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The interior of the shul in Sarajevo contains handcrafted decorations over a century old

When most people hear the words “Purim miracle,” they tend to envision graggers, costumes, baskets of food, and ancient palaces in Persia. Yet after our recent trip to the Balkan Peninsula, that same term conjures up images of the city of Sarajevo. Located in what is today Bosnia Herzegovina, Sarajevo boasts a Purim miracle all its own, which we discovered on our trip to this unusual city.

Known as “little Jerusalem,” Sarajevo is the only city save for its namesake where one can find the main shul, mosque, and church within a few hundred meters of each other. Sarajevo sits at the crossroads of Europe and Asia. Due to an extended period of Turkish influence, its current population is mostly Muslim. Yet Jews have lived there for centuries. The story of Sarajevo’s Jews begins with the Spanish Inquisition in 1492. Facing expulsion, the hapless Jewish refugees sought safety wherever they could find it, and the Turkish Empire offered just that. A review of historical records finds Sephardic communities popping up in places like Croatia, Moldavia, Macedonia, Bulgaria, and, of course, within Turkey itself.

Today one can still find several elderly Holocaust survivors in the area who are familiar with Ladino, the Spanish-Jewish dialect considered the Sephardic counterpart of Yiddish. On the Shabbos before Tu B’Shvat this year, we found ourselves in the ancient Croatian community of Split. Sadly, while the Jews meet weekly for kiddush and a communal meal, no davening is held in the beautiful shul dating to the sixteenth century. And so we found ourselves the only two Jews singing kabbalas Shabbos that night. As we sang, we looked at the stones of the aron kodesh and the mechitzah — some of which had been part of the original Roman wall of the city — and thought of the departed souls of all the Jews who had davened here for centuries. As we prepared to leave, an elderly man approached us. In Croatian, he told us, “I remember Ladino,” and then said “Bueno Sabato,” meaning “Shabbat Shalom.”

The Jewish community of Sarajevo seems to have experienced a similar story, as we learned when we arrived there. The old shul, built in the 1560s for a Sephardic congregation, was largely quiet. Yet we did unearth one fascinating piece of information that set Sarajevo apart. While the rest of us limit our Purim celebration to the fourteenth of Adar, the Sarajevans have an additional chag called “Purim De Sarajevo” or Chag HaAsirim, the holiday of the prisoners. (The concept of a local Purim recalling some communal miracle is widespread among Sephardim, though it might seem foreign to many Ashkenazim.) The holiday commemorates a miracle that occurred close to 200 years ago.

Dr. Ari Greenspan, left, and Joel Guberman, at the kever of Rabbi Moshe Danon

In 1819, the local Turkish ruler, one Ruzdi Pasha, was greedy and corrupt. At that time, the Rav of Sarajevo was Rabbi Moshe Danon, a learned and holy man. He and twelve other important members of the community were imprisoned, and a huge ransom was demanded. If it remained unpaid, the men would be put to death. The community couldn’t raise such a sum; the only hope was prayer. The night before the scheduled execution was Shabbos. All the local Jews davened with thoughts of their imprisoned brethren weighing heavily on their hearts. Then they proceeded home to make Kiddush. Yet one man, a religious Jew named Refael Halevi, decided something had to be done.

The course of action he took was a curious one. He went into each of the city’s eight coffee shops, ordered a cup of coffee, and put down the extraordinary sum of one gold coin as payment. The confused Muslim shop owners couldn’t help but ask: Why would a Jew desecrate the Sabbath and put down a gold coin to pay for a coffee in a Muslim coffee house he wasn’t even allowed to enter?

Halevi explained that the evil pasha held the lives of thirteen righteous men in the balance, demanding a ransom that their fellow Jews couldn’t come up with.

In response, the population was furious. Soon enough, 3,000 Muslims surrounded the pasha’s house, demanding that he release the Jews. Furthermore, a letter was sent to the sultan in Istanbul, protesting the pasha’s abominable behavior. This public pressure was effective, and ultimately a triumphant group led by Rav Danon marched to the shul to thank Hashem for the captives’ release.

During his imprisonment, Rav Danon vowed that should he live, he would travel to Jerusalem at the end of his days. Eleven years later, he set out for the Holy Land in an attempt to fulfill that promise. Unfortunately, Rav Danon died on the Croatian coast and was buried in the village of Krajshina. His lone Jewish grave was a pilgrimage site for Sarajevo’s Jews.

On a recent visit to Croatia in search of the snails used to produce techeles dye, we learned of this fascinating story. The Hand of Hashem was obvious when we realized we had recently driven not far from Krajshina. Together with our travel partner, Joel Guberman, we embarked on a twohour drive on a single-lane road through the rugged, desolate mountains of formerly war-torn Bosnia. The steeples dotting every town soon gave way to minarets. We stopped at a tiny hamlet for directions and saw a large wolf just shot that morning after attacking a dog. This was wild country.

Finally, we found the graves of Rav Danon and two Jewish soldiers who had died in the area during World War I. At the unusual, Sarajevan-shaped grave, which is intended to look like a lion, we read the inscription describing the saintly Rav Danon.

Suddenly an old Muslim appeared and asked if we wanted to go into the synagogue. Where was the synagogue? we wondered. Then we looked at the small building adjacent to the cemetery and noticed a mezuzah on the wall. The man, a Muslim with the family name Medar, has a family tradition of protecting the grave of this holy man. That tradition goes back almost 200 years, to the date of the actual burial.

Sadly, this tzaddik was unable to keep his promise and never merited burial in Eretz Yisrael. But for the Jews of Sarajevo, their “Purim” remains an encouraging reminder of the miracles we have experienced over the centuries.

Ari Greenspan is a dentist, mohel, shochet, and sofer. Ari Zivotofsky is a professor of brain science in Bar-Ilan University and a rabbi, mohel, and shochet.

Exclusive reprint rights from this weeks Mishpacha Magazine Issue 249

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