Dec. 2025
Jazmin Rymberg

Argentina’s Jewish population — the largest in Latin America— is fully woven into national life. Jews are active across cultural and political spheres, and Buenos Aires has long been recognized as one of the world’s great centres of interreligious dialogue and coexistence, a city where Jewish identity can be expressed openly and with pride.

This cultural backdrop set the stage for a conversation I had with my 28-year-old cousin Julian Barki, who was born and raised in Buenos Aires and has been deeply involved in Jewish community life since childhood. A systems analyst, airplane pilot, and educator, Julian Barki is a young Jewish community leader with more than a decade of experience in hadrajá — Jewish informal education — serving as a youth leader and educational mentor in various institutions. Over the years, Julian has led more than 200 young people on educational and community trips to Israel, New York, and other cities around the world, helping to strengthen Jewish identity and a sense of global connection. Today, he also plays an active role in community security, dedicated to the well-being and protection of Jewish institutions.

Our discussion began with the film “Mazel Tov,” an Argentine comedy-drama by Adrián Suar that will be featured in the 2026 Hamilton Jewish Film Festival. The film follows four siblings navigating their father’s death and the complexities of family ties.

“For me,” I told Julian, “categorizing it a film about Jewish life in Argentina feels like a stretch. It’s really just a story about a Jewish family that happens to live there — it could take place anywhere.”

“I actually agree,” he said. “Jewish life has a shared essence wherever you go. You can sit at a Shabbat table in Buenos Aires, Berlin, or New Zealand and find the same rhythm — the same songs, the same warmth. Of course, we Argentinians are more expressive,” he laughed, “But the foundation is universal.”

Julian reminded me that Argentina’s Jewish community is among the largest in the world, with an estimated 200,000 Jews — most of them in Buenos Aires. “Many came after wars and persecutions,” he said. “They started out in the provinces, like Entre Ríos, and later moved to the big cities. Today, the community is strong and influential. Jews are visible in politics, business, culture — everywhere.”

Julian has been part of that world his entire life, first through youth movements and community clubs, and later through teaching and volunteering in synagogue security. 

“Judaism doesn’t require a synagogue to live a Jewish life,” he said, “but synagogues are the heart of our community. They’re where people gather, celebrate, and support one another. Kids start attending programs at age four and often stay involved into adulthood.”

When I asked if Jewish life in Buenos Aires changed after Oct. 7,  2023, Julian said there had been a shift.  “Even people who weren’t very connected suddenly felt a pull toward the community,” he said. “The attacks touched everyone. Synagogues were packed for the High Holidays — more than in years. It’s sad that tragedy brought it out, but it reignited Jewish pride.”  

Julian’s renewed sense of Jewish pride inspired him and his friends to launch a weekly livestream show, “Bamba,” a digital platform where rabbis and young people talk about real issues — anxiety, faith, humor, current events. 
“There aren’t enough positive Jewish voices online,” he said, “and we wanted to create something that informs and inspires.”

He also feels that Jews in Argentina feel free to express themselves more freely than in many other places. “We do face antisemitism — graffiti, slurs, online hate — but overall, Jews live proudly and safely. After the AMIA bombing, all institutions strengthened security. We learned to be vigilant without hiding who we are.” 

He credits that freedom, in part, to Argentina’s current president, Javier Milei, whose open support for Israel and frequent references to Torah have made headlines worldwide. “Some worry it could backfire if he fails politically,” Julian said, “but I see it as something positive. Argentina hasn’t experienced the same radicalization as parts of Europe or North America. Jews can live openly and proudly here.”

When I told him about our own struggles in Hamilton — how our Jewish Film Festival was nearly canceled back in 2024 because the venue was “worried about security” — Julian nodded knowingly. “That’s exactly how terrorism wins,” he said. “Not with bombs, but with fear. When Jews start hiding or their events get canceled, terror succeeds. Our job as community leaders is to make sure people can live their Judaism proudly and safely.”

 He emphasized that the foundation of strong communal life is a sense of belonging. “People shouldn’t go to synagogue just because it’s ‘the Jewish place,’” he said. “They need to feel part of it — to feel heard, valued, involved. Let them lead programs, make decisions, bring ideas. That’s what creates loyalty and emotional connection.”

He explained that Argentina’s youth movements work because they invest in that sense of belonging early. “Kids join at four and stay through their teens. They grow up feeling ownership. That’s what keeps Jewish life strong; it’s not numbers, it’s identity.”

Of course, Argentina faces challenges too. “Some Jewish schools have closed because of low enrolment,” Julian admitted. “Many families make aliyah. It’s natural, but it means fewer children here. Communities have to adapt — merge, cooperate, find new models. We need less division between Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform, and more unity. That’s how we’ll stay strong.”

As our conversation wound down, he left me with a thought that’s stayed with me since. “We may be only 0.1 per cent of the global population,” he said, “but our impact is enormous. The future of Jewish life — here in Argentina, in Canada, everywhere — depends on unity. We can’t wait for tragedy to remind us of who we are.”

That pride isn’t unique to the Jewish community — it’s distinctly Argentine. It’s the same kind of passion that spills into the streets during the World Cup, when millions wave flags, sing from balconies, and cry openly over a goal. Argentinians don’t do things halfway; pride there is visceral, loud, and collective. And that’s exactly how Jewish life feels in Buenos Aires.