Efforts to preserve endangered languages face varied challenges and priorities across communities, underscoring that decisions about language survival ultimately rest with those whose cultural heritage is at stake. This perspective comes amid growing concern over the disappearance of thousands of languages worldwide, caused by factors such as genocide, government repression, assimilation, and shifting demographics.

Sarah Bunin Benor, a professor of contemporary Jewish studies and linguistics at Hebrew Union College, highlighted the complexity of language preservation through her work with the Jewish Language Project. While she advocates for caring about endangered languages, she emphasizes that revitalization—restoring fluent use among large groups—is often impractical. Instead, many communities pursue reclamation, an approach that aligns with their own cultural priorities and definitions of success.

Distinct Jewish languages illustrate these differing strategies. Ladino, also known as Judeo-Spanish, experienced sharp decline due to the Holocaust, migration, and the adoption of dominant languages by Sephardic Jews from regions such as Greece, Turkey, and the Balkans. Despite predictions of its extinction decades ago, Ladino has seen renewed interest through revitalization programs that include language classes, “master-apprentice” partnerships, and innovative tools like chatbots and home-based “language nests.” These initiatives have fostered a growing network of new speakers, including younger generations who engage with Ladino culturally through social media and artistic expression, extending its use beyond everyday communication.

In contrast, Judeo-Kashani, or Kashi, a language once spoken by Iranian Jews, faces a different reality. The decline of Kashi accelerated after many Jews migrated from Kashan to Tehran in the 1940s and later emigrated to countries such as Israel and the United States, especially following the 1979 Iranian Revolution. Unlike Ladino, widespread community interest in reviving Kashi is limited. Nonetheless, individuals like Sabrina Hakim, an Iranian Jewish real estate professional in Los Angeles, have taken steps to document the language. Hakim began this work while caring for her father—the language’s last fluent speaker—as he battled dementia. Her efforts to compile a Kashi dictionary honor her father’s memory and aim to preserve linguistic and cultural heritage for future generations, even though creating new fluent speakers is not the goal.

Benor stresses that both revitalization and reclamation approaches have legitimacy and deserve support, acknowledging that community members may prioritize symbolic engagement or cultural knowledge over full language fluency. Documentation—recording native speakers, assembling dictionaries, and creating archives—forms the foundation of reclamation, ensuring resources remain accessible for those who wish to engage with the language later. Post-vernacular engagement, which includes celebrating heritage through music, food, and media, helps maintain cultural connections even without daily language use.

The destruction of many languages is tied to historical injustices, including genocide, forced migration, discrimination, and nationalistic policies favoring dominant languages. Benor argues that governments should acknowledge these actions and aid community-driven language preservation efforts. She also highlights roles for corporations and foundations in providing funding, as well as for linguists in documenting and supporting endangered languages.

Ultimately, Benor advocates that decisions about how far to pursue language maintenance should be left to the communities themselves, not dictated by external activists. She asserts that endangered language groups do not owe the world preservation; rather, they owe themselves the right to determine their cultural and linguistic futures.