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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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Hochul makes play for Orthodox voters with tuition relief and synagogue buffer zones
New York Gov. Kathy Hochul is making an early play for Jewish voters ahead in her reelection bid, coupling a major initiative to help families pay for yeshivas with tough-on-antisemitism legislation.
The moves aid Orthodox Jewish voting blocs — before her Republican challenger, Bruce Blakeman, gains traction.
A recent Siena University poll of 804 voters found Hochul leading Blakeman statewide by 16 points, 49% to 33%. But among the smaller sample of 65 Jewish voters, the race was far tighter, with Hochul leading just 46% to 41%.
Central to Hochul’s outreach was her announcement last week, during a private meeting with Orthodox leaders, that New York will opt into President Donald Trump’s new federal school-choice tax credit program. Known as the Education Freedom Tax Credit, it allows taxpayers to receive up to a $1,700 federal tax credit for donations to scholarship-granting organizations, which can then fund tuition assistance and other educational expenses.
A spokesperson for the governor confirmed that Hochul is supportive of the program as part of a broader commitment to helping families afford nonpublic education. Emma Wallner, the spokesperson, added that the administration is reviewing the federal program to ensure there are no “poison pills that could harm New York’s education system.”
For Orthodox voters, tuition relief has long ranked alongside Israel and antisemitism as a political priority. In 2014, former Gov. Andrew Cuomo made a last-minute effort to court the community by pledging to expand a state tuition assistance program to cover yeshivas as “a matter of justice.” Cuomo ultimately won 70% of the vote in Borough Park, one of the largest Orthodox strongholds. That proposal later failed in the state legislature.
Hochul and her allies remain mindful of the results of the 2022 governor’s race, when former Rep. Lee Zeldin came within five percentage points of defeating her. Zeldin, who is Jewish, was powered by strong Orthodox support.
That memory looms large as Hochul prepares for a likely matchup against Bruce Blakeman, the first Jewish executive of Nassau County, who has positioned himself as a tough-on-crime conservative focused on antisemitism and support for Israel.
Blakeman has so far struggled to gain broader traction statewide and has yet to build deep relationships within the Orthodox political infrastructure in Brooklyn and Rockland County. Orthodox voting blocs, a traditionally Republican-leaning constituency, have repeatedly backed incumbents and even Democrats when communal priorities align.
A spokesperson for the Blakeman campaign did not immediately respond to questions from the Forward about whether the Republican candidate supports the tuition-relief initiative or plans to offer a proposal of his own.
Addressing rising antisemitism
Blakeman, who met with Trump at the White House last week to discuss his candidacy, could further face a challenge presenting himself as a stronger protector of the estimated 1.8 million Jews across the state amid rising antisemitism.
Hochul, who endorsed New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani last year after remaining neutral during the Democratic primary, has been seen by some in the Jewish community as a counterweight within the Democratic Party to the mayor, whose handling of antisemitism and criticism of Israel has left many Jewish voters uneasy.
The Democratic incumbent has publicly opposed several key Mamdani priorities, like universal free buses and a millionaire tax, and has also distanced herself from Mamdani on Israel and pro-Palestinian protests on campus.
Hochul is moving fast on that front, too.
Last week, she announced a tentative budget deal that includes a measure to create a 25-foot buffer zone to protect houses of worship statewide from protest. “We’ve seen demonstrations targeting faith communities outside synagogues, mosques and churches,” Hochul told reporters. This is not free expression, this is harassment, and it has no place in the state of New York.” The measure would go further than a more limited enactment passed by the New York City Council requiring safety plans for protests near houses of worship, which Mamdani allowed to become law without his signature.
Hochul has also proposed an additional $35 million in security funding for vulnerable institutions, bringing total state spending on such protection to $131 million since she took office.
The legislation remains unresolved in Albany. Assembly Speaker Carl Heastie told reporters Thursday there was “no deal” yet on the broader state budget package. Some Jewish lawmakers have also criticized the proposed 25-foot buffer zone as too narrow, arguing it should be expanded to at least 100 feet, similar to protections already in place around polling sites.
Blakeman told the Forward last week that he would push to expand the buffer zone if elected governor. “I think 25 feet is too close,” he said.
David Greenfield, a former New York City Council member who introduced Hochul to Orthodox leaders when she became the lieutenant governor candidate in 2014 and boosted her in 2022, said that Hochul is “cementing her status as the best friend the Jewish community has had in Albany in decades” by pushing this agenda. “At a moment when Jewish New Yorkers are looking for leaders who will actually show up for them, Hochul keeps showing up,” said Greenfield, now head of the Met Council charity organization.
