As I wander through another set of touristy, medieval Spanish streets, this time I desperately search for something different than the usual winding roads, postcard shops, churches, and statues of Jesus…“These tiles mark the Jewish quarter of Toledo. One is a menorah, another is Hebrew for ‘life,’ and this one is the name of the ancient language of the Jews who used to lived here—a cross between Spanish and Hebrew—in the shape of the Iberian peninsula.”
I immediately send photos to my Israeli friend, excited to show him the Hebrew I’ve found in Spain, and to explain what the tour guide said about the third tile. However, he quickly responds: “Um, it actually says sofa...” In fact, it so clearly says sofa that I have to guide him through how it also resembles the shape of Spain and Portugal. We laugh about the fact that thousands of tourists are walking around taking photos of the word “sofa” written in Hebrew, and although he eventually realizes how it could be read as “Spain,” I’m struck by how this disconnect exemplifies the almost complete disappearance of Judaism in the country today.
In 1492, Jews and Muslims were officially expelled from Spain, forced either to convert or to flee into exile. Historically, Spain was home to significant Jewish and Muslim populations. However, centuries of persecution of these groups in the country culminated in the complete removal of these peoples, and for the Jews especially, their culture. For Spain, a nation formed under “Catholic Monarchs,” a Catholic identity has long been important. Even modern secularism and religious diversity are extremely new concepts for this country, which had a devout Catholic dictator until the mid-1970s. Under Franco’s rule, Roman Catholicism was the only religion with legal status, and church and state were deeply intertwined. Only after Franco’s death did liberalization movements lead to modernizations like the legalization of civil marriages and abortion, which separated church and state and paved the way for a more secular state.
Religion, and specifically the Catholic tradition, is still incredibly important in Spain. This is exemplified by the fact that when a Spaniard finds out I’m from the United States (after they ask who I’m voting for), they ask my religion. And for a surprising amount of people, I’m the first Jewish person they’ve ever met.
The simultaneous significance of the role Jews played in Spanish history and their contemporary absence in this country is a confusing paradox to come to terms with. And because of this, only in Spain, a country with arguably one of the richest religious histories, can you take a tour of a Jewish quarter and walk away fascinated, for all the wrong reasons, by a photo of “sofa” in Hebrew.
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