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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.
—
The post Bosnian Jews mourn Moris Albahari, one of Sarajevo’s last Ladino speakers appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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What rabbinic wisdom taught me in the wake of the BAFTA scandal
When I woke up Monday, the first message I saw was from a friend asking if I’d seen the “Sinners Tourette’s thing from the BAFTAs.” The “Sinners Tourette’s thing” took place Sunday night, when John Davidson, the subject of the BAFTA-nominated film I Swear, about living with Tourette’s, shouted the N-word while Black Sinners actors Michael B. Jordan and Delroy Lindo presented an award.
This sparked thoughtful online conversations about racism and understanding coprolalia, a form of Tourette’s that presents as involuntarily uttering obscenities. It also led to criticism of BAFTA and the BBC for not intervening after the reportedly slur was thrown at other attendees earlier and for censoring a pro-Palestine statement but not the N-word (a BBC spokesperson said the statement was cut for time and has now censored the slur on the BBC iPlayer video of the BAFTAs).
Of course, productive dialogue online was overshadowed by vitriolic racism and ableism attempting to villanize both parties involved.
As I read about the controversy, I was reminded of ona’at devarim, a Talmudic prohibition against verbally harming someone else, through purposefully shaming them, spreading gossip or giving bad advice.
The embarrassment here, to me, appears twofold. Shaming Davidson could have further embarrassed him. But Jordan and Lindo had already been publicly embarrassed, and that needed to be rectified.
When is publicly calling out behavior useful — such as establishing boundaries around slurs — and when is it vengeful? And how much does intent versus impact matter?
I reached out to several rabbis to learn how Jewish values could help me understand this situation — and how to think about accountability when a billion people can see your mistakes in a matter of seconds.
Rabbi Shais Rishon, known by his pen name MaNishtana, leads the congregation Ohel Eidot CHeMDaT’’A, a D.C. synagogue for African American and Caribbean Jews. In our conversation, he noted that many people were embracing racism or ableism, when they should be acknowledging the situation’s nuances.
“There’s a lot of little parts here and in these kinds of conversations. I always say it’s important to move into them with three sort of goal posts in mind,” said Rishon. “The first is that multiple things can be true at the same time. Second is multiple things can be wrong at the same time. And the third is explaining how to make this work so it doesn’t absolve from accountability or agency.”
Rabbi Lauren Tuchman, who focuses on disability access and inclusion in the Jewish world, emphasized making sure accountability is not overlooked.
“Sometimes I actually worry that the standards are not applied appropriately when harm happens when a disabled person causes the harm,” said Tuchman, who is a fully blind person. “You don’t want a situation where any kind of apology is like meeting the needs of the offender and not at all meeting the needs of those who are harmed.”
Even so, everyone’s unique situation must be accounted for. Both Tuchman and Rishon believed Davidson should apologize to Jordan and Lindo, but cautioned against mistaking Davidson owning what he did as him admitting to having done it on purpose.
“Nothing can be universalized here and everything is so case-specific, especially when that offensive speech is actually not in this person’s control,” said Tuchman.
Tuchman noted that everyone is entitled to their feelings when met with offensive language, even if it’s unintentional, something she has dealt with a lot. Sometimes she decides “They didn’t mean it, I’m just gonna try to let it go.” But, she said, “you make that choice for yourself and your own integrity.”
“I think that there are ways in which we need to be able to allow for us to feel what we feel, and then to make wise choices about how we act,” she added.
It doesn’t seem to me that what Davidson needs and what Jordan and Lindo need have to be in conflict with one another. Rishon pointed to tochecha, the obligation in Leviticus to reprimand and correct improper behavior in a way that betters the community.
“It’s not supposed to be done in sort of that embarrassing way,” said Rishon. “It’s not about spectacle. It’s about transformation.”
Next, Tuchman said, we must embrace the value of teshuva: correcting our mistakes by realigning with our morals in our actions and deeds.
“The Rambam talks about needing to acknowledge the wrongdoing [and] really take responsibility,” Tuchman said. “And then engage in restitution in whatever way that makes sense.”
“This is somebody with a personal challenge, and maybe there’s a personal conversation and apology to happen,” Rishon said. “There’s no need for us to excoriate him because he has no control.”
Rishon suggested scrutiny should be focused on the BBC and BAFTA, for their “ lack of attentiveness, their lack of fastidiousness, [and] their lack of sensitivity.”
