By Michael Curtis/
The horrors committed by evil people during the Holocaust are well known and documented. Less well known are the merciful deeds performed by good people during the years of World War II. Among the least known of these decent individual are the Muslims in Albania who saved Jews. The screening in October 2014 of a filmBESA: The Promise, directed by Rachel Goslins, with music by Philip Glass, is a welcome reminder of this minor but significant segment of Albanian history, in which a small number of Muslims protected Jews from Nazi Germany.
The film portrays a number of compelling and moving stories. It is based on the book BESA, written by Norman H. Gershman, a Jewish American who narrates and is the central figure in the film. Over a five-year period he collected stories and photographed members of Albanian families who acted in a compassionate way during the war years. The story remained largely unknown during the almost 50-year period after the war while Albania was controlled by the Communist regime known as the Socialist People’s Republic from 1944 to 1991. During those five decades, displays of religion were banned in what was an inhumane and brutal regime, and contacts with the outside world, especially Israel, were forbidden.
Albania is a small country rarely making news though it is a member of NATO and the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe, and since June 2014 has candidate status for membership in the European Union. As a result of its defeats in the Balkan Wars in 1912, the Ottoman Empire lost control of the Albanian area it had long ruled. Following the Ottoman defeat, Albania began its efforts to become an independent country in 1912. After the end of World War I it was accepted in 1920 as an independent state based on a common language, though its borders were not internationally recognized until 1926, and it was also recognized as a member of the League of Nations.
Albania was invaded by Fascist Italy in April 1939. Jews were not allowed to leave the country and a concentration camp was established in Kavaje, but Italy did not comply with the German Nazi demands to hand over all Jews. After the armistice of September 8, 1943 between Italy and the Allies, German forces invaded and occupied Albania. The Nazis ordered all Jews there to register but Albanians would not give the Germans any list of Jews. The Albanians did not collaborate. On the contrary, in the face of grave reprisals for their behavior, they helped Jews to evade the Nazis and sheltered them in their own homes. They gave the Jews false documentation, allowing them to mingle in public, and forged passports for them.
In only two cases were Jews captured by the Gestapo and deported to Bergen-Belsen. Albanian border police allowed Jews to enter the country without asking questions. The Righteous persons gave Muslim clothes to Jewish women to help them evade Nazi checkpoints. They took Jews to Albanian ports and helped them escape the country.
The hatred of Jews on the part of the Mufti of Jerusalem is well known, along with his eager approval of the extermination of Jews in Europe and in Iraq, his raising of an SS Muslim Division in Bosnia, and his association with Heinrich Himmler and other leaders in Nazi Germany. BESA tells a different and compelling story of Muslim behavior. The book and the film document the participation of some Christians but mostly it was compassionate and kind Albanian Muslims (Sunni Muslims make up about 58 per cent of the population) who sheltered Jews who had fled to their country to escape from the Nazis.
At the beginning of World War II about 200 Jews lived on Albania, mostly in the towns of Korce and Pristina. During the war more than 2000 Jews sought refuge in the country. BESA is the account of the hospitality of Albanians towards them. The Albanian word “BESA” apparently means faith or keep the promise. It is a code of honor, an ethical code entailing an obligation to provide help. It entails hospitality, providing food and shelter to those in distress. By tradition it is a collective agreement to show kindness to and to save people in trouble.
The story deserves to be better known. The Albanians sheltered the refugee Jews or assisted in arranging transport to Italy. The dramatic outcome was the fact that 1800 Jews were alive in Albania at the end of the war. The dramatic result is that there were eleven times more Jews in the country at the end of the war than at the beginning. In comparative terms it was the only European country in which more Jews existed at the end than at the beginning of the war.
A comparison with some European countries can highlight the extraordinary behavior of the Albanians. In Poland, 90 per cent of its 3.3 million Jews perished; in Germany 88 per cent of 240,000; in Slovakia 83 per cent of 90,000; in Greece 77 per cent of 70,000; in Hungary 70 per cent of 650,000. Even in the neighboring Kosovo area more than 600 Jews were killed. Only Denmark where less than 1 per cent of its 8,000 Jews were murdered can compare with the record of Albania.
After the dissolution of the Albanian Communist regime in 1991 and the creation of Albania as a parliamentary regime the truth became more widely known. Consequently, Vad Yashem, the World Center for Holocaust Research, in Jerusalem, that has honored 25,000 from 49 countries, since February 1995 has recognized 70 Albanians as Righteous among the Nations.
