An Identity Stripped Away, Another Cast Off

You’ve come this far; open the doors, find the women’s section, just sit in the back for now and  follow their lead.

My heart was racing and my hands were trembling for some reason. I couldn’t  put my finger on why. I’d been keeping Shabbat my whole life. But that Shabbat was different. I  was about to attend my first “Orthodox” service. I closed my eyes, thanked HaShem for bringing me  this far, and tightened my grip on the iron handle. I felt like I was watching the scene from out of  my body.

Wait, where are the women?! The men are already praying.

A hot wave flushed my  cheeks. Now what?

Then from the corner of my eye I spotted the mother’s room. I quietly slipped  into the room and watched. I was moved by the rabbi; his voice filled the synagogue with a deep smooth baritone. My eyes scanned over the siddur trying to find my place as if I had done this  before. My heart fell into a silent prayer where I bared my soul to HaShem.

About 40 mins later  one woman showed up so I made my way in. She welcomed me and motioned for me to sit beside  her. She guided me through the service, and I felt so excited and peaceful.  

After the service, I made my way to greet the rabbi.

“Are you going to join us for Kiddush? Come, they are getting ready!”

I followed his brisk walk towards the next building. As we walked  down the hall he continued, “So, how did you find your first prayer service?”

Without hesitation I  replied “I have never felt this peace in my entire life, I feel like I am home.”

He stopped abruptly and looked me straight in the eye, squinting as if to examine my thoughts.

“Interesting!”

No sooner  had he said the word we were off again.  

But why was this such a big deal to me? To understand we must go back in time. To1492 to be  exact. By this time my family’s surnames were already forcibly changed, their identities were  being stripped from them as they escaped the land of Spain as “new Christians.”

Some called us “Marranos” (Swine) as they spat at the ground. Others called us “crypto-Jews” or “secret Jews.” The  Hebrew term “B’nei Anousim” fits us best. “Those who were forced to convert.”

My family left Spain and Portugal in waves. Their lives would forever be changed. They ventured out without knowing  anything other than that they wanted to live. Would they make it over the sea? Would they be able  to resume their lives as Jews? Would they be chased by the Inquisition? Our extended family was sent in different directions: Italy, Germany, Switzerland. Most of my ancestors went to Puerto Rico directly or after having spent time in Majorca and the Canary Islands.  

The Inquisition did follow them, crushing their hopes and dreams of being openly Jewish again. Once in Puerto Rico, most of my family settled in the central portion of the island, the Cordillera  central mountain range. The inquisitors continued to establish themselves in the Caribbean, and  Puerto Rico became the center of the Inquisition. Things were so brutal that some Jews traveled  back to Spain to face the Inquisition there, since it was more “humane.” Tucked away in Coamo,  Orocovis, & Barranquitas, my family outwardly professed to be Catholic. Yet they kept their  Jewish observances and faith at home. Hidden in plain sight, they continued to preserve the family heritage. Marriages would happen only amongst a handful of families in that region.

As the years progressed, some observances were no longer explained.

“This is what our family  has done since we were in Spain and we are not going to change that!”

These were the words spoken to my mother and later to me from my Abuelita (grandmother). Since safety was a huge  issue, many B’nei Anousi families hid their identities even from their children. Girls were instructed  with our customs. The males of the family would often be told of their identity while an elder was on their death bed, or when it was time to marry. Many families on the island hid this information so strongly that the future generations saw our observances as old wives tales or family quirks.

In the case of Puerto Rico, because it was the new home to the Inquisition, Jewish identity did not get re-established outwardly for several generations. In 1898, Puerto Rico came under the rule of the United States as a result of the Spanish-American War. But the church was still strong and fears of persecution remained.

In the mid 1940s, there was an influx of Jewish immigrants that came to the island after the Shoah. The island also saw an increase of Cuban Jewish exiles in the 60s due to the revolution. In1954, the Jewish community in the capital city of San Juan hired the first rabbi for the island. In 1959 the first Hebrew school was opened.

The vast majority of Jews on the island  that were open had come long after the fires of the Inquisition had died down to only embers. But World War II scared those who were in the shadows into deeper hiding. Many families are still hiding to this day. In 1968, Spanish government officially took the Alhambra Decree out of affect – the decree signed by the Spanish monarchy expelling the Jews of Spain.

All in all, the Spanish Inquisition had lasted almost 500 years, making it the longest edict against the Jewish people in history.  

When my grandmother was a teenager, she converted from Catholicism to become Seventh-Day Adventist. One of the reasons she sighted was her ability to keep Shabbat. At that time, the Adventist church was the only openly Sabbath keeping denomination on the island. When we asked my Abuelita why our family had certain customs that rest of the community did not, the response was swift and without room to press for more information.

“This is what our family has done since  Spain and we are NOT changing that!”.

The way we kept Shabbat, the modesty of dress, how the house was cleaned, what food could and couldn’t be eaten, the Biblical stories that were emphasized and those that were not taught in the home, the days my grandparents fasted; it seemed everything was different from the rest of the community.  

All the signs were there, unnoticeable to the untrained eye. My neshema, my soul, lit up every time I interacted with our Torah, even as a small child. I never felt content in the community I was raised in. Finally the tipping point came when I could no longer live a lie; I was not Christian – I did not accept this Messianic figure. I could no longer keep with the status quo. But due to ignorance and lack of exposure, I didn’t know that Sephardic Jews existed, let alone that I was of that lineage. The journey home to my identity was long and filled with twists and turns that were both  exhilarating and heartbreaking.  

I became obsessed with trying to piece together the puzzle of my identity. I started by looking up our family surnames from my grandmother’s line in a database. I talked to an Orthodox rabbi about my findings and asked him if I needed to undergo a gi’ur (naturalization) process to rejoin the Jewish people. He said yes so I started to study. As I learned the  proper names of the practices my family had, I was perplexed. We did these things. I returned to the rabbi and started to tell him more of our family history. He was shocked and didn’t know how  to advise me. He explained “Your family would not have done these things if you were not Jewish. These practices are beyond those in the Torah, some of these practices are rabbinic, others are minhagim (customs) that are so old, that most people do not do them anymore. This is beyond my  expertise of the law, I have to refer you to someone more knowledgeable.”

Rabbi after rabbi was stumped. I was at a loss. I wanted to return but didn’t know how. Many extended family members and Christian friends I grew up with tried to discourage me from looking, from leaving the church, and from embracing my Jewish soul. Insults were hurled, some relationships lost, others just yelled.  

I knew in my soul that I was on the right path. I had peace about that, though there were plenty of  tears and prayerful nights along the way. I became obsessed with records and finally one night around 1:30am I made the biggest breakthrough: I was able to trace our family before the time  of the Inquisition due to church records. There is was – I wasn’t crazy. Once I tapped that far back, everything opened up. I wasn’t just Jewish. I knew where our family had lived, some of the accomplishments of my ancestors.  

Around that time I also was referred to Ezra L’Anousim, an Israeli non-profit organization that helps Sephardic B’nei Anousim make formal returns to being part of Israel according to halakha. It  changed my life, opening a way for me to be able to return to my people. I now volunteer with the  organization, serving as a managing director for the Caribbean, alongside another volunteer who  works specifically with those from Cuba.

After hundreds of years, I no longer accept living in the shadows. Now I walk firmly and proudly as part of the nation of Israel. With HaShem’s help, I hope to make  aliya and help in the movement to restore our people. I’m grateful to the Creator for stirring our souls and helping guide His people home.

May we see the final redemption in our days.