As I spoke to Rishon and Tuchman, I couldn’t help but think that what Judaism asks of us feels more difficult when social media demands its users have instant and loud reactions to anything and everything. In another world, those involved could sort it out privately, and heal in their own time. But when an incident can be shared across the world in minutes, the apology becomes a public matter. And if you don’t do what the internet demands of you immediately, you’re automatically villanized.
From Rishon and Tuchman, I gathered that instead of focusing on who is right and who is wrong, we should take a breath and ask what we need to move forward in community. It’s embarrassing to be called a slur on television; it’s embarrassing to utter that slur when you can’t control it. But it’s happened. How can we respond as people who want to be better than we were before?
I still wouldn’t say I have all the answers for this situation or whatever the next attempt at public shaming may be. But I feel a lot more confident knowing I can turn to the advice of the rabbinic sages — and not just someone on X.
The post What rabbinic wisdom taught me in the wake of the BAFTA scandal appeared first on The Forward.
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US to Offer Passport Services in West Bank Settlement for First Time
The Israeli national flag flutters as apartments are seen in the background in the Israeli settlement of Efrat in the West Bank, Aug. 18, 2020. Photo: REUTERS/Ronen Zvulun
The US will provide on-site passport services this week in a settlement in the West Bank, marking the first time American consular officials have offered such services to Israeli settlers in the territory, US officials said on Tuesday.
Much of the international community considers Israeli settlements in the West Bank illegal under international law.
Israel disputes this, citing historical and biblical ties to the area. It says the settlements provide strategic depth and security. Defenders of Israel also note that, while about one-fifth of the country’s population is Arab and enjoys equal rights, Palestinian law forbids selling any land to Israelis.
TENS OF THOUSANDS OF AMERICAN-ISRAELIS IN WEST BANK
US President Donald Trump, a staunch supporter of Israel, has said he opposes Israeli annexation of the West Bank. But his administration has not taken any measures to halt settlement activity, which has reportedly risen since he took office last year.
In a post on X, the US Embassy in Jerusalem said that as part of efforts to reach all Americans abroad, “consular officers will be providing routine passport services in Efrat on Friday, Feb. 27,” referring to a settlement south of the Palestinian city of Bethlehem.
The Embassy said it would plan similar on-site services in the Palestinian West Bank city of Ramallah, in the settlement of Beitar Illit near Bethlehem, and in cities within Israel such as Haifa.
The US offers passport and consular services at its Embassy in Jerusalem as well as at a Tel Aviv branch office. The number of dual American-Israeli nationals living in the West Bank is estimated to be in the tens of thousands.
Asked for comment, an embassy spokesperson said: “This is the first time we have provided consular services to a settlement in the West Bank.” The spokesperson said similar services were being offered to American-Palestinian dual nationals in the West Bank.
The move came after Israel’s cabinet last week approved measures to make it easier for settlers to buy land, a move Palestinians called a “de facto annexation.”
Much of the West Bank is under Israeli military control, with limited Palestinian self-rule in areas run by the Western-backed Palestinian Authority.
Efrat, the Jewish settlement where American consular officials will provide passport services on Friday, is home to many American immigrants. The US Embassy said it did not have data on the number of Americans living there.
More than 500,000 Israeli settlers live in the West Bank, home to 3 million Palestinians. Most settlements are small towns surrounded by fences and guarded by Israeli soldiers.
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CAIR Official Claims Israel Harvests, Collects Skin of Palestinians
Executive Director of the Ohio chapter of the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR-OH) Khalid Turaani, speaks at a press conference, July 9, 2025. Photo: USA TODAY Network via Reuters Connect
A senior Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) official claimed Israel harvests and collects the skin of deceased Palestinians at a recent Ohio state Senate Judiciary Committee hearing.
“Israel has the largest human skin bank in the world,” Khalid Turaani, executive director of CAIR’s chapter in Ohio, said last week at a hearing on adopting the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance’s (IHRA) working definition of antisemitism.
“Where do you think they got all this skin from? They have more human skin than China and India. They are literally skinning the dead bodies of my brothers and sisters in Palestine,” Turaani continued. “And if I call them Nazis, your law [adopting the IHRA definition of antisemitism] is going to punish me.”
CAIR-Ohio Executive Director Khalid Turaani spread a blood libel in the Ohio State Senate, falsely claiming Israel “skins” Palestinians and runs the “largest human skin bank in the world.”
