The Past and Present of Convivencia:

How Spain Appropriated and Transformed its Medieval History

Zachary Brandon Strauss

A Thesis Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for Honors

International and Global Studies Program Middlebury College Middlebury, Vermont 05753

January 29, 2015

Approved by:

______Ph.D., Thesis Adviser

1 HONOR CODE PLEDGE

I have neither given nor received unauthorized aid on this assignment.

Zachary Brandon Strauss

The Middlebury College Undergraduate Honor Code was written for students, by students, in 1965. As noted in the Preamble to its constitution,

“The students of Middlebury College believe that individual undergraduates must assume responsibility for their own integrity on all assigned academic work. This constitution has been written and implemented by students in a community of individuals that values academic integrity as a way of life. The Middlebury student body, then, declares its commitment to an honor system that fosters moral growth and to a code that will not tolerate academic dishonesty in the College community.”

2 Table of Contents

Introduction 5

Chapter One: Historiography 13

Chapter Two: The Interreligious Culture of Convivencia 21

Chapter Three: Inquisition, Expulsion, and Diaspora 59

Chapter Four: The Romanticization of a Forgotten Past 67

Chapter Five: The Contemporary Relevance of Medieval History 77

Conclusion 85

Personal Epilogue 89

Acknowledgements 95

Bibliography 97

Appendices 101

3

4 Introduction

At the beginning of the tenth century, Cordoba, the capital of the caliphate of al-Andalus,

was an astonishing place. Neither medieval nor later historians could catalogue the wonders of

the urban locale. The Andalusian caliphs garnered unimaginable wealth, and they utilized their

riches to build and ornament their city.1 Certain historians suggest that Cordoba, a modern and

innovative metropolis for its era, was home to approximately nine hundred baths, thousands of

shops, hundreds of mosques, and aqueducts that provided running water, as well as paved, well-

lit streets.2 Given the large Jewish and Christian communities that inhabited the religiously

tolerant city, many synagogues and churches dotted the cityscape as well. Cordoba was far more

advanced than the Christian kingdoms of northern Iberia, as they had not progressed materially

or culturally beyond where they began in the eighth century. Tenth-century nun Hroswitha

served as a diplomat within the Ottonian court in Germany, and based upon her conversations

with caliph Abd al-Rahman’s emissaries, she scripted a glowing rendition of the Andalusian city,

its culture, and its people. In 955 she wrote, “the brilliant ornament of the world shone in the

west, a noble city newly known for the military prowess that its Hispanic colonizers had brought,

Cordoba was its name and it was wealthy and famous and known for its pleasure and resplendent

in all things…” While Hroswtiha provides a positive review of the Andalusian capital, it must be

understood that she never physically visited Cordoba and her laudatory remarks were in reaction

1 María Rosa Menocal, The Ornament of the World (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 2002) 32-33. 2 Carmen Pereira-Muro, Culturas de España (Boston: Heinle Cengage Learning, 2003) 48-50. Andalusian cities were very modern in comparison to those of European Christendom. As opposed to destroying the preexisting Roman infrastructure they found in Iberia, the triumphant Muslims claimed the imperial roads and aqueducts as their own.

5 to mere hearsay. Ultimately, it was Andalusia’s vast intellectual and academic capital,

inseparable from its material wealth, which made it the medieval “ornament of the world.”3

There was no better example of al-Andalus’s intellectual extravagance than the capital’s central library. Cordoba’s main library was only one of seventy that served the city’s population.

In the mid-tenth century, the building housed some 4000 volumes of written works at a time when the largest library in European Christendom boasted merely 400 manuscripts. A team of calligraphers was maintained in Cordoba for the rapid multiplication of new acquisitions to the library, and copies were sold in the capital’s renowned book market.4 Many of the works

available may have only appealed to Muslims or Arabophiles, as manuscripts on Islamic religion

and Arabic language played a dominant role in Cordoba’s library. However, thanks to the

Andalusian connection with Abbasid Baghdad, a city that made Arabic translation of Greek

writings a prized project, the caliphate’s many libraries accumulated Greco-Roman works once

lost to the Latin West. These libraries served as monuments to an Iberian culture that treasured

the world and its intellectual wonders, and as result of Andalusian admiration for books and

knowledge, many forgotten canonical classical works were reintroduced to the European literary

tradition. Wielding both material and intellectual power as well as supporting a religiously

diverse community of innovators, the Iberian Umayyads were unembarrassed to claim their

rightful place as the center of the world.5

Islam and the Quran explicitly recognize Christians and Jews as the “Peoples of the

Book.” While Muslims treated pagans poorly and forcibly converted them to Islam as they

expanded their empire, they granted the Jews and Christians of al-Andalus special socio-

3 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 32-35. Pereira-Muro 49-50. 4 Peter Cole ed., The Dream of the Poem: Hebrew Poetry from Muslim and Christian Spain 950-1492 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007) 3. 5 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 32-35. Pereira-Muro 50.

6 religious status.6 Their religious rights were protected under a Dhimma, a covenant between the ruling Muslim population and other “book communities” living under Islamic rule. The dhimmi, as Jews and Christians were denoted, were allowed to practice their religion freely so long as they paid a special tax known as the jizya to their Muslim authorities.7 However, Jews and

Christians also had to abide by a series of restrictive regulations if they wished to maintain their

rights: they were prohibited from proselytizing to Muslims, building new places of worship,

displaying crosses, or ringing bells.8 In reality, the Umayyads, whose culture and aesthetics

served as the foundation for al-Andalusian society, were extraordinarily liberal in their reading of

the Dhimma. In general, the Umayyads’ inclusive social policies and open-minded mentality created a society in which the “book communities” could and did thrive.9

Once treated as slaves by their Visigoth rulers, the Iberian Jews rose to prominence in

Andalusian society as result of their newfound religious freedom.10 In contrast, the socio-

political status of Spanish Christians declined. As members of the former dominant faith, they

had been demoted to a majority governed by a foreign minority, one whose influence continued

to wane as large numbers of Christians converted to Islam.11 However, Muslim hegemony did grant political and juridical autonomy to the Christians of al-Andalus, and Islamic governance provided them a separate civic authority as well a judicial system in which only Christians held power. While both Arabized Christians and Jews were subordinate to their Muslim counterparts,

6 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 72. 7 Abigail Krasner Balbale, D. Jerrilyn Dodds, and María Rosa Menocal, The Arts of Intimacy: Christians, Jews, and Muslims in the Making of Castilian Culture (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008) 17. 8 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 73. 9 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 73. 10 Cole 4. Unlike that of the Iberian Christians, the percentage of Andalusian Jews who converted to Islam during the first several centuries of Muslim rule was relatively low. 11 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 74.

7 enjoyable living and worship conditions allowed for assimilation to reign over rebellion.12

Shortly after the Muslim invasion of Iberia (711), Christians and Jews became socially accepted

Arabic speakers, successfully assimilating into the culture of al-Andalus and actively

participating in its economy.13

Throughout the first century of Umayyad rule (756-856), al-Andalus witnessed a staggering expansion in its Muslim population, stemming from both North African immigration and Christian conversion to Islam. Converting by the hundreds, Christians turned away from their original religion and towards the Muslim faith, enticed by its poetic language, culture, and intellectual drive. Intermarriage was the source of great loss for the Andalusian Christian community. While the children of mixed Christian and Muslim marriages may have spoken

Iberian Romance as their mother tongue, they were undoubtedly raised as Muslims.14 In the mid-

ninth century, Cordoba native and Christian cleric Paul Alvarus lamented that Spanish Christians

had “forgotten their own language,” and favored Arabic over Latin as their primary means of

communication.15 Commenting on the Arabization of Latin Christianity in al-Andalus, he

claimed “for every one who can write a letter in Latin to a friend, there are thousands who can

express themselves in Arabic with elegance.”16 The majority of Andalusian Christians, more

commonly known as Mozarabs, did not perceive their cultural Arabization or use of Arabic as a

betrayal of their faith. Initially a derogatory term, Mozarab became the fixed and socially

acceptable denotation for any Christian living in an Islamic Andalusian polity. These Arabized

12 Balbale, et al., 17. 13 Balbale, et al., 17. 14 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 67-68. 15 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 68. 16 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 70.

8 Christians represent the peaceful coexistence of Islam alongside Christianity for seven

centuries.17

However, cases arose in which these Arabized Christians both incited religious conflict

and were the recipients of discrimination and violence. Despite the assimilative mentality of

most Andalusian Mozarabs, a small group of Christians outwardly rejected the notion of

Arabization in Cordoba. In 855, “radical” opponents to conversion and assimilation actively

sought provocation and martyrdom.18 They publicly vilified Islam and Muhammad, and while

the Andalusian Umayyads promoted religious diversity, Muslim authorities did not tolerate the

denigration of their holy Prophet. Both Christian and Muslim leaders attempted to quell the

dissidents’ recalcitrant behavior in vain, as fifty of these Christian provocateurs were

subsequently beheaded in gory public executions. Following the killings, the violent passion of

the moment dissipated and the civil unrest anticipated by both Muslim and Christian hierarchies

never came to pass. However, these fifty-odd Christian rebels, denoted the “Mozarab Martyrs,” became symbols of Christian resistance to forced Islamic conversion. Most of the Andalusian population embraced the religiously stratified yet peaceful Umayyad society and perceived the

Christian martyrs as extremists.19

While not devoid of interreligious conflict and violence, medieval Iberia saw a relatively

peaceful era of cohabitation and coexistence between the three Abrahamic faiths. Together,

Jews, Muslims, and Christians formed a hybrid society, and from the Convivencia emerged novelties and innovations that would not have been possible without contributions from all three faiths. However, this age of intercultural influence saw its demise with the Spanish Inquisition

17 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 69. The original meaning of Mozarab was “wannabe Arab.” 18 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 70-71. 19 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 71.

9 (1482), the Christian Reconquest of Granada (1492), and the expulsion of the Jews (1492).20 As

the fifteenth century came to a close, non-Christian religious minorities no longer had a place in

Spanish society. Today, however, a thick varnish of romanticization covers Cordoba, as the city

attempts to artificially reconstruct the Convivencia for touristic purposes. Despite the illusion

crafted by Cordoba’s tourism enterprise, very few Jews and Muslims live there today.21

Moreover, it is very unlikely that those Spanish Christians who sell souvenirs in Cordoba’s old

Jewish quarter or those who work in the “Arab Baths” know much about Andalusian Judaism or

Islam. The Spanish educational system teaches medieval Iberian history from a solely Christian

perspective, as it reduces Islamic influence in Spain to architectural designs and disregards

Sephardic history entirely. Christian Spain does not credit the Iberian Jews or Muslims appropriately for their contributions to medieval and modern Spanish society, and has reduced their Iberian histories to mere magnets, snow globes, and gift shops.

This work explores the many facets of these topics and specifically details the implications of Convivencia in contemporary Spanish society. This thesis is comprised of five individual chapters and a concluding personal epilogue written from the author’s perspective.

Chapter one offers the reader a brief historiography of medieval Iberian history, focusing upon the most prominent twentieth-century scholarly perspectives on the Convivencia. Chapter two provides a multidisciplinary study of medieval Iberian interreligious culture, focused through the lenses of social interaction, linguistics, philosophy, architecture, and poetry. Chapter three relays a brief history of fifteenth-century Sephardic Jewry, elaborating upon the Spanish Inquisition, the

1492 edict of expulsion, and the Sephardic Diaspora.

20 Chris Lowney, A Vanished World: Muslims, Christians, and Jews in Medieval Spain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005) 227-261. 21 Carmen Flores Mengual, Personal Communications, Nov. 2013.

10 Chapter four and five transition the work’s focus from medieval history to contemporary

Spanish society. However, the information provided in the first three chapters is essential to

understanding the significance of medieval Iberian history in modern-day Spain. Chapter four

specifically highlights the Spanish tourism industry, and focuses upon the means by which

Cordoba’s tourism enterprise superficially sells the idea of a “city of three cultures.” It also

delves into the way in which the Spanish Middle Ages, specifically the notions of Convivencia

and Spanish Inquisition, are taught in both secondary schools and universities in Spain today.

