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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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Why protests in Iran seem surprisingly pro-Israel
Iranian cities are engulfed in anti-regime protests, the largest in several years. Initially sparked by economic frustration, the demonstrations have quickly expanded to include broader grievances — particularly anger at Iran’s foreign policy. One chant heard repeatedly in videos circulating from inside Iran captures that anger succinctly: “Neither Gaza, nor for Lebanon — my life is only for Iran.”
The slogan refers to Iran’s long-standing support for armed groups across the Middle East, including Hezbollah in Lebanon, Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad in Gaza, the Houthis in Yemen, and militias in Iraq and Syria. Qassem Soleimani, the late commander of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps’ Quds Force, designed the strategy with the intention of encircling Israel with proxy forces on multiple fronts.
Today, many Iranians view that strategy as a drain on a collapsing economy. On December 28, the Iranian rial — the country’s currency — plunged against the U.S. dollar, intensifying a long-running economic crisis marked by soaring prices and an annual inflation rate of around 40 percent.
Beyond the billions of dollars Tehran has spent supporting these groups, the U.S. and European Union have imposed harsh sanctions targeting Iran’s proxy networks and nuclear program. Those sanctions have restricted Iran’s access to international banking, restricted oil exports, and discouraged foreign investment into the country, contributing to inflation and the steady erosion of the rial.
In June, Iranians came face to face with the consequences of the regime’s foreign policy when Israeli strikes across the country targeted missile and nuclear sites, as well as IRGC leaders. The 12-Day War severely disrupted daily life and resulted in the death of 436 Iranian civilians.
For many protesters, the connection feels direct: money spent sustaining proxy forces abroad brings harsher sanctions at home, raising prices, shrinking wages, and worsening daily life. With that in mind, the chant is less an endorsement of Israel than a rejection of a foreign policy that, in protesters’ eyes, prioritizes anti-Israel and anti-Western ideology over basic economic survival.
The return of monarchist symbolism
Many protesters are also calling for the return of the Pahlavi dynasty, which ruled Iran until the 1979 Islamic Revolution. Videos shared online show protesters chanting slogans in favor of the former monarchy or displaying symbols associated with it, including the pre-revolutionary Iranian flag.
The Pahlavi era was marked by rapid modernization and close ties with the United States and Israel, including a strategic alliance with Israel that consisted of economic and intelligence cooperation. At the same time, the period was also defined by political repression, censorship, and the use of secret police to silence dissent — factors that ultimately fueled the revolution that ended the monarchy.
The most prominent figure associated with the dynasty today is Reza Pahlavi, the Shah’s son, who lives in Maryland and has been outspokenly pro-Israel. Pahlavi has called for normalizing relations between Iran and Israel through what he has dubbed the “Cyrus Accords,” an expansion of the Abraham Accords. Pahlavi has commented that the “only two countries on this planet that can claim to have a biblical relationship” are “Iran and Israel.”
In April 2023, Pahlavi traveled to Israel, where he met with Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, President Isaac Herzog, and paid a visit to the Western Wall, where he said he prayed “for the day when the good people of Iran and Israel can renew our historic friendship.” He even consulted Israeli water management scientists, whom he dubbed the “best experts in the field,” to help him develop a plan of action for Iran’s water crisis, which has also been a major point of contention for protestors. In June, Pahlavi’s daughter married Jewish American businessman Bradley Sherman, and the hora was danced at the reception.
On Thursday, Pahlavi called on Iranians to take to the streets en masse. Since his call to action, the protests have escalated significantly, though the extent of his influence inside Iran remains difficult to assess.
Many analysts caution that monarchist support inside Iran remains fragmented, and that Pahlavi is unlikely to emerge as a singular opposition leader. Still, the symbolism matters. The current protests have been driven in large part by young Iranians, many of whom have no direct memory of the Pahlavi era. The use of monarchist symbolism may signal not only nostalgia, but also an alternative vision of Iran’s place in the world — one less defined by permanent hostility toward Israel.
The post Why protests in Iran seem surprisingly pro-Israel appeared first on The Forward.
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God heard the cries of Israelites in Egypt. Who will respond to our devastation in Minnesota?
