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Bosnian Jews mourn Moris Albahari, one of Sarajevo’s last Ladino speakers
(JTA) — Moris Albahari, a Holocaust survivor, former partisan fighter and one of the last Ladino speakers in Bosnia and Herzegovina’s dwindling Jewish community, passed away at the age of 93 last month.
It is believed that he was one of four native Ladino speakers remaining in a country where the Judeo-Spanish language once flourished and was spoken by luminaries like Flory Jagoda, the grande dame of Ladino song, and Laura Bohoretta, the founder of a uniquely Sephardic feminist movement in Bosnia.
Bosnia’s small Jewish community — with barely 900 members throughout the country, 500 of whom live in Sarajevo — are mourning the loss of a living link to communal memory as well as a dear friend.
“From you, uncle Moco, I learned a lot about Judaism, about life, about nature and especially about people. About both the good and the evil,” Igor Kožemjakin, the cantor of the Sarajevo Jewish community, wrote in a memorial post on Facebook, referring to Moris as “Čika,” or uncle, a term of endearment in Bosnian.
“It is a terrible loss, especially for Sarajevo. Our community is very small, especially after the Holocaust,” Eliezer Papo, a Sarajevo-born Jew and scholar of Ladino language and literature at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “We’re not speaking just in terms of prominent members of the community, we’re speaking in terms of family members. Everyone is like a family member.”
When Albahari was growing up in the 1930s, the Jewish community of his native Sarajevo numbered over 12,000. Jews made up more than a fifth of the city and it was one of the most important centers of Jewish life in the western Balkans.
In his youth, the city was part of what was then the Kingdom of Yugoslavia. Formed out of the borderlands between the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian empires, it was a multiethnic state composed of Croats, Serbs, Bosniaks, Slovenians, Macedonians, Hungarians, Albanians and more. Among them were many Jewish communities both Ashkenazi and Sephardic.
The unique mix of of Muslim, Jewish, Catholic and Orthodox Christian communities, with their mosques, synagogues and churches defining Sarajevo’s skyline, earned the city the nickname “Little Jerusalem.”
Speaking in a 2015 documentary made by American researchers, “Saved by Language,” Albahari explained that his family traced their roots back to Cordoba before the Spanish Inquisition, and through Venice, before settling in what would become Bosnia when it was part of the Ottoman Empire.
“We didn’t want to ‘just’ write an article about Moris or Sarajevo; we wanted [the audience] to see what we saw and hear what we heard,” Brian Kirschen, professor of Ladino at Binghamton University, who worked on the documentary with author Susanna Zaraysky, told JTA. “This resulted in a grassroots initiative to create the documentary.”
In the film, Albahari takes the researchers and their viewers on a tour through what was Jewish Sarajevo, giving glimpses of the thriving Ladino speaking community in which he was raised and explaining how ithe language would save him many times, when the Nazis and their Croat allies, the Ustaša, came to shatter it.
“In sharing your story of survival during the Holocaust, you opened doors that remained closed for decades,” Kirschen said in a memorial post on Facebook. “Some of your stories were even new to members of your family, but each survivor has their own timeline. While you experienced great pain during your life, from your story, we also learn about moments of kindness and heroism. Through your story, you also taught us about the power of language.”
Albahari wasn’t yet a teenager when, in 1941, Nazi Germany and Mussolini’s Italy invaded Yugoslavia. The Nazis occupied the eastern portion of the country, including what is now Serbia, while they raised up a Croat fascist party, known as the Ustaša, to administer the newly formed “Independent State of Croatia” — often known by its Serbo-Croatian initials, NDH — in the western regions that included the modern-day Bosnia and Herzegovina.
The Ustaša collaborated in the Nazis’ genocidal plans for Europe’s Jewish and Roma comunities, and they had genocidal designs of their own for the Orthodox Serb communities living in the NDH.