Chapter five details two case studies that reflect the continued relevance of medieval Iberian history in contemporary Spain. This thesis explores the current bill that will theoretically provide citizenship to Sephardic Jews descendant of those expelled and also puts the Mosque-Cathedral in the spotlight, as recent controversy has been struck over how the Church should identify the building. A short conclusion is followed by the author’s personal epilogue; his inspiration for drafting this work is his experience as a Jew in Spain.

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12 Chapter One: Historiography

Convivencia is a central facet of medieval Spanish history, as it defined the era and put

medieval Spain in the historical spotlight. Spanish identity and nationalism emerged during the

Middle Ages, and if one is to comprehend modern Spanish society, it is essential that he

understands the various ways in which this time period, and especially the Convivencia, has been

interpreted. Having appeared under the guises of “peaceful coexistence” and “daily interaction,”

Convivencia has become a term that one can employ in a number of ways. It can be anything and

everything: rhetorical flare, a nostalgic nod to a rich historiographic tradition, as well as an

ambitiously constructed idea that attempts to summarize the entire range of religious minorities’

experience in medieval Spain.22 Historians have long been aware of the presence and interaction

of the three religious groups in Andalusia, but seldom has there been general agreement on how

to interpret the nature of their coexistence.23

Some Iberianists are fixated on the romantic imagery of interfaith harmony that the term evokes. Other scholars find Convivencia loaded with contentiousness and corrupted by generalizations, preferring to substitute it with more neutral terms like acculturation and symbiosis.24 Spanish historians such as H. Salvador Martínez choose to speak of Coexistencia in

place of Convivencia, redefining the term as a physical coexistence of cohabitating faith

communities, one that did not necessarily result in social integration.25 Historians Brian Catlos

and Chris Lowney associate medieval Iberia with Conveniencia, or convenience. They affirm

that reciprocal interests and mutual necessity held the fabric of interreligious interaction

22 Maya Soifer, “Beyond Convivencia: Critical Reflections on the Historiography of Interfaith Relations in Christian Spain,” Journal of Medieval Iberian Studies Vol. 1.1 01 Jan. 2009: 21-22. 23 Soifer 23. 24 Spanish scholar Manuela Marín fiercely criticizes the concept of Convivencia and describes the term as a misleading and aprioristic element of Castilian propaganda. 25 Soifer 23.

13 together.26 Convivencia and Iberian religious tolerance are linked to a centuries-long historigraphic tradition that continues today, the debate extending as far back as the thirteenth century.27

The first modern assessments of the social interaction amongst the three faiths were

made in the twentieth century. The term Convivencia was coined in 1926 by medieval Spanish

historian Ramón Menéndez Pidal, first surfacing in his linguistic work, The Origins of Spanish.

However, he uses the word Convivencia to describe the differences between Castilian and Latin

American Spanish, and the term did not enter the discussion of Iberian interfaith relations until

the mid-twentieth century.28 It was Spanish historian Américo Castro who initially utilized the

term to describe the unique nature of Iberia’s multireligious society. He first provoked the debate

on Andalusian multiethnic cohabitation in his 1948 work, The Spaniards: An Introduction to

their History, providing a thoroughly revisionist and monumental account of Spanish history. He

credits Islam for introducing the “horizon of tolerance” to Iberia and suggests medieval Spanish

religious coexistence was unique to Islamic Spain.29

Historian Mark Meyerson (1990) conforms to Castro’s view and asserts that Christians

adopted the concept of the Dhimma in governing their religious minorities.30 However, the

Islamic model was not the only one available to the Christian ruling authorities, as medieval

European Christians also had a history of cohabiting with a Jewish minority. According to Saint

Augustine, the Jews must be preserved to serve as witnesses to the Christian end of days.

Therefore, Iberian Christian authorities may have adhered to the Augustinian model instead of

26 Soifer 24. 27 Alex Novikoff, “Between Tolerance and Intolerance in Medieval Spain: An Historiographic Enigma,” Medieval Encounters Vol. 11 2005: 11. 28 Novikoff 18-20. 29 Novikoff 20-21. 30 Novikoff 32.

14 the Muslim Dhimma, in part for the practical need to extend a tolerant hand to the religious

groups residing in their newly conquered territories.31 While it is difficult to refute the impact of

Islamic culture and achievement on Spanish society, one should not regard the Christian north as

a “blank slate” that received its culture from the more advanced Muslim south.32

Historian Claudio Sánchez Albornoz boldly questioned Castro’s perspective on

Convivencia and interreligious tolerance in his two-volume Spain: A Historical Enigma (1956).

He challenged Castro’s assertion that Spanish culture is a product of the influences from other

religious cultures, affirming that Muslim Andalusians were not really Arabs at all, but “Spanish

Islamites” unable to transmit a functional Arabian structure to the peninsula. His vision of

Spanish history focused upon the Reconquista, drawing his affirmations from the religio-

nationalistic nature of the epoch-making struggle.33 He suggested that cultural diffusion and

tolerance were unidirectional phenomena, streaming from the Christian north to the Muslim

South.34 Both Albornoz and Castro offer points firmly rooted in the Spanish nationalistic canon, and historian Maya Soifer affirms that in order to eliminate discrepant dichotomies, such as that between “tolerance” and “intolerance,” scholars must refrain from counteracting one meaning of

Spanish history with another.35

When Castro introduced the concept of Convivencia in 1948, it initially exerted steady

influence on the field of medieval Iberian historiography. Professional and lay historians alike

were captivated by the idea of a uniquely Spanish medieval religious tolerance, which they often

31 Soifer 24. 32 Soifer 27. 33 Novikoff 22. Albornoz ascribes to what is known as the gothic or Castilian model of Spanish history, predicated on the belief that all rulers of Spain should be descendants of Castile. Fascist dictator Francisco Franco (1939-1975) appropriated this idea and instituted it as historical Spanish dogma. 34 Novikoff 29-30. 35 Soifer 27 and 31.

15 interpreted as a preconfiguration of the modern western ideal of interfaith harmony.36 However,

over the past six decades, debate over the generalized terms of “tolerance” and “Convivencia”

has taken new shape within the Iberian historigraphic tradition, with many scholars reinventing,

rejecting, or promoting Castro’s model. More recently, certain historians have asserted that

Convivencia has become so muddled in Spanish nationalistic mythology and idealistic

generalizations that it cannot be resuscitated, the blame being cast upon the term’s original

interpretation and Castro’s idealistic construct that was never meant to be tested against social

and political realities.37 According to medieval Spanish historian Maya Soifer, “Convivencia

survives, but it remains on life support.” 38

On the contrary, in his book Islamic and Christian Spain in the Early Middle Ages

(1979), historian Thomas Glick suggests that Convivencia may have a new lease on life. For that

to occur, it must be stripped of Castro’s obscure idealist language and be placed in a framework

of modern anthropological theory. Glick provides a new interpretation of an old idea, one that

understands Christian acculturation of Islamic tradition to be linked to the larger construct of

cultural change.39 To him, it is completely conceivable that interreligious hostilities were accompanied by Christian adoption of Muslim culture and language; they were not mutually exclusive. Glick avoids the categorical dichotomy of “tolerant” or “intolerant” with regards to

this time period, and views relations between the faiths in terms of acculturation and socio-

evolutionary change. His post-Franco and post-Castro perspective steers clear of Spanish nationalistic mythology and avoids the static terms favored by other historians, fusing

36 Soifer 19-20. 37 Soifer 20. 38 Soifer 21. 39 Soifer 21.

16 anthropology, history, and science to capture the distinguishing features of Iberian multifaith

relations.40

While many have written books pertaining to the idea of Convivencia over the past three

decades, the most significant contemporary interpretations are those of María Rosa Menocal,

James Powers, and David Nirenberg.41 As a scholar of medieval Arabic literature, Menocal

draws mainly from literary and poetic sources in painting her picture of a vibrant and tolerant

multifaith Spain. In her popular work The Ornament of the World (2002), Menocal describes

medieval Iberia as a land where “tolerance was often the rule and literature and science and

culture flourished in an environment of openness.”42 Her story is that of the social and artistic

achievements of the three religions living together under predominately Muslim rule for seven

hundred years. While Menocal utilizes the phrase “a culture of tolerance” to describe the

interreligious dynamic of al-Andalus, she never elaborates upon the nature of the relationship

that existed between the three faiths. In conforming to Glick’s school of thought, Menocal

concludes that the arrival of the Umayyads led to the tolerant attitude characteristic of Andalusia

and promotes the positive historical narrative of the Convivencia.43

However, not all scholars have been as committed to describing medieval Iberia in terms of multifaith peace. In his 1988 work, historian James Powers describes Iberian society between the eleventh and thirteenth centuries as one “organized for war.”44 Unlike Menocal, he does not

make use of literary, scientific, or artistic evidence, but instead focuses on the careful analysis of

40 Novikoff 29-30. Following Franco’s death in 1975, archives once closed off to the public opened once again. This provided Iberianists with a whole array of new texts and information with which to form claims and reevaluate previously established beliefs. 41 Novikoff 7-12. 42 Novikoff 8. Novikoff cites this quote from the inside flap of Menocal’s The Ornament of the World. 43 Novikoff 8-9. 44 James Powers, A Society Organized for War: The Iberian Municipal Militias in the Central Middle Ages, 1000-1284 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988).

17 Spanish royal documents: Christian and Muslim narrative chronicles, local charters, and fueros.45

Powers examines medieval law as well as the interreligious Arabo-Christian military conflicts

that occurred throughout the Reconquista. Far from Menocal’s world of cultural acceptance and

multifaith tolerance, Powers portrays medieval Spain as a land of military buildup, multireligious

hostility, and outright physical aggression.46

Taking a more nuanced approach to medieval Andalusia than Menocal but focusing less

on military history than Powers is David Nirenberg’s Communities of Violence (1992).47

Nirenberg takes specific interest in the forms of violence that plagued Jewish and Muslim

minorities in the Christian kingdom of Aragon in the late Middle Ages. He based his research on

the rich archival evidence available in Aragon and Valencia, and further supported his claims

with a wide range of anthropological studies. Nirenberg concludes that violence enacted against

Jews and Muslims only existed within the context of specific and localized historical events, not

within the realm of pan-European persecution.48 He asserts that the concept of Convivencia can be called “dialectic,” as it rests upon the idea that tolerance is predicated on intolerance. He explains that not only were ritualized outbursts of inter-communal violence a normal facet of multifaith coexistence, but that they also made the continued toleration of non-Christian minorities possible by defining their place within the dominant society. Sofier explains that

Nirenberg has scraped the “varnish of romanticism” off the old concept of Convivencia, for he

45 A fuero is a royal municipal code or compilation of laws. 46 Novikoff 9. 47 Novikoff 10. 48 Novikoff 10-11.

18 demonstrated that conflict did not exclude the possibility of coexistence; periodic violence was

not necessarily antithetical to peaceful cohabitation.49

Menocal, Powers, and Nirenberg each present a distinct view of medieval Iberian society.

The findings of these authors differ based upon the evidence selected and each scholar’s broad

interpretation of history. Writers may come to varying conclusions if they privilege Andalusian

literary achievement, war-related Castilian municipal codes, or Aragonese archives referencing

specific outbreaks of religious violence.50 It is troubling that tolerance and Convivencia are still

rarely defined, even in works that attempt to reconstruct the original understanding of the terms.

One point is clear; the ambiguous categories of tolerance and intolerance employed by medieval

Iberian historiographers have proved to be of little help in explaining the complexities of a

period that has received such a wide array of appraisals. However, the diverse images presented

by these authors are themselves evidence of a world more varied and more changing than any overarching semantic term like Convivencia could ever convey. 51 While the nature of

Convivencia is a nuanced and contentious subject, one cannot ignore the achievements and

innovations that emerged from medieval Iberia’s interreligious society.

49 Soifer 22. However, Soifer also asserts that both Glick and Nirenberg’s attempts to construct a neo- Convivencia are no more practical than the original formula. According to her, these authors do not identify the source of interreligious conflict during the Convivencia or explain how a desirable balance of antagonism and tolerance was achieved in medieval Iberia. 50 Novikoff 11. 51 Novikoff 34.

