Eva Schloss, an Auschwitz survivor who dedicated her life to speaking out against prejudice and to preserving the legacy of her stepsister Anne Frank, died on Jan. 10 in London. She was 96.

“We hope her legacy will continue to inspire through the books, films and resources she leaves behind,” Ms. Schloss’s family said in a statement published by the Anne Frank Trust UK, an organization she co-founded to challenge intolerance and educate young people about the Holocaust. After WWII, her mother married Anne Frank’s father, Otto, the sole survivor of the Frank family.

For more than 40 years, Ms. Schloss remained silent about the horrors she endured at Auschwitz, to which she had been deported as a teenager. When her grandchildren once asked about the tattoo on her arm that she had been branded with at Auschwitz, a-5272, she told them it was her telephone number.

It was not until 1986, when she was invited to speak at the opening of a traveling Anne Frank exhibition in London, that she began to tell her story publicly. From that point on, and into her 90s, she traveled widely to speak about the dangers of injustice.

Josef Veselsky, a Holocaust survivor and table tennis champion who spent more than a year as Ireland’s oldest man, died on Jan. 10 at 107.

Born Joseph Weiss to a Jewish family, he was 20 when Hitler invaded Czechoslovakia. He changed his name after his mother, Bertha, urged him to change his name to “something more Slovak,” according to the Irish Times.

He joined the resistance and survived the war in the Carpathian Mountains, according to Holocaust Education Ireland. His older brother and parents were killed in Auschwitz.

Following the war, Veselsky served as the captain of the Czechoslovak national table tennis team and was later awarded the Order of the Slovak National Uprising for his actions during the war. He also served as the captain of the Irish national table tennis team for 20 years, and became life president of the Irish Table Tennis Association.

In October 2024, following the death of Marti McEvilly at the age of 108, Veselsky became the oldest man in Ireland.

Rhoda Levine, one of the rare female opera directors to work steadily starting in the 1970s, at a time when the field was dominated by men, and who was acclaimed for clear, straightforward interpretations of the classics as well as stirring world premieres, died on Jan. 6 at her home in Manhattan. She was 93.

She brought true theatrical acting into opera, insisting on directing singers as actors, demanding a kind of realism in an often stylized art form. At New York City Opera, Netherlands Opera and other companies, she directed works stretching from Mozart’s “The Marriage of Figaro” to Alban Berg’s “Lulu,” in addition to contemporary works like Mark Adamo’s “Little Women.”

Her preoccupation was to reach her audience directly, to “provide an audience with a very human experience that really connected with their own lives,” she told the music journalist Bruce Duffle in 1998. “Clarity is all,” she added. “Whether the audience likes it or not, whatever your intention is, you must deliver that intention to them. That’s your job as an actor, an actress or as a musician. You hope you’re clear.”

Jerome Lowenstein, a distinguished professor of medicine at New York University who in an artistic sideline helped found a literary journal and a small publishing imprint. The company drew book-world attention when it published a debut novel that won a Pulitzer Prize after being rejected by many other editors. Dr. Lowenstein died on Dec. 8 at his home in Manhattan. He was 92.

In his 1997 book, The Midnight Meal and Other Essays About Doctors, Patients and Medicine, Dr. Lowenstein wrote about the need for doctors to show compassion, which he defined in part as “the willingness to enter into a relationship in which not only the knowledge but the intuitions, strengths and emotions of both the patient and the physician can be fully engaged.” Teaching compassion is as important as teaching medicine, he wrote.

Barbara Aronstein Black, a legal historian who achieved a milestone as the first woman to lead an Ivy League law school, at Columbia University, died on Jan. 20 in Philadelphia. She was 92.

As dean, Professor Black, a scholar of law in colonial America, influenced curricular reform, bolstered Columbia’s corporate law program, brought more women and people of color onto the faculty, adopted a maternal leave policy, and introduced a part-time program for mothers.

After completing her term as dean, from 1986-1991, she returned to full-time teaching, research and writing. She retired in 2008.

David Rosen, a Brooklyn-born entrepreneur who transformed his photo booth business in Japan into Sega enterprises, the video game giant that dominated arcades, basements and dorm rooms with blockbusters like Mortal Kombat, Sonic the Hedgehog, and N.H.L. ’94, died on Dec. 25 at his home in Los Angeles. He was 96.

During a four-decade career that began in the 1950s with coin-operated machines and culminated with the introduction of cutting-edge home gaming systems, Mr. Rosen was a visionary figure who helped shape what is now a $200 billion industry.

To Mr. Rosen, gaming represented an entirely new category of entertainment. “Activities such as television, movies and sporting events all have a valid place in our society, yet these forms of entertainment lack an important factor in satisfying a fundamental need,” Mr. Rosen wrote in Play Meter. “That need is active participation, which is, of course, what computer video games are all about.”

Dorothy Vogel a librarian who, with her postal-clerk husband, Herbert, bought thousands of works from future art stars, stashing them in their cramped one-bedroom New Yor apartment and eventually handling over the entire collection to the National Gallery of Art, died on Nov. 10 in Manhattan. She was 90.

Throughout their decades as collectors, Ms. Vogel worked at the Brooklyn Public Library as a reference librarian, and Mr. Vogel, a high school dropout from Harlem, did the night shift at a post office sorting mail. Their formal training in art consisted of the art classes Mr. Vogel took at New York University as a young man and a few painting lessons the couple took together.

Their rent-controlled apartment on Manhattan’s Upper East Side functioned as a fine-art storage locker and an exhibition space. Stacked on the floor and crammed into closets were some 4,000 works by Roy Lichtenstein and other luminaries. Nevertheless, the Vogels lived frugally, did not own a car and often ate TV dinners. They bought what they could afford from underground artists.

By the early 1970s, the Vogels had become a known quantity on New York’s avant-garde scene. In 1971, the couple agreed to spend three months cat-sitting for Christo who, with his wife and collaborator Jeanne-Claude, was becoming famous for his monumental works of environmental art. Early on, Christo and Jeanne-Claude had assumed the Vogels were wealthy collectors. “Christo,” Jeanne-Claude said, “it’s the Vogels. We’re going to pay the rent.”

“They didn’t know” Mrs. Vogel said, “that we could barely pay the rent ourselves.”