Be Sepharad

What does it mean to be Jewish?

Last Sunday, I stumbled into the Jewish Museum of Sevilla, Spain. The museum was located off of the many narrow, winding streets weaving a web through the former Jewish section of the city, a section boasting upwards of 30 synagogues prior to the Inquisition. Little did I know, that day marked no typical Sunday late afternoon for the museum.

The museum, made up of one to three exhibits, invited an individual to perform traditional Sephardi music. Making my way into the corner of the exhibit to find a seat and enjoy the mini concert, I sat among a group of seven individuals or so, Jewish and non-Jewish, Spanish and non-Spanish. Before us stood the performer himself, an older man with unruly, dark curly hair and a thick South American Spanish accent.

Once set up, he began to perform, his voice wafting through the mini museum as his instruments’ notes bounced off the surrounding walls. He stood with his music stand before him, as he methodically flipped through the various pages before landing on the piece he wanted to perform and share. His foot tapped repeatedly, his fingers strummed the strings ever so softly, and his head tipped back as the words slipped out of his mouth.

He was not Jewish. He did not have any Jewish roots, as other conversos and marranos had discovered about themselves in Spain and Portugal. But he fell in love with the Sephardi folklore music, songs detailing the everyday life and happenings of Sephardic Jews in Spain. The music he performed for us was done through his instrument that was an original piece dating back to the 1500s. The songs he sung for us told of love affairs, family dynamics, and community gatherings with each composed of lyrics in a different Sephardic language. Between songs, he shared of the underlying meanings and interconnected themes. These were just people wanting to live their culture that was an intersectionality of Jewish and Spanish. It was not fair, he ventured, that these people were persecuted for practicing their culture.

After his performance, I waited in line to ask him some further questions about his work and his story—how did he find himself doing what he was doing? This was his vocation, his life’s calling as he described it, immersing himself in Sephardic folklore. In return, I also shared with him about my travels across Europe discovering both Ashkenazi and Sephardic ruach. Around me, other visitors became interested in my Blog, so I began to list the various cities I visited and what I learned from each. One young French woman, in particular, stopped me when I mentioned that my journey began in Brussels. She asked me where I spent Shabbat, and once I told her, her eyes grew wide and a bright smile spread across her face. Avi and Nehama, she repeated their names, played an instrumental role in her time in Brussels, the first city she lived in after moving out of her parents’ home. They welcomed her into their home every Friday, giving her a sense of family, just as they were doing with the high school student I met many Shabbats ago.

What struck me most that afternoon, however, was much, much more than just my first Jewish geography experience with European Jewry. Following the concert, I found myself immersed in conversation with another woman, Pepa. Ambitious, dedicated, and loving are all characteristics describing this special woman who has also found her life’s calling, committing herself to pursuing her passion.

Are you Jewish? I asked her as we first began talking. She grew a little quiet and a modest smile started to form. I feel Jewish, she told me. She went to Israel years ago on a business trip, and she felt like she had come home. Since that trip, her life changed forever. She discovered Jewish roots, delved into Sephardic culture, and took on her own form of a Jewish identity. She joined the local progressive Jewish community, observed Shabbat, and went to services for all of the holidays. No, her mother was not Jewish, and no, she did not find a menorah or mezuzah or Shabbat candles or a carved Jewish star in her grandparents or great grandparents’ home among ancient family possessions. But to her, she was Jewish.

Pepa recently moved to Sevilla, Spain, where she founded the organization Be Sepharad. After the Spanish government passed the recent law allowing individuals with Sephardic lineage to become Spanish citizens again, she explained that there has been a resurgence in demand for understanding Sephardic culture. She, among the others she works with, feel it in their souls to rediscover and recognize Jewish roots in Spanish culture. Her organization works with individuals of all ages wanting to understand Sephardic culture more. In particular, they are known for sharing Sephardic folk music, which I would experience for myself that night. She believes that what was done in the Spanish past can be fixed, and so she works to rebuild Sephardic folklore culture.

Later that night, I joined Pepa and three other individuals for tapas at a restaurant close to the Jewish quarter. Over tapas, I learned the stories of the other individuals she works with to bring back Sephardic culture. In rapid Spanish that I just managed to follow and more importantly understand, I asked about and learned the stories of self for each individual.

How did you find yourself doing what you are doing?

One person told me honestly that it was the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and his liberal identity that first sparked his interest in the Israeli and Jewish identity. As he attempted to learn more about the conflict, he used music to find understanding and meaning. It was the music, he told me, that changed his view of the conflict 180 degrees, taking him to Israel many times and starting to build a community for himself there. He dreams of marrying an Israeli woman and raising a Jewish family between Spain and Israel. No, his mother was not Jewish and he did not uncover a family past of conversos, but he felt Jewish. Another person told me of the community he comes from in southern Spain close to Granada. He learned through his grandparents that his village was once made up entirely of conversos after the Inquisition. Immersing himself in the history of his Spanish village, he found a great connection to distant Sephardic roots.

After tapas and before heading to a local, hole-in-the-wall Flamenco bar where they would perform, one of the individuals asked me, Hannah, are we Jewish? I grew quiet, deliberately and carefully forming my thoughts and wording my response before speaking aloud. I felt challenged, as I pondered what exactly makes up a Jewish identity. Flashbacks overcame my memory of my childhood, teenage, and young adulthood moments of my own Jewish identity. Flashbacks of my semester in Europe discovering ruach then overcame my memory, as I thought back to my Shabbat with marranos in Portugal and learning of the 'third generations' in eastern Europe. Who was I to tell them what their identity was? I asked them. Their mothers were not Jewish, they did not discover familial roots of conversos, and they did not physically convert to Judaism. But again. Who was I to tell them what their identity was, something so deeply personal and truly self-defined?