19

20 Chapter Two: The Interreligious Culture of Convivencia

Medieval Iberia cultivated a multicultural and interreligious society composed of Jews,

Muslims, and Christians. Together, members of the three faiths crafted a hybrid society of positive cohabitation, innovation, and cultural achievement. Among other facets of medieval

Iberian culture, Toledan synagogues, Andalusian poetry, the Spanish lexicon, and the Kabbalah are all products of the interreligious Convivencia. While the multireligous society of medieval

Iberia evaporated over five hundred years ago, remnants of the Convivencia endure, serving today as symbols of the incredible hybrid world of multifaith innovation that once dominated the

Iberian Peninsula. While not comprehensive of medieval Iberian culture in its entirety, the examples provided in the following chapter offer glimpses into medieval Iberia’s multifaith society and the innovative wonders of the Convivencia.

Everyday Interreligious Interaction

Most medieval scribes were unwilling to waste time or paper to detail the lives of Iberian common people, and documented glimpses of everyday interreligious acts of goodwill are rare.

However, the anecdotes that can be pieced together illustrate that Muslims, Jews, and Christians accommodated and respected their neighbors of different religions.52 Coexistence was fragile, and Lowney explains that members of each faith normally preferred to construct their own culturally homogenous society rather than form a mixed community.53 The sizable Jewish population of Burgos was able to remain financially independent, for instance, and the city’s five hundred Jews did not seek the company of Christians or Muslims, confining themselves to their

52 Lowney 208. 53 Lowney 207.

21 own separate neighborhood, religious culture, and lifestyle.54 In contrast, Jewish communities in

smaller towns like Avila could not afford such critical mass nor subsist in segregated quarters. A

medieval census revealed that Jews lived throughout Avila and occupied many different

professions, unable to make a living without accounting for non-Jewish customers.55 While the

constant friction of shared everyday life in both town and city occasionally resulted in

interreligious conflict and violence, it also kindled a mutual understanding born from the

countless daily interactions at bake ovens, taverns, and bathhouses.56 While the religious groups respected and tolerated one another’s differences, Lowney asserts that it was often a coexistence of necessity, an unavoidable result of multifaith cohabitation.57

However, a rich interreligious dialogue occurred throughout medieval Iberia, and

members of the three faith communities learned to accommodate the customs and beliefs of their

counterparts through everyday interactions. In 1258, King Jaime of Aragon had one bread oven

placed in the municipal bakery of the small Valencian town of Navarres. Every day, Muslim,

Jewish and Christian bakers met and spoke with one another as they waited for their loaves to

rise in the communal town oven. These simple daily conversations about weather, prices, and

village scandals enabled each to perceive one another as a multifaceted person, rather than just a caricature of Muslim, Jew, or Christian. However, it must be understood that this municipal policy was the result of economic necessity, as ovens could not fit in individual homes nor were they affordable. Water was scarce in many dry areas of al-Andalus, and the polity’s Muslim rulers established local water councils to mediate conflict regarding ownership of water supplies.

As the Reconquista, the centuries long Christian struggle to retake Iberia from the Muslims,

54 Jews made up ten percent of the population of thirteenth-century Burgos. 55 Lowney 204. 56 Lowney 206. 57 Lowney 189.

22 progressed, Castilian Christians began to populate previously Islamic lands. Thus, Muslims and

Christians learned to share water across both farms and faiths, settling disputes at water council

meetings.58 The most intimate daily interfaith interactions took place at communal bathhouses,

standard fixtures of Andalusian towns. Interreligious bathing was more customary amongst

women, given that no obvious signs such as circumcision reminded female bathers of the cultural

differences that separated them. Larger cities such as Seville afforded religiously segregated

bathhouses, but smaller locales were provided no such option. In Valencia, for example, Jews,

Muslims, and Christians soaked together at will in multifaith baths, and this custom appears to

have been the convention practiced throughout most of Muslim Spain.59

Medieval Iberia also saw multifaith businesses, mischief, and intimate relations. Dietary

laws proved to be no barrier to cross-cultural commerce, and a proper Jewish butcher could

attract clients regardless of his religion. Some Muslims, Jews, and Christians worked together to

establish interfaith businesses, pursuing customers of all religious backgrounds while remaining

open on their partner’s Sabbath.60 Members of different faith communities made both financial

deals and mischief together in al-Andalus. Muslims and Christians often patronized the same

taverns, and in the town of Elche, Arabs and Christians were more than once thrown in jail

together to sleep off the drunken ruckus they caused in the bar. Interfaith friendships were not

uncommon in medieval Iberia, while other interreligious relationships were more intimate in

nature.61 There do exist documented examples of genuine romantic mixed-faith relations, and eleventh-century Jewish poet Moses Ibn Ezra was so enthralled by a young Muslim woman that he expressed his love with verse: “By the hand of the Muslim doe is my soul destroyed and my

58 Lowney 203. 59 Lowney 203-204. 60 Lowney 205. 61 Lowney 206-207.

23 heart by her eyes is torn.”62 While some mixed-faith couples did not face objection, others were subject to discrimination and social condemnation. Some involved in interreligious relations became outcasts in their respective faith communities, and civic disapproval crushed many multifaith relationships before they fully blossomed. However, more than a few medieval

Iberians chose love over faith and family, many abandoning their religious societies in order to

remain with their significant other. The three faith communities coexisted harmoniously not only

out of necessity, but in many cases, in the name of love.63

Spanish portraits of common life can be sketched in smaller towns on the Arabo-

Christian frontier such as Cuenca. Cuenca changed hands of power multiple times throughout the

Middle Ages and it existed as a place of great diversity, having served as the permanent or

temporary home to Jews, Mozarabs, Christian Castilians, Arab Muslims, and Almoravid

Berbers.64 Under Castilian rule, the town code read, “Whoever may come to live in Cuenca, in

whatever condition he may be, whether he be Christian, Moor, or Jew, free or servile, should

come in safety.” King Alfonso VIII of Castile sought to welcome Christianity’s religious

counterparts to Cuenca, given that he had minimal resources, both human and material, with

which to defend his border post. In inviting those of different faiths to establish themselves in

Cuenca, he intended to strengthen his position on the frontier, and a prosperous local

interreligious community was the best way to secure his new territory.65 The Cuenca Code was an abstract document, and despite that it depicts a Christian government that tolerated its

62 Lowney 207. One of the most influential Iberian Jewish poets, Moses Ibn Ezra helped reclaim Hebrew as a language of literature and poetry. 63 Lowney 207. 64 First established by Muslims, Cuenca was later recaptured by Christians, reconquered by Almoravid fighters, and ultimately claimed by Christian Castilians in 1177. While some Cuencans fled the city with each change of control, many remained and persevered in the vulnerable yet diverse town. 65 Alfonso’s religious tolerance, while well intentioned, was the product of self-interest and necessity, given that he required a large and cohesive community willing to defend his Christian outpost.

24 religious minorities, Castilian daily life realistically did not always unfolded accordingly. On the other hand, even those that rejected the idealized society enshrined in the code bowed to the economic necessities of small town life on the mixed-faith frontier. Iberian towns were often settlements of less than one thousand people, and thus cooperation between neighbors, regardless of religion, was unavoidable.66

Arabic and Mozarabic: Linguistic Influence on Spanish Language

While societal trends may present interreligious engagement in the abstract, the Arabic- influenced Spanish language serves as a concrete example of medieval Iberian intercultural interaction. The Muslims ruled Iberia for over seven hundred years, and their vernacular language, Arabic, made a resonant and defining impact on Spanish. Save Latin, no other language has donated more words to the Spanish lexicon than Arabic.67 Loanwords were often extracted directly from Andalusian Arabic, and after phonetic modification, integrated into medieval Spanish Romance. In other cases, the Arabic pronunciation of already existing Greco-

Latin names became the fixed Spanish realization.68 For example, pronounced with an Arabic accent for seven centuries, the Roman name Caesar-Augusto evolved into “Zaragoza.”69 These lexical borrowings were not only Arabic words, but also those from Persia, India, and other far- reaching lands of the Muslim empire.70 Farsi loaned the words for blue (azul) and orange

66 Lowney 201-202. 67 Rafael Lapesa, Historia de la lengua española (Madrid: Editorial Gredos, 1980) 133. A linguistics lecture given at the University of Cordoba by Professor Felipe Solis Gómez on 07 Nov. 2013 serves as the inspiration for the following paragraphs regarding Arabic influence in Spanish language. 68 Lapesa 143. 69 Lapesa 143. This is the name attributed to Aragon’s capital city today. 70 J. Ralph Penny, A History of the Spanish Language (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002) 268.

25 (naranja) to Spanish, while Indian Sanskrit provided the nominal term for chess (ajedrez).71

Prior to its seventh-century expansion out of the Arabian Peninsula, Arabic had come into contact with Latin often via Greek.72 Andalusian Muslims borrowed and modified a number of

words from the Greco-Roman lexicon, such as apricot (albaricoque) and alchemy (alquimia), which subsequently passed to Spanish. According to Spanish linguist Rafael Lapesa, approximately four thousand Spanish lexical forms, including names of geographical sites, are derived from the Arabic language.73

Arabic made a resounding lexical impact on almost all fields of Spanish society.74

Andalusian civil life surpassed that of the northern Christian kingdoms, and thus many Arabic

words relating to the home and city like alfombra (rug), barrio (neighborhood), and azulejo (tile)

were adopted into the Spanish vocabulary over their Latin equivalents. As Castilian speakers

appropriated Muslim weaponry and tactics throughout the Reconquista, they often adopted

Arabic warfare terms such as alcazaba (watchtower) and almirante (admiral). The development of commerce and trade that took place in Islamic Spain is also reflected in Castilian borrowings such as aduana (customs) and tarifa (tariff). As medieval Islamic science and mathematics were

far more advanced than those of Christian Spain, Castilian speakers acquired almost their entire

scientific vocabulary from Arabic. Many of these Middle Age lexical forms such as alcohol

(alcohol), cero (zero) and cénit (zenith) are still used in modern Spanish. The Muslim introduction of novel cultivation techniques, plant species, and foodstuffs revolutionized Iberian agriculture and cuisine. As these new products and ideas arrived in the Christian north, Castilian

71 Lapesa 139. 72 Penny 268. 73 Lapesa 133. For a full directory of Spanish words of Arabic origin, consult the 2014 edition of the Diccionario de la Real Academia Española. The abbreviation “ár” signifies a term with Arabic roots. While this numerical figure varies by source, Lapesa serves as the canonic author regarding Spanish linguistic history. 74 Lapesa 138.

26 speakers often adopted their Arabic names, including alcachofa (artichoke), alhucema

(lavender), and noria (water mill).75 Derived from Arabic, the commonly used interjection ojalá

(God willing) as well as the preposition hasta (until) have become integral fixtures of the

Spanish language.76

While Arabic loaned hundreds of words to Spanish, it had minimal morfosyntactic and

phonetic influence on the language’s development. Spanish did not adopt a single Arabic

phoneme and few Arabic structural forms were absorbed into Spanish syntax.77 The

incorporation of Arabisms into Spanish posed considerable problems of phonetic adaptation, and

certain Arabic consonants and sounds were difficult for Romance speakers to pronounce. As they

borrowed words from Arabic, they replaced foreign phonemes with similar sounds already

existent in their language, such as /ɡ/ or /k/ in lieu of the Arabic velar consonants. In terms of

morphological influence, the prefix “al” entered the Spanish language via Arabic. Medieval

Romance speakers interpreted this indefinite article as an integral part of the Arabic noun and thus borrowed it together with the word it accompanied. Most Spanish words beginning with this

syllable such as almohada (pillow) and almendra (almond) are of Arabic origin. Spanish also

absorbed the Arabic suffix “-í,” into its morphology, as demonstrated by words yemení

(Yemenite) and marroquí, (Moroccan).78 Arabic serves as the etymological base for the names

of many Spanish geographic sites. For example, Gibraltar is named for Tariq, the great Berber

conqueror who invaded Iberia in 711, and the mountain retains its original Islamic name even

75 Penny 266-268. 76 Lapesa 138. The popular Castilian Spanish exclamations guay (cool) and olé (hurrah) also have Arabic roots. 77 Lapesa 145. 78 Lapesa 147. The tonic -í was a suffix most commonly applied to proper Arabic nouns such as fatimí (Fatimid). However, it was also utilized in the development of new medieval lexical formations such as alfonsí (relating to Alfonso X) and andalusí (al-Andalusian).