To that end they established the Jasenovac concentration camp, which would become known as the Auschwitz of the Balkans. By the war’s end it had become the third largest concentration camp in Europe, and behind its walls the overwhelming majority of Sarajevo’s Jews — at least 10,000 — were massacred. Including Serbs, Jews, Roma and political dissidents of Croat or Muslim Bosniak background, as many as 100,000 people were killed in Jasenovac.
Albahari was 11 years old when the Ustaša came to deport him and his large family to Jasenovac. A former teacher working as an Ustaša guard in the town of Drvar, where the train stopped, warned Albahari’s father, David, about their destination, and he was able to help his son escape from the train.
The teacher helped guide the young Moris to an Italian soldier named Lino Marchione who was secretly helping Jews.
This was the first case when Albahari’s Ladino came in handy. Ladino is largely based on medieval Spanish, with a mixture of Hebrew, Aramaic, Turkish and other languages mixed in. For speakers of Serbo-Croatian, a Slavic language, it’s entirely incomprehensible. But for a speaker of another Romance language such as Italian, it’s not such a stretch to understand, and Moris was able to converse with his Italian savior.
With his family gone, he was taken in by a Serb family, and changed his name to Milan Adamovic to hide his Jewish identity. Still, by 1942, it became clear that neither as Adamovic nor Albahari would he be safe in the town. So he fled to the mountains.
“If there was [a battle] I took clothes from a dead soldier to wear, I lived like a wolf in the mountains, you know. Visiting villages [asking for something] to give me for eating, it was a terrible time,” Albahari recalled in “Saved By Language.”
He would only feel safe in villages under the control of partisan forces. Yugoslavia was the only country in Europe to be liberated from Nazi rule by its own grassroots resistance.
During his time in the mountains, Albahari joined up with a partisan unit aligned with the movement of Josip Broz Tito, who would lead Communist Yugoslavia after the war. By the war’s end, Tito’s partisans numbered over 80,000 and included more than 6,000 Jews, many in prominent positions, such as Moša Pijade, who would go on to serve as vice president of the Yugoslav parliament after the war.
Moris was out on patrol as a partisan when he came upon a group of American and British paratroopers. They raised their weapons at him, thinking he was an enemy. Moris tried to communicate, but he spoke no English.
When he asked the soldiers if they spoke German or Italian, they shook their heads. When he asked about Spanish, one perked up: a Hispanic-American soldier by the name of David Garijo.
In Ladino, Alabahari was able to explain that he was not an enemy but could lead them to a nearby partisan camp where they would be safe.
“Ladino saved my life in the war,” Albahari recalled in the documentary.
At the partisan camp, Morris received even bigger news: The family that he had assumed had all perished after he left the train were in fact alive. The former school teacher and Ustaša guard who had warned his father had met them at the next train junction to help them escape. Furthermore, around half of the Jews in the train car were able to escape using the same hole Moris used during his initial escape.
Ultimately the family all survived the war, unlike so many other Jews of Sarajevo.
“Where is Samuel, where is Dudo, where is Gedala? They never came back,” Albahari lamented, listing missing neighbors while walking through Sarajevo’s old Jewish neighborhood in the documentary. “Maybe we are happy because we are alive after the Second World War, but also unlikely because every day we must cry for these dead people.”
When Moris returned to Sarajevo, it was an entirely different place from the bustling Jewish community he had once known.
Gone was the sound of Ladino in the streets and alleyways of Bascarsija, the market district where so many of Sarajevo’s Jews had once lived. Gone were the synagogues — only one of the many synagogues that had existed before WWII still functions. Gone was the robust Jewish life that was once a central part of Sarajevo.
Moris was still only 14 by the war’s end, so he returned to school and ultimately graduated at the top of his class. He became a pilot and later director of the Sarajevo Airport.
In this new world, Ladino was spoken, if at all, only in the home.
“Always, when I hear Spanish, I hear my father and mother, and all the synagogues, prayers in Ladino and rabbis who spoke Ladino. But that is in the past,” Albahari says in “Saved by Language.”
