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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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At a Georgetown College Republicans event, member of Germany’s far-right party tells students the Holocaust is ‘used as a weapon’
Marc Bernhard, a member of Germany’s far-right AfD party, told Georgetown students Monday night at an event hosted by the university’s College Republicans that the Holocaust is “used as a weapon against Germany.”
The Forward obtained recordings of parts of the event, which was billed as Bernhard presenting about “mass migration and the future of the West.”
The event followed the AfD’s historic victory in a German state election last month, with party leaders campaigning on the promise of mass deportations and a rejection of the country’s culture of Holocaust remembrance.
During the Q&A period, an audience member asked Bernhard about the AfD’s “opinion on the Holocaust.”
“Our opinion? It’s a very, very large party,” Bernhard responded.
“Do you think German education overcompensates or you know, like, overapologizes?” the audience member followed up.
Bernhard said that over the last decade, accusations of Nazism had become “inflationary, because everyone who does not have the opinion of the government is a Nazi. So nobody takes this serious anymore, because it’s a joke.”
The “Holocaust is also used as a weapon against Germany,” Bernhard told the crowd of about 40. “Why is Poland telling us we need to pay reparations and things like this?”
He blamed anti-Jewish sentiment on “anti-fascists,” saying left-wing antisemitism was “why a lot of Jews leave Germany or a lot of Jews leave France, because they don’t feel secure anymore, especially in Berlin.”
Bernhard, meanwhile, has faced an antisemitism controversy of his own. Last January, he led a campaign to place tens of thousands of fake deportation plane tickets in voters’ mailboxes. The fake tickets read “ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT” in place of a passenger’s name.
The campaign drew comparisons to Nazi-era propaganda that used mock travel documents to encourage Jews to leave Germany, including one that read “free ticket to Jerusalem … never to return.”
Asked about the parallels by PBS FRONTLINE in November 2025, Bernhard said he was unaware of that history.
“Yeah, well, I’m not familiar with these actions,” Bernhard told FRONTLINE at the time. “To be honest, I don’t know them, nor was I aware of them.”
In a statement provided to the Forward, Georgetown College Republicans stood by its invitation to Bernhard, writing that “The AfD is currently leading national polls, and its growing support deserves serious engagement. Just as Republicans reject the American left’s efforts to dismiss our positions as extreme, we too reject the German Socialist Government’s labelling of AfD as extremist.”
The club added that “allegations of antisemitism are totally baseless.”
This wasn’t the first time Georgetown College Republicans hosted a member of the AfD: In 2025, the club hosted the party’s deputy leader, Markus Frohnmai.
The club also drew controversy in March for an X post from the club’s account saying “Let’s Be Honest: Muslims have no place in American society. Their religion is incompatible with our Christian Nation.” Georgetown Republicans said on Instagram that the post was “inconsistent with the values of our organization” and “promptly deleted.”
At Georgetown, Bernhard also engaged in anti-Muslim rhetoric: “We have this problem with people who are not with our culture or with our tradition,” Bernhard said. “Always, where you see problems it’s with Muslims. We don’t have problems with Ukrainians. We don’t have problems with Polish.”
Bernhard’s remarks drew frequent interruptions. The Georgetown Voice, the campus student-run magazine, reported that members of The Georgetown Heckler, Georgetown’s satirical publication, staged a coordinated ringtone prank, with 15 people each setting their ringtones to “funny noises” that went off as Bernhard spoke.
The Jewish Caucus of the College Democrats of America and Georgetown College Democrats also issued a joint statement condemning the College Republican’s decision to host Bernhard.
“We want Georgetown to put the safety of Jewish students above a platform for a foreign politician whose ideology is steeped in antisemitism and Holocaust revisionism,” Leo Auerbach, a senior at Georgetown and vice chair of the Jewish Caucus of College Democrats, told the Forward. “I think that antisemitism has to be called out, no matter who it comes from, whether it’s politically convenient or not.”
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In Israel’s elections, where are the women?
On Oct. 27, Israelis will go to the polls at one of the most consequential moments in the country’s history. After years of war, trauma and political division, the next Knesset and government will face decisions that will shape Israel’s future for years to come.
But one question deserves significant attention: Where are the women?
Israel has long celebrated its history of women’s leadership. Golda Meir became one of the world’s first women prime ministers. Generations of Israeli women have built institutions, led social movements and fought to advance equality and democracy.
Yet despite this history, women have never achieved equal representation in Israel’s highest political institutions. Their representation has declined in key positions, and when Israel formed its war cabinet following Oct. 7, 2023, no women were included in its core membership. Women have also remained significantly underrepresented in high-level diplomatic and totally absent in peace negotiations.
For example, the senior Israeli delegation to the hostage deal negotiations in Doha in January 2025 consisted of four men, with no women among its publicly identified members. Similarly, men dominated the leadership of diplomatic negotiations concerning arrangements in Lebanon and coordination meetings regarding Iran’s nuclear program.
The numbers tell an important story.
According to a March 2026 analysis by the Israel Democracy Institute, only 31 of Israel’s 120 Knesset members were women—approximately 26 percent, below the global average of 27.5 percent. Israel’s international ranking for women’s parliamentary representation has fallen sharply, from 61st in 2022 to 92nd out of 181 countries in April 2026.
Women held just five of 24 cabinet positions, fewer than 21 percent, a substantial decline from the previous government, when women occupied approximately one-third of ministerial positions.
For more than 17 years, no woman has held any of Israel’s four most senior political positions: prime minister, foreign minister, defense minister or finance minister.
