Keeping Ladino alive in Izmir

It is often said that Ladino, like the Jewish community of Izmir, is dying out. The figures seem to support this: the community has shrunk, and Ladino speakers can be counted on one hand. Yet Ladino is more than just a language. It embodies the link between generations, families scattered across the four corners of the world, the invisible thread that connects the past and the future. It feeds my curiosity about my ancestors: how did they live? What were their daily routines, their rituals, their world?

I was born in Izmir. I grew up and went to school there. Then, as a young man, I traveled between Izmir and other places, discovering other countries and cultures. But wherever I go, Izmir calls me back. My parents still live there, and I return there constantly. I am 38 years old today. In everyday life, within the Jewish community of Izmir, I am still one of the “young ones”. The average age is close to 60, and most of the children and grandchildren have left.

My family’s history illustrates this global diaspora. My uncle settled in Brazil, where some of my cousins still live. Others chose Israel or the United States. Like so many Jewish families from Izmir, our saga stretches from Africa to Europe, from the Americas to the Middle East. We remain nomads, connected across borders.

I have fond memories of my grandmother. She spoke Ladino and French, never Turkish. I heard Ladino spoken around me but never really learned it. In just two generations, everything had changed. For me, Ladino has become the language of memories. But it also looks forward. It is the bridge between heritage and the unknown, and in the digital age, that bridge takes on new forms.

My most inspiring and joyful teacher is my father, Alberto Hazan. Thanks to Zoom and digital tools, we study together, regardless of distance. We record our conversations, share melodies, and unearth forgotten words. With a little imagination, Ladino becomes a game, a pleasure. Technology, even artificial intelligence, when used well, transforms learning into an accessible and lively adventure.

Ladino is more than just a language. It embodies the link between generations, families scattered across the four corners of the world, the invisible thread that connects the past and the future.

This summer, Dr. Carlos Yebra López and Alp Etensel spent three days in Izmir for the Ladino21 project. They collected testimonies from elders and captured their memories. These videos are now available on the Ladino21 YouTube channel and will soon be added to the website of the Jewish community of Izmir. At the same time, Dr. López is preparing a new Ladino textbook. I draw strength from the work of Rachel Amado Bortnick and Karen Gerson Şarhon, whose commitment is restoring Ladino’s brilliance and visibility.

Some elders say, “Ladino is finished”. Certainly, it is no longer spoken on a daily basis. But the Ladino of five centuries ago was already different from that of a hundred years ago. Languages evolve at the pace of communities. Today, music, gastronomy, and digital technologies are breathing new life into Ladino. A song like Adio Kerida hummed with emotion, a boyoz shared on Saturday morning, belong to the same living tradition as a recorded proverb or a lesson on YouTube.

What fascinates me most about Ladino is its unifying power. It transcends generations, borders, and time. It helps me create a space where old and young can listen to each other, share, and belong. We are bridges: we proudly carry what has been passed down to us and pass it on with hope. Ladino is not just a language. It is the voice of memory, the warmth of home, the breath of continuity.

Thanks to “Kaminando i Avlando,” a magazine published by the association “Aki Estamos,” whose goal is to keep Judeo-Spanish culture alive in the present, for allowing us to publish this text.