Eliezer Papo, who is a generation younger than Albahari, recalled that in his youth Ladino had long been reduced to a language of secrets.
“Mostly, Ladino was used when the elders didn’t want youngsters to understand,” Papo said.
Only later, in the 1980s, did community members realize what was being lost and begin to gather to maintain their language, recount what Jewish Sarajevo had been like and share their wartime stories of survival.
“He never took his story to the places of revenge, but he took it and his life experience to a place of ‘Never again,’ not just ‘Never again for Jews’, but never again for anybody,” said Papo.
Like many Sarajevans, World War II would not be the last major conflict Albahari would see. Less than 40 years later, war would once again come to Sarajevo with the break-up of Yugoslavia.
From 1992-1995 the city remained under constant siege by Bosnian Serb forces looking to break away from what would become Bosnia and Herzegovina. Moris joined with other Jews of Sarajevo in working to provide aid to their fellow Sarajevans during the harsh period.
Sarajevo’s synagogue was turned into a shelter and a soup kitchen. The community ran a network of underground pharmacies and a message service allowing Sarajevans to get word to family and friends outside of the city during what became the longest siege of a capital city in the history of modern warfare.
“Moris was an inspirational persona to many members of Jewish community and La Benevolencija,” Vlado Anderle, the current president of that local Jewish humanitarian organization told JTA. “He was a man with such inviting spirit and energy.”
When the dust settled on the breakup of Yugoslavia, and the new Bosnian state rose from its ashes, Moris found himself once again in a new role.
During the communist era in Yugoslavia, religious activity was discouraged. Sarajevo’s Jews emphasized the ethnic character of Jewish culture rather than the religious one. In the new Bosnia and Herzegovina, that was no longer true. So the community worked to reconnect with their religious identity as well.
“Everybody looked up to the people who had Jewish upbringing before the Second World War,” Papo recalled. “This doesn’t mean that they were rabbis. Just that they knew it better than anyone else.”
Moris, whose formal Jewish education ended in his preteen years, was appointed president of the community’s religious committee.
As such it often fell on him to represent Judaism to the Bosnian society at large, often in a very creative way, according to Papo, who in addition to being a scholar of Ladino is ordained as a rabbi and serves the Sarajevo community as a rabbi-at-large from Israel.
In one case, while being interviewed on a major Bosnian television station, Moris was asked why Jews cover their head with a kippah or other hat during prayer. Moris’ response, or rather creative interpretation, as Papo called it, was made up on the spot.
Moris’ interpretation began with the ancient temple in Jerusalem where Jews once had to fully immerse in a ritual bath before entering.
“Since the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed it was reduced to washing the uncovered parts of the body only, before entering a synagogue, similarly to Muslims: the feet, the head, the hands…” Papo recalled him saying. But in Europe, as Moris’ answer went, they began to cover more and more of their body. “In Europe they started wearing shoes, so the feet were not uncovered anymore, and then they started wearing a hat, not to have to wash their head… you know it’s Europe, one could catch a cold if going out with wet hair…”
“A few months later, I came to Sarajevo, and found that everyone has heard this explanation and is talking about it, not just people in the community, but in the street,” Papo said. “And you know, I let it pass, I couldn’t correct them, it was just so beautiful. That was his genius.”
“Identity is all about telling stories. And Moris was one of the great storytellers of the community,” Papo added. And through his stories he expressed an identity which was “made of the same contradictions that Sephardic Judaism is made of, that Sarajevo is made of, that Bosnia and Herzegovina is made and that Yugoslavia was and is made of and that the Balkans are made of.”
Albahari is survived by his wife and a son.
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At the Vatican, two elderly men — one Jewish, one Catholic — exchange gifts and mutual admiration
On Wednesday, two senior citizens, Robert Zimmerman, 85, a Jew originally from Minnesota, and Robert Prevost, 71, a Catholic of Chicago, had a brief meeting at the younger man’s office in central Italy.