Blakeman’s play
Blakeman has also made fighting antisemitism a central theme of his campaign. On Sunday, Blakeman addressed a rally held by Zionist groups in Queens, after swastikas were found spray-painted on synagogues and homes in Forest Hills and Rego Park. “We have to make sure that every antisemite knows that we will not back down, that we will stand up to it,” he said in his remarks. Speaking to the New York Post, Blakeman also called Mamdani “un-American” and “antisemitic.”
Last week, Blakeman held a press conference in Brighton Beach, a Brooklyn neighborhood with a significant Russian-speaking Jewish population, calling for the cancellation of a planned concert by Yulduz Usmonova, an Uzbek singer accused of making antisemitic statements. “Never again will we tolerate antisemitism or attacks on the Jewish people anywhere in the world, and especially here in Brooklyn, with this huge Jewish community of which my wife Segal was a member of,” Blakeman said.
The battle for the Jewish vote traditionally unfolds later in the season, closer to the High Holidays season, when voters pay more attention to the election. But Hochu’s recent moves signal she is not waiting until the fall to lock up support from a swing and reliable voting bloc.
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‘Antisemitism Crisis in America’: Swastika Graffiti Again Appears Across New York City Boro
Swastikas graffitied in Forest Park in Queens, New York City over the weekend. Photo: Screenshot.
Antisemitic vandals in Queens, New York City are painting the town Nazi red, having added over the weekend two new incidents of swastika graffiti to a spree of hate crimes targeting Jewish institutions and homes across the borough.
As seen in photographs shared on social media, the unknown suspects graffitied some eleven swastikas at Highland Park and Forest Park for locals to discover on Monday — just one week after perpetrating the same crime at four Jewish owned properties in Rego Park and Forest Hills.
“This is yet another hateful incident meant to intimidate Jewish New Yorkers and divide our city,” New York City Council speaker of the house Julie Menin said in a statement posted on the X social media platform. “We want to be clear: we cannot and will not accept this as normal.”
The vandalism wave came just as the New York City Police Department (NYPD) announced that an ongoing surge in antisemitic hate crimes in the metropolis, which is home to the largest Jewish population outside of Israel, continues unabated.
According to newly released data the agency published on Monday, Jews were targeted in 60 percent of all confirmed hate crimes last month, despite making up just 10 percent of the city’s population.
In April, the police confirmed 30 antisemitic incidents out of 50 total hate crimes in the city. As for all reported/suspected hate crimes, 38 out of the total of 65 targeted Jews.
The NYPD had previously reported suspected, but unconfirmed, hate crime incidents. In February, the police began reporting confirmed incidents instead. And then after receiving scrutiny, the department began reporting both suspected and confirmed hate crimes in March.
Regardless of the methodology, the majority of all hate crimes in New York City this year have targeted Jews, especially the Orthodox community, continuing a surge in antisemitism that has swept the city after the start of the Israel-Hamas war in Gaza in October 2023.
In just eight days between the end of October and the beginning of November 2024, for example, three Hasidim, including children, were brutally assaulted in the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn. In one instance, an Orthodox man was accosted by two assailants, one masked, who “chased and beat him” after he refused to surrender his cellphone in compliance with what appeared to have been an attempted robbery. In another incident, an African American male smacked a 13-year-old Jewish boy who was commuting to school on his bike in the heavily Jewish neighborhood. Less than a week earlier, an assailant slashed a visibly Jewish man in the face as he was walking in Brooklyn.
In November, just days after the election of Zohran Mamdani as mayor of New York City, hundreds of people amassed outside a prominent synagogue and clamored for violence against Jews.
The change in New York City’s climate since Mamdani’s election is palpable, Jewish advocacy groups have said. On his first day in office in January, Mamdani voided the city government’s adoption of the IHRA definition, lifted the ban on contracts with companies boycotting Israel, and modified key provisions of an executive order directing law enforcement to monitor anti-Israel protests held near synagogues.
“Mayor Mamdani pledged to build an inclusive New York and combat all forms of hate, including antisemitism,” a coalition of leading Jewish groups said in a statement addressing the changes enacted by the new administration. “But when the new administration hit reset on many of Mayor Adams’ executive orders, it reversed … significant protections against antisemitism.”
