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Standing on Albania’s Jew Street, I learned firsthand the country’s lifesaving culture of hospitality
BERAT, Albania (JTA) — Stone paths wind through the Ottoman-style houses built into the hillside of Berat, Albania. They lead to an imposing 13th-century castle at the peak — the top priority for most visitors to this 60,000-person town 90 minutes south of the capital, Tirana. I had other plans.
Albanians take pride in their ancient code of “besa,” which translates to “keep the promise” and leads them to prioritize guests and religion in their homes. For Albanian Jews or those who fled there from elsewhere in the Balkan Peninsula as German forces advanced during World War II, it promised safe harbor with Albanian families and even throughout entire towns. Albania is the only country in Europe whose Jewish population grew during the war.
Berat’s Solomoni Museum explains this history and that of earlier Jews in the area. At least, so I hear: Under the stone arches off the plaza, I found only locked doors.
Some people collect souvenir spoons or Starbucks city mugs when they travel, others collect memories. I collect fragments of Jewish identity. Planning this trip to Albania with friends, I insisted on a stop in Berat to see the small museum and wasn’t about to give up.
“I’ll call her,” offered the woman behind the desk at the Ethnographic Museum across the street. “Her” referred to the caretaker, the widow of the Orthodox Christian professor who started the museum — Albania’s only one dedicated to Jewish history — as a passion project funded by his pension. After Simon Vrusho’s death in 2019, the museum closed until a French-Albanian businessman heard the story and donated funds for it to reopen in a larger, permanent location.
But the call ended with bad news: The caretaker was sick, and the museum would remain closed. I grimaced. Seeing my reaction, the Ethnographic Museum docent did what all Albanians do — anything she could to make me feel better, to make sure I enjoyed my stay in her town. In this moment, that meant explaining everything she knew about Jews in Albania.
A view of the exterior of the Solomoni Museum, the country’s only museum about its Jewish history. (Naomi Tomky)
Jews first arrived in the country as Roman captives, almost 2,000 years ago. But the first major wave, especially to Berat, came from Spanish Jews fleeing the Inquisition. The Ottoman Empire, which ruled the area at the time, offered nominal religious freedom.
This month, the country’s prime minister announced plans to open a museum in Tirana dedicated to the stories of Albanian citizens who sheltered Jews during the Holocaust, when the country was occupied by both fascist Italy and later Nazi Germany. Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust remembrance authority, has recognized at least 75 Albanians as Righteous Among the Nations for saving Jews.
“You can see the street where the Jews lived,” the docent noted. I perked up and jotted down her directions.
Six blocks away, I found a simple black plaque with white lettering, barely the size of my forearm and posted high on a white brick wall. It read, “Rruga Hebrentje.” I stared at it. Two millennia of Jewish history in the country, and one closed museum forced me to take heart in a little sign saying “Jew Street.”
A sign in Berat, Albania, reads Rruga Hebrentje, or Jew Street. (Naomi Tomky)
Jews have company in this razing of history: The brutal post-World War II communist regime of dictator Enver Hoxha shuttered all religious institutions in 1967, declaring Albania the world’s first atheist state. His forces destroyed more than 2,000 mosques, churches and other sacred buildings, arresting priests, clerics and imams, many of whom disappeared forever into labor camps and hidden graves. “Religion is the opium of the people,” Hoxha wrote, quoting Karl Marx.
It felt selfish to pout about the lack of Jewish history when so much religion, so many people and huge swaths of Albanian culture had been so recently and violently erased. I joined my friends to explore Berat’s exceptions to the wanton destruction, starting at the Sultan’s Mosque, which dates to the 15th century and boasts an intricately carved wooden ceiling. We expected to admire just the outside, since our guidebook said the doors opened only around Friday prayer.
But as we stared at the somewhat ordinary façade, a friendly gentleman chatted us up. He spoke Albanian, Greek and a bit of Italian, the last of which proved useful at matching up to our Spanish and French. He told us a little about the mosque and the casual styles of observance by most Albanian Muslims, but we only realized he worked there when he invited us inside, retrieving a key when we responded with excitement.
We marveled at the green, red and gold ceiling, illuminated by a round chandelier. He asked if we wanted to climb up the minaret, warning us about the ascent. Narrower than the width of my hips, the tightly coiled spiral of 94 stairs featured a layer of dust and cobwebs that stuck to our bare feet. But at the top, swallowing my fear of heights, confined spaces and bugs, I reaped the reward: a 360-degree view of the “thousand windows” that give the town its nickname, flanking both banks of the Osumi River, and the double eagle of Albania’s red flag flying proudly above it all from the castle.
A view of the ceiling inside the Sultans Mosque in Berat. (Naomi Tomky)
Back on the ground, we thanked the man profusely and dropped donations in the box outside the mosque door as we prepared to say goodbye. Instead, he led us across the square to another building – the Halveti Tekke, or Teqe. Light flowed through the high stained-glass windows onto the walls of the 700-year-old gathering place belonging to the mystic order of Sufi Muslims called Bektashi. Chains hung from the ornate gold-leaf-decorated ceiling over a space where, according to our new friend, the bektashi, or dervishes, used to perform their whirling rituals.
“You want to go up?” he asked my friend’s eight-year-old daughter. She nodded excitedly, and he tossed her a ring of keys, pointing the way to the balcony. As she climbed the stairs, I noticed a pair of six-pointed stars framing the main doorway, a reminder of my original mission, even if they were likely not Stars of David.
But if I felt sad about missing out on the Jewish museum, I was heartened by what I did receive: a first-hand lesson on Albania’s life-saving culture of hospitality.
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The post Standing on Albania’s Jew Street, I learned firsthand the country’s lifesaving culture of hospitality appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Why the Super Bowl antisemitism ad uses a familiar slur
To the editors:
The sticky note cruelly slapped on a high school student’s backpack didn’t have to say “Dirty Jew.”
It could have been any one of dozens of other antisemitic slurs, and believe me, throughout my life and current line of work, I’ve seen and heard them all. At the Blue Square Alliance Against Hate, our Command Center closely tracks the spread of antisemitism online, in all its pernicious forms.
In his piece for the Forward about our new Super Bowl ad, PJ Grisar argues that the ad misses the mark by using “Dirty Jew,” characterizing it as old-fashioned and out of touch with the heavily coded, meme-driven ways students typically express antisemitism today.
We’ve seen all of those slurs gaining traction among younger people that Grisar gave as examples of how kids hate today.
But we didn’t pull “Dirty Jew” out of the history books. In creating the ad, the Blue Square Alliance made a conscious decision to follow the research. Our decisions are based on data, from the one billion social media posts we analyze daily, to our semi-annual 7,000-participant survey on American sentiment toward Jews and antisemitism, to our multi-stage audience testing that is foundational to our creative development.
Here’s the hard data: With nearly 500 million social media impressions since 2023, “Dirty Jew” is a slur that has managed to penetrate all corners of American discourse. Worse yet, its usage online has increased by 174% in the past three years, growing at a significantly higher rate than other slurs. And sadly, the last few years have seen more than a few disturbing and real incidents of the scenario in the ad play out in real life. In U.S. high schools. Right now. Not 1950.
This data-guided approach drove our selection of “Dirty Jew” among all the possible antisemitic slurs as the one to appear on the sticky note. Even though at first glance this phraseology may seem dated, it’s actually timeless and ubiquitous — scarily — and is even outpacing other slurs in frequency of use.
So, whether you’re a Boomer, Millennial or Gen Z, there’s no subtlety to what this ad is showing you: this is antisemitism, pure and simple. And, as Grisar acknowledges in his piece, the challenge of storytelling within a 30-second ad window requires a clear, unambiguous message. In that short time, clarity beats complexity.
It was also important to us to use the high school setting and focus our ad on a younger demographic because that is where we have seen the most concerning trends in antisemitism data. Our most recent survey data shows that Gen Z is three times more likely to witness antisemitism than older generations, and yet nearly twice as likely to say it is not a problem.
At the heart of this campaign is Blue Square Alliance’s dedication to addressing another data point: more than 100 million Americans say they are unengaged in the collective effort to stand up against anti-Jewish hate. We have spent the past few years closely studying this segment, and our surveys show that unengaged Americans often don’t know Jewish Americans, they aren’t familiar with antisemitism (their news feeds and social feeds don’t share the awful stories that we all know too well), and they don’t think antisemitism is a significant problem. Importantly, they don’t feel personal or societal pressure to be an ally.
That’s exactly why we’re using the Super Bowl — a cultural touchstone for the entire country — to raise awareness and model allyship. We test all of our ads, including “Sticky Note” and our earlier ads like “Tony,” specifically with this target audience. What we’re seeing is promising.
Among the unengaged, exposure to our messaging measurably shifts attitudes: viewers become 36% more familiar with recent antisemitic incidents and 41% more likely to see antisemitism as a major problem in the United States. And the impact doesn’t stop at awareness — it moves people to act. After seeing our ads, unengaged viewers are 27% more likely to say they would speak up when they witness antisemitism.
And our work to cultivate allies extends far beyond the television screen. We complement our social media, outdoor and audio campaigns with on-the-ground bridge-building to strengthen connections with Americans across communities and reach those who have not yet been meaningfully involved in this issue. Over the past year, we’ve expanded our programs to bring more people into the conversation, like our partnership with UNCF and Hillel International, now on a 14-stop “Unity Dinner” tour, to connect Black and Jewish students on campuses nationwide. And last fall, we joined with the Appeal of Conscience Foundation to launch “Stand Up Sunday,” an interfaith effort that mobilized hundreds of thousands of congregants across the nation to reject antisemitism and all faith-based hate.
Our founder, Robert Kraft, created the Blue Square Alliance Against Hate in 2019 because he recognized that reversing the rise in antisemitism would require both awareness and empathy.
With “Sticky Note,” we’re showing what it means to be an upstander and giving Americans a clear, accessible way to step off the sidelines. We won’t simply win over the unengaged through displays of toughness and bravado alone, as some people have suggested. To reach the unengaged majority, you have to meet them where they are — not where we, as a deeply committed Jewish community, already stand.
The post Why the Super Bowl antisemitism ad uses a familiar slur appeared first on The Forward.
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Amid Iran Standoff, Witkoff and Kushner Pose Aboard USS Abraham Lincoln Aircraft Carrier
Steve Witkoff (R) aboard the aircraft carrier Lincoln. Photo via i24 / social media used in accordance with Clause 27a of the Copyright Law
i24 News – Special US envoys Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner visited on Saturday the USS Abraham Lincoln aircraft carrier.
The duo, who led the US in the indirect nuclear talks with Iran on Friday, visited the aircraft carrier at the invitation of US Central Command chief, Adm. Brad Cooper.
The carrier arrived in the region last week as part of a US “armada” amid rising tensions with the Islamic regime of Iran. It is stationed in the Arabian Sea.
The visit came hours after US President Donald Trump stated that while the talks went well, “But I think Iran looks like they want to make a deal very badly, as they should. Last time, they decided maybe not to do it, but I think they probably feel differently. We’ll see what the deal is. It’ll be different than last time. And we have a big armada. We have a big fleet heading in that direction. It’ll be there pretty soon. So we’ll see how that works out.”
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Pentagon Says It Will Cut Academic Ties With Harvard University
U.S. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth arrives to administer the oath to U.S. Army National Guard soldiers during a re-enlistment ceremony at the base of the Washington Monument in Washington, D.C., U.S., February 6, 2026. REUTERS/Jonathan Ernst
Pentagon chief Pete Hegseth said on Friday his department was ending professional military education, fellowships, and certificate programs with Harvard University, marking the Trump administration’s latest escalation against the school.
President Donald Trump’s administration has cracked down on top US universities, including Harvard, over a range of issues such as pro-Palestinian protests against US ally Israel’s assault on Gaza, diversity programs, transgender policies and climate initiatives.
“Starting now and beginning in the 2026-27 school year, I am discontinuing all graduate level Professional Military Education (PME), all fellowships and certificate programs between Harvard University and the War Department for active duty service members,” Hegseth, who himself holds a master’s degree in public policy from the Harvard Kennedy School, said on X.
The policy will apply to service members enrolling in future programs while those currently enrolled will be allowed to finish their courses, Hegseth said.
He also added that the Pentagon will evaluate similar relationships with other universities in the coming weeks.
Rights advocates have raised free speech, academic freedom and due process concerns over the government’s actions against universities.
A Harvard spokesperson directed Reuters to a page on the history of the university’s ties with the US military that says Harvard has played a “significant role” in America’s military traditions since the nation’s founding.
TRUMP-HARVARD TENSIONS CONTINUE
The university has previously sued the Trump administration over the government’s attempt to freeze federal funding.
Hegseth accused Harvard of “hate America activism,” also calling the university antisemitic in a reference to pro-Palestinian protests.
Protesters, including some Jewish groups, say the government wrongly equates criticism of Israel’s assault on Gaza with antisemitism and advocacy for Palestinian rights with support for extremism.
Harvard has condemned discrimination on campus. Its antisemitism and Islamophobia task forces found last year that Jews and Muslims faced bigotry after the start of Israel’s war in Gaza following an October 2023 Hamas attack.
Trump’s attempts to freeze federal funds for Harvard have faced legal resistance and the two sides have failed to reach a deal thus far.
Trump said this week his administration was seeking $1 billion from Harvard to settle probes into school policies.
Some Ivy League schools have reached agreements with the Trump administration and accepted certain government demands. Columbia University has agreed to pay more than $220 million to the government while Brown University has agreed to pay $50 million to support local workforce development.