Sources on the scene report that Zimmerman was in town for business and Prevost, who goes professionally by Leo, had recently cited Zimmerman’s work in the preface to a book about nuclear disarmament.
Both men dressed in uniform, looking a bit Spy Vs. Spy, with Zimmerman in a black hoodie and Prevost in white with a small white skull cap. The confab was brief, a bulletin from Prevost’s workplace reported, consisting of “greetings and a few lighthearted exchanges.”
Prevost gifted Zimmerman with prayer beads, and Zimmerman presented Prevost with a copy of his memoir, published under his pen name, Bob Dylan.
While Zimmerman was raised in a Jewish home, he had, for a time in the late 1970s to early 1980s, converted to born-again Christianity, confounding many.
The post At the Vatican, two elderly men — one Jewish, one Catholic — exchange gifts and mutual admiration appeared first on The Forward.
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The Michigan Senate race showed the exact wrong ways to fight antisemitism
The campaign against Abdul El-Sayed was example after example of how not to fight antisemitism—a display of conflation, double standards, and bigotry that we need to learn from and reject if we hope to ensure Jewish safety and security in a pluralistic society.
El-Sayed won his election Tuesday with 52.5% of the vote. He won despite an ugly campaign that alleged that he was not only critical of Israel but antisemitic, and that he does not care about or consider Jewish safety, and in which he was repeatedly asked to prove his sincerity on Jewish safety while also being attacked for running for office while being Muslim.
El-Sayed is not above criticism and questions from Jews just because he is a Democrat and most Jews vote for Democrats. It is right and appropriate that Senate candidates have to answer questions about antisemitism. El-Sayed did campaign with Twitch streamer Hasan Piker in the primary, and Piker did liken Zionists to Nazis, and many Jews in Michigan and elsewhere are Zionists; it is appropriate for El-Sayed to be asked about that.
It is also fair for a candidate who is vocal in his criticism of Israel to be asked how he’ll work to ensure the safety of his Jewish constituents, since we know that there is at least a correlation between anger at Israel and violence directed toward Jews. After West Bloomfield, Michigan’s own Temple Israel was attacked, El-Sayed did say, “hurt people hurt people,” and though he was referring to a specific event—the perpetrator’s family was reportedly killed in an airstrike in Lebanon—it is understandable that he was called upon to explain his own remarks to upset Jewish families in his state, whom he is also charged with representing in Congress.
From this point, however, the campaign against El-Sayed developed in several ways.
For one thing, when critics make demands of politicians, they need to actually allow those politicians to meet them. Yet despite distancing himself from Hasan Piker (“a Twitch streamer,” as he repeated to reporters), speaking repeatedly about how and why he took the safety of Jewish Michiganders seriously, and apologizing at length for his “hurt people hurt people” comment, El-Sayed was treated in the media and by his political opponents (and by some Democrats) as suspect and insincere.
These same questions were not asked of his opponent, Republican Mike Rogers, whose student outreach team included someone who defended a Young Republicans group chat praising Hitler.
If El-Sayed had to speak repeatedly about Piker, why did Rogers not have to answer whether he accepted the view of the U.S. president—who like Piker, joined his preferred candidate on the campaign trail—that any Jew who voted for El-Sayed was crazy and should be ashamed of themselves? (This was not a one-off missive, but the latest in the long line of Trump comments insisting on American Jewish responsibility to be loyal to Israel by voting for him, Donald Trump.)
Why wasn’t Rogers grilled on what he made of comments by Ohio’s U.S. Senator Bernie Moreno implying that senators should have to believe in Jesus, a remark that if rendered policy would impact El-Sayed and also, say, every Jew in public office?
The discrepancy suggests that reporters, pundits, politicians, and Jewish leaders do not take antisemitism seriously from all corners, and in fact that they consider it worse and more suspect from a Muslim American who criticizes Israel than a Republican who doesn’t.