In this week’s Torah portion, Shemot, God hears the cries of the oppressed Israelites in Egypt and calls out to Moses through the form of a burning bush.
Today, here in Minnesota, cries of the oppressed can be heard, too. They come from all those who grieve the tragic loss of Renée Nicole Good, fatally shot by an Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent on Wednesday morning in front of her wife and horrified neighbors. And they come from all those feeling fear and outrage as federal agents have increased their efforts to detain immigrants, acting with new violence and brutality as they do so.
Many of my fellow Minnesotans have been frightened to leave their homes. They are not going to the jobs they rely on to afford their basic needs, or attending worship services. Parents are scared to send their children to school. Schools, daycare centers and businesses are afraid to open, as ICE makes arrests on their doorsteps. Community members who have been eager to help are now fearful, in the wake of Good’s killing, that they, too, may be targeted, harassed, or even killed.
My own child’s elementary school moved recess indoors to protect vulnerable students and staff who are worried about their safety from ICE.
In Shemot, God calls to Moses to usher in an era of change for the Israelites desperate for relief from fear, violence and vicious retribution. Moses hesitates, asking “who am I?” to take on this monumental task. God assures him that he is not alone, because God will be with him throughout the journey.
As we enter this Shabbat, with the tragedy of Good’s death fresh in our minds, we must commit ourselves to hearing the cries of all who suffer among us. That is the first step toward healing and repairing the brokenness that so many now feel.
That repair will be a monumental task. But like Moses, we are not called to do it alone.
In fact, we must not try to. Instead, we must focus our efforts on building bonds in the face of terror — not letting that terror break our connections to one another.
The Jewish sages taught that, for our ancestors, sinat chinam — baseless hatred — led to internal fracture, civil war, the destruction of both Jewish temples, and our people’s forced exile from the land of Israel. Their warning is not abstract. It reminds us that societies collapse not only because of external threats, but also because of the consequences of unmitigated internal rage.
What’s needed to correct our dangerous path?
First, a strong pushback against those voices who have issued incomprehensible personal attacks against Good since her death. Too many federal officials and media personalities have not only failed to express empathy for a life lost, but also used her death to inflame polarization.
Our state desperately needs calm and clarity. Our leaders and our citizens must forcefully affirm that Good’s death was needless and tragic, and that we will not go along with attempts to rewrite that truth.
As part of this affirmation, we must call on the federal government to allow the professional and nonpartisan Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension to fully participate in the investigation of Good’s death. No matter what findings are ultimately reached, the investigation’s credibility relies upon it being done in partnership with state and federal officials.
This event has proven what many of us already knew: The ongoing surge of more than 2,000 ICE agents into Minnesota is counterproductive to restoring public safety and public trust. Minnesotans desperately want to return to normalcy. We want to feel safe in going to school, to work, and to spend time with family and friends. ICE has brought fear and anxiety into our lives, not peace or justice. They must go.
Our country’s immigration system has been broken for decades. Congress has at points come close to reaching bipartisan, consensus-driven, comprehensive immigration reform, but political polarization has made such compromises all but impossible to reach.
We must redouble our efforts to build an immigration system based upon respect for the rule of law, compassion, and an understanding of the vital role that immigrants play in strengthening our society as a whole.
We ask our fellow Minnesotans to treat members of law enforcement, and the men and women of our Minnesota National Guard, with patience and kindness. And we urge our community to exercise compassion for the vulnerable in the days ahead.
As Jewish Americans, we have a long and proud history of supporting immigrant communities — remembering that we too were once strangers in a strange land. Not just our ancestors in ancient Egypt, whose anguish this week’s Torah portion recounts, but also here, in the U.S. We must reinvigorate that commitment — for the sake of Good’s memory, our immigrant neighbors, and the health of our whole society.
The post God heard the cries of Israelites in Egypt. Who will respond to our devastation in Minnesota? appeared first on The Forward.