Photographs and the narrative in the film BESA portray the heroism of the Righteous Albanians. In the main they were simple people who did non-simple things. The film is organized around a series of conversations, often highly emotional, told mostly through their descendants. Jewish survivors tell of their gratitude to their Muslin rescuers.
The central story is a moving one, ultimately joyful, recounted by a man named Rexhep Hoxha, an owner of a toy store. He is the son of one of the Righteous, and was engaged in a search for 15 years, that took him to Bulgaria and Israel, to carry out the obligation of his father. His father had protected a Jewish family and carefully preserved three Hebrew books entrusted to him by the family until they could reclaim them. He had passed the torch of kindness, the return of the books, to his son, symbolic of dedication to the next generation. After considerable effort, the son finally located the Jewish man who had been saved by his family. In a meaningful and emotional encounter for both men the meeting took place in an apartment in Israel where Hoxha fulfilled the promise to his father to return the three books. They turned out to be a complete Torah.
What is compelling in this complex narrative is the modesty as well as the enormous courage of the Albanians who risked their lives for BESA. In a poor country, perhaps the poorest in Europe, the Righteous Muslim individuals did what they thought was right and passed on the promises they had made to their children. At this moment when the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria is exhibited repugnant brutality and evil, BESA is an inspiring story of Muslim heroes who opposed inhumane terrorism and treasured human life.
Muslims host synagogue inside Mosque
By Ted Regencia and Lindsay Minerva/
After the Jewish congregants of an Orthodox synagogue could no longer afford their rent, they found help in the local mosque. The only unusual detail—- this synagogue (a Jewish house of worship) is a mosque.
Or rather, it’s housed inside a mosque. That’s right: Members of the Chabad of East Bronx, an ultra-Orthodox synagogue, worship in the Islamic Cultural Centre of North America, which is home to the Al-Iman mosque
“People have a misconception that Muslims hate Jews,” said Baumann.
“But here is an example of them working with us.”
“Nowhere in the world would Jews and Muslims be meeting under the same roof,” said Patricia Tomasulo, the Catholic Democratic precinct captain and Parkchester community organizer, who first introduced the leaders of the synagogue and mosque to each other. “It’s so unique.”
Indeed, though conventionally viewed as adversaries both here and abroad, the Jews and Muslims of the Bronx have been propelled into an unlikely bond by a demographic shift. The borough was once home to an estimated 630,000 Jews, but by 2002 that number had dropped to 45,100, according to a study by the Jewish Community Relations Council. At the same time, the Muslim population has been increasing. In Parkchester alone, there are currently five mosques, including Masjid Al-Iman.
Near the corner of Westchester Avenue and Pugsley Street in Parkchester, just off the elevated tracks of the No. 6 train, Yaakov Wayne Baumann stood outside a graffiti-covered storefront on a chilly Saturday morning. Suited up in a black overcoat with a matching wide-brimmed black fedora, the thickly bearded 42-year-old chatted with elderly congregants as they entered the building for Shabbat service.
The relationship started years ago, when the Young Israel Congregation (YIC), then located on Virginia Avenue in Parkchester, was running clothing drives for needy families, according to Leon Bleckman, now 78, who was at the time the treasurer of the congregation.
Sheikh Moussa
One of the recipients was Sheikh Moussa Drammeh, the founder of the Al-Iman Mosque, who was collecting donations for his congregants—many of whom are immigrants from Africa. The 49-year-old Imam is an immigrant from Gambia in West Africa who came to the United States in 1986. After a year in Harlem, he moved to Parkchester, where he eventually founded the Muslim centre and later established an Islamic grade school. Through that initial meeting, a rapport developed between the two houses of worship, and the synagogue continued to donate to the Islamic centre, among other organizations.
But in 2003, after years of declining membership, YIC was forced to sell its building at 1375 Virginia Ave., according to a database maintained by Yeshiva University, which keeps historical records of synagogues. Before the closing, non-religious items were given away; in fact, among the beneficiaries was none other than Drammeh, who took some chairs and tables for his centre.
Meanwhile, Bleckman and the remaining members moved to a nearby storefront location, renting it for $2,000 a month including utilities.