Worse, still, is that that Republicans trafficked in vile anti-Muslim hate throughout the campaign. Rozina Ali, author of Seasons of Fury: Four Families and the Rise of Islamophobia in America, wrote on X on Tuesday, “Islamophobia appears to be on the ballot in Michigan, in an unprecedented way.” These tropes weren’t new, Ali explained, but they were at a fever pitch this election, with El-Sayed dubbed a “jihadist leprechaun” by a sitting Senator. The vice president of the United States said El-Sayed has “zero attachment to this land.”
Too often, Jewish leaders and institutions met this rhetoric with silence, or even encouragement. As I argued last week, dual loyalty narratives against one population just make the voting public more comfortable with the trope being used against other groups, including Jews. Moreover: Silence is not going to build solidarity from non-Jews, and Jews — just 1.4% of voters in Michigan and two percent of this country — are not going to fight antisemitism on our own.
Finally and troublingly was the willingness of El-Sayed’s primary opponent, Haley Stevens, to claim that it was Jewish safety that motivated her public questioning of El-Sayed (notably over an ad that his campaign did not put out) and her eventual flip to campaigning and voting for Rogers. Stevens is a staunch supporter of Israel and was backed by AIPAC. However, she is not Jewish (though she said she is considering converting), and yet spoke repeatedly as if she had authority on what Jewish voters in Michigan wanted to hear from El-Sayed. But she was not an emissary from Jewish voters, who are not a monolith — and 60 percent of whom, per one exit poll, voted for El-Sayed.
What can we learn from this race? First, conflating criticism of Israel and calls for more challenging policies toward Israel with attitudes toward Jewish voters needs to stop, even or especially while understanding that anger toward the country can be channeled against the people here.
Candidates of both parties, regardless of their positions on Israel, need to be held accountable with demands for real answers on what they will do for the well-being of all of their constituents, including Jews, and including when those stumping for them challenge the idea of full Jewish participation in civic life.
Jewish voters need to reject the idea that Islamophobia and antisemitism are somehow at odds with each other, and that it costs us something to call out hatred of Muslim Americans when in fact, so often, we are on the same side of racist hatred. (On Tuesday night, X was filled with posts blaming Jews for El-Sayed’s victory and bemoaning what it meant for American culture.)
And reporters, pundits, politicians, Jewish leaders, and for that matter Jewish voters need to stop speaking about Jewish voters on antisemitism and Israel as though all of us understand the intersection of these issues in the same way or want to hear the same things about them from politicians.
Since Abdul El-Sayed will be in the Senate starting in January, we will soon have ample opportunity to put these lessons into practice.
The post The Michigan Senate race showed the exact wrong ways to fight antisemitism appeared first on The Forward.
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Trump’s midterm defeat changes the equation for Netanyahu and Israel
The Republican rout in the U.S. midterm elections may have consequences far beyond America’s shores. The most immediate impact could be in Israel, where the struggle to translate Benjamin Netanyahu’s electoral defeat into a change of government is entering its decisive stage.
In the week that has passed since the Israeli election, there was much anticipation that Trump might intervene to rescue his longtime ally. He endorsed Netanyahu, suggested that Israel’s security depended on his continued leadership, and hinted that renewed war with Iran depended on his victory (seeming to believe, perhaps falsely, that Israelis yearn for this). There was speculation that he might pressure opposition leaders into joining a unity government headed by Netanyahu, reversing the political meaning of Israel’s election.
Now the American electorate may have changed the equation.
The Democrats’ sweeping gains, which enabled them to seize decisive control of both houses of Congress, represent a substantial repudiation of Trump’s administration. The president retains enormous authority over foreign policy and national security – but in January he faces a hostile Congress, increased scrutiny of his decisions and a political environment even less hospitable to another Middle Eastern military adventure.