An outrageous and dangerous old antisemitic conspiracy. pic.twitter.com/U5aj4EwRMl
— Combat Antisemitism Movement (@CombatASemitism) February 26, 2026
Scholars and activist groups have described the conspiracy theory of Israeli organ harvesting as a modern version of the antisemitic blood libel rooted in medieval conspiracies charging that Jews murdered Christian children and drank their blood during the holiday of Passover. The organ harvesting claim dates back to 2009, when a Swedish tabloid published an erroneous article saying that the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) kills Palestinians to provide organs to Israeli hospitals.
“In the 1990s, one Israeli facility (the Abu Kabir Forensic Institute) [ran by Dr. Yehuda Hiss] took organs from IDF soldiers, Israeli civilians, Palestinians, foreign workers, and others whose corpses came into the institute, without seeking permission from the families of the deceased,” the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) noted in an article debunking the conspiracy.
“In a state inquiry report, Israeli authorities found ‘no evidence that Hiss targeted Palestinians; rather, he seemed to view every human body that ended up in his morgue, whether Israeli or Palestinian, as fair game for organ harvesting,” the ADL continued. “The families of dead Israeli soldiers were among those who complained about Hiss’s conduct.”
There is no evidence that such activity has happened since the 1990s.
Nonetheless, Palestinian media has repeatedly invoked the organ harvesting conspiracy, which has been picked up by anti-Israel activists in the West.
Last week’s hearing came about four months after Turaani took part in an online event in October alongside a senior member of Hamas who has been sanctioned by the US government and other individuals tied to the Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ) terrorist organizations.
Turaani moderated the event hosted by the Beirut-based Al-Zaytouna Center titled “Palestinians Abroad and Regional and International Strategic Transformations in the Light of Al-Aqsa Flood.” The term “Al-Aqsa Flood” is the name Hamas gave to its Oct. 7, 2023, invasion of and massacre across southern Israel, in which Palestinian terrorists murdered 1,200 people and dragged 251 hostages back to Gaza.
Among the speakers was Majed al-Zeer, who was sanctioned by the US Treasury Department in October 2024 for his role as a senior Hamas operative in Europe.
Also featured was Ziad el-Aloul, a Hamas-linked activist involved with the European Palestinians Conference and the Popular Conference for Palestinians Abroad, both groups accused by Israeli authorities of operating as Hamas fronts in Europe.
CAIR has drawn scrutiny in the past over its alleged ties to foreign terrorist groups. In the 2000s, CAIR was named as an unindicted co-conspirator in the Holy Land Foundation terrorism financing case. Politico noted in 2010 that “US District Court Judge Jorge Solis found that the government presented ‘ample evidence to establish the association’” of CAIR with Hamas.
According to the ADL, “some of CAIR’s current leadership had early connections with organizations that are or were affiliated with Hamas.”
CAIR has strongly disputed the accuracy of the ADL’s claim and asserted that it “unequivocally condemn[s] all acts of terrorism, whether carried out by al-Qa’ida, the Real IRA, FARC, Hamas, ETA, or any other group designated by the US Department of State as a ‘Foreign Terrorist Organization.’”
In November 2023, CAIR co-founder and executive director Nihad Awad said “yes, I was happy to see people breaking the siege and throwing down the shackles of their own land, and walk free into their land, which they were not allowed to walk in,” referring to Hamas’s Oct. 7 atrocities.
“The people of Gaza only decided to break the siege — the walls of the concentration camp — on Oct. 7,” he said.
About a week later, the executive director of CAIR’s Los Angeles office, Hussam Ayloush, said that Israel “does not have the right” to defend itself from Palestinian violence. He added in his sermon at the Islamic Society of Greater Oklahoma City that for the Palestinians, “every single day” since the Jewish state’s establishment has been comparable to Hamas’s Oct. 7 onslaught.
CAIR has been a fierce critic of IHRA’s definition of antisemitism, arguing it aims to silence legitimate criticism of Israel.
IHRA — an intergovernmental organization comprising dozens of countries including the US and Israel — adopted the “working definition” of antisemitism in 2016. Since then, the definition has been widely accepted by Jewish groups and lawmakers across the political spectrum, and it is now used by hundreds of governing institutions, including the US State Department, European Union, and United Nations.
According to the definition, antisemitism “is a certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews. Rhetorical and physical manifestations of antisemitism are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities.” It provides 11 specific, contemporary examples of antisemitism in public life, the media, schools, the workplace, and in the religious sphere. Beyond classic antisemitic behavior associated with the likes of the medieval period and Nazi Germany, the examples include denial of the Holocaust and newer forms of antisemitism targeting Israel such as demonizing the Jewish state, denying its right to exist, and holding it to standards not expected of any other democratic state.