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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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Peace for Land, Not Land for Peace
Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman attends the 45th Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) Summit in Kuwait city, Kuwait, Dec. 1, 2024. Photo: Bandar Algaloud/Courtesy of Saudi Royal Court/Handout via REUTERS
“Land for peace,” the mantra since Camp David, has brought the Palestinian-Israeli conflict to a dead end, with Palestinian militias remaining active despite the promise of statehood. It’s now time to reverse this broken policy into “peace for land,” where Palestinian acceptance of Zionism earns them territory to govern themselves. A version of this model is being tested in Gaza as part of President Trump’s peace plan. Its success is imperative. Its failure risks more of the same.
“Land for peace” is outdated — it belongs to 1967, when a fledgling Israel sought Arab recognition. The late Defense Minister Moshe Dayan delivered his famous statement after Israel took the West Bank from Jordan, the Golan Heights from Syria, and the Sinai from Egypt. To his offer, the Arabs responded with the famous “three nos” from the Khartoum Arab League summit.
Israel has come a long way since 1967, growing from a young nation seeking acceptance to a confident and strong one whose friendship is now sought after. When Saudi Arabia was on the cusp of securing a normalization deal with Israel, in 2023, but then slammed on the brakes by inserting a Palestinian state as a prerequisite, a senior Israeli official told a small gathering, in confidence, that “Israel has lived 77 years without normalization with Saudi Arabia, and can afford another 77 years.”
The problem is that the Saudis are still hung up on the old days, when their country was the biggest, wealthiest, and most influential. In 1981, when Riyadh first proposed the “two-state solution” according to the principle of land for peace, the Saudi population was six million — one-sixth of what it is today. Global oil prices were skyrocketing, Saudi GDP per capita was among the highest in the world, and surpluses allowed the kingdom to buy enormous influence.
But today, Saudi Arabia needs to sell every barrel of oil at around $96. The 2025 global market price hovered around $65. Riyadh funded a significant portion of its expenditures through borrowing. Its deficit ballooned to $65 billion or 5.3 percent of GDP. And if Venezuelan oil comes back online — and maybe Iran’s too — the Saudis will find it extremely hard to balance their books.
If the Saudis don’t transform their economy to services, the very social contract of the Saudi kingdom will start shaking. To keep it stable, populism — in terms of Islamism and antisemitism — will be the most effective tool, thus pushing Saudi Arabia further away from peace.
And yet, the Saudis still believe that peace with Israel, along the lines of “land for peace” and without the Palestinians agreeing to Jewish nationhood, is a reward to the Israelis, who, for their part, are not lured by the Saudi offers and counter by offering “peace for peace” that serves the mutual interests of both countries.
But as long as the Saudis hang on to the antiquated “land for peace,” and as long as Palestinians — alongside Qataris, Turks, and the Muslim Brotherhood crowd in general — hide their hate toward Zionism behind the “two-state solution,” peace will not come. The order for peace must be reshuffled.
First comes Palestinian and general Arab endorsement of Zionism — that is, the acceptance that Israel is the country of the Jews on their land. This means that, if there is ever a two-state solution that mandates Jews pull out of the Palestinian state, it also means that all Arabs live under Palestinian rule and that the Palestinian leadership relinquishes what it calls the “right of return.”
Once it is established that Palestinians and the Arabs understand they cannot use demographics as a Trojan Horse to undermine Jewish sovereignty, peace becomes within reach.
And once the 8 million Jews of Israel are reassured that the 493 million Arabs are not out to get them and take away their state, the rest becomes administrative detail: Palestinians will be able to govern themselves within delineated territory that does not even need a barrier with Israel, just like any two states within the US or the EU.
This is what peace looks like, and it can only be the result of “peace for land,” not “land for peace.”
As for Saudi Arabia, if it signs “peace for peace” with Israel, not only will its economy have much better chances of transforming into services, but its newfound friendship with Israel becomes an asset for Palestinians. If Israel trusts the Saudis, and the Saudis guarantee that Palestinians have come to terms with Zionism and want to live at peace with a Jewish state, then we’re almost near the finish line.
It is unfortunate, however, that the Saudis seem to be going in the opposite direction. They’re taking the Palestinians with them and wasting more time on top of all the decades wasted because of unrealism, populism, and the hope of one day seeing Israel go away.
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Facing backlash after accusing Israel of genocide, Scott Wiener steps down as Calif. Jewish Caucus co-chair
(JTA) — Scott Wiener, the California lawmaker who earlier this month announced that he believed Israel had committed “genocide” in Gaza, is stepping down as a leader of the state legislature’s Jewish caucus.
