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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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The post Bosnian Jews mourn Moris Albahari, one of Sarajevo’s last Ladino speakers appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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How to pursue justice: 5 lessons from the life of Stan Levy
At a time of so much division and injustice, when the temptation is to retreat into outrage or into ourselves, there is much to be learned in the life of our friend, Stan Levy.
Stan, who died Nov. 5 at the age of 84, founded Bet Tzedek Legal services and was a fixture in the Los Angeles legal, philanthropic and Jewish communities for close to 60 years. Ensuring fairness where it was absent was Stan’s calling, both as a lawyer and a rabbi.
How he set out to do that — the sheer range of his accomplishments — is daunting: an experienced concert promoter, a corporate general counsel and law firm partner at Manatt, Phelps & Phillips, an ordained rabbi, the founder and spiritual leader of a thriving congregation, B’nai Horin, the founder of a transdenominational rabbinical and cantorial school, the Academy of Jewish Religion, and, for good measure, the visionary behind the founding of three of the community’s most important legal aid organizations — Bet Tzedek, Public Counsel and the Western Center on Law & Poverty.
But the lessons behind the list matter more.
The first lesson: pay attention to the people others don’t see. The 1970s were something of a heyday for legal services, the funding relatively more plentiful and far less controversial than today. But Stan saw something few others did. There were no free legal services in what was then the center of Jewish life in Los Angeles, the Fairfax District. He recognized the significant needs of Holocaust survivors, a group otherwise invisible to most, and other low-income individuals and families living in the heart of the Jewish community. And in 1974, he founded Bet Tzedek Legal Services.
From its start as a small legal clinic in 1974, Bet Tzedek now draws on more than 1,100 staff and pro bono attorneys, and helped more than 82,000 people of all backgrounds in 2025. In 1970, before he turned 30, Stan launched Public Counsel, now the largest pro bono law firm in the country.
The second lesson of Stan’s life: build the institution, then let it outgrow you. Along with co-founder Luis Lainer, Stan continued to be a board member of Bet Tzedek for more than 50 years.
There was no founder’s syndrome for him. At various times we both served as CEOs at Bet Tzedek. We never heard Stan say, “That’s not the way we have done it.” Instead, he encouraged us and embraced changes. After 50 years, he was younger and more restless than the rest of us.
The third lesson: learn from everyone — especially from your own tradition. Stan was known to quote the likes of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel and Muhammad Ali with equal fluency. His favorite quote from Heschel was, “An act of injustice is condemned not because the law is broken, but because a person has been hurt.” His favorite from The Greatest was, “Service to others is the rent I pay for my room here on earth.”
He was a Jewish leader deeply versed in Jewish learning — it’s not as common as you’d think. In 1968, Stan founded B’nai Horin, which translates as “Children of Freedom.” The congregation was never affiliated with a movement and remained welcoming to all, drawing hundreds to its High Holy Days services, b’nai mitzvah classes and Shabbat services.
In 2001, seeing the need for a seminary that would educate professionals like him who wanted to more deeply explore their Judaism, Stan co-founded the transdenominational Academy of Jewish Religion in Los Angeles, which ordains rabbis, cantors and chaplains. Stan could passionately explain access to justice while drawing on Jewish history, tradition and teachings.
The fourth lesson: successful leadership is measured by the number of people you lift. The impact Stan had on our individual lives reflects the way he touched so many people. He guided our careers, helped guide us into leadership positions at Bet Tzedek, performed Mitch’s wedding and led shiva services for David’s parents.
When David launched The Justice Ball, a new era in legal aid fundraising events, it was Stan who negotiated the contracts for the famed musical acts who appeared. When Mitch launched the Holocaust Survivor Justice Network, a national pro bono program, Stan stepped away from his role as a law firm partner and ran the program across the country. He created an international network of more than 5,000 attorneys who have helped secure over $200 million in reparations for survivors. He was a founder who never hesitated to show up to do the work.
The last lesson he taught us may be the most important: Stan and his wife Lynda were inseparable, a power couple before there was such a thing. His sons, Jules, Aaron and Joshua, were the subject of so many of his stories. Stan could balance being a Renaissance Man with his greatest talent of all, being a Family Man. Neither suffered for the other; he had room in his heart for his passions and his loves.
The world is far from healed — though not for Stan’s lack of trying. His life points the way forward for all of us: find the people who’ve been overlooked, build something to serve them, bring everyone you can into the room — and then keep going.
