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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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One university canceled Hasan Piker. Another has him going to the chapel tonight.
University of Washington canceled him. University of Texas offered limited seating. On Thursday, Cornell University will open the doors of its historic chapel to host Hasan Piker, a controversial left-wing pundit with a history of antisemitic comments.
Three universities, three different receptions for the far-left Twitch streamer who has attracted millions of fans with his raw rhetoric that has veered, on more than one occasion, into antisemitism. Most recently, Piker warned American Jews who “keep putting this idea out there that they are singularly invested in Israel,” that someone could eventually “take action against” them.
Universities seem torn about whether – and how – to host him. Jewish campus groups are divided too. Jewish Voice for Peace invited Piker to Cornell, along with other student groups, while Cornellians for Israel opposed his appearance.
A statement released by leaders of Hillel at Cornell University emphasized their commitment to the campus as a place for disagreement, pluralism and debate, but put Piker in a different category.
“Mr. Piker’s views… go against our values as Americans and Jews, and his hateful, antisemitic rhetoric is repulsive,” the statement said.
That outrage has not discouraged campus groups including College Democrats, democratic socialists and pro-Palestinian organizations from booking the rising influencer, who has campaigned with a number of progressive Democratic candidates leading up to the midterm election. They say Piker, 35, is the voice their generation needs to hear to get out the vote.
“This is a guy that has a modern media presence,” one student told the Yale Daily News when Piker appeared there in April. “He reaches to our demographic exactly, people that are our age.”
But Piker, who told students that empathy was the core philosophical underpinnings of his political beliefs, has laughed at the suggestion that campus antisemitism is on the rise. In one livestream, he called a Jewish man a “bloodthirsty, violent pig dog,” accusing him of wanting to execute every Palestinian in the street. In another, discussing efforts to compel ultra-Orthodox Jews to serve in the Israel Defense Forces, he described them as “inbred.”
At Northwestern University, where he appeared in March, a student asked Piker how to talk about the Middle East conflict with his Zionist friends without ending the friendship.
“I think you shouldn’t give up on your friends and try to have normal conversations with them about how they probably don’t care about Israel as much as they think they do,” Piker responded, according to The Daily Northwestern, “because if they did, they’d probably live there.”
In his remarks at Yale, Piker called the wars that have cemented America’s imperial roots “an endless series of butcheries, each more perverse and more tragic than the last.”
“What was the point of defeating the Nazis if we went on to dominate so much of the globe as violently as we have?”
‘Heckler’s veto’
Ryan Ansloan, senior program counsel in the policy reform department of the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression (FIRE), says those comments are not enough to bar Piker from speaking on campus.
Ansloan warns against canceling or preventing events based on what is known as a “heckler’s veto,” or the possibility that a percentage of the campus community is not going to like it.
“Ultimately it sends a bad message to the campus community that if you complain enough or threaten to disrupt an event you don’t like, you can get your way and prevent that event from even taking place,” he told the Forward. “That has implications that go beyond that single event and can have a chilling effect. As long as that student body remains on campus, that incident is going to stick in their minds.”
Conservatives have long championed free speech on campus, often accusing activists on the left of wielding safety concerns to disinvite alt-right speakers to campuses. Think British far-right provocateur Milo Yiannopoulos and his tour a decade ago; or Ann Coulter, who was harassed off the stage coincidentally at Cornell, her alma mater.
But since the murder of conservative activist Charlie Kirk at Utah Valley University last year, safety has been raised by activists on both sides of the political aisle, Ansloan said. According to FIRE’s Campus Deplatforming Database, many objections are tied to speakers on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
For example, after opposition from the right, the University of Southern Maine in February revoked seven invitations and canceled a one-day conference titled “The Consequence of Palestine.”
Around that same time, the Catholic University of America rejected a request from the campus chapter of the Students Supporting Israel (SSI) to host U.S. Rep. Randy Fine, a Jewish congressman from Florida, who has drawn public condemnation for his anti-Muslim rhetoric, and Dany Tirza, a retired IDF colonel and security fence architect to speak on the West Bank barrier.