27 after having passed to both Spanish and British authorities.79 With seven centuries of linguistic

dominance over Iberia, the Arabic language made a profound impact on medieval Castilian, and

by extension, modern Spanish.

Not only did Arabic exert influence on developing medieval Castilian, but also Iberian

Mozarabic, the vernacular of Andalusian Christians living under Muslim rule. Mozarabic refers to a descendant of Latin spoken as late as the fifteenth century in Christian and Muslim Iberia. In

New Castile, Murcia, and Andalusia, Mozarabic was spoken alongside Castilian in reconquered

Christian territory, most likely by the same people who utilized it while under protection of the

Andalusian Dhimma. Mozarabic still enjoyed a great deal of use in thirteenth-century Castile, as it was associated with the prestige and power of al-Andalus. Prior to Castilian’s literary development and political elevation, Mozarabic maintained a considerable social status and exerted linguistic influence over medieval Spanish. As a result, Castilian speakers appropriated

Arabic words previously adopted by the Andalusian Mozarabs. Castilian speakers also integrated various Mozarabic words of Latin origin into their language, even replacing their original lexical forms with such loanwords. Mostly referring to agriculture and the natural world, these borrowings include corcho (cork) semilla (seed) and muchacho (man).80

The multilingual nature of Muslim Spain cannot entirely explain the incorporation of

thousands of Arabisms into Castilian. Medieval Romance spoken by Andalusian Mozarabs was

not a form of Castilian, which itself originated in northern Iberia outside of al-Andalus.

Therefore, the words Castilian took from Arabic were those loaned from a neighboring polity rather than from a language spoken within its own borders. Looking beyond extensive intra- territorial bilingualism, language historian Ralph Penny has reduced the reasons for heavy

79 Lapesa 141. 80 Penny 271-272.

28 Hispano-Arabic borrowing to two.81 Principally, names were needed for the many new concepts, both material and non-material, arriving in Castile from Islamic Iberia. It was more convenient for Castilian speakers to simply adopt an already existing Arabic name than to create a new term.

Secondly, Arabic served as a vehicle of high culture throughout the early Middle Ages and

wielded greater social capital than the languages spoken in the northern Christian kingdoms. The

initial factor is responsible for the numerous additions of Arabic lexical items to Spanish, while

the latter resulted in the less frequent replacement of Castilian words with Arabic-derived

synonyms.82 Additionally, the establishment of multilingual Arabo-Romance speakers within

Christian lands from the eighth till the fifteenth century also resulted in the Castilian borrowing

of at least some Arabic terms.83

From the eighth until the eleventh century, al-Andalus wielded great social and economic

power throughout the world, and at this time of Islamic splendor, Arabisms faced little

competition as they integrated into Castilian.84 However, as northern Christians seized control of

the peninsula, Arabic declined as a language of high status during the late Middle Ages.85 In the

sixteenth century, new styles and interests surfaced across Europe, and Muslim culture on the

continent could not compete with the emergence of the Renaissance.86 Losses occurred from

among the Arabisms of Castilian, and in a number of cases, Arabic terms were replaced with

borrowings from a historically more prestigious source such as Occitan. Thus, alarife (architect)

was replaced by arquitecto, taken from Greek via Latin, while alfayate (tailor) gave way to the

81 Penny 265. 82 Penny 266. Instead of utilizing the Latin word oleu to create the Spanish term for “oil,” medieval Castilians borrowed the Arabic word aceite instead. 83 Penny 266. 84 Lapesa 157. 85 Penny 268. 86 Lapesa 158.

29 Occitan-derived sastre.87 Despite late medieval and post-Reconquista attempts to “cleanse”

Castilian of Arabic influence, however, al-Andalus left a permanent and resonant linguistic mark upon the Spanish language.88

New Beliefs: Andalusian Mystics and Philosophers

Linguistic innovation was not the only development to emerge from multifaith Iberia, as medieval Spaniards also cultivated a strong philosophical tradition throughout the Middle Ages.

Medieval Iberia was the birthplace of an extraordinary group of towering religious figures whose

ideas and beliefs play off one another in an eloquently learned manner. These figures most notably include Maimonides, Averroes, Ibn Arabi, and Moses de Leon: the Second Moses, the

Commentator, Sufism’s greatest master, and Judaism’s most profound Kabbalist.89 They

demonstrated that just as spirituality and rationalism are significant, so too is the mind’s capacity

to interpret meaning, celebrate philosophical beauty, and reason through interreligious conflicts.

However, it is important to note that all but Moses de Leon composed their influential works

outside of Spain. Yet, each stretched the traditional boundaries of how one could express and

understand his faith, and each author’s works echo themes significant to the other figures.90

While separated by their religious beliefs, Spain’s great philosophers and mystics

nonetheless surmounted divisiveness, exploring values and ideas of each faith tradition. The

writings of Cordoba natives Averroes (Muslim) and Maimonides (Jewish) harmonized well

under the premise of their common Aristotelian inspiration, while Moses de Leon and Ibn Arabi

both took a mystic approach that extended beyond philosophical rationale. Each was forced or

87 Penny 268. 88 Lapesa 158. 89 Lowney 188. 90 Lowney 188.

30 privileged to hear the daily call to prayer or the toll of church bells, and they all recognized that

no single religion had a monopoly over the human expression of truth.91 While none of medieval

Spain’s mystics or philosophers pursued what we denote today as interfaith dialogue, each drew

ideas and influences from beyond his own religious tradition in crafting his own beliefs.92

A thirteenth-century inhabitant of Castilian Avila, Moses de Leon was a member of the

Iberian Jewish community, a respected scholar, and the author of many books. While he

attributed its authorship to second-century rabbi Simeon ben Yohai, it was Moses himself who

drafted the Zohar, Kabbalah’s greatest text.93 Developed in thirteenth-century Spain and France,

Kabbalah is the foundational esoteric school of thought pertaining to Jewish magic and

mysticism. Its teachings attempt to define the nature of human existence as well as to explain the

relationship between the eternal Ein Sof (infinity) and the finite world of God’s creation.94

Moses’ revolutionary Kabbalistic text was revered amongst medieval Jewry and was the only

post-Talmudic work to acquire canonical status in Judaism until the nineteenth century. Moses was a product of the Convivencia and spoke the many languages of his homeland: Castilian,

Arabic, and Hebrew. While he drafted the Zohar in a pseudo-Aramaic, the text is studded with

various Hebraisms, Castilianisms, and Arabisms. The Zohar provided a mystic and poetic

approach that opposed and rivaled accepted rabbinic teachings and biblical analyses. Moses

91 While all were born and bred in multicultural medieval Iberia, only Moses de Leon remained in the peninsula throughout his life. In response to the oppressive practices and policies of the ruling Islamic Almohad Berbers (1172-1212), the others abandoned their homeland and died outside of Iberia. 92 Lowney 188. This work specifically focuses upon Kabbalist Moses de Leon and Sufi Ibn Arabi and their multireligious approaches to mystic thought. For more information regarding Maimonides and Averroes, please consult Chris Lowney, A Vanished World: Muslims, Christians and Jews in Medieval Spain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005) 157-176. 93 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 216-217. 94 Rabbi Michael Morgan, Personal Communications, The Emery/Weiner School. 14 Oct. 2014. Kabbalah is not an official Jewish religious denomination, but its followers believe it to be an integral facet of Torah study.

31 outlined humanity’s role in God’s plan to bring peace to the globe.95 According to the Kabbalist, everyone must participate in this vital task, at a minimum by praying daily for such peace and by extending to every Muslim, Jewish, and Christian neighbor the respect they all deserve as beings fashioned in the image of God.96 As implied by his multireligious mystic approach to the end of days, Moses was a part of an old Castilian Jewish world that still proudly cultivated its

Andalusian heritage.97

Like Moses de Leon, thirteenth-century Muslim mystic, Ibn Arabi, made a resonant impact on the Andalusian religious landscape and his greater faith community. Sufism, Islamic mysticism and magic, originated in the Muslim East, but fully flourished in the land of al-

Andalus during the late Middle Ages.98 Sufis seek to divorce themselves from the material world, participating in meditative practices such as rhythmic breathing or even the more esoteric discipline of the whirling dervish in order to induce a transcendent experience. A rich spiritual current pulsed through medieval Iberia, and Sufism appealed to Muslims young and old, rich and poor, educated careerists as well as illiterate laborers. Andalusians revered Ibn Arabi as a spiritual prodigy, one who defied the rationalist beliefs of his Muslim contemporary Averroes.

Ibn Arabi explained that knowledge transcends logic, and that many of life’s questions cannot be placed within a realistic dichotomy of “yes” and “no.” According to him, a truth can both be and not be at the same time; one is both distant from God and connected to him. He introduced revolutionary and often “blasphemous” ideas to the largely traditional Islamic word, breaking

95 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 216-220. 96 Lowney 189. 97 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 220. 98 The term Sufi comes from the Arabic word for “wool,” as the mystics often wore coarse woolen garb as an indication of their prayerful austerity.

32 Qur’anic convention in associating humans with the divine.99 While the open-minded Muslim

Andalusians widely admired Ibn Arabi and the Sufis, the repressive Almoravid Berber regime

found them too heterodox and persecuted them for their beliefs.100

Ibn Arabi relayed his novel vision through prolific writings, authoring over 250 tractates

and treatises. In his most lauded work, The Bezels of Wisdom, Ibn Arabi conveys the relationship

between the monotheistic prophets and God.101 In his text, he portrays twenty-seven Jewish,

Christian, and Muslim prophets including Moses, Jesus, and Mohammad. To conclude his piece,

the Sufi master compares the relationship between God and creation to the union of man with

woman. In doing so, he links the Muslim and Jewish creation stories, as both the Quran and

Torah describe woman to have come from man. Ibn Arabi believed that at the peak of prayer, the

distinction between God and worshiper and that which separates Jew, Christian, and Muslim

falls away. The Sufi master best illustrated this idea with a poem:

My heart has become capable of every form, It is a pasture for gazelles and a convent for Christian monks And a temple for idols and the pilgrim’s Ka’ba and the Tables of the Torah and the book of the Quran I follow the religion of Love102

As an Andalusian Muslim raised in the multifaith society of the Convivencia, Ibn Arabi drew inspiration not only from the Quran, but also from Jewish and Christian religious texts and traditions.103

99 Lowney 177-180. 100 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 45. 101 In his work, Ibn Arabi analogously compares God to a precious jewel. 102 Lowney 182. This is an excerpt from one of Ibn Arabi’s most cited poems: “A Garden Among the Flames.” 103 Lowney 180-182.

33

Intercultural Architecture

While Middle Age Iberians left a strong philosophical legacy, Andalusians of all faiths

also produced incredible works of architecture, many of which stand today as symbols of their

achievement. Mozarabic and Mudejar are terms used to classify the different styles of Spanish art and architecture that surfaced as result of the multicultural environment of the

Convivencia.104 The term Mozarabic refers to the artistic style and culture of the Mozarabs, the

Iberian Christians who lived under Islamic rule throughout the Middle Ages. The word often

applies to both patrons of Mozarabic art as well as any artwork made by Christians within an

Islamic polity.105 The Mudejar artistic tradition refers to that developed by Muslims subjected to

Christian political rule, one that thrived in tolerant Christian-dominant cities like Toledo.106 A

contentious and often misinterpreted term, Mudejar can be defined as any art created in

Christian-ruled lands previously under Muslim control, as well as Muslim-developed art

appropriated by Christian rulers or Jewish elites.107 While it was once assumed that Mudejar

artisans were the Muslim slaves of their new Christian rulers, it is now commonly understood

that Jews, Muslims, and Christians worked together in crafting Mudejar buildings and

artifacts.108 While derived from the Muslim community, the Mudejar architectural tradition had

little to do with religion, and was adopted by both Jewish and Christian communities alike for its

cultural value and aesthetic appeal.109

104 D. Jerrilynn Dodds, F. Thomas Glick, and B. Vivian Mann, Convivencia: Jews, Muslims, and Christians in Medieval Spain (New York: George Braziller, Inc., 1992) 113. 105 Dodds, et al., 113. 106 Pereira-Muro 51-52. Mudejar art is often identified as stereotypical “Spanish art,” and even today Spanish bullrings are constructed in a Mudejar style. 107 Dodds, et al., 114. 108 Dodds, et al., 114. 109 Dodds, et al., 118.