Stan Levy, may your memory be a blessing.
The post How to pursue justice: 5 lessons from the life of Stan Levy appeared first on The Forward.
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A Philadelphia bike ride targeting Jewish-owned businesses on the eve of Kristallnacht anniversary spurs outrage from city and state leaders
(JTA) — PHILADELPHIA – A bicycle ride promoting the boycott of businesses in Center City Philadelphia that organizers claim are complicit in Israeli military actions is drawing scathing criticism from state leaders.
Jewish groups in the city are calling the ride blatantly antisemitic, noting that it targets Jewish-owned businesses on Nov. 8, the eve of the 88th anniversary of Kristallnacht, the “Night of Broken Glass” when Nazi rioters vandalized and burned German Jewish businesses, synagogues and homes, a major escalation of Nazi persecution of Jews.
Organizers insist the timing is coincidental, and in statements posted on their Instagram pages accuse their critics of being “cynical” and weaponizing antisemitism to target pro-Palestinian advocates.
The Instagram post advertising the event in Rittenhouse Square reads: “Ride around Rittenhouse with us as we show these Zionist business owners that we see them for the disgusting human beings they are.” It continues, “We’ll flag as many bikes as we can and show our solidarity with the Palestinian community and oppressed folk everywhere.”
State and city officials expressing outrage at the planned ride include Philadelphia Mayor Cherelle Parker, a Democrat, Pennsylvania Attorney General Dave Sunday, a Republican, and Gov. Josh Shapiro, a Jewish Democrat considered a contender for the 2028 Democratic presidential nomination.
“As Mayor, I serve every Philadelphian under the explicit premise that freedom of speech and freedom from fear are not competing values,” Parker said in a statement. “No one should be targeted, threatened, or made to feel unwelcome because of their faith, identity, or background. Singling out businesses because their owners are Jewish is unacceptable and has no place in our city.”
A spokesperson for Shapiro, whose official residence was set ablaze on Passover last year by a man enraged by Israel’s conduct in Gaza, said the ride was clearly antisemitic.
“This bike ride, masquerading as a protest to advance the cause of justice, is nothing more than blatant antisemitism designed to intimidate and drive Jewish businesses out of our communities and there is no place for that in our commonwealth,” the spokesperson said.
Sunday said the restaurateurs were targeted because they are Jewish. “By explicitly targeting businesses because their owners are Jewish, the organizers are engaging in a form of discrimination that falls back on some of the oldest antisemitic tropes and tactics in history,” he said.
Hearing such support not only from political leaders but also from interfaith leaders throughout the city has left Philadelphia Board of Rabbis president David Levin “gratified.” “We’ve received broad-based support,” Rabbi Levin told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “The Jewish community obviously is finding it outrageous, but our civic leaders have stepped up with public comments.
“And my faith partners from other denominations have reached out to us in solidarity and support,” Levin said. “I’m delighted Philadelphia has lived up to its tagline as the City of Brotherly Love. We are feeling that.”
He called on those sympathetic to the businesses not to interfere with the bikers. “The worst thing we could do is find ourselves in a place where there’s confrontation and this thing escalates and people potentially put themselves in a position where they could get hurt,” Levin said.
“I’ve been sort of using the tagline ‘Keep the streets empty and the restaurants full,’” he said. “The best thing we can do in the days and weeks ahead is support these restaurateurs trying to make a living, and our community is turning out in droves.”
The organizers, Philly Bike On Your Left in collaboration with Philly Writers Against the War on Gaza, Boycott CookNSolo and Philly Solidarity Calendar, posted the invitation to join on Oct. 30 on Instagram.
“We call for a boycott because the owners materially and ideologically support the ongoing occupation and genocide of Palestinians,” Boycott CookNSolo, named for the restaurant chain owned by Israeli American celebrity chef Michael Solomonov, said. “Profits from their enterprises and from their fundraising efforts have been used to fund the occupation and to support pro-genocide interest groups in the U.S. and ‘Israel.’”
It is not clear why the organizers believe the businesses are tied to any “occupation,” or how they are “pro-genocide.”