With Piker, outrage has paled to the demand. At Cornell, tickets for Piker’s appearance in the 600-seat university chapel were claimed within hours of their release. Piker also will be live streaming the event on his Twitch channel.
At the University of Texas, University Democrats planned to host the Sept. 30 event in a 466-seat auditorium, but 2,500 people signed up. Despite suggestions from campus police to find a larger venue, the university has not been willing to provide one with more space.
“This has the potential to be the largest political event in Austin since like 2018,” the group’s president Adit Raha told a local TV station, adding that he hasn’t ruled out shifting the event off campus.
“This event will be happening no matter what. We’re not going to cancel the event.”
But even Democratic politicians in Texas are concerned.
“Free speech allows difficult and controversial views, but it does not require anyone to stay silent when someone has a history of hateful comments about Jewish Americans, 9/11 and Hamas terrorism,” U.S. Rep. Henry Cuellar (D-Texas) wrote on X. “Jewish students at UT should not be made to feel targeted or unsafe on their own campus.”
Cancellation was the solution at the University of Washington for an upcoming talk in January 2027. While the university insisted in a statement that it’s “dedicated to the free exchange of ideas, including on controversial topics and involving provocative speakers,” it reviewed the process by which the Piker lecture was planned and determined it along with six other events “did not meet the necessary level of rigor for University-hosted events in the Speaker Series.”
A university spokesman clarified that those seven invitations, including Piker’s, did not undergo the committee review. No effort has been made to reschedule Piker and submit the invitation for review.
The statement continued: “Going forward, procedures will be updated to ensure the standards we have for University-hosted events like the Speaker Series are met, particularly so that we can help elevate the level of dialogue on divisive topics during a polarized time in our country.”
The post One university canceled Hasan Piker. Another has him going to the chapel tonight. appeared first on The Forward.
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Hundreds rally at United Nations to urge world leaders to address antisemitism
(JTA) — Hundreds of members of New York’s Jewish community competed against stand-still traffic, security details and dozens of black SUVs Wednesday night to reach Dag Hammarskjöld Plaza near the United Nations.
Their plea? For world leaders at the global body’s annual General Assembly to take antisemitic violence seriously.
“This week world leaders are gathered in our city, right down the street at the United Nations, to discuss global challenges,” Eric Goldstein, CEO of the UJA-Federation of New York, said in his opening remarks. “But we know that they are not addressing the rampant proliferation of antisemitism across the world.”
Organized by UJA and the Jewish Community Relations Council of New York, the evening rally featured a number of interfaith speakers, as well as survivors of various antisemitic hate crimes around the world from Nova to Bondi Beach.
Devorah Halberstam, whose son Ari was murdered on the Brooklyn Bridge in 1994 in a terror attack, gave an impassioned speech, imploring world leaders to “tell your people: Take this message back to your countries. Antisemitism must stop. Not tomorrow. Not when it becomes politically expedient. Right now.”
A number of speakers Wednesday night criticized New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani, questioning whether he could truly be a mayor to New York City’s Jews who fundamentally disagree with him on Israel. Others, like Anti-Defamation League CEO Jonathan Greenblatt called out a more general “deliberate passivity in the face of antisemitism,” likening it to complicity.
Also speaking Wednesday was George Zamot, a UPS driver who intervened in July’s stabbing attack on the Upper West Side, in which a Jewish man and an Asian man were injured.
While some speakers focused on the dangers of antisemitism, a few addressed moments of community that resulted from such terrible events.
In a display of unity, Nova music festival survivor Shalev Biton gave remarks while also translating the remarks of Younes Alkarnawi, the Bedouin man who saved his life.
The rally’s audience dwindled as the evening wore on, and a small group of counterprotestors from the anti-Zionist group Neturei Karta became increasingly loud.
