On the final day of our trip in Spain, we left the hotel in groups of four and headed to the Gothic Cathedral in the Old City in Barcelona. Logistically, it made sense for us to be separated, but noticeably it was the first time that we weren’t traveling as a complete group since we all convened in Malaga on that first official morning. And as we all reconvened, it was strange how some groups had arrived at different times considering we all essentially left at the same time. It turns out that some cab drivers even took different routes to get to our destination, but eventually, we all came together.
Our guide for the day was Dominique; a New Yorker who had grown up in Argentina and had eventually found her way to Barcelona. English was not her first language, and it was difficult to trace any sense of New York within her accent. But when she spoke of her birth place, she said it with pride and humor — typically of most New Yorkers.
She shared with us that she was an architect (her resume was impressive) and that she had been in different places before settling in Barcelona almost 20 years ago. She didn’t say exactly why it was she came to Barcelona, but when she landed here she talked about the difficulties in moving to a new place. She asked simply, “Where do you belong?” So, she looked for the Jewish community for answers.
As we learned over the course of our stay in Barcelona, the Jewish community was virtually invisible, and in 1992, when Jewish people started to find their roots in Barcelona, Dominque began to hear the narratives of those in the community. She admitted that as she heard those stories, she didn’t feel that she belonged to that narrative. Over time, however, Dominique became more involved in the Jewish Community, and eventually she became a part of the narrative. As she said, “I want to bring in a voice to talk about the narrative and make it more current.”
Dominique showed us pictures of the Cathedral at different points in time, and she remarked that the Cathedral and the area where we were standing had changed over the years. She noted that walls once stood where we were, but that those walls had been demolished. She didn’t mean for it to be profound, but the statement accurately summed up the goal of our trip. Whatever walls, regarding the stories of the oppressed, it is our job to demolish them.
She took us around to the side of the Cathedral where we were asked to look at a wall that had been constructed from various large stones. She asked us what we saw, and upon a closer look, we found that certain stones had been inscribed with Hebrew. These letters didn’t mean anything with regard to the wall, but Dominique explained that the stones were the remnants of what was once a Jewish cemetery on Mount Juic. She explained that the Jews had been forced to leave, and that many stones from the cemetery had been sold. Our scholar Paul passionately chimed in and shared more background of the wall, his thoughts and reflections, and then a segment from Jeremy Leigh’s Spanish Jewish Journeys in which he felt Leigh sums the whole Jewish narrative. In the excerpt, Leigh says, “Though disrespectful in the extreme, this act of insult has further ensured that the story of the Jews cannot be lost, without willful action to remove it. It is the embarrassing pieces of evidence that gives the whole story away.” He goes on to say that, “Stone, unlike people is much better at remembering, since the permanence of stone has ensured that the five hundred years since the Jews were expelled, has not been enough to do what the popular member has; namely, to forget the Jews.”
Knowing that I was responsible for this blog, Tsipy came up to me and noted a popular Israeli song with a line, “There are people with hearts of stone, and stones with hearts of people.” A statement that perhaps will always ring true.
Eventually, Dominique took us to the Jewish Cultural Center run by Victor and Ava where we essentially reflected on the purpose of our trip and our goals for the future. But before it, we settled in the Placeta De Manuel Ribe, where Dominique told us more about Call Juic (pronounced “kai Joo-eek”), what the neighborhood was like in 1050, and how many aspects of history are neglected. She showed us a specific plaque on the ground that talked about the 1938 bombing that had killed families and children, and there was obvious disappointment in her voice in noting the placement of the plaque. It was on the ground, almost discernible to anyone who didn’t want to see it.
As we stood in the plaza, learning about how the neighborhood had changed, how people had lived, and what was versus what it is, two women from the Caj Chai (a Tea House) were setting up for the day. They had lifted the garage-door like covering that protected the main window and opening for the restaurant, and eventually they came out into the plaza and placed four tables, with surrounding chairs, and an umbrella to keep the shade for perspective diners and drinkers, directly in the middle of the plaza. We left to meet Victor and Ava shortly after the women of Caj Chai began setting up, and had we left any earlier, perhaps we wouldn’t have known how this plaza functions in today’s world and how other people may inhabit the space.
Throughout our time in Spain, we’ve seen buildings and objects that have remained in tact; buildings that have been transformed; buildings that have been demolished and then reconstructed to serve different purposes. We’ve walked in plazas where people now drink coffee but where Jews and others were hanged or tried. We’ve visited spaces and have been asked to imagine what once was. We’ve seen art that shares the emotions of a particular moment, and we’ve been to museums and memorials that attempt to tell a story of the past. We’ve seen a monument that absurdly claims to honor everyone, and a church that beautifully bridges man and nature. We’ve seen places that were the best of times for Jews and places that were the worst of times.
Paul shared with us that until 1948, and the establishment of Israel, Time is where Jews created the most sacred space, but Memory is arguably the most important element within Time. Buildings are unquestionably significant, but only to an extent, as it’s the people and the memories and the stories that define the space. As we heard in the first day of our trip (in the synagogue in Cordoba), memory is the opposite of oblivion – “with no memory, we are just bodies.” With Time and memory and people, the narrative of the Jews in Spain will continue, and if we willingly learn the stories, share memories, create bridges, then Time will continue to be the most sacred space for the Jews, and for all those who were (and unfortunately are) oppressed.
Tomorrow, most of us will head to the airport together, but in the near future, we will all be on our own. We will work together and collaborate, but in the end, we will each head out independently and in different directions, but hopefully we will arrive together again, in the same destination.