Wiener, a state senator from San Francisco, has been a co-chair of the caucus since 2023. He is currently running for Congress.
In a statement released Thursday, he attributed his resignation from the caucus’ leadership position to both his campaign and the backlash over his Israel comments. He will remain a member of the caucus after he steps down as its chair on Feb. 15.
“Last fall, I suggested stepping down but was asked to stay to provide continuity of leadership during a difficult time for the Jewish community,” Wiener said. “Now, my campaign is accelerating, and my recent statements on Israel and Gaza have led to significant controversy in the Jewish community. The time to transition has arrived.”
Wiener’s accusation of genocide, made Jan. 11 in a video posted to social media, came days after he declined to answer a question on the topic during a televised debate, spurring a backlash from pro-Palestinian voices.
His statement on Israel elicited its own criticism. Five local and national Jewish groups issued a statement saying that while they recognized Wiener’s support for the Jewish community and his own experiences of antisemitism, they were “deeply disappointed” in his video statement.
“Unfortunately, Senator Wiener’s newly stated position is both incorrect and lacks moral clarity,” said the groups, which included the Jewish Community Relations Committee of the Bay Area, the American Jewish Committee and a local Holocaust education center.
“The devastation throughout this war — including the loss of life in Gaza and Southern Israel — has been felt by us all,” they added. “Yet framing this conflict in reductionist and inflammatory terms fuels further hostility toward our community.”
Others went further, calling for him to step down from or be forced out of his leadership role. “Scott Wiener has no business being co-Chair of the CA Legislative Jewish Caucus,” tweeted Sam Yebri, a Persian Jewish pro-Israel attorney and influencer from Los Angeles.
Now, those who criticized Wiener’s comments are hoping that his resignation will turn down tensions.
“I hope @Scott_Wiener‘s decision to step down will allow our community, the @CAJewishCaucus, and the Senator himself the ability to move beyond this painful and divisive moment,” tweeted Tye Gregory, the CEO of the San Francisco JCRC, on Thursday. He praised Wiener’s support for legislation his organization backs and said he would look forward to working with Wiener during the legislative session.
The saga comes as support for Israel has plummeted among Democratic voters. Weiner is running to fill the seat being vacated by Nancy Pelosi, a staunch supporter of Israel, and both of his competitors in the Democratic primary have long backed the claim, which Israel and the United States reject, that Israel’s actions in Gaza during its two-year war with Hamas amounted to genocide.
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OneTable reimagines Shabbat dinner program amid safety concerns, layoffs and budget crisis
(JTA) — When the Shabbat-dinner nonprofit OneTable slashed a quarter of its staff last month, it wasn’t only because of a budget crisis.
It’s true that fundraising was way down. But the group was also responding to what it sees as important shifts in how Jews gather, citing its growing sense that Gen Z is less likely than others to want to open doors to their home.
Now, OneTable is revealing a raft of new pilot programs and policies, including a move away from its defining practice of subsidizing dinners; a new policy barring anti-Israel events; a renewed focus on young Jews; and a shift toward partnerships with emergent Shabbat “clubs” to lift the burden and risk of hosting at home.
“In this world right now, the idea of welcoming something, someone into your home is scary to people,” said OneTable’s new CEO, Sarah Abramson, who joined the company in May. “All of these things are actually creating barriers to people wanting to host in their homes, and so we know that we need to bring OneTable out into the world.”
At the same time, the group is centralizing its operations. While the 14 layoffs took place across the company, Abramson said OneTable had focused in part on field managers, who served as regional liaisons with hosts and potential hosts.
“If a person in that community really saw that field manager as the face of OneTable, and for whatever reason, did not feel like that person spoke to them or was not aligned with their Jewish values and how they want to Shabbat, then often they would kind of discount OneTable,” she said.
The changes come as Israel looms large over Jewish nonprofits, influencing fundraising and engagement while also at times laying a minefield, especially for younger Jews who are increasingly divided in their sentiments.
OneTable says the number of people participating annually in Shabbat dinners it supports doubled after Oct. 7, 2023, in keeping with a “surge” of Jewish engagement that many organizations observed following Hamas’ attack on Israel. Before the resulting war in Gaza, 42,000 people a year were attending OneTable dinners. After, the number reached 80,000, according to the group.
But the group struggled to keep pace when it came to fundraising. In 2024, OneTable ran a deficit of more than $900,000, spending about $10.6 million while bringing in just over $9 million in contributions, according to their tax filings that year. That represented a sharp decline in funding from 2023, when the organization reported nearly $12 million in contributions and ended the year in a surplus.
