holocaust, remained skeptical and pessimistic.

“Jewish people never feel secure,” she said to her daughter and grandson, reminding them of her own past. “I had German nationality – it did not buy me security.”