The demonstration follows recent public gatherings addressing antisemitism in New York City, including a contentious prayer vigil held by two Orthodox Jewish day schools outside the mayor’s home of Gracie Mansion last week.
It also marks a pivot toward more community advocacy within the scope of UJA’s work. (70 Faces Media, the parent company of the Jewish Telegraphic Agency and New York Jewish Week, receives UJA funding.)
In an interview earlier this week with eJewishPhilanthropy, UJA’s executive vice president for community strategy and external relations Hindy Poupko called the Wednesday evening rally “an attempt to ensure that our narrative doesn’t get drowned out during this U.N. week.”
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
The post Hundreds rally at United Nations to urge world leaders to address antisemitism appeared first on The Forward.
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How Russian and Austrian politics gave rise to modern Yiddish literature
פֿון װאַנען האָט זיך גענומען די מאָדערנע ליטעראַטור אױף ייִדיש און העברעיִש? ביז הײַנט האָט מען געהאַלטן, אַז זי איז געװען אַ פּועל־יוצא פֿון דער השׂכּלה־אידעאָלאָגיע, װאָסער ציל איז געװען צו דערציִען די ייִדישע מאַסן אינעם גײַסט פֿון דער אײראָפּעיִשער אױפֿקלערונג־קולטור.
עופֿר דינעס (קאָלאַמביע־אוניװערסיטעט) האַלט, אַז אַ װיכטיקע ראָלע אין דער אַנטוויקלונג פֿון דער מאָדערנער ליטעראַטור בײַ ייִדן האָט געשפּילט די נײַע קאָלאָניאַלע פּאָליטיק פֿון די רוסישע און עסטרײַכישע אימפּעריעס נאָך די צעטײלונגען פֿון פּױלן סוף־18טן יאָרהונדערט.
אונטער דער אַלטער פּױלישער מאַכט האָבן ייִדישע יחידים ניט געהאַט קײן דירעקטן שײכות צו דער מלוכה. די קהילות האָבן זיך געפֿירט לױט זײערע אײגענע תּקנות און מנהגים, און זײער קאָלעקטיװער פֿאָרשטײער פֿאַר דער מלוכה איז געװען דער װעד ארבע ארצות (די פֿאַרװאַלטונג פֿון פֿיר לענדער).
די נײַע אימפּעריאַלע מלוכות האָבן אָפּגעשאַפֿן דעם דאָזיקן רעזשים און גענומען אײַנפֿירן אַלגעמײנע געזעץ־געבונג פֿאַר אַלע אונטערטאַנער זײערע, ייִדן בתוכם. דינעסעס בוך באַשרײַבט ווי אַזוי די משׂכּילים האָבן גענומען אױף זיך די אױפֿגאַבע צו דערקלערן די דאָזיקע פּאָליטיק פֿאַר די ייִדישע מאַסן דורך זײערע ליטעראַרישע װערק.
דאָס קעפּל פֿון דינערס בוך לאָזט זיך ניט גענױ איבערזעצן אױף ייִדיש. דאָס ענגלישע װאָרט fiction האָט צװײ פֿאַרשײדענע באַטײַטן: בעלעטריסטיק און פֿיקציע, און זײ בײדע באַלאַנגען צו דעם מײן פֿונעם קעפּל: “די בעלעטריסטיק/פֿיקציע פֿון דער מלוכה“.
דורך זײערע בעלעטריסטישע װערק, האַלט דינעס, האָבן די משׂכּילישע מחברים געשאַפֿן אַן אידעאַליזירטן אימאַזש, אַ „פֿיקציע“, פֿון דער גוטװיליקער מלוכישער מאַכט, װאָס זאָרגט זיך װעגן דעם װױלזײַן פֿון אַלע אירע אונטערטאַנער.