34 For example, the Jews of Toledo and Cordoba constructed buildings in Islamic

architectural styles, and the use of Muslim artistic design became part of how the Jews defined

their place on Iberia’s cultural landscape.110 For Castilian ruler King Pedro I, imitating Nasrid

artistic styles visually associated his palaces with the mighty Alhambra and symbolically

connected his reign with the mythic power of al-Andalus. Toledan Jew and patron Samuel

Halevi Abulafia built his synagogue in the Mudejar style, and his adoption of Islamic architectural design reaffirmed the Jewish cultural identity in Iberia, one historically linked to

Muslim artistry.111 However, all definitions of Mozarabic and Mudejar ignore the significant

Jewish influence in the development of these styles. On the contrary, Jews living under Christian

rule were important patrons of Mudejar works, especially in their construction of synagogues in

Castilian-controlled Cordoba, Toledo, and Segovia. The synagogues that remain in Spain today exist as remnants of a medieval past of interfaith interaction, and their Mudejar designs remind us of the deep cultural commonality that once existed between Iberian Jews and Muslims. After living in Muslim Spain for centuries, Mozarabs and Jews made the crafts of Islamic art and architecture their own. The Andalusian architectural tradition survived via Jewish and Christian construction and appropriation, even centuries after the dissolution of the peninsular caliphate.112

Mudejar Synagogues

Of the four remaining synagogues in Spain, three are constructed in a medieval Mudejar

architectural style: La Santa Maria la Blanca (Toledo), El Transito (Toledo), and La Sinagoga de

110 Dodds, et al., 128. 111 Dodds, et al., 128. 112 Dodds, et al., 114 and 118.

35 Cordoba.113 However, none of these are presently functioning worship spaces and they serve as

mere remnants of a religiously interwoven past. Cordoba’s only surviving synagogue, La

Sinagoga de Cordoba (fourteenth century), is a living testament to the Jews’ once prominent establishment in the Umayyad capital.114 The Almohad-influenced synagogue of Cordoba is

small in size and boasts only a tiny square worship space and small overhanging women’s

gallery.115 The interior is full of many polylobed arches, lambrequins, and scalloped arched

openings.116 The remainder of the building is covered with white stucco decoration, more specifically the Moorish-style atuarique, or leafy, geometric interlace. The synagogue’s Hebrew inscriptions serve as both devotional texts and decorations that weave into the Islamic reliefs upon the walls. The building’s atuarique reliefs and lambrequin arches aesthetically associate the synagogue interior with palatial Nasrid architectural structures, specifically the great Alhambra of Granada. Mudejar design is not simply a Jewish or Christian copy of Islamic structural form, but an evolving interfaith artistic style deeply rooted in the culture of the Convivencia.

While often funded by Jews, Mudejar synagogues were artistically characterized by the absorption of Islamic craft tradition. In no Jewish building is this motif more apparent than in patron Samuel Abulafia’s El Transito. Constructed in Toledo in 1360, El Transito houses a large rectangular Mudejar sanctuary of palatial proportions.117 Its walls are covered with stucco

arabesque reliefs of extraordinary quality and are adorned with leafy-interlace atuarique designs.

Stucco leaves upon the walls intertwine with tangled ribbons of Arabic calligraphy, and the

113 Dodds, et al., 114. 114 Dodds, et al., 120. 115 The Hebrew dedicatory on the wall explains that Isaac Menham constructed the edifice in the Hebrew year 75 (Gregorian year 1314). 116 A lambrequin is a short ornamental drapery for the top of a window or door. 117 Dodds, et al., 124.

36 building structurally culminates in an ornate Torah Ark of three scalloped arches.118 The

grandeur of Abulafia’s synagogue starkly contrasts the more humble and modest design of

Cordoba’s Mudejar structure. Both Hebrew and Arabic writing, including texts from the Quran,

integrate into the intricate stucco ornamentation, and there is little doubt among art historians

that both Jews and Muslims worked together in crafting the edifice. It is unlikely that the Muslim

religious inscriptions were carved into the structure without Albulafia’s approval, as the Jews of

Toledo internalized the Moorish artistic tradition as part of their own cultural identity.119 The

synagogue speaks the languages that Jews once shared with Andalusian Islam, and recalls the

memory of interfaith Granada.120 Decorated with Arabic writing and Islamic patterns, the

synagogue, like many Mudejar constructions of Christian-dominant Iberia, visually draws from palatial Alhambra design.121 While constructed in an Islamic Mudejar style, the synagogue’s patron also sought to utilize the structure’s decorative ornamentation to physically link Toledo’s

Jewish community with the Christian monarchy.

El Transito’s wealthy Jewish patron, Samuel Halevi Abulafia, served as King Pedro I’s treasurer, primary tax collector, and ambassador to Portugal.122 In outward projection of his

solidarity with the Castilian crown, Abulafia had the crest of the Christian kingdom carved into

the walls of the Jewish prayer space.123 His deliberate choice to decorate the building with white

stucco visually proclaimed both his and the Jewish community’s connection to Castile, the

118 Balbale, et al., 242. 119 Dodds, et al., 125. 120 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 239. 121 Dodds, et al., 126. 122 Balbale, et al., 241. Abulafia was just one of many prominent Jews to serve in high positions within both Christian and Muslim courts. 123 Balbale, et al., 242.

37 Christian king, and Mudejar court style.124 Like the Hebrew inscriptions engraved into the walls,

the white crenellated castles and rampant lions of the regal insignia blend seamlessly into the arabesques and Islamic reliefs.125 Multiple inscriptions mark the walls of the edifice; one lauds

Pedro I as the Jewish community’s royal Christian protector, while another written in Hebrew

praises Samuel as a “great, pious, and just prince among the princes of Levi.”126 In constructing

his sanctuary, Abulafia sought to create a Jewish palace of his own, one that emphasized his personal grandeur, conveyed respect for his Christian king, and linked the Jewish community

with the Muslim palatial tradition.127 The synagogue and its patron found their Castilian identity

in a style that is identifiably and unapologetically Islamic, one that associates the arms of Castile

with Nasrid ornament, Arabic calligraphy, and the Quran.128 Still standing as one of Spain’s last great medieval monuments, El Transito visually recalls Toledo’s formative interreligious culture,

unique Andalusian identity, and Mudejar artistic tradition.129

Believed to have been built in the twelfth or thirteenth century, Santa Maria la Blanca,

the earlier of Toledo’s two surviving synagogues, opens to reveal an interior of five mosque-like

aisles and a forest of elegant white-stuccoed arches.130 Built in Toledo’s Jewish quarter near El

Transito, its original name was lost when it was converted into a church in the fifteenth century.

Very little is known about its historical construction, original interior orientation, and

patronage.131 However, it is speculated to have been constructed by Joseph ben Meir ben

124 Balbale, et al., 242. The idea that a Jew would construct a synagogue in the Castilian court style was not unheard of, and according to many medieval juridical texts, Jews belonged to their kings and were directly protected by him. 125 Balbale, et al., 242. 126 Dodds, et al., 128. 127 Dodds, et al., 128-129. 128 Balbale, et al., 242. 129 Balbale, et al., 246. 130 Dodds, et al., 115. 131 Balbale, et al., 179.

38 Shoshan, the Jewish financial minister of Castilian king Alfonso VIII.132 Like many Mudejar

edifices, it is built of red brick alternating with white stone courses, reminiscent of the Great

Mosque of Cordoba.133 While the geometrical reliefs upon the walls resemble more simple

Almohad decoration, the structure has more recently been interpreted as part of Toledo’s

Mudejar artistic flowering and associated with Castilian court style.134 The synagogue reminds

one of the extent to which the Convivencia bore witness to permeable boundaries between

Muslim and Jewish communities in al-Andalus and Christian-controlled Iberia.135 However, as it

was forcibly appropriated by the Christians and consecrated as a church in 1411, Santa Maria la

Blanca also testifies to the suffering inflicted upon the Jews by Iberian Christians during the

Reconquista.136

Historically, the term Mudejar only referred to those Muslims who remained in

reconquered Christian territory, but in the nineteenth century, art historian Jose Amador de los

Ríos afforded Mudejar a second meaning: Islamic-looking art commissioned by Christians or

Jews.137 Iberian art historian Cynthia Robinson affirms that there are two paths taken in

interpreting the visual phenomena characterized as Mudejar. Some read Mudejar structure

through an agnostic lens inspired by Reconquista ideology, with Islamic art appropriated into the

Christian visual vocabulary of power, while others focus upon the generalized and uniform

132 Dodds, et al., 115. Shoshan’s epitaph records him as the patron of a Toledan synagogue, one he restored in the Hebrew year 4940 [1180]. 133 Dodds, et al., 115. 134 Balbale, et al., 179. Constructed in a more puritanical style than El Transito, only the capitals of Santa Maria la Blanca erupt into what would be considered opulent ornamentation. 135 Balbale, et al., 179. 136 Balbale, et al., 179. In the year 1411, anti-Jewish Dominican cleric Vincent Ferrer (later Saint) delivered a sermon at the Toledan church Santiago de Arrabal, and at his instigation, the congregation seized the synagogue and converted into a church. 137 Medieval authors only utilized the term Mudejar to describe those Muslims that elected to remain in reconquered Christian territory, and not as a style of artistic design. It was contemporary scholarship that aligned the term Mudejar with what we today understand as Mudejar art and architecture.

39 fascination with the Islamic visual tradition on the part of the Christian royalty or Jewish

elites.138 Modern scholars vaguely define the adopted aesthetic of Mudejar structures as Islamic,

the false implication being that Jewish and Christian patrons appropriated but never contributed

to the development of the style. By default, a monolithic Muslim artistic culture problematically

became the reference for all Mudejar monuments. Robinson asserts that previous Mudejar

scholarship leaves us with a category of Jewish and Christian visual artifacts that exhibit

aesthetic similarities to buildings produced under Islamic patronage, the significance of which

has been reduced to its similarity to Islamic art itself.139 The widely accepted characterization of

Mudejar as meaningless Christian or Jewish appropriation appears to have distracted art

historians to the point that figural discussions of such motifs are marginalized.140

According to Robinson, the majority of extant Iberian artistic scholarship seems to agree

that once a building is labeled Mudejar, no further interpretation of the structure is required. In

her perspective, all interlacing arches and stylized vegetation upon structural walls are denoted

by traditional Mudejar scholarship to be Islamic in origin, completely disregarding that Christian

and Jewish patrons had commissioned these forms centuries earlier.141 There appears to be an

imbalance between the Islamic and the Christian element, and dynamism in reference to Mudejar

visual phenomena is reserved for the Christian facet, while the Arabo-Islamic gene pool is

138 Cynthia Robinson, “Mudéjar Revisited: A Prologména to the Reconstruction of Perception, Devotion, and Experience at the Mudéjar Convent of Clarisas, Tordesillas, Spain (Fourteenth Century A.D.),” Anthropology and Aesthetics Vol. 43 2003: 51-52. Jews and Christians were particularly entranced with the palatine aspects of Muslim architecture. 139 Cynthia Robinson, “Towers, Birds and Divine Light: The Contested Territory of Nasrid and “Mudejar” Ornament,” Medieval Encounters Vol. 17.1-2 2011: 29-31. 140 Robinson, “Mudéjar Revisited,” 52. 141 Robinson, “Towers, Birds and Divine Light,” 32.