Mayor Mamdani has denounced the swastika graffiti as a “deliberate act of antisemitic hatred” and said that he has assigned the NYPD’s Hate Crimes Task Force to investigate it.
Follow Dion J. Pierre @DionJPierre.
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Middlebury College Hillel votes to rebrand, distancing from parent on Israel
The student leaders of the campus Hillel at a small liberal arts school in Vermont have voted to rename the student group, moving to distance it from an international organization they say is too pro-Israel.
Middlebury College’s Hillel student board made the decision last week after a yearlong consultation process with active participants in the campus organization, university administrators and Hillel International leadership, according to the student group’s co-presidents. The board also voted to disaffiliate from Hillel International, but were told by Middlebury’s administration that they lacked the authority to take that action, the co-presidents told the Middlebury campus newspaper.
The student group, renamed to Jewish Association of Middlebury, will continue to perform similar functions as Hillels do on hundreds of campuses around the world — holding events around Shabbat and Jewish holidays and other Jewish religious and social programming. The board says it will maintain an on-paper link with Hillel without adhering to its guidelines.
“While Middlebury College will continue to be affiliated with Hillel International, we believe this name better reflects our local community,” the board wrote last week in an email to students, according to the Campus, the school newspaper. This decision was made to reflect the desires of our diverse student body, and it doesn’t endorse any one political persuasion.”
Hillel International did not respond to a request for comment.
Hillel has said it is “steadfastly committed” to supporting Israel as a Jewish and democratic state, and it prohibits association with student organizations that endorse the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement.
The renaming at Middlebury comes amid a nationwide campaign against Hillel on college campuses, premised on the organization’s involvement in Israel, including sending students there to volunteer.
Hillel buildings have been occasional targets for pro-Palestinian protests since Oct. 7. More recently, anti-Zionist student groups have pushed to defund campus Hillels or disaffiliate them from the century-old Jewish organization.
The student senate of the New School in New York recently voted to defund its campus Hillel and call on the school to stop partnering with the organization — a vote the college administration rejected, saying that it did not have the authority to act. A group of Jewish students and faculty at New York University has also called to boycott Hillel.
But Middlebury College is believed to be the first school where the push to untether from the international movement were leaders of the campus Hillel itself.
Hillel/JAM co-president Caroline Jaffe told the Campus that conversations around disaffiliating from Hillel dated back to Nov. 2023, when Middlebury Hillel sold challah to raise money for World Central Kitchen, a humanitarian aid group that was delivering food to Palestinians in Gaza.
“We got a stern email from Hillel International, saying, ‘Why are you guys raising money for Gaza?’” Jaffe told the Campus. “I think that was the first time I remember [thinking], oh wow, this really isn’t aligned with my Jewish values at all, to be like, ‘Why are you guys feeding these starving people?’”
In response to Hillel’s concerns, the student group edited the Instagram post about the event to say it was a fundraiser for WCK’s team in “Israel and” Gaza.
The Forward has reached out to Jaffe for comment.
After that incident, the student-led board of Middlebury Hillel began soliciting feedback about possible disaffiliation in online forums, in person and through anonymous forms. The response, Jaffe said, was broadly supportive of disaffiliation, leading the board to schedule a vote on the matter.
Rabbi Danielle Stillman, the campus chaplain and the Hillel’s rabbi, told the Campus that the students had received support from college administrators, who helped them “think through the different perspectives of various stakeholders in the community who might be impacted by a name change.” (Stillman, who is not employed by Hillel International, did not respond to an inquiry.)
A week before the Nov. 2025 vote, however, the college administration informed Jaffe that the board did not have the power to rename the group or disaffiliate from Hillel. The board voted anyway, resulting in a 7-1 recommendation to disaffiliate.
“Let us be clear: this decision is not a rebuke of Zionism, Zionist students, or the importance of Israel to many in the Jewish community,” a Dec. 2025 email to JAM membership read. “Rather, it reflects a desire to create the most welcoming and pluralistic space possible.”
At the university’s behest, the students then met virtually with Hillel International, whose representative reiterated that the board members must universally adopt Hillel International’s political views and values about Israel, according to the Campus. But the representative also conceded that it couldn’t stop the students from changing the organization’s name.
“We said we want to disaffiliate, and they said you can’t. And we said, well, we’re going to change the name anyway. And they said, we can’t stop you,” Jaffe said.
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