What would your answer be to the question: if bad people were hunting down your neighbor or a stranger in your neighborhood, would you be willing to hide them at risk to yourself and your family?
I’ve asked myself that question many times and I honestly don’t know.
The people I’m going to tell you about never had to think about this. They believed it to be their responsibility, the code of honor by which they lived. To give you some context for these stories, in 2017 I took a class at Oxford university. When I first got there, I needed to take a taxi to my bed-and-breakfast. As we drove through the town, I had a friendly
conversation with the taxi driver. When he asked me my name, and I told him Shoshana, he wondered what that meant. I said, “It means Rose in Hebrew.” He then inquired, “Hebrew, like Israel?” and I responded, “yes.“
He proceeded to tell me that he was part Christian and part Muslim, having grown up in Albania. Then he very excitedly talked about his grandfather being in the resistance during World War II. He proudly stated that Albanians hid and saved all the Jews in their country, and that everybody always got along, Jews, Christians, Roman Catholics and Muslims. In fact, Christians would celebrate Ramadan with their Muslim friends, and Muslims would celebrate Christmas with their Christian friends. They saw everyone as equal.
I thought this was an amazing story, and I started investigating. To my surprise, I discovered that Albania started out with 200 Jews when the war began, and ended up with 2,000 Jews, the only country in the world with more Jews at the end of the war than less. Many from other countries heard that the Albanians would save them from the Nazis. When the Germans entered Tirana, the capital, they set up a puppet government. The head of the puppet government was Albanian, and secretly ordered all citizens to save the Jews and provide them with fake passports. Further, they repeatedly refused to comply with the Nazi request for the submission of a list of Jewish residents.
I felt puzzled. How is it that there are so many countries in this world, including our own, where there is so much hatred of the “other”. Yet here is a small country, one that most people have never even heard of, where the citizens believe and live by a code of honor called Besa, to keep the promise, and take care of others. Besa dictates that there are no foreigners, only guests, and that guests must be protected at all costs. It is central to Albanian life and central to national identity.
I decided I needed to go to Albania and interview people whose family members had saved Jews during the Holocaust. I felt compelled to hear their stories. Soon after my arrival in Albania, Eddie, my guide and translator, introduced me to Tosi, a Moslem. He burst with pride as he played Israeli music that a friend had sent him from Jerusalem. I felt so delighted and experienced that special connection to being Jewish. I wanted to take his hands and teach him how to do the hora, an Israeli dance. Then he showed me certificates and medals his father, Beqir, received from Yad Vashem, the most prestigious Holocaust museum in the world, located in Jerusalem, where they referred to him as Righteous Among the Nations.
He proceeded to tell me the family story, as we sat in the courtyard of the very house where they hid Avram and his family, Jews from Greece. I could look up to the second floor windows and know that, that was where Avram lived for six months. He was isolated, but safe. In Greece, most Jews were betrayed to the Nazis, but many heard that if they came to Albania, they would be protected. Since this was a large family, they divided them up into different homes for their own safety. As well, an Eastern Orthodox priest printed fake Albanian passports for Avram and his family. After six months, the Nazis began circling their community. They dressed Avram up as a villager, so that they could take him into the mountains to stay with other family members. As the Nazis approached the group on their way to the mountains, there was fear in Avram’s heart. One of the Nazi soldiers asked their translator, who was Albanian, if there were any Jews amongst this group. He indicated that they were all villagers, knowing full well that one of them was a Jew. What a relief that they could now safely continue up the mountain.
Avram stayed with the family for a year until the war ended. At that time, Avram’s father kissed the hand of Tosi’s father, thanking him for saving his son’s life, stating that he will never forget them. When the war was over, Tosi saw Avram taking something out of his pocket. He asked Avram, “What are you doing? I don’t want your money. We did this for Besa, for honor.”
After the war, communists took over the country for 30 years, wanting the Jews to stay, seeing them as clever people. Avram spoke several languages. He stayed and worked as an economist at 25 years old. He defied the Nazis by moving to Israel and living until age 91. People in the neighborhood referred to Tosi and his family as Jewish, even though they were Muslim, because of how they protected Jews. They felt honored by this and took it as a compliment. Tosi promised his dad to carry on his legacy so people will know what happened and so it should never be forgotten.