40 presented as flat and unchanging.142 Robinson suggests that the root of this issue is that most

scholars of Mudejar art assume the inherent figurative meaningless of Islamic ornament.143

Missing among Iberian art historians is the possibility for Islamic art to signify, regardless of the faith community that employed it.144 Medieval Spain’s three faith communities knew one

another intimately, and Robinson asserts that scholars should not assume a mutual ignorance prevailed among Jews, Christians and Muslims. Instead, she explains that one should imagine the visual Mudejar vocabularies as existing in direct and highly conscious dialogue; Christian and

Jewish patrons participated in the creation, deployment, and contestation of this “Islamic” artistic style that was meaningful in specific, rather than generalized ways. The coalescence of Mudejar motifs was generated not by the appropriation of an aesthetic by one tradition from another, but by the participation of all three faiths in the creation of a specifically Iberian visual tradition.145

Rather than belonging to a “hybrid” and shared visual culture, the Islamic visual motifs

that form the basis for Mudejar design were subject to continual reinterpretation by the three

faith communities that employed them. Islamic topoi such as vegetation and trees, while

generalized throughout much of the Muslim and Arabic-speaking world, acquired concrete

associations within particular, non-Islamic religious contexts.146 For example, while leafy

ornamentation stereotypically is ascribed to the Islamic architectural style, Jewish elites such as

El Transito’s Samuel Halevi Judaized the design and afforded it a specific meaning within a

Jewish religious context. Halevi decorated the women’s gallery with leafy ornament and had a

particular biblical proverb inscribed into the synagogue’s eastern wall: “She is a Tree of Life to

142 Cynthia Robinson, Review of The Arts of Intimacy: Christians, Jews, and Muslims in the Making of Castilian Culture, eds. Abigail Krasner Balbale, D. Jerrilynn Dodds, and María Rosa Menocal. The Art Bulletin Sept. 2009: 370. 143 Robinson, “Towers, Birds and Divine Light,” 32. 144 Robinson, Review of The Arts of Intimacy, 371. 145 Robinson, “Towers, Birds and Divine Light,” 33-35. 146 Robinson, “Towers, Birds and Divine Light,” 35.

41 those who lay hold of her, and those who hold her fast are called happy.”147 According to

Kabbalah, the Tree of Life, that which the vegetal ornamentation is meant to signify, is the

source of intelligence and the female personification of Wisdom. Patron Samuel Halevi came

from a Kabbalistic family, and in ornamenting his structure, he employed a specifically Jewish

devotional language that makes use of biblical plant, garden, and tree metaphors. Thus, Robinson concludes that “Islamic” ornamental motifs such as vegetal decoration adopted distinctive meanings within specific religious and cultural contexts, and were not appropriated by non-

Muslims solely for aesthetic and secular purposes.148 The authors of The Arts of Intimacy assert

that El Transito and La Alhambra share a visual language, but what this collective image might

articulate never becomes clear, given they assume that it is the arbitrarily defined Mudejar style

that holds meaning rather than the structure’s specific elements.149 Robinson rejects Mudejar as a

stylistic representation of hybrid coexistence and an indicator of a coherent group of aesthetically

“Islamic” monuments. Despite the contentious nature of the term, Mudejar works stand today as great symbols of multicultural achievement and Convivencia, reminding all those who walk thought the streets of Toledo and Cordoba of a more interreligious time.

Fernando’s III’s Tomb

Four years prior to his death, King Fernando III of Castile seized Seville, the capital of the repressive Almohad Andalusian polity. When Fernando died in 1252, his son and successor

Alfonso X ascended the throne and built a memorial to his father inside the newly consecrated

147 Proverbs 3:18. 148 Robinson, “Mudéjar Revisited,” 72-73. 149 Robinson, Review of The Arts of Intimacy, 371.

42 Cathedral of Seville.150 The epitaph was carved into the marble sarcophagus in the four

languages of his kingdom: Latin front and center, Arabic and Hebrew on the right, and

developing Castilian on the left. The tomb served as Alfonso’s personal elegy to Fernando’s

religiously plural domain, and to a Castilian universe in which the active societal participation of

Muslims and Jews was welcomed. The “book communities” of Castile each spoke their own

monumental languages, those in which the king himself inscribed their particular versions of the

life of Fernando into history and stone.151

The inscriptions themselves provide striking markers of the Christian king’s intimacy

with the faith communities they represent: Jews, Muslims, Mozarabs, and Latinate Catholics.

The four epitaphs are not mechanical translations of the same message, and they all reflect the

cultural and religious sensibilities of the speakers of each particular language.152 For example,

the epithet “May God be pleased with him” is usually appended to the companions of

Mohammad, but in the case of the Arabic inscription, it refers to Fernando as the champion of

Islamic cities.153 The Jews and Muslims did not shy away from using culturally distinctive

concepts, and they denoted Spain as they would within their own historico-linguistic perceptions

of the land, Sefarad and al-Andalus respectively.154 In each inscription, the date of Fernando’s

death, March 31 1252, is provided in the manner appropriate for the speakers of that language,

whether affixed to the Hebrew, Hijri, Gregorian, or Castilian calendar.155 The distinct dates

resonate with the religious tolerance and diverse lexical polyphony of Fernando III’s kingdom:

150 When Fernando III conquered Seville in 1248, he had the city’s great mosque converted into a church. The mosque of former Almohad Seville exists today as the world’s second largest gothic cathedral. 151 Balbale, et al., 196-199. 152 Balbale, et al., 196. 153 Balbale, et al., 199. 154 Balbale, et al., 201. See inscription translations. 155 Balbale, et al., 199-201. The dates differ based upon the particular orientation of each calendar, as the Gregorian is solar, the Hijri lunar, and the Jewish a combination of both.

43 the last day of May 1252 (Gregorian), the 20th day of First Rabia 550 (Muslim), the 22nd day of

Sivan 5012 (Hebrew), and the last day of May 1290 (Castilian).156 In placing his vernacular

alongside other prestigious written languages, Alfonso aimed to elevate Castilian’s status to that

of the legitimate and principal literary language of the realm. While the tomb promoted

Alfonso’s personal cultural agenda, it also physically immortalized a not-so-distant Iberian past

in which Christian Toledo openly embraced its Jewish and Muslim communities.157

Mozarabic Churches

Despite Iberian political hostilities, Toledan architectural styles transformed as result of

renewed contact between the different Andalusian artistic traditions. As the puritanical rule of

both the Almoravids (1094-1147) and Almohads (1172-1212) incited social upheaval in Muslim

Spain, Toledo’s position as a tolerant Christian land on the Arabo-Christian frontier made it a

primary destination for repressed Mozarabs and Jews. In fleeing the strict and fundamentalist

Berber regimes, whole communities of Mozarabs emigrated to Christian Castile and settled in

the city of Toledo with their families and religious leaders. These Romance-speaking Arabized

Christians from the south are credited with introducing Islamic architectural forms to Christian

Toledo throughout the late twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In building religious spaces, these

Mozarab migrants often integrated both Islamic and Christian components, crafting hybrid

architectural forms. Mozarabic churches built in Christian Castile such as the Santa Eulalia

(Toledo) and San Roman (Toledo) often combined traditional Umayyad design with Visigothic and Christian elements.158

156 Balbale, et al., 199-201. 157 Balbale, et al., 196 and 199. 158 Balbale, et al., 138-140.

44 Banked upon a steep hill outside of Toledo’s city center is the church of Santa Eulalia.

Spaces within the church are compartmentalized in accordance with the ceremonial of Mozarabic

liturgy, while the nave arcade of horseshoe arches is purposefully constructed with capitals and

columns from the Visigothic period.159 In Roman architecture, the use of spolia in building new

structures often meant to recall a vanquished foe, but in this case, the old-fashioned arcade of

columns symbolically depicts the reemergence of Visigothic Christendom. However, this edifice

is not a Visigothic church, but a Mozarabic structure characterized by traditional Umayyad architectural motifs. While it attempts to visually revive the ghosts of Toledo’s Visigothic past, the church also is subject to strong Islamic influence. The horseshoe arches of its arcade are each encased in a square frame known as an alfiz, an Umayyad invention that supports every door of

Cordoba’s Great Mosque.160 The upper sections of the wall are broken into parts, and a series of

Muslim-style false windows opens onto the side aisles, illuminating the interior. These Islamic

openings and arches pertain to the Andalusian architectural tradition, one visually reconstructed

in this twelfth-century Mozarabic church in Christian Castile. The hybridity of the church

symbolizes the evolving identities of a people who both transformed and were transformed by

the city it conquered.161

Atop the tallest hill in Toledo sits the church of San Roman, a Mozarabic structure built

in the aftermath of the city’s Christian reconquest of 1085.162 While there is debate over whether

a Taifa mosque once stood upon the hill, the site of the new church was undoubtedly the location

159 Toledo served as the Visigoth capital prior to the Muslim conquest of Iberia. 160The alfiz is a rectangular panel that encloses the outward side of an arch. It is an architectonic adornment common in Islamic Hispanic and Mozarabic art, appearing in Spanish architectural works since the eight century. 161 Balbale, et al., 140 and 142. 162 The church now serves as Toledo’s museum of Visigothic history and culture.

45 of a previous Visigothic religious structure.163 In the twelfth century, the triumphant Castilians

built San Roman in the spot where they mythologized their Visigothic predecessors to have

worshiped. However, the first image a pious Christian received when he entered the “Visigothic”

church was not a visual memory of pre-Muslim Iberia, but one of Umayyad al-Andalus. In

crafting San Roman in an Islamic style, twelfth-century Christian Castilians paid an unambiguous tribute to the culture of their religious enemy, and their new prayer space stood as

a constant reminder of Christian Toledo’s intercultural intimacies.164

The wall dominating San Roman’s entryway contains a series of horseshoe arches

alternating with red and white voussoirs, unapologetically evoking the design of Cordoba’s Great

Mosque.165 However, recycled Visigothic stones and capitals were used to build the arcade, and

thus the structure also hints at a mythic, continuous link with a romanticized Visigothic

Toledo.166 Latin inscriptions frame the Islamic arches while painted images of Byzantine saints

appear inside the curvaceous horseshoes.167 Above the horseshoe arcade sit decorated interior

windows riddled with ersatz Arabic inscriptions, some occasionally yielding the Muslim phrase,

“good fortune and prosperity.”168 The squared-off arches were not separated from the rest of the chapel, but integral features of the Christian worship space.169 Paintings of the Apocalypse and

authoritative Christian figures animate the walls, while the Islamic illustrations in the nave are contrastingly structured with ornamentation similar to that found in Toledan mosques and

Muslim palaces. While both styles of painting may represent two separate periods of the

163 The Ornament of the World suggests that an Umayyad mosque never existed here, while The Arts of Intimacy provides the contrasting viewpoint. 164 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 130-132. 165 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 131. 166 Balbale, et al., 166. 167 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 131. 168 Balbale, et al., 167. Ersatz Arabic, or imitation Arabic, was utilized in writing the various inscriptions. The script physically appears like Arabic but often is indecipherable and without significance. 169 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 131.

46 church’s construction, conservator Carmen Gruss affirms that they “correspond to the same

moment” and are part of “a unitary whole.”170 In studying Mudejar and Mozarabic architecture,

one cannot separate the strands of Castilian, Taifa, Umayyad, and Visigothic culture interwoven into each piece and building.171

Multicultural Iberian Poetry

Much like ornamental architecture, the singing of songs was an art cultivated widely by

the Andalusians, who believed they had taken the classical Islamic poetic tradition a step further.

The inhabitants of al-Andalus developed a new lyrical form known as the “ring song,” or

moaxaja in Spanish.172 Behind this inscrutable Arabic word lays the melodic manifestation of the

Convivencia. The name of this novel strophic lyrical form literally translates to “circle” or

“sash,” definitions that allude to the encircling of the song’s stanzas with the specific rhyme and beat of a refrain. The moaxaja broke all the rules of classical Arabic poetry, and stanzas themselves were innovative facets of the ring song.173 At the heart of their popularity was their

revolutionary gesture; they brought the spoken vernaculars of al-Andalus, Mozarabic and colloquial Arabic, to the same poetic stage as classical Arabic.174 The ring song is the crown

jewel of the Andalusian poetic tradition, and according to thirteenth-century Baghdadi Ibn

170 Balbale, et al., 167. Statements in quotations are direct quotes from conservator Carmen Gruss. 171 Balbale, et al., 143. 172 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 126-127. 173 María Rosa Menocal, P. Raymond Scheindlin, and Michael Sells, eds., The Literature of Al-Andalus 1st ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000) 166-167. Strophic Arabic poetry originated in Muslim Spain. 174 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 126.

