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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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Mamdani appoints Phylisa Wisdom, progressive Jewish leader, to run Office to Combat Antisemitism
New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani has picked Phylisa Wisdom, the executive director of the progressive New York Jewish Agenda, to lead the Mayor’s Office to Combat Antisemitism. This announcement comes as the city grapples with a sharp rise in antisemitic attacks and as the Mamdani administration faces scrutiny from the Jewish community following a divisive election that turned, in part, on Mamdani’s positions on Israel.
Wisdom, 39, has aligned herself with some of the positions Mamdani has taken on countering antisemitism, including opposition to the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance definition of antisemitism, which considers most forms of anti-Zionism as antisemitic. Mamdani has thus far declined to say how his administration will define antisemitism when determining which cases to investigate or pursue. Wisdom has also called for more sympathy towards Palestinians, and in November 2023, Wisdom’s organization, under her leadership, spearheaded a statement by liberal Jewish elected officials calling for a bilateral ceasefire in Gaza.
In her new role, Wisdom will serve as Mamdani’s point person to the Jewish community. Her appointment is another signal that Mamdani’s anti-Zionist posture will continue to factor importantly into his leadership of the city, which is home to the largest concentration of Jews outside Israel. Her challenge will be facilitating dialogue with people who hold widely diverging viewpoints, without overriding a mayor whose positions on Israel are deeply held and long-standing.
Wisdom told Jewish Insider last month that Mamdani’s pledge to tackle the scourge of antisemitism “will require a comprehensive strategy” with input from the diversity of New York’s Jewish community.
The office’s current executive director, Moshe Davis, is a holdover of the Adams administration.
Josh Binderman, a political strategist who handled Jewish outreach during the mayoral campaign and transition, will continue in a leadership role under the agency headed by Wisdom, a City Hall spokesperson said. Binderman was Mamdani’s informal Jewish liaison in the opening days of the new administration. He worked with both allies of the mayor and leaders of mainstream Jewish organizations who are unsettled by Mamdani.
Mamdani’s first month
The appointment comes as antisemitic incidents continue to account for a majority of reported hate crimes in New York City. According to the New York City Police Department, antisemitic incidents made up 57% of all hate crimes reported in 2025. The trend continued into the new year: NYPD data show that more than half of all hate crime incidents reported in January were targeted at Jews or Jewish spaces, including a rabbi who was verbally harassed and assaulted, and swastika graffiti that, two days in a row, appeared at a playground frequented by Orthodox families in the Borough Park neighborhood in Brooklyn.
More recently, Mamdani drew praise from Jewish leaders for his rapid and forceful response to the attempted car attack at Chabad-Lubavitch headquarters.
Mamdani said the office, established by former Mayor Eric Adams last year through an executive order, will pursue his commitment to addressing rising acts of hate against Jews. The office is tasked with monitoring antisemitic incidents, coordinating city agencies, engaging with Jewish communities across the city and advising the mayor on policy responses to antisemitism and related hate crimes. Mamdani opted to keep the office open while revoking, as one of his first acts in office, executive orders tied to antisemitism.
Mamdani faced a rocky first month in navigating Jewish communal concerns. His Day One move to repeal the adoption of the controversial IHRA definition, which the office to combat antisemitism pursued as a framework for investigating hate crimes, prompted swift backlash from mainstream Jewish organizations. A week later, he was criticized for his response to protests outside Park East Synagogue. City Hall quietly engaged Jewish leaders to defuse tensions, but Mamdani’s eventual statement that “chants in support of a terrorist organization have no place in our city” came later than many had hoped and was viewed by critics as restrained and overly cautious.
Last week, City Council Speaker Julie Menin, who is Jewish, announced a new task force dedicated to combating antisemitism; its co-chairs said the group would take a more assertive legislative role in addressing rising concerns among Jewish New Yorkers. One of its co-chairs is Inna Vernikov, a Republican and Mamdani critic, which could set up potential tension between the City Council and the mayor’s office over how to respond to the rise in antisemitism.
Mamdani also expressed reservations about legislation proposed by Menin to create a 100-foot buffer zone around synagogues and other houses of worship. “I wouldn’t sign any legislation that we find to be outside of the bounds of the law,” he said. However, he broadly supports the Council’s five-point plan to combat antisemitism, including $1.25 million in funding for the Museum of Jewish Heritage and the creation of a city hotline to report antisemitic incidents, he said.
Who is Phylisa Wisdom?
Born and raised in San Diego, California, she grew up in the Reform movement, actively engaged in NFTY, and learned advocacy through the Reform movement’s Religious Action Center under Rabbi David Saperstein. Wisdom is a member of Park Slope’s Congregation Beth Elohim, where Mamdani addressed the congregation while running for mayor.
Wisdom’s positions and past work drew scrutiny from some Orthodox leaders as rumors of her possible appointment began to circulate recently. She previously served as director of government affairs for Yaffed, a pro–secular education group that scrutinized private yeshivas in Brooklyn over inadequate secular education.