With mostly elderly congregants, YIC struggled to survive financially and, at the end of 2007, was forced to close for good. The remaining congregants were left without a place to pray. During the synagogue’s farewell service, four young men from the Chabad Lubavitch world headquarters in Crown Heights showed up. Three months earlier, Bleckman, then chairman of the synagogue’s emergency fund, had appealed for help from the Chabad.
“The boys from the Chabad said they came to save us,” said Bleckman.
“We were crying.”
At this point, Chabad took over the congregational reins from YIC, with members officially adopting the new name Chabad of East Bronx. Still, for the next six to seven weeks, Bleckman said they could not even hold a service because they had nowhere to hold it.
Accommodated for free
When Drammeh learned of their plight, he immediately volunteered to accommodate them at the Muslim centre at 2006 Westchester Ave.—for free.
“They don’t pay anything, because these are old folks whose income is very limited now,” said Drammeh, adding that he felt it was his turn to help the people who had once helped him and his community. “Not every Muslim likes us, because not every Muslim believes that Muslims and Jews should be like this,” Drammeh said, referring to the shared space.
But “there’s no reason why we should hate each other, why we cannot be families.” Drammeh in particular admires the dedication of the Chabad rabbis, who walked 15 miles from Brooklyn every Saturday to run prayer services for the small Parkchester community.
For the first six months, congregants held Friday night Sabbath services inside Drammeh’s cramped office. As more people began joining the congregation, Drammeh offered them a bigger room. (When it is not in use, students from the Islamic school use it as their classroom.)
Inside the synagogue, a worn, beige cotton curtain separates the men and women who attend the service. A solitary chandelier hangs just above the black wooden arc that holds the borrowed Torah, which is brought weekly from the Chabad headquarters. A large table covered with prayer books stands in the centre, and a picture of the Lubavitcher Rebbe is displayed prominently on a nearby wall. During Shabbat, when Jewish congregants are strictly prohibited from working, they have to rely on the Muslim workers at the centre or on Drammeh to do simple chores such as turning on the light and switching on the heater.
“I was surprised”
At first, it did not make sense, said Hana Kabakow, wife of Rabbi Meir Kabakow. “I was surprised,” said the 26-year-old congregant who was born and raised in Israel. “But when I came here I understood.” The Kabakows have been coming to the service from Brooklyn for the last two years.
Harriet Miller, another congregant, said she appreciated the centre’s accommodating the synagogue. “They are very sweet people,” said the 79-year-old Bronx native and long-time resident of Parkchester, who added that she welcomes the new Muslim immigrants in her neighbourhood:
Drammeh understands the importance of teaching tolerance more broadly, and for turning the school—which was itself founded at the nearby St. Helena Catholic Church on, of all days, Sept. 11, 2001—into a model of sorts for religious tolerance in New York.
“We’re not as divided as the media portrays us to be,” Drammeh said.
“Almost 90 percent of Jewish, Muslim, and Christian teachings are the same.”
His latest project involves introducing fifth-grade Jewish and Islamic school students to each other’s religious traditions. Other participants of the program, now in its sixth year, include the Solomon Schechter School of Manhattan, the Al Ihsan Academy of Queens, and the Kinneret Day School of Riverdale. At the end of the program, students organize an exhibit that shows family artefacts of their respective cultures and religion. The principal of the Islamic school, who is also Sheik Drammeh’s wife, said that even after the program ended, the participants became “fast friends” and would visit each other’s homes.
Thankful Jewish congregants
While the Jewish congregants are thankful for their new home, they hope that one day they can rebuild their own synagogue. That day may be far off: Even now that they have space to worship, they still struggle to operate. They don’t have proper heating inside, and the portable working heater could not reach the separate area where the elderly women are seated, forcing them to wear their jackets during the entire service. Congregants are appealing for financial support from the Jewish community and other congregations.
But Leon Bleckman and others say they now also have loftier goals, including reviving the Jewish presence in the neighbourhood and reaffirming the positive relationship with their Muslim friends. “We are able to co-exist together side by side in the same building,” said Assistant Rabbi Avi Friedman, 42. “That’s sort of like a taste of the future world to come—the messianic future where all people live in peace.”
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Ted Regencia is a digital media student at the Columbia Journalism School. His Twitter feed is at @tedregencia. Lindsay Minerva, a digital media student at the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism, is an intern at Newsweek. Her Twitter feed is at @lindsayminerva./?cat=34
The Muslim Observer http://muslimmedianetwork.com/mmn/?p=9903