47 Dihyam, “the moaxaja is the cream of poetry and its choicest pearl; it is the genre in which the

peoples of the West excelled over those of the East.”175

The moaxaja is broken into five classical Arabic stanzas, which were then “ringed” with

a simple, short refrain called the jarcha.176 These last few lines set the rhythm and beat for the

entire song, and were almost always sung in the Andalusian vernacular, whether Mozarabic

Romance or spoken Arabic. The vernacular served as a new instrument in Muslim Spain’s

musical repertoire, and the refrain was key to Andalusia’s proclamation of cultural uniqueness.

The main classical Arabic stanzas, normally sung by Muslim men and full of high-flown

metaphors, were aligned to the beat and rhythm of the final Mozarabic lines. In contrast, the

voice of the jarcha was almost always that of a Christian Mozarab slave woman, and her words

were often lewd and sexually suggestive.177 While the male Muslim poet sings of floral beauty

and star-bright eyes, the Mozarab woman bluntly demands, “shut up and kiss me.”178 The moaxaja stanzas are the loud Umayyad echo that half argues with and half makes love to the women who give voice to the Mozarabic jarchas.179 A lyrical love poem, the ring song symbolizes the complex Andalusian hybrid identity and serves as an ode to the indissoluble intercultural unison of Muslim Iberia. As the authors of Arts of Intimacy explain so clearly, “the

mixture of languages and poetic dictions, the overlapping of various voices, and the will to

confound categories all lie at the heart of this heterodox form emblematic of Andalusian

culture.”180

175 Menocal, et al., The Literature of Al-Andalus, 166. In the Middle Ages, al-Andalus was considered the Muslim West, separate from the Islamic East. 176 Jarcha translates to “exit” or “to go out.” 177 Menocal, et al., The Literature of Al-Andalus, 166-169. Menocal, Ornament of the World, 127. 178 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 129. 179 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 129. 180 Balbale, et al., 151.

48 The magic of the moaxaja resides in the marriage of opposites: Arabic and Romance, courtly and vulgar strands, male and female, lover and beloved.181 One can feel the play around

these two linguistic forms in English translation and in the voice of Ibn Quzman, a celebrated

twelfth-century Andalusian poet.182 The first Arabic stanza reads:

“Disparagers of love, now hear my song; Though you be of a mind to do love wrong Believe me, moonlight is the stuff whereof My lady’s limbs are made, I offer proof. “

The poem finishes with the erotic Romance refrain and the voice of the Mozarab woman:

“Easy does it, not too quick, I like it slow and nothing new. Custom knows a thing or two. It’s to custom we should stick: Festina lente, that’s the trick Come at me slow, I’ll come with you.”183

Here, the classical Arabic stanza, with its refined language and complex metaphors, follows the

beat of the more blunt and less distinguished female Mozarabic voice. Fourteenth-century

historiographer Ibn Khaldun described moaxajas as laudatory and erotic poetry, something both

the elite and common people could enjoy because they were easy to comprehend.184 The question arises as to whom do these songs belong, whose culture, whose triumph? In fact, it is a hybrid form that belongs to the peoples of the Convivencia: Mozarabs, Muslims, and Jews alike.185

181 Balbale, et al., 153. The moaxajas combined two worlds: the al-Andalusian poetic court and the daily life of Mozarab women. 182 Balbale, et al., 144. 183 Balbale, et al., 144. Festina lente is a Latin phrase that translates to “make haste slowly.” The provided strophe and refrain are excerpts from Ibn Quzman’s moaxaja “Disparagers of Love.” Trans. Christopher Middleton and Leticia Garza-Falcón. 184 Balbale, et al., 144. 185 Balbale, et al., 159.

49 Despite that the ring song is a product of the complex and fluid intercultural society of al-

Andalus, philological and historical scholars have debated and continue to debate the ambiguous national origins of the style. Scholars of Arabic literature perceive the moaxaja to be a definitively Arabic form that arose from the strophization of earlier Levantine and Eastern poetic styles. On the contrary, Romance scholars discount the Arabic character of the stanzas and view the ring song as a Hispano-Romance genre rendered compatible with the dominant culture via

Arabization. Scholar Samuel M. Stern, acquainted with all the ring song’s cultural and linguistic sources, made the initial breakthrough in moaxaja study and immediately recognized the intercultural interaction at work within this lyrical tradition.186 Stern understood that the vernaculars of the common peoples of medieval Spain were the keys to comprehending this poetic tradition and its multinational origins.187 However, the moaxaja still suffers analytic segmentation and segregation, as the classical Arabic or Hebrew “head” is often studied separately from the vernacular “tail.” The classical stanzas are read as to make sense only within the Arabic or Hebrew poetic canons, while the vernacular refrain is worked into Spanish literary history and studied as an autonomous Romance poem. If one pulls the different yet interdependent threads of the ring song apart, he is left with an incomprehensible and incomplete pile of lyrical shards.188 Posing the question of national affiliation in reference to this multiethnic

186 Menocal, et al., The Literature of Al-Andalus, 166-167. While studying Hebrew ring songs, he was the first to discover the Mozarabic jarchas, publishing twenty-four vernacular refrains in the magazine Al- Andalus in 1948. He dates the beginning of the Hispano-Romance literary tradition to the first half of the eleventh century. 187 Menocal, et al., The Literature of Al-Andalus, 166-167. Stern is referring to vernacular Andalusian Arabic and Mozarabic Romance. 188 Balbale, et al., 156.

50 and prenationalist Andalusian poetic style does an injustice to the genre’s culturally heterogeneous nature.189

The jarcha, the vernacular refrain, is the ring song’s most innovative and versatile feature.190 The Arabic jarchas were produced with Arabic characters while the Romance refrains were written in either Mozarabic or aljamiado scripts.191 Refrains in the vernacular Arabic or

Romance did not differ significantly in their contents; both styles lament unfulfilled love, urge lovers to proclaim their disloyalty, or declare one’s love for another.192 Mu’arada, or poetic imitation, is especially telling of the multifaceted nature of the refrain. Imitation was a core component of Andalusian poetic gatherings, meetings in which either Jewish or Muslim poets attempted to lyrically outmatch and “outverse” those of their respective faith communities. As part of mu’arada practice, one recreated the structural mold of the model poem, while also incorporating the jarcha of the original poem into their new innovative one. Several different moaxajas with identical refrains constitute a poetic family, and such groupings often included both Hebrew and Arabic as well as secular and religious lyrical creations. While different in respect to the contents of their strophes, Hebrew and classical Arabic moaxajas of the same poetic “family” are bound together by their Mozarabic refrain. The intersecting levels involved in imitative mu’arada poems are vast, crossing genres, languages, and Andalusian cultures.193

189 Menocal, et al., The Literature of Al-Andalus, 167. Modern research of the moaxaja began about one hundred years ago, and scholars continue to contest the poetic form’s national origins. 190 Menocal, et al., The Literature of Al-Andalus, 169. 191 Balbale, et al., 159. In aljamiado texts, Arabic characters are used to transcribe European languages, especially Romance languages such as Mozarabic. The cultural pull of gravity is ambiguous in this lyrical form and it is often difficult to discern if the components are written in Arabized romance or Romance- laced Arabic. 192 Menocal, et al., The Literature of Al-Andalus, 169. Moaxajas originally served as love poems but where later adjusted to act as laudatory panegyrics as well. 193 Menocal, et al., The Literature of Al-Andalus, 172-173. This poetic replication was practiced openly and extensively amongst high-class Andalusians communities. Mu’arada was not considered plagiarism but rather a mark of skill.

51 The specifically Hebrew facet of mu’arada poems originated in the eleventh century, when a

strong tradition of Jewish secular poetry developed in Iberia.

Jewish Iberian Poetry

The first half of the eleventh century saw a flourishing of Hebrew poetry and Jewish

literature.194 During this period, the Jews of al-Andalus reinvented Hebrew, previously only a

liturgical language, as a poetic and musical tongue with a literary tradition the likes of which not

seen since the days of Solomon. As result of Jewish intimacy with Arabic poetics, Andalusian

Jews also adopted the moaxaja, producing an entire canon of peninsular verse scripted in the

newly lyrical Hebrew.195 The moaxaja style was not problematic or provocative for Jews, as they

had absorbed within a few centuries almost all aspects of the dominant Arabic literary style; the

ring song was only one novelty of many. Furthermore, Andalusian Jews were not subject to the

same cultural and religious hierarchical sensitivities as the devout Muslims, and appropriated

both secular and classical styles, just as they wrote both vernacular and classical Arabic side-by-

side.196 Iberian Jews also developed a new form of liturgical Hebrew poetry, inspired by the

philosophical and religious ideas of Arab humanism and scripted in their newly reinvented classical language.197 The Hebrew devotional moaxajas were incorporated into the context of the

various benedictions of the Torah service, with their content always related to the theme of the

194 Dodds, et al., 39. Dodds, Mann, and Glick divide Jewish Iberian history into two parts: the Golden Age when Jews lived under Arab rule (tenth-mid twelfth century) and the Silver Age when they resided in Christian territory (mid twelfth-late fifteenth century). 195 Balbale, et al., 146. As Jews already had an ancient tradition of strophic synagogue poetry, Hebrew writers rapidly adopted the stanza-structured ring song. 196 Menocal, et al., The Literature of Al-Andalus, 171. Andalusian Muslims differentiated greatly between secular and religious styles as well as between classical and vernacular Arabic. Classical Arabic was ascribed only to liturgical and religious use. 197 Dodds, et al., 39.

52 prayers.198 Arabic poetic techniques were applied to this new religious poetry, and it was the

combination of Arabic literary forms, Jewish religious interpretation, and a warm personal voice

that made these new liturgical works the most treasured writings in Judaism since David’s

Psalms.199

Andalusian Jews made biblical Hebrew the Jewish equivalent to classical Arabic,

affording their language a secular status along with its religious position as the holy tongue of

God. Jews rejected the language of rabbinic literature and old synagogue poetry, specifically choosing to revive classical biblical Hebrew as their target strophic moaxaja language. The general preference for classical Hebrew language was predicated on communal Jewish pride, as

Iberian Jews believed that great canonical literature in a classical language was the sign of a strong culture.200 While the stanzas of Jewish ring songs were written in classical Hebrew, the

jarchas were produced with Mozarabic or Judeo-Arabic script.201 The emergence of secular

Hebrew poetry was also a social development, part of a wider tendency for Andalusian Jewry to

adopt Muslim social institutions. In making use of Hebrew instead of Arabic, Iberian Jews

molded this Muslim literary form into an expression of their own ethno-linguistic identity.202

Poetry became as important to peninsular Jews as it was to Andalusian Muslims, and they

composed odes in Hebrew, improvised verses, and took pleasure in poetic competitions. Many

198 Menocal, et al., The Literature of Al-Andalus, 171. 199 Dodds, et al., 48. 200 Dodds, et al., 43-45. The Jews Hebraized the Muslim Andalusian concept of arrabiya, the notion that classical Arabic was a superior language of strength and high culture. 201 Dodds, et al., 43-44. Judeo-Arabic, also known as Middle Arabic, was a medieval Iberian language developed by Andalusian Jews. It differed from Arabic mostly in written form, employing Hebrew rather than Arabic script. Consonant dots from the Arabic alphabet were used to accommodate phonemes that did not exist in the Hebrew language. Today, it is considered to be an endangered language. 202 Dodds, et al., 46.