There is a counterintuitive possibility, of course: Trump might conclude that the period before the new Congress takes office offers a final opportunity to strike Iran. A weakened president is not necessarily a restrained president, and yet another unpopular war, especially one suspected of serving Netanyahu’s political interests, could deepen the backlash against Trump at home as Republicans are already looking fearfully at 2028.
It’s reasonable to think that many of them would not want to be associated with a strong-arming of Israel’s opposition in order to rescue Netanyahu, who is, fairly or unfairly, scarcely less toxic in the United States these days than Vladimir Putin.
The larger point: Trump’s political leverage has diminished. His presidency has an expiration date, and the American political system is already beginning to look beyond him. This will offer headwinds to those Israeli politicians who argue that a government that could serve for years should be cautious about treating the preferences of a politically weakened American president as decisive.
That is an especially potent thought on Wednesday, as Israeli President Isaac Herzog begins consultations with Israel’s newly elected parliamentary factions.
Israel’s election produced a clear numerical result: Netanyahu’s bloc won 53 seats in the 120-member Knesset, while parties opposed to his continued rule secured 67. The opposition has a parliamentary majority, although it is struggling to form a governing coalition.
Under Israel’s system, the president consults representatives of the elected parties, who recommend a candidate to form the government. Herzog must then decide which lawmaker has the best prospect of assembling one. The recommendations are politically important but not legally binding, and the president is not required to select whoever receives the most endorsements, though this is the tradition.
If former IDF chief Gadi Eisenkot receives recommendations representing 67 seats, that would establish the breadth of parliamentary opposition to Netanyahu. Eisenkot would likely be tapped, and then he would face the central difficulty: what to do about Israel’s Arab parties.
Of the 67 seats held by Netanyahu’s opponents, 19 belong to Arab parties, whose electoral success reflected a remarkable increase in Arab turnout – which at around 85 percent exceeded that of Israel’s Jews. Several Jewish opposition leaders promised during the campaign not to rely on those parties to establish a government.
Eisenkot himself has said that he would demand any coalition partners agree that Hamas should be removed as a military and governing body in Gaza, which the Arab parties have not yet done. Polls show that a majority of opposition voters favor finding a way to form a government, even if it’s dependent on the Arab parties.
Indeed, many are arguing that this is a test of Israel’s democracy, and that for the opposition to stick to its refusal to rely on the Arab parties would strengthen enemies of Israel who argue that it is not a true democracy.
Here, too, the American midterms offer an intriguing counterpoint.
According to a voting breakdown in The New York Times, Republicans received 51 percent of the white vote, compared with 48 percent for Democrats. Would anyone seriously argue that the Democratic congressional victory is illegitimate because it depended partly on Black, Hispanic and Asian voters? Should Republicans retain the House speakership because they performed better among white Americans?
Of course not. Yet Israel faces an argument with a disturbingly similar implication.
If a parliamentary majority cannot govern because some of its members are considered unacceptable on ethnic or national grounds, the damage to Israel’s democratic reputation could be immense.
Under Israeli parliamentary rules, a government can win confidence through a majority of those participating in the vote. Abstentions or outside support from Arab lawmakers could therefore make a minority government possible.
With 48 seats for the non-Arab opposition parties, all Eisenkot would need would be the more moderate of the Arab parties, Ra’am, which has eight seats, to show support. The new coalition’s 56 seats could outvote Netanyahu’s 53 to win Knesset confirmation, even with the 11-seat Joint Arab List abstaining. That means Eisenkot does not necessarily require 61 affirmative votes to take office.
The obstacle is Avigdor Lieberman, head of the seven-seat Yisrael Beitenu party. A nationalist West Bank settler, he has fallen out with both Netanyahu and his ultra-Orthodox allies, and has been counted as part of the opposition. This week he reiterated his vow not to support a government dependent on Arab parties. But he also ruled out rejoining with Netanyahu, and described a repeat election as the worst option.
So while the outcome is clear now in the United States, in Israel the guessing game continues.
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