In 2023, Wisdom was tapped as head of the New York Jewish Agenda, a progressive advocacy group formed in 2020 to be a voice for liberal Jews in New York. On a recent webinar, Wisdom described her group’s mission as advocating, organizing and convening “liberal Jewish New Yorkers to impact policy, politics and communal discourse.”
The group criticized Adams’ Jewish advisory council in 2023 because it overrepresented the Orthodox community and men.
On the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, NYJA — whose founders include Rep. Jerry Nadler and former City Comptroller Brad Lander, both of whom describe themselves as liberal Zionists — has backed a two-state solution and called for a rights-based and humane approach toward Palestinians living under occupation. It is listed as a member of the Progressive Israel Network. In public statements and on social media, Wisdom has criticized Israeli settlement expansion while also stressing the security and safety of Israelis. Under her predecessor, Matt Nosanchuk, the group advocated for missions to Israel to learn firsthand about the conflict from Israelis and Palestinians. (Mamdani has said he would not continue the tradition of mayoral visits to the Jewish state.)
“We believe that legitimate criticism of policies of the government of Israel is not inherently antisemitic, and those who weaponize it only undermine our efforts and put us in harm’s way,” Wisdom wrote in an op-ed during the mayoral election. “While it is not necessarily antisemitic to criticize Israel, there are those who are antisemitic who use criticism of Israel as a mask for their antisemitism.”
Wisdom was a member of Mamdani’s inaugural committee and hosted him at a Hanukkah celebration for the leadership of the liberal Jewish group. In his remarks at the Hanukkah event, Mamdani said he associates himself with NYJA in “the bringing together of people” on critical issues.
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Yiddish theater is revived in Tbilisi, Georgia after 100 years
When Lasha Shakulashvili was a grad student at Tbilisi State University in 2022, he stumbled onto something unbelievable. In the National Archives of Georgia, he found Yiddish posters from 1910 announcing theater performances put on by a grassroots, community-run troupe in Tbilisi in what was then still part of the Russian Empire. The troupe was called the Jewish Division of Musical-Melodrama Art.
The posters were fragile and there were only a few of them. Along with them was a single photo he found in a 1917 copy of The Jewish Daily Forward, found in the archives of the National Library of Israel. The paper had a short dispatch mentioning the Ashkenazi school in Tbilisi and the photo showed a teacher writing the Yiddish word friling — spring — on a chalkboard.
Shakulashvili was surprised. Almost nothing had been written about Ashkenazi Jewish heritage in Georgia because most Jews in Georgia were kartveli ebraelebi or Georgian Jews; ‘Mountain Jews’ (Jewish inhabitants of the eastern and northern Caucasus) and Sephardic Jews. Shakulashvili was eager to find out more.
Born in Tbilisi to Orthodox Christian parents, he was raised in part by a Jewish nanny who taught him Russian and Yiddish. That early exposure set him on his scholarly path – and instilled in him a love for Yiddish and Ashkenazi culture.
Before turning to academia, Shakulashvili, who’s now a Yiddish scholar, Jewish history educator and digital storyteller, worked as a diplomat for Georgia’s Permanent Mission to the United Nations and the Georgian Foreign Ministry. Thanks to this career, he told me: “I look at things as an academic and a diplomat. As a diplomat, you have to be cautious but also persistent. A scholar does that, too.”
That persistence led him to write a dissertation on his findings, and publish some of his early discoveries in the Forward in 2022. His thesis is on the role of Yiddish theater in Georgia in the Jewish enlightenment. “Yiddish theater was groundbreaking at a time when Georgia was a very conservative place,”Shakulashvili said. “There were more actresses than actors, women were leading it, and there were plays that explored arranged marriages and women getting revenge. It was a ‘Belle Epoque’: Ashkenazis had been in Georgia less than a century and they changed the life of the whole community.”
Shakulashvili traced how Ashkenazi Jews began arriving in Georgia in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, fleeing poverty and pogroms in densely populated communities in the Russian Empire’s Pale of Settlement. Before the 1917 Revolution, about 5,000 Ashkenazim lived in Georgia, joining an already diverse Jewish population.
Shakulashvili visited Jewish cemeteries, eventually finding graves of every actor whose name was mentioned on the 1910 theater posters. He conducted oral history interviews with Jewish residents of Georgia from different Jewish communities and learned how interconnected different Jewish populations were: Sephardic and Georgian-Jewish sources told him about their grandmothers being educated at the Yiddish school in a time when many schools didn’t accept girls. In turn, the Sephardic community has taken on the task of preserving the two historic Ashkenazi synagogues.
His journey took him to archives in Tbilisi, Jerusalem and Oxford, England. “I had to bring these stories back to life somehow,” he said. “It’s one thing to find a poster and prove the theater existed, but who played there and where did they come from and how did they learn? My curiosity for the theater led me to find out more about the Yiddish schools. One thing led to another — there was a school, there was a society, a whole culture. I wanted to find a complete picture.”