די דאָזיקע פּאָזיציע האָט פֿאָרמולירט ישׂראל אַקסענפֿעלד (1787־1866) אין „דאָס שטערנטיכל“, דעם ערשטן ייִדישן ראָמאַן: „דאָס פּױלישע ביטערע אָנגעבלאָזענע גדלות, די פּױלישע גאװה איז בײַם רוס ניטאָ. אַ רוס, אַז ער קען זיך מיט אַ ייִדן און האָט מיט אים עטלעכע מאָל צו טאָן, רופֿט ער אים ׳בראַט׳’ [ברודער]. אַפֿילו דער פֿאַקטאָר [קאָמיסיאָנער], אַז ער [דער ייִד] דינט אים געטרײַ, האָט ער אים ליב.“
דינעסעס העלדן זײַנען פֿאַרשײדענע פֿיגורן. אײניקע זײַנען באַרימט, װי דער „זײדע“ פֿון דער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור, שלום־יעקבֿ אַבראַמאָװיטש (מענדעלע מוכר ספֿרים); דער גאַליציאַנער משׂכּיל יוסף פּערל און רבי נחמן פֿון בראַצלעװ.
אַנדערע זײַנען שוין כּמעט פֿאַרגעסן געװאָרן, װי דער העברעיִשער דיכטער משה אלחנן — דער מחבר פֿון צװײ העברעיִשע לױבגעזאַנגען. אײן שיר איז געװען געװידמעט דעם פּױלישן קעניג און דער צװײטער — דעם רוסישן צאַר. אַ צווייטער בײַשפּיל איז דער עסטרײַכישער באַאַמטער יאָהאַן עדואַרד זאַק, דער פֿאַרפֿאַסער פֿון אַ סאַטירישן ראָמאַן, װאָס מאַכט חוזק פֿון די גאַליציאַנער חסידים.
עס איז גוט באַקאַנט, אַז די משׂכּילים, בפֿרט דער טאַרנעפּאָלער סוחר יוסף פּערל, האָבן אין זײערע סאַטירישע חיבורים אױסגעלאַכט די חסידים..
אָבער מיט דער צײַט האָט פּערל דערזען, אַז דאָס איז ניט גענוג פֿאַר באַקעמפֿן די השפּעה פֿון חסידות. ער האָט זיך גענומען מסרן זײ צו די עסטרײַכישע אינסטאַנצן דורך זײַנע ליטעראַרישע װערק. װײַזט אױס, אַז די עסטרײַכישע פּאָליצײ האָט געהאַט מומחים, װאָס האָבן געקענט לײענען ייִדיש און העברעיִש.
להיפּוך צו די משׂכּילים, זײַנען די חסידים ניט געװען אײַנשטימיק אין זײער באַצי צו דער רוסישער אימפּעריע. דער גרעסטער אָנהענגער פֿון רוסלאַנד איז געװען דער גרינדער פֿונעם חב״ד, ר׳ שניאור זלמן פֿון ליאַדי. ער האָט געהאַלטן, אַז די קאָנסערװאַטיװע רוסישע פּאָליטיק העלפֿט באַשיצן ייִדישקײט קעגן די נײַע מערבֿדיקע אידעען.
ר׳ נחמן פֿון בראַצלעװ האָט געהאַט אַן אַנדער דעה. כּסדר האַלט מען זײַנע סיפּורי־מעשׂיות פֿאַר מיסטישע אַלעגאָריעס. אַ סך פֿון זײ דערצײלן װעגן אַ מלך און זײַן מלוכה. אַלעגאָריש טײַטשט מען דאָס אױס װי דער רבונו של עולם און די באַשאַפֿענע װעלט זײַנע.
אָבער דינעס לײענט די דאָזיקע מעשׂיות דורך אַ היסטאָרישן פּאָליטישן שפּאַקטיװ. ער האַלט, אַז צו מאָל איז דער מלך טאַקע פּשוט אַ קעניג און זײַן קעניגרײַך איז אַן עכטע מלוכה.