“In full transparency, our philanthropy has not kept pace with the volume,” Abramson said.
Prior to joining OneTable, Abramson worked as the executive vice president for strategy and impact at Combined Jewish Philanthropies, Boston’s Jewish federation. There, she oversaw grantmaking as well as the nonprofit’s $60 million post-Oct. 7 Israel emergency fund.
As Jews across the United States flooded funds like that with nearly $1 billion, concerns quickly emerged about whether the donations would supplant other giving. The answer at OneTable, at least, appears to be yes, Abramson said.
“Eighty thousand participants requires so much more philanthropic support at a time where, rightly, philanthropic support for the Jewish community was directed towards Israel, and really thinking about other priorities,” she said.
Gali Cooks, the president and CEO of Leading Edge, a nonprofit that provides training, research and support for Jewish nonprofits, said that there was also a “tricky confluence right now of rising demands and rising costs” within the Jewish nonprofit sector.
Cooks said that, across the sector, nonprofit leaders were realizing that they have to “think smaller and bigger at the same time” — as OneTable says it is doing.
“Within each organization, leaders are trying to achieve more focus and clarity and streamlining toward the mission,” said Cooks. “But between organizations, they’re striving for more collaboration, more partnerships, shared infrastructure, and shared planning. That’s true in the conversation about talent, board excellence, and leadership development, but I think it’s also true about things like antisemitism, security, Israel engagement, and more.”
The changes underway at OneTable include formalizing a stance on Israel for the first time. Earlier this month, the organization added a list of its “core commitments” to its website that included a section outlining drawing a hard line against anti-Israel advocacy.
“We do not formally partner with, or support, any organization, Shabbat dinners, or gatherings that call for Israel’s destruction or in any way question Israel’s right to exist,” the section reads. “We do not fund dinners that align with any political party or candidate.”
At the same time, the group is aiming to stoke Israel talk at the Shabbat table. The group has a new partnership with Resetting the Table, a Jewish nonprofit that teaches dialogue skills, to “allow our Shabbat tables to become nuanced places for hard conversations,” Abramson said during a presentation about at the Jewish Federations of North America annual conference in November.
“We also are doing a lot of pilots based on research that enable the skill of hard conversations for Shabbat,” Abramson told JTA. “For example, we have a pilot right now with Resetting the Table, helping a lot of our hosts think through, how do you actually have deep, meaningful conversations, often about Israel, but not only, particularly in the American context right now.”
For some, the changes mark an unhappy end to OneTable as a respite for young Jews from the pitched ideological divides over Israel that increasingly characterize Jewish experiences.
Alexis Fosco, a former OneTable employee, posted on LinkedIn last month in an announcement of her departure that she was “frustrated at Jewish funders withdrawing from diaspora-focused work, leaving the staff who are already subsidizing their causes to absorb the impact.” She indicated that she had not been among the laid-off workers.
“I keep thinking about how funding-driven scope creep takes hold,” continued Fosco. “It’s heartbreaking and spiritually exhausting to pour yourself into an organization and walk away realizing the work no longer aligns with what you set out to build or believe in.”
Three former field managers did not respond to JTA requests for comment.
Abramson said the nonprofit’s new initiatives would be rolled out as pilots over the coming year. But even if the tests are temporary, they mark a significant shift for the nonprofit that has long been synonymous with underwriting the costs of serving Shabbat dinner at home. Hosts have historically received $10 stipends for each registered guest at their OneTable dinners.
An analysis of host patterns found that a small number of repeat hosts were racking up disproportionate subsidies.
In September, after one former OneTable host posted about their dismissal from the program on Facebook, Dani Kohanzadeh, OneTable’s senior director of field, told JTA that it had let go of just under 50 hosts in one week. But she said that the decision was not primarily financial.
“It’s not about balancing the budget,” said Kohanzadeh. “We didn’t make this decision based on the financial cutoff, it’s based on the overall experience with our support.”
Now, Abramson said the organization plans on rolling out alternative incentives for hosting Shabbat, including a “point” system in which points can be exchanged for prizes including, potentially, trips to Israel and elsewhere.
“OneTable’s model really works for a lot of people … so we want to ensure that people who are finding a lot of meaning and financial support through nourishment continue to be able to choose that, we won’t be taking that away,” she said.
Abramson said the company was also shifting away from its recent focus on older Jewish adults to center its programming on younger Jews.
“OneTable was founded as an organization designed to provide Friday night Shabbat experiences for young adults,” she said. “This is really going back to our roots and ensuring that we are evolving the way in which young adults want to be reached.”
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