Solomonov, who declined to comment, has been targeted in the past for fundraising for United Hatzalah, a first responder rescue group that works with a wide range of civil and government bodies in Israel and abroad, including the IDF. One such fundraiser came after the group said its resources were stretched thin due to their work to save lives and preserve the dead after the Oct. 7, 2023, deadly Hamas raids inside Israel. Other restaurant owners appear to have been targeted, according to protest organizers, for expressing support for Israel on social media after the attacks, which killed 1,200 people inside Israel.
Boycott CookNSolo also said that drawing attention to the Kristallnacht timing was “a cynical take that is not only offensive to the historical victims of Nazi persecution but an intentional distraction from the actual pogroms currently taking place in the West Bank and the wholesale destruction of life and livelihood in Gaza, Lebanon, Syria, and Iran.”
Schlesinger’s Deli owner Allan Domb, one of the targeted owners, said he was heartened by the broad support he received.
“It’s upsetting to see this level of hatred against four business owners for no reason,“ said Domb, a former Philadelphia city councilman. “It’s blatant antisemitism. But the positive side is, the amount of support from Philadelphia and outside of Philadelphia has been amazing.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post A Philadelphia bike ride targeting Jewish-owned businesses on the eve of Kristallnacht anniversary spurs outrage from city and state leaders appeared first on The Forward.
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Pro-Israel conservatives blast JD Vance for blaming Israel after GOP midterm losses
(JTA) — Conservative pro-Israel voices are lashing out at Vice President JD Vance after he linked the Republican Party’s massive midterm losses to the country’s relationship with Israel and the war in Iran.
Vance on Wednesday said that “the real reason we lost is obvious to almost everyone” and listed four strategies to bring back voters: end the war in Iran; focus on the cost of living and inflation; put America first and “change our relationship to Israel.”
Eric Levine, a board member of the Republican Jewish Coalition, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that he doesn’t “recall seeing a single exit poll in which any voter identified ‘change our relationship with Israel’ as a factor in their voting decision.”
“It makes you wonder why he would make such a claim,” Levine added.
Conservative radio personality Sid Rosenberg, a Jewish New Yorker and friend of President Donald Trump, slammed the vice president and cited his “constant calls for a ceasefire” as the reason why the conflict with Iran has persisted.
“Vance is a disloyal, agenda driven problem for our party moving forward,” Rosenberg wrote on X, urging Trump to replace him as chief Iran negotiator with Secretary of State Marco Rubio, a favorite of Rosenberg’s and other Jewish conservatives for the 2028 GOP presidential nod.
Rosenberg has long criticized Vance for not being “strong enough on Israel” and has demanded that Vance distance himself from Tucker Carlson, a right-wing commentator who condemns U.S. military aid for Israel and who has been accused of amplifying antisemitic tropes.
In September, Rosenberg accepted an invitation to meet with Vance at the White House, as the vice president attempted to make overtures to the Jewish community following a series of controversial remarks about Israel. Following the meeting, Rosenberg reported that he and Vance “hit it off,” adding that the two men would likely have “many more meetings about very substantial things” in the future.
“He is willing to listen,” Rosenberg said at the time. “I don’t think by any stretch that JD Vance hates Israel, hates the Jewish people.”
Jonathan Greenberg, director for combatting antisemitism at Defending Education and a former staffer for the American Israel Public Affairs Committee, told JTA earlier this week that he viewed Vance’s comments as “nonsense.”
“The same Islamist-communist alliance that’s infiltrating our schools and teaching our kids to hate America is the same alliance that Israel is fighting,” said Greenberg, who ran for state office in Illinois as a Republican in 2012 but is now unaffiliated.
“The idea that we’re going to take an ally in that fight and feed them to the same ogre that’s coming after us makes absolutely no sense to me,” he added. “I think the vice president’s wrong.”
CUFI Action Fund, a nonprofit branch of the pro-Israel advocacy group Christians United for Israel, described the vice president in a statement as “clearly, demonstrably and unambiguously wrong.”
“In a list of the top four reasons the Republicans lost, the Jews were effectively blamed twice if you can hear that pitch of dog whistle,” the statement said, referring to Vance’s fingerpointing to both Israel and the war in Iran.
“This war should’ve been over months ago, and if the vice president wants someone to blame for that, he needs only look in the mirror,” the organization said, alluding to the argument that Vance’s proposed concessions to Iran helped spur the war instead of ending it. “The Vance-Carlson movement, which we call woke rightism, is as loud as their candidates are weak.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Pro-Israel conservatives blast JD Vance for blaming Israel after GOP midterm losses appeared first on The Forward.