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Mamdani Remains Silent on Pro-Hamas Synagogue Protest, Other NYC Lawmakers Issue Condemnations
New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani delivers a speech during his inauguration ceremony in New York City, US, Jan. 1, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Kylie Cooper
Newly inaugurated New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani has remained silent regarding an anti-Israel protest outside a Queens synagogue on Thursday evening that featured chants supporting Hamas and prompted nearby Jewish institutions to shut down out of safety concerns.
The demonstration took place outside Young Israel of Kew Gardens Hills, where an event promoting Israeli real estate investments was scheduled. Dozens of protesters chanted slogans including “Globalize the intifada” and “Say it loud, say it clear, we support Hamas here,” according to video footage shared online. Hamas is designated a terrorist organization by the United States and the architect behind the Oct. 7 massacres in Israel which killed roughly 1200 and resulted in the abduction of 250 others.
The protest also unfolded near the Yeshiva of Central Queens, leading synagogue leaders to cancel evening prayer services and local schools to dismiss students early. While the New York Police Department maintained a buffer zone and no major violence was reported, residents described the atmosphere as tense and intimidating.
A chorus of condemnation has come from city and state lawmakers since the protest.
State Assemblyman Sam Berger, whose district includes the synagogue, said the mayor’s failure to speak out was “deeply concerning,” arguing that city leadership has a responsibility to draw clear lines when protests target houses of worship.
“This wasn’t an abstract political rally,” Berger said. “It was outside a synagogue, in a residential Jewish neighborhood, with chants that glorify violence. The mayor should be unequivocal.”
Governor Kathy Hochul, by contrast, swiftly condemned the protest, calling the chants “disgusting” and emphasizing that support for Hamas has no place in New York.
“No matter your political beliefs, this type of rhetoric is disgusting, it’s dangerous, and it has no place in New York,” Hochul wrote.
NYC Council Speaker Julie Menin wrote that “openly and proudly sympathizing with Hamas, especially while standing in the largely Jewish community of Kew Gardens Hills, stokes fear and division.”
Mark Levine, NYC Comptroller, repudiated the demonstrations, saying they “cannot be normalized or excused.”
Rep. Ritchie Torres, a Bronx Democrat, also denounced the demonstration, saying rhetoric that praises terrorist organizations amounts to hate, not legitimate political speech.
Meanwhile, as criticism mounted from state and federal officials, Mamdani, who took office just days earlier, did not issue a direct statement condemning the protest or the rhetoric used by demonstrators.
The protest was organized by groups affiliated with the Palestinian Assembly for Liberation (PAL-Awda) NY/NJ, which has previously promoted demonstrations targeting Israel-related events. Organizers framed the rally as opposition to Israeli land sales, but Jewish leaders say the location and language crossed a line.
The episode echoes earlier controversies surrounding Mamdani, who has faced criticism in the past for what opponents describe as equivocation when anti-Israel protests occur near Jewish religious spaces. In a previous incident outside an Upper East Side synagogue, Mamdani criticized language used by the protesters while simultaneously condemning the synagogue for hosting real estate events.
The protest comes amid an alarming surge in antisemitic hate crimes across New York City.
Jews were targeted in the majority (54 percent) of all hate crimes perpetrated in New York City in 2024, according to data issued by the New York City Police Department (NYPD). A new report released on Wednesday by the New York City Mayor’s Office to Combat Antisemitism, which was established in May, noted that figure rose to a staggering 62 percent in the first quarter of this year, despite Jewish New Yorkers comprising just 11 percent of the city’s population.
After securing the election, Mamdani has repeatedly stressed a commitment to forcefully combatting antisemitism while in office. However, a recent report released by the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) revealed that at least 20 percent of Mamdani’s transition and administrative appointees have either a “documented history of making anti-Israel statements” or ties to radical anti-Zionist organizations that “openly promote terror and harass Jewish people.”
Mamdani, a far-left democratic socialist and avowed anti-Zionist, is an avid supporter of boycotting all Israeli-tied entities who has made anti-Israel activism a cornerstone of his political career and been widely accused of promoting antisemitic rhetoric. He has repeatedly accused Israel of “apartheid” and “genocide”; refused to recognize the country’s right to exist as a Jewish state; and refused to explicitly condemn the phrase “globalize the intifada,” which has been associated with calls for violence against Jews and Israelis worldwide.