The majority of Georgian-born Jews have since emigrated to Israel or the United States. According to his interviews, most of them did so not because of fear or persecution, but simply for better economic opportunities after the collapse of the Soviet Union.
Shakulashvili shared discoveries with his students at the Paideia Institute in Stockholm and Tbilisi State University, where he was lecturing. He then began sharing his discoveries on Instagram. One early video he posted showed him offering his mostly non-Jewish students cookies shaped like letters of the alef-beyz (the Hebrew alphabet) — a traditional way of welcoming children into Jewish learning.
When Shakulashvili started speaking publicly about the long-lost Yiddish theater, non-Jewish Georgian actors and directors reached out. Many were stunned to learn that Tbilisi once had a Yiddish stage, shut down in 1926 by Soviet authorities. A question emerged: Could the theater be revived?
Shakulashvili’s discovery and networks forged online brought together Georgian historians, Jewish community leaders and actors of all backgrounds. Ana Sanaia, a prominent Georgian actress, director and playwright emerged as the producer who’d make this dream a reality.
A century after its last performance, the Tbilisi Yiddish Theater reopened in 2023. The first production – performed in Yiddish and old Russian, with Georgian supertitles – was Osip Dymov’s 1907 drama Shema Yisroel (named for a centerpiece prayer in Judaism). Jewish protagonists convert to Christianity to survive, only to be rejected by their families and left stranded between identities.
The reopening in Tbilisi came at a tense time. Since the Oct. 7 attacks on Israel and the war in Gaza, Jewish cultural institutions elsewhere have faced protests and boycotts. Georgia has largely avoided that backlash, something Shakulashvili attributes to the country’s strong identification with its Jewish history.
Still, Georgia is politically polarized, especially as Russia’s war in Ukraine continues to shape regional affairs. The theater is self-funded exclusively through independent fundraising, Ana Sanaia, the theater’s producer, told me.
While Shakulashvili has since stepped back from the theater, his research paved the way for recovering the forgotten Yiddish culture of Georgia. He is now based in Israel, where he produces digital content, leads heritage tours and travels for lectures. He still spends the spring semester teaching in Tbilisi.
Meanwhile, Sanaia continues to produce plays, raise funds and recruit actors. She is currently producing her own play in Georgian about the Yiddish-speaking community and their relationship with Abkhaz Muslims in a Black Sea town in 1907.
Shakulashvili’s latest project focuses on online public education about the diverse arts, culture and languages of the Jewish people, through a platform he calls “Jewish Storytelling.” He is also working on a memoir about his discovery and the journey it sent him on.
“I’m proud to be a Georgian Orthodox Christian, and I am proud to work in Jewish studies,” Shakulashvili said. “Everyday I say ‘thank you’ to God that I have been able to do what I love.”
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US Condemns South Africa’s Expulsion of Israeli Diplomat
South Africa’s President Cyril Ramaphosa attends the 20th East Asia Summit (EAS), as part of the 47th ASEAN Summit in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, Oct. 27, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Hasnoor Hussain
The United States on Tuesday condemned South Africa’s decision to expel Israel’s top diplomat last week, a State Department spokesperson said, calling the African nation’s step a part of prioritizing “grievance politics.”
“Expelling a diplomat for calling out the African National Congress party’s ties to Hamas and other antisemitic radicals prioritizes grievance politics over the good of South Africa and its citizens,” Tommy Pigott, the State Department’s deputy spokesperson, said on X.
South Africa’s embassy in Washington had no immediate comment.
On Friday, South Africa declared the top diplomat at Israel’s embassy persona non grata and ordered him out within 72 hours.
It accused him of “unacceptable violations of diplomatic norms and practice,” including insulting South Africa’s president.
Israel responded by expelling South Africa’s senior diplomatic representative to its country.
Relations between the countries have been strained since South Africa brought a genocide case over Israel’s defensive military campaign against Hamas in Gaza at the International Court of Justice. Israel has rejected the case as baseless, calling it an “obscene exploitation” of the Genocide Convention and noting that the Jewish state is targeting terrorists who use civilians as human shields in its military campaign.
The genocide case has also contributed to US President Donald Trump’s attacks on Pretoria, including verbal scolding, trade sanctions, and an executive order last year cutting all US funding.
Since the start of the war in Gaza, the South African government has been one of Israel’s fiercest critics, actively confronting the Jewish state on the international stage.
Beyond its open hostility toward Israel, South Africa has actively supported Hamas, hosting officials from the Palestinian terrorist group and expressing solidarity with their “cause.”
In one instance, South African President Cyril Ramaphosa led a crowd at an election rally in a chant of “From the river to the sea, Palestine shall be free” — a popular slogan among anti-Israel activists that has been widely interpreted as a genocidal call for the destruction of the Jewish state, which is located between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea.