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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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Saul Rubinek plays a version of himself in ‘Playing Shylock’
דער מאָנטרעאַלער אַקטיאָר סאָל רובינעק האָט אַ סך װאָס צו דערציילן.
ער איז דערצו אויך אַ גרויסער מאמין אינעם כּוח פֿון דערציילן.
„דערציילן איז אַלץ,“ זאָגט ער.
טאַקע די פֿראַזע האָט רובינעק, בעת אַן אינטערװיו מיט מיר, אויסגעקליבן װי אַ פּרוּװ איבערצוזעצן דעם טיטל פֿון זײַן אויטאָביאָגראַפֿישן ראָמאַן, All in the Telling. אַרויס פֿון דרוק אין 2025, איז דער ראָמאַן אַ האַלב־פֿיקטיװע כראָניק פֿון זײַנע עטלערן, ביידע פֿון דער שארית־הפּליטה, און זײַנע פֿאַרװיקלטע באַציִונגען מיט זיי און מיט זייערע טראַװמאַטישע לעבנס־געשיכטעס.
דער טיטל װאָלט זיך אויך גוט צוגעפּאַסט צו זײַן אויפֿטריט אין דער מאָנאָדראַמע Playing Shylock („דאָס שפּילן שײַלאָק“), געשריבן פֿונעם קאַנאַדער דראַמאַטורג מאַרק לירין־יאָנג. די פּיעסע וועט מען שפּילן ביזן 7טן דעצעמבער אין פּאָלאָנסקי־שעקספּיר־צענטער אין ברוקלין.
במשך פֿון דער פּיעסע, דערציילט ער, פֿאַרציילט ער, רעדט ער זיך אַראָפּ פֿון האַרצן. און דער אינהאַלט פֿון זײַנע שפֿעדיקע רייד? אַ פֿיקטיװע, אַנולירטע אויפֿפֿירונג פֿון שעקספּירס „דער קויפֿמאַן פֿון װענעדיג“. במשך פֿון זײַנע צװיי שעה אויף דער בינע הערן מיר די צרות פֿון אַן אַקטיאָר, װאָס האָט געדאַרפֿט שפּילן די ראָלע פֿון שײַלאָק אין דער דאָזיקער פּראָדוקציע: צרות מיט די פּראָדוצענטן, מיטן הײַנטצײַטיקן אַנטיסעמיטיזם און שמאָלקעפּיקײט, און צרות מיט זיך אַליין — װײַל רובינעק שפּילט טאַקע אַ װערסיע פֿון זיך אַליין אין דער אויפֿפֿירונג.
די דראַמע איז אַ רעװידירטער נוסח פֿון אַ פּיעסע, „שײַלאָק“, װאָס לירין־יאָנג האָט צוערשט אָנגעשריבן אין 1996. (אַגבֿ, יוסף באָװשאָװערס באַקאַנטע ייִדישע איבערזעצונג פֿון דער פּיעסע, װאָס מען האָט אַ מאָל געשפּילט אויף דער צווייטער עװעניו, הייסט אויך „שײַלאָק“.) אינעם נײַעם נוסח פֿון לירין־יאָנגס װערק, שפּיגלט די פּיעסע אָפּ פֿאַרשיידענע פֿאַקטן פֿונעם הויפּט־אַקטיאָרס לעבן, און דער עולם װייסט קיין מאָל נישט װאָסער פּרט איז אַן אויסגעטראַכטער און װאָסערער איז טאַקע אַ טשיקאַװעס פֿון רובינעקס לעבן. אין דעם ליגט אַ סך פֿון דער פּיעסעס שפּאַנונג און אומזיכערקייט.
אין עטלעכע מאָמענטן, דעקלאַמירט רובינעק שײַלאָקס מאָנאָלאָגן אין דער שטים פֿונעם טאַטן — אַפֿילו אַ מאָל מיט אַ גמרא־ניגון („װער דען װאָלט געשפּילט שײַלאָק אַזוי?“ האָט ער מיך שפּעטער רעטאָריש געפֿרעגט). בײַם סוף פֿון דער פּיעסע, װאָס איז כּמעט אין גאַנצן אויף ענגליש, הערן מיר די באַרימטע רעדע „האָט דען אַ ייִד ניט קיין אויגן?“, דװקא אויף מאַמע־לשון.
„אין זײַן ספּעציפֿישקייט, װערט ייִדיש אוניװערסאַל,“ זאָגט רובינעק, װאָס האָט אויך געשפּילט אויף ייִדיש אינעם פֿילם Shttl („שטטל“, 2002) און די ראָלע פֿון הירש ראַסיינער (אויף ענגליש) אינעם פֿילם The Quarrel (די קריג, 1991), באַזירט אויף חיים גראַדעס דערציילונג. „אין זײַן ספּעציפֿישקייט װעגן אונדזערע איבערלעבונגען װי מענטשן, װי ייִדן, קענען מיר זיך ׳האַלטן בײַ די הענט׳ מיט דער גאַנצער װעלט.“
טיילװײַז האָט דער אַקטיאָר טאַקע דורכגעפֿירט דעם שמועס מיט מיר אויף ייִדיש, װאָס, ער איז מודה, קומט אים אָן שװערלעך, נאָר װאָס ער האָט בײַ זיך „נישט אין קאָפּ, נאָר אין האַרצן.“
איך האָב אים געפֿרעגט, צי ער פּרוּווט טאַקע פֿאַרגופֿן אין דער פּיעסע די אינטאָנאַציעס און זשעסטן פֿונעם טאַטן?
„איך האָב אַפֿילו ניט געדאַרפֿט פּרוּװן. אַלע קינדער קענען נאָכמאַכן זייערע טאַטע־מאַמעס,“ האָט ער געזאָגט. „דאָס גאַנצע לעבן האָב איך געזען װי דער טאַטע טרעט אויף פֿאַר משפּחה און פֿרײַנד. אַ נאַטירלעכער דערציילער איז ער געװען.“
מאַכט דער רמב״ן: „מעשׂה אָבֿות סימן לבנים“ — די טאַטן פֿון די עלטערן און די עלטערנס עלטערן זאָגן פֿאָרויס דאָס לעבן פֿון די קינדער.
רובינעקס טאַטע, ישׂראל רובינעק, אַ געבוירענער אין לאָדזש, האָט אָנגעפֿירט מיט אַ טעאַטער־טרופּע אין די־פּי־לאַגער פֿערנװאַלד, אין בײַערן. רובינעק איז טאַקע געבוירן געװאָרן אין דער זעלבער נאַכט, וואָס דער טאַטע איז דאָרט אויפֿגעטראָטן ווי דער גולם אין לייװיקס באַרימטער דראַמאַטישע פּאָעמע, אין 1948.
אָט דער צופֿאַל, דאָס געשעעניש, שמעקט מיט באַשערטקייט, מיט הייליקייט אַפֿילו. די אָ הייליקייט באַמערקט רובינעק אין משך פֿון „דאָס שפּילן שײַלאָק“, אין איינער פֿון דער פּיעסעס שטאַרקסטע רעפּליקן:
„איך האָב קיין מאָל ניט געגלייבט אין גאָט. איך גלייב אין דעם, אין טעאַטער. דאָס איז הייליק.“
אָבער אויך אין ייִדיש גלייבט ער. „ייִדיש, װי טעאַטער, איז קאָמונאַל — און איז הייליק,“ האָט ער מיר געזאָגט. „װי לאַנג האָט מען געזאָגט אַז טעאַטער איז טויט? אַזוי אויך מיט ייִדיש.“
דער אַקטיאָר זאָגט אַז עס גלוסט זיך אים איצט שפּילן אין ייִדישן טעאַטער, און ער האַלט אין אַרומרעדן מעגלעכע פּראָיעקטן.
אויך מיר, סײַ צוקוקער סײַ מיט־אַרטיסטן, קוקן אַרויס אויף דעם — אויף נאָך אַזאַ קאָמונאַלער, עקסטרע־הייליקער איבערלעבונג אין טונקעלן טעאַטער־זאַל, װוּ גאָר ניט איז ניט קאָנקרעט און קלאָר.
װי רובינעק זאָגט אין דער נײַער אויפֿפֿירונג, מיט פֿאַררייטלטע באַקן און שטאַרק אַקטיװירטע ברוגז־מוסקלען: „דער טעאַטער איז ניט קיין safe space (געזיכערט אָרט).“
דאָס הייסט, דער טעאַטער איז פֿאָרט אַ פֿאָרום פֿאַר פֿראַגעס, חילוקי־דעות, און גײַסטיקן געראַנגל.
זאָל זײַן אַזוי.
די פּיעסע וועט מען שפּילן ביזן 7טן דעצעמבער אין פּאָלאָנסקי־שעקספּיר־צענטער אין ברוקלין. צו קויפֿן בילעטן גיט אַ קוועטש דאָ.
The post Saul Rubinek plays a version of himself in ‘Playing Shylock’ appeared first on The Forward.
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Hasidic leader defends support for Mamdani. ‘I’m taking beatings to save you’
Zohran Mamdani’s election as New York City mayor is further deepening divisions within the Jewish community, with some mainstream organizations now adopting a wait-and-see approach while others denounce him as an “enemy.” At the same time, support for Mamdani among certain Hasidic groups is drawing growing attention.
In a recent tense interview with Mishpacha magazine, a weekly conservative publication widely read in the Haredi community, Rabbi Moshe Indig, a political leader of the sect known as the Ahronim, was pressed to defend his public embrace of Mamdani in the final days of the mayoral race. (The Ahronim is led by Rabbi Aaron Teitelbaum from Kiryas Joel.)
“People call me a kapo,” Indig told the magazine, using a term that originally referred to Jewish inmates at Nazi concentration camps who were assigned to assist the SS. “Anyone who knows what a kapo is can see that I am the exact opposite — a kapo beat you up to save himself. I’m taking beatings to save you.”
Indig’s endorsement of Mamdani set off a firestorm within the community, exposing sharp internal divides over whether the candidate deserved the trust of many Jews. Criticism of Mamdani intensified after the election, following his mixed response to the protest outside the Park East Synagogue, which featured anti-Israel and antisemitic slogans. Mamdani, through a spokesperson, questioned the use of a sacred place for an event promoting migration to Israel, while also discouraging the language that was used at the protest.
“I’m taking missiles over this, not just bullets,” Indig said in the interview. He explained that his support stemmed from Mamdani’s quiet, sustained outreach to Haredi leaders and his clear status as the race’s frontrunner, saying Mamdani had simply earned the endorsement.
“I didn’t promise him votes,” Indig said. “I explained that because the community was so convinced of his antisemitism, I wouldn’t be able to get the majority of people to vote for him.”
Mamdani, he said, replied that he wasn’t seeking votes so much as an opportunity to show he could earn the community’s trust and disprove their perceptions of him. “I saw that as a beautiful invitation to our community,” Indig said.
Part of Mamdani’s outreach included a visit to Hasidic leaders in South Williamsburg during Sukkot and an open letter in Hasidic Yiddish that outlined his plans to combat antisemitism and advance his affordability agenda.
Andrew Cuomo, who won a majority of the Jewish vote and dominated Hasidic areas in Brooklyn on Election Day, failed to do that sort of politicking, Indig said. “Cuomo, who was supposed to be the favorite of the Jews, didn’t ask to go to any sukkah. Not one,” he said.
Indig’s endorsement of Mamdani marks the third consecutive mayoral race in which the Ahronim has demonstrated its political influence by backing the eventual winner, while other Hasidic blocs supported rival candidates. In 2021, they endorsed Eric Adams over Andrew Yang, who was favored by most leading Hasidic sects. And in 2013, they backed Bill de Blasio, who narrowly avoided a runoff in the Democratic primary by just 5,000 votes, while the Zalonim and other groups supported Bill Thompson, then seen as the frontrunner.
“We are currently the only Yidden with access to the future City Hall,” he boasted, using the Yiddish word for Jews. He hopes that changes, he said.
Last month, Mamdani named more than a dozen diverse Jewish leaders and activists to his transition team. Monica Klein, the Mamdani transition’s communications director, said the subcommittees are preparing to implement his “agenda of safety and security for Jewish New Yorkers and everyone else who calls this city home, including his pledge for an 800% increase in anti-hate crime prevention.”
Perceptions of Mamdani have yet to change. A recent poll of 745 American Jews found that 67% believed Mamdani’s election would make New York City’s Jews less safe, while 6% believed they would be safer. The Anti-Defamation League, which clashed with Mamdani during the election, launched a monitor to track Mamdani’s appointments and policies. The ADL also criticized the inclusion of Tamika Mallory as a member of the transition committee on community safety. Mallory co-founded the 2017 Women’s March, then stepped down from the organization after criticism over her ties to Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan and her refusal to affirm Israel’s right to exist.
Indiq affirmed that he’s comfortable with his decision. “Getting guarantees from him before the election gives me critical leverage afterward — if he fails to be a friend, I can call him on his promise to be there for us,” he said.
The post Hasidic leader defends support for Mamdani. ‘I’m taking beatings to save you’ appeared first on The Forward.
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Israel’s Netanyahu Says Syria Deal Possible, Expects Buffer Zone
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu participates in the state memorial ceremony for the fallen of the Iron Swords War on Mount Herzl, in Jerusalem, Oct. 16, 2025. Photo: Alex Kolomoisky/Pool via REUTERS
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said on Tuesday a deal with Syria is possible and he expects Syrian authorities to establish a demilitarized buffer zone from Damascus to Mount Hermon and other areas.
Netanyahu spoke a day after US President Donald Trump, whose administration has been trying to broker a non-aggression pact between the two countries, said it was very important that Israel maintained a “strong and true dialogue” with Damascus.
Syria does not formally recognize Israel, which following the fall of longtime Syrian leader Bashar al-Assad in December moved troops into a buffer zone along the Syrian border to secure a military position to prevent terrorists from launching attacks against the Jewish state.
The previously demilitarized zone in the Golan Heights, a strategic region on Israel’s northern border previously controlled by Syria and later annexed by Israel, was established under the 1974 Disengagement of Forces Agreement between Damascus and Jerusalem that ended the Yom Kippur War. However, Israel considered the agreement void after the collapse of Assad’s regime.
“What we expect Syria to do is, of course, to establish a demilitarized buffer zone from Damascus to the buffer area, including the approaches to Mount Hermon and the Hermon peak,” Netanyahu said while visiting wounded soldiers in central Israel. “We hold these areas in order to ensure the security of Israel’s citizens, and that is what obligates us.”
He added: “With goodwill and an understanding of these principles, it is possible to reach an agreement with the Syrians, but we will stand by our principles in any case.”
Trump has backed Syria‘s new leader, Ahmed al-Sharaa, while Israel has voiced wariness over Sharaa’s past links to Islamist militancy, but has engaged in efforts to broker a deal.
An Israeli raid in southern Syria on Friday killed 13 Syrians, Syrian state media reported. The Israeli military said it had targeted a Lebanese Islamist militant group there. Netanyahu on Tuesday was visiting soldiers wounded in the clash.