Hiding Jews in plain sight seemed to be a common theme. An Albanian woman I spoke to in California told me that her grandfather hid two or three Jews in his shop where he sold food. He helped them out in the back of the store. One time the grandfather rode off on his horse, taking one of the Jews with him to Yugoslavia to buy and sell food, after dressing him in Albanian clothes. All went well. The next day we went to visit Ajet in a very old hill town called Berat. His father had been a blacksmith. While the war tore through nearby countries, a young Jewish man found Ajet’s family. He felt so scared that he wouldn’t even tell them his name. So the shopkeepers called him “boy“. They wanted to hide him in their homes but he preferred to stay in the shop. It felt safer to him. During the day he helped the
blacksmith, pretending to be a local. In the evening, he slept in the back where they set up a bed and gave him food. He appeared to be about 18 years old and possibly came from Yugoslavia. He stayed from 1943 to 1944. All the craftsmen in the neighborhood were in this together. No one spied. Nobody disclosed.
During this time, the Nazis checked some nearby houses, but fortunately never looked in the shop. Ayet’s father gave him money when he left, only asking that he inform them of his destination. Unfortunately, to their disappointment, his father never heard from him again. He thought maybe they killed him. He didn’t even know his name. As Ayet spoke, he kept referring to Besa, and that it meant to just be nice, to show kindness. Nobody told them about it, just a natural behavior passed down from generation to generation. When they saw a local family taking in a Jewish family, then they did the same. “You come into my house and I will protect you.”
Many other Jews were hidden in this neighborhood. As Nazis got closer, Jews would leave the town and go to other villages that felt safer. Many came from Russia, Turkey, Poland, Greece and Yugoslavia. Initially, the Jews came from Spain during the Inquisition. They would go to the port, Vlora, where they were involved in trade near a street called the Jewish Road.
Fatima, in Krujë, had a similar story. Her grandfather, Suliman, met a family of seven in the street. One of them said that they were homeless. Of course, he showed them hospitality and kindness and invited them into his home. His children played with their children. The grandmother fed them and cleaned them. They became family. The people in the neighborhood referred to Fatima’s family as “those are the Jewish family,” even though they were Muslim. They also took this as a compliment. They felt proud that people would call them that. She then mentioned Besa, no one telling on anyone. She said, “Even the bad people in the neighborhood didn’t disclose because it was against the code of honor.” During the communist era, they weren’t allowed to talk about what happened. Suliman did tell his son but nobody else. When the country became independent, the Jewish family returned from Israel to say thank you. Later on, Suliman also received a certificate from Yad Vashem that Fatima so proudly displayed.
Eddie, my guide, took me to visit his best friend, Gladiola, whose family has lived in their house, inside the walls of a 4th century castle, for six generations, from the mid 1800’s. First she gave me a tour of their home, including photos and mannequins with traditional clothing from the 1800s. The house felt very sturdy and impenetrable. You had to walk quite a bit uphill in order to get to the top where the castle is situated. She told me that a family down the road hid Jews for six months during the war. At the same time, eight Germans came to her grandparents’ home and demanded, “We are going to live here for the next three months” and, of course, the family had no choice. They were frightened, but her grandmother had to feed them and keep house for them while she was pregnant. Gladiola’s father was born while the Nazis occupied their home. They did stay those three months, never knowing about the Jews who were hiding down the block.
In anticipation of these conversations, I prepared a series of questions. As it turns out, I never had to ask even one of those questions. All seemed eager to tell me their stories. It seemed to be their way of letting me know why they saved not only the Albanian Jews, but all the others that came to hide from other countries.
As I reflect back on the interviews and these wonderful, gracious people, I ask myself again, “Could I do what they did?” I still don’t know. I admire those individuals that don’t question, just do it. In this case, it was just not individuals, but a national consciousness, a cultural institution of Besa that emphasizes aiding and protecting people in moments of need. The world should take notice.
Shoshana Brower is a social justice advocate/activist and world traveler.