The disparity extends beyond elected office. A Knesset research report found that women accounted for 64 percent of Israel’s civil servants in 2024, yet held only 9 percent of the highest-ranking positions.
These figures are particularly troubling because, throughout Israel’s recent crises, women have demonstrated their indispensable leadership.
Since the Oct. 7 Hamas attacks on Israel, women have mobilized emergency responses, supported displaced families and kept civil society organizations functioning under extraordinary circumstances. Many have done so while confronting fear, grief and uncertainty in their own families.
Women who lead nonprofit organizations, advocacy movements and social-change initiatives develop expertise directly relevant to government. They understand how policies affect people, how institutions function, how to mobilize resources and how to bring communities together around shared challenges.
These are precisely the skills needed in public leadership.
But at the very moment Israel has depended on women’s leadership, women have had too little influence over the decisions shaping its future.
Israel’s electoral system places considerable importance on the composition of political party lists. Voters choose parties, and the placement of candidates on those lists affects who ultimately enters the Knesset. Some parties have adopted gender-balanced lists, while others have included far fewer women in positions with realistic prospects of election.
Efforts are emerging to change that. Seventeen women make up a majority of the slate for Beyachad (Together) — the merger of Naftali Bennett’s previously unnamed faction with Yair Lapid’s Yesh Atid. Meanwhile, even though ultra-Orthodox parties do not allow women to be their candidates to the Knesset, a new party called Haredi Public has included two women on their slate.
Two women whose candidacies have been particularly meaningful to me are Moran Zer Katzenstein and Moria Rodal Silfen, whose leadership I have had the privilege of witnessing firsthand through The Collective, Elluminate’s leadership advancement program. Through a Jewish and feminist lens, we invest in, train, connect and elevate women leaders advancing social change. Both women have demonstrated extraordinary courage and leadership in confronting some of Israel’s most pressing challenges.
Katzenstein, founder of Bonot Alternativa, a nonpartisan women’s organization advocating for women’s rights and
democracy, is running with The Democrats, led by Yair Golan. Her organization gained international recognition in 2023 when women dressed in the iconic red robes and white bonnets of The Handmaid’s Tale staged silent protests against Israel’s judicial reforms, becoming a powerful symbol of the pro-democracy movement.
Silfen, CEO of the Task Force on Human Trafficking and Prostitution (TFHT), was running with Benny Gantz’s Blue and White party until his decision Monday to withdraw from the race. For more than a decade, Silfen has led efforts to combat human trafficking and sexual exploitation in Israel, advancing legislative reforms and protections for vulnerable women.
Both women have been pursuing different political paths, but their candidacies illustrate a shared truth: Israel has an extraordinary reservoir of experienced women leaders ready to bring their expertise from civil society into national decision-making.
Their candidacies demonstrate what becomes possible when women move from influencing public policy through civil society to seeking a direct role in making it. But the issue goes beyond numbers on a ballot.
Representation matters because who participates in decision-making influences which experiences are heard, which questions are asked, which problems receive attention and which solutions are considered.
Consider the challenges Israel faces: rebuilding communities devastated by war, responding to trauma, strengthening democratic institutions, addressing economic pressures, supporting families and restoring trust across a deeply divided society.
Women bring essential expertise to every one of these challenges—as professionals, public servants, community leaders, researchers, entrepreneurs, advocates and members of families and communities affected by the war.
The goal is not simply to increase the number of women in office, but to ensure that Israel’s institutions benefit from the full range of leadership and expertise available in its society. What they need are opportunities, investment, visibility and access to the institutions where decisions are made. For this reason, we should continue to invest in women-led civil society organizations and the relationships that help them succeed.
These organizations are not peripheral to Israel’s future. They are developing solutions to pressing social challenges, supporting vulnerable populations, strengthening communities and creating opportunities for public participation. When women leaders connect across issues and sectors, they exchange expertise.
Whatever its political composition, Israel’s next government will confront enormous challenges. Meeting them will require the knowledge, experience and leadership of the entire population.
Golda Meir’s legacy should not simply be something Israel celebrates. It should remind us that women’s leadership belongs at the center of national decision-making.
The women who have sustained the state throughout years of crisis have demonstrated their capacity to lead. They should not have to prove it again.
The post In Israel’s elections, where are the women? appeared first on The Forward.
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Vance declines to endorse Netanyahu, a day after Trump backs prime minister
(JTA) — Vice President JD Vance has refused to endorse Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, just a day after President Donald Trump announced his support for the incumbent Israeli leader.
“I’m not anti-endorsing. I’m not pro-endorsing,” Vance told journalist Mark Halperin in a Monday interview. “I’m not getting involved in the Israeli elections.”
“I endorse American candidates,” the vice president added, noting that he is focused on the U.S. midterms.
Trump declared his support for Netanyahu, who is running for reelection, in a Sunday Truth Social post in which he deemed the Israeli leader “a Great Warrior Prime Minister” and a vital partner in removing the Iranian threat. Recent polls show Netanyahu closely trailing former IDF chief-of-staff Gadi Eisenkot in the election, which will take place on Oct. 27.
Liberal Middle East policy advocates, including J Street, have blasted Trump’s decision to back Netanyahu, arguing that he’s acting against the interests of U.S. taxpayers.
While Vance declined to endorse the Israeli prime minister, he has previously involved himself in international elections. In April Vance joined Trump in backing then Prime Minister Viktor Orbán in Hungary, although that support did not end in victory.
Last year, the vice president also met with the leader of the far-right Alternative for German political party, AfD, in Munich but he did not issue an official endorsement for that candidate.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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