ר׳ נחמנס קריטיק פֿון דער נײַער אימפּעריאַלער פּאָליטיק איז ספּעציעל בולט אין דער „מעשׂה ממלך שגזר שמד“ („מעשׂה װעגן אַ קעניג װאָס האָט באַפֿוילן שמד“), װאָס מאָלט אױס אַ דעספּאָטישן מאָנאַרך.
דורך זײַנע אַלעגאָריעס האָט ר׳ נחמן געפּרוּװט דערקלערן זײַנע חסידים, אַז די נײַע רוסישע בעלי־בתּים זײַנען אױסן מװתּר צו זײַן די אױטאָנאָמיע, װאָס די ייִדישע קהילות האָבן גענאָסן אונטער דער פּױלישער מאַכט.
ר׳ נחמנס כּװנה, האַלט דינעס, איז געװען צו באַשיצן ייִדן פֿון דער נײַער מאַכט. צוליב דעם האָט ער ספּעציעל אױסגעקליבן די שטאָט בראַצלעװ (בראַסלעװ) אין פּאָדאָליע פֿאַר זײַן רעזידענץ, װײַל דאָס איז געװען אַן אַדמיניסטראַטיװער קרײַז־צענטער.
ר׳ נחמן האָט געהאָפֿט, אַז בראַצלעװ װעט זײַן „די פֿאַבריק פֿון ייִדישקײט“, און אַזױ אַרום „װעט די גאַנצע װעלט ווערן בראַסלאַװער חסידים“. די דאָזיקע װערטער האָט פֿאַרשריבן זײַן געטרײַער תּלמיד ר׳ נתן שטײנהאַרץ.
דינעס איז אַ געניטער דערצײלער. אױף די זײַטן פֿון זײַן בוך טרעפֿן זיך פּױלישע פּריצים, רוסישע מיליטער־לײַט, עסטרײַכישע פּאָליצײ און כּל־מיני ייִדן: משׂכּילים, חסידים, משומדים. ער אַנטפּלעקט פֿאַרכאַפּנדיקע פּרטים און אומשטאַנדן, װאָס לאָזן אױף ס׳נײַ אױסטײַטשן ליטעראַרישע טעקסטן.
סוף־18טן און אָנהײב־19טן יאָרהונדערט איז געװען אַ שטורעמדיקע תּקופֿה איבער גאַנץ אײראָפּע. די צעטײלונגען פֿון פּױלן און דערנאָך די מלחמות קעגן נאַפּאָלעאָנישן פֿראַנקרײַך האָבן שטאַרק געענדערט די פּאָליטישע מאַפּע פֿון מיטל־ און מזרח־אײראָפּע.
די דאָזיקע דראַמאַטישע געשעענישן האָבן פֿאַרטיפֿט דעם שפּאַלט אינעם פּױלישן ייִדנטום. די העכערע שיכטן, פֿאַרמעגלעכע שטאָטישע בעלי־בתּים, האָבן לרובֿ געשטיצט די נײַע פּאָליטיק און געצױגן נוצן פֿון דער לעגאַלער אָרדענונג אין רוסלאַנד און עסטרײַך.
אָבער די אָרעמע שטעטלדיקע מאַסן, בפֿרט חסידים, האָבן חושד געווען, אַז די נײַע מאַכט מאַכט וועט זיך אַרײַנמישן אין זײער עסקים כּדי אָפּצוציִען ייִדן פֿון ייִדישקײט.
בײדע צדדים האָבן גענומען פֿאַרשפּרײטן זײערע אידעען דורך ליטעראַרישע טעקסטן אין פֿאַרשײדענע זשאַנערס, אַזעלכע װי מעשׂיות, לידער, ראָמאַנען און סאַטירישע פּאַמפֿלעטן. און פֿון אָט די דאָזיקע װיכּוחים איז אױסגעװאַקסן די מאָדערנע צװײ־שפּראַכיקע ייִדישע ליטעראַטור.
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