53 leaders of the Jewish community proved to be gifted poets, and nearly all educated Andalusian

Jews tried their hand at Hebrew verse.203

Andalusian Jewish figures such as Samuel HaNagid, Moses Ibn Ezra, and Yehuda Halevi

were not only influential community leaders, but also talented Hebrew lyricists.204 Samuel

HaNagid (993-after 1056) was the most spectacular of the court rabbis and one of the greatest

Andalusian Hebrew poets. In the early eleventh century, he served as the vizier of Granada and even accompanied troops on their annual military campaigns, events he describes in verse:

“The clamor of the troops was like thunder, like the sea And its waves when it rages in a storm… The horses were running back and forth Like serpents darting from their den…”205

Samuel’s Hebrew poems and their Arabic superscriptions describe his military engagements and

provide details of political events not found in other sources. Samuel HaNagid served as a patron

of secular Hebrew poetry and supported Talmudic study, and he himself was one of the most

accomplished of his contemporaries in both fields. Samuel HaNagid played a major role in

developing the secular Hebrew literary tradition, but not all Jews were pleased with the

Arabization of Jewish culture, and Hebrew pietists criticized Samuel for writing love poems in

the holy language.206

In his book on Hebrew poetry, The Book of Discussion and Conversation, Andalusian

Jewish poet Moses Ibn Ezra (1055-1135) reflects upon the propriety of Hebrew-scripted secular

verse, ultimately defending the enterprise. Moses was a member of a large family of wealthy

203 Balbale, et al., 145. The tenth-century al-Andalus native Hasdai ibn Hashprut is another of the great Iberian Jewish poets, physicians, and court-rabbis. 204 Samuel HaNagid and Moses Ibn Ezra were eleventh-century poets, while Yehuda Halevi composed most of his works during the twelfth century. 205 Dodds, et al., 46. 206 Dodds, et al., 44-47.

54 Jewish administrators in Granada, a man of great intellect and social influence. Of all the Jewish

poets of this time period, he followed the formal Arabic tradition most closely when writing

Hebrew verse.207 Following his literary lead, twelfth-century lyricist Yehuda Halevi (1075-1141)

was one of the most musical Andalusian Jewish poets, as well as one of the last to leave large

volumes of verse behind. He spent much of his youth in the southern lands of Islamic Spain as a

nomadic poet, but in 1110 he reestablished himself in his birthplace of Toledo and served as a

lyricist in the royal court. As a true master of verse and Hebrew language, he was versatile in

combining Jewish biblical imagery with Arabic poetics.208 He is best known, however, for his

poems pertaining to his desire to go on pilgrimage to Palestine, such as his “Fair-Crested,

Cosmic Joy:”

Fair-Crested, cosmic joy, city of the great King, My soul yearns for you from the edge of the West, My yearning love is stirred when I remember the East of yore, Your Glory exiled, your Shrine ruined…209

Towards the end of his life, Halevi vowed to stop writing poetry altogether, abandoning Iberia

for the Jewish Holy Land and denouncing the poetic culture in which he once brilliantly

participated.210 While Yehuda Halevi died in Palestine in 1141, he, like Moses Ibn Ezra and

Samuel HaNagid, greatly contributed to the development of Hebrew literary culture.

Even at the height of Jewish influence during the Iberian Middle Ages, one should beware of imposing an idealized view of the Convivencia. The Jews were a tolerated minority,

207 Dodds, et al., 47-48. 208 Dodds, et al., 48. 209 Menocal, et al., The Literature of Al-Andalus, 271. The city to which he refers is King David’s Jerusalem and the shrine the Second Temple destroyed by the Romans. 210 Dodds, et al., 47-48. For a full compilation of the poems and hymns of Yehuda Halevi, consult Franz Rosenzweig, Ninety-Two Poems and Hymns of Yehuda Halevi (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2000). Trans. Tomas Kovach,, Eva Jospe, and Gilya Gerda Schmidt.

55 not equal citizens alongside their Muslim coreligionists. While the caliphate did not always enforce their restrictive legislation, the Jews were physically segregated from Muslims and occasionally subjected to interreligious violence. Andalusian Jews depended upon the dominant

Arabic society; they did not serve as a counterweight to Islamic tradition and were mere recipients of Muslim culture. There is little evidence that Arabs showed vested interest in learning from Jews about Hebrew culture, and from what scholars understand, the entire Iberian

Jewish literary age and its extraordinary innovations went completely unnoticed by Muslim intellectuals. If one had to reconstruct Andalusian Jewish history based upon documents written by Arabs, they would know very little about medieval Iberian Jewry or its contributions to

Spanish society. The truly original work of the Convivencia, the brilliant synthesis of Arabic and

Hebrew language and culture, would all be unknown.211

Regardless of how one perceives the Convivencia, it is difficult to neglect the incredible achievements that emerged as result of medieval Iberia’s interreligious society. For centuries,

Iberian Jews, Christians, and Muslims cohabited, ultimately crafting a hybrid world of cultural splendor, intellectual opulence, and architectural beauty. Philosophers such as Moses de Leon and Ibn Arabi drafted revolutionary works of mystic thought, many of which draw from faiths different from their own. Andalusia fostered a unique taste for singing songs and writing secular poetry, and Mozarab, Muslim, and Jewish voices intertwined in developing the novel moaxaja form. While Muslim ornament served as the inspiration for many Mozarabic churches and

Mudejar synagogues, Jews and Mozarabs afforded stereotypically Muslim decoration specifically Christian and Jewish religious meaning. The modern Spanish lexicon is a concrete example of Muslim influence on the peninsula, as more than 4000 Spanish words are of Arabic

211 Dodds, et al., 114. Cole 3.

56 origin. While medieval Iberia bore witness to episodes of multireligious violence, it was also the site of great achievement realized by those of all three faiths, sometimes even together. However, the unique intercultural and multireligious environment of the Convivencia disintegrated in the late fifteenth century, when the Catholic Monarchs reconquered Iberia from the Muslims and expelled the peninsular Jews.

57

58 Chapter Three: Inquisition, Expulsion, and Diaspora

The Jews were ultimately expelled from Spain in 1492, ending the centuries long era of

Convivencia. However, Iberian Jewish religious culture and society had begun to unravel over a

century earlier. In the days before Holy Week of 1391, few would have thought of Iberia as a

land without Jews. The kingdoms of Castile, Aragon, Portugal, and Navarra housed much larger

populations of Jews than any other region in fourteenth-century Western Europe.212 Iberian

monarchs were traditionally the Jews’ defenders of last resort in times of interreligious conflict,

and in 1478 Isabella of Castile stated, “They are my Jews, and they are under my help and

protection, and mine is the obligation to defend, help, and maintain them in justice.”213 However,

the benefits of this symbiotic relationship were lost during the reign of powerless teenage

Castilian king Enrique III. On June 6, 1391, he stood aside as Christian mobs stormed Seville’s

Jewish quarter and killed thousands.214

Anti-Jewish riots soon followed in Madrid, Cordoba, Burgos, Valencia, Gerona, and

many other cities across the peninsula. Mobs assaulted Jewish ghettos throughout the land crying

“Let the Jews convert or die!” In the wake of the 1391 pogroms, thousands of Jews were

murdered, others fled, and as much as half of Spain’s Jewish population presented themselves for

baptism.215 Survivor Reuven of Gerona inscribed the summer’s events in the margins of his

father’s Torah scroll:

212 David Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism: A Western Tradition (New York City: W.W. Norton & Company, 2013) 219. 213 Lowney 228. This was not solely a magnanimous gesture, as Spain’s royal rulers depended upon Jews for their tax revenue, financial expertise, and administrative guidance. 214Lowney 228. Three months earlier, a small band of Christians had set out to attack the Jewish quarter of Seville, but royal guards who customarily protected the Jews during Holy Week thwarted their attempt. 215 Lowney 219-220.

59 “The sword, slaughter, destruction, forced conversion, captivity, and spoliation were the order of the day. Many Jews were sold as slaves to the Muslims. 140,000 were unable to resist those who so barbarously forced them to impurity.”216

The number of converts he provides is staggering, accounting for over half of the total Jewish

population of Castile and Aragon combined. Many modern historians are wary to trust medieval

statistics and often replace them with more plausible figures. On the other hand, scholars do not

doubt that these events not only meant to transform the religious demography of Iberia, but also

actually succeeded.217

Those involved in the 1391 pogroms had achieved exactly what they desired; thousands

renounced Judaism and converted to Christianity.218 However, they were troubled and appalled

to find that these New Christians had completely integrated into Spanish civil society and even

attained a higher social and economic status than “pureblooded” Old Christians. Many conversos

outwardly practiced Christianity, but still continued to live amongst Jewish neighbors and

secretly practice Judaism as crypto-Jews. 219 The unconverted Jews were forcibly transferred to separate neighborhoods, and even interreligious commercial contact was prohibited, as the monarchs especially sought to prevent all exchanges between Jews and New Christians.220 At the

turn of the fifteenth century, anti-Jewish Dominican cleric Vincent Ferrer (later Saint) preached a

campaign of evangelization, and pressured by violence and monetary compensation, many

leading Jewish families converted. Ferrer contributed to reducing the Jewish population of

216 Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism, 219. 217 Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism, 220. 218 Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism, 220. 219 New Christian was the term given to those Iberian Jews and Muslims who converted to Christianity. Old Christians were those descendant of solely Christian families. Converso is a Spanish word meaning “one who converted.” It normally refers to Spanish Jewish converts to Christianity. Crypto-Jew is a term referring to those Jews who converted to Christianity but continued to practice Judaism in secret. 220 Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism, 222-224.

60 Aragon to a mere fraction of what it once was.221 Neither segregating nor converting the Jews,

however, controlled or contained the problem of Jewish proximity to Old or New Christians.222

Many churchmen protested that the Church faced a dire threat, and alleged that conversos

professed Christianity while observing Jewish practices in secret. Though neither of the recently

wed Catholic Monarchs, Queen Isabela and King Fernando, had a history of anti-Jewish policy, they conceded to the alarmist rumors, and in 1478, petitioned Pope Sixtus IV to endorse an inquisition of Castile.223

The inquisitors arrived in Seville in 1481 to conduct their religious duty. There were

critical differences between Spain’s brand of inquisition and those that preceded it. Contrary to

popular assumption, the inquisition process did not originate in Spain, and early inquisitions did

not specifically target Jews or false converts from Judaism. The origins of anti-heretical

European inquisition lie in thirteenth-century France. Whereas previous inquisitions had sought

to extirpate all forms of heresy, however, Castile and Aragon’s focused almost exclusively on

false converts from Judaism. Unfortunately for the victims of the institution, the Spanish

inquisition was far more organized and efficient than those that came before it. The inquisition

received no papal or royal funding, but was supported by the monetary penalties levied against

those found guilty. Initially, the pope was troubled by the Spanish inquisitorial practices, and

demanded that anyone found guilty be allowed an opportunity to appeal their judgment in Rome.

However, papal authorities ultimately bowed to the Catholic Monarchs, preferring to appease the

new peninsular rulers rather than protect the victims. In 1482, the pope conceded to the

monarchs’ wishes and appointed Tomas de Torquemada as inquisitor general of both Castile and

221 Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism, 222-224. 222 Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism, 239. 223 Lowney 232.

61 Aragon. For the first time in history, religious inquisition had become an official arm of royal

government.224

Torquemada provided heretics a forty-day grace period with which to come forth and confess their wrongdoings. The Spanish inquisition focused exclusively on ferreting out false converts to Christianity, and unconverted Jews avoided its fatal wrath almost entirely. Those able to identify other heretics were encouraged to do so, and the inquisitors pressed for unconverted

Jews to incriminate New Christians. Many New Christians approached the inquisitors before

they could target them, as it was better for Jews to personally confess than lose their lives at the hand of another’s falsely accusatory remarks. For example, over 2500 Toledans rushed forward to clear their names in the first inquisitorial year alone.225 Some New Christians were secretly

clinging to their faith, while others realistically understood themselves as Christian, but

continued to incorporate Jewish practices into their new faith. Those who confessed did not

escape punishment, and they were subjected to the auto-da-fe, a public procession of penitents

that gradually turned into a gaudy inquisitorial ritual. Reconciled New Christians lived only to

look forward to penury and shame, often stripped of their wealth as result of inquisitorial

monetary fines. The real victims were those who refused to recant their sins, and the unrepentant

were handed over to the civic authorities and subsequently burned at the stake for all to see.226

Up to two thousand conversos were executed during the inquisition’s first few decades,

and five hundred more died over the three succeeding centuries. As horrific as this death toll is,

Spain held no monopoly on religious terror during the early modern era. Just as the inquisition’s

death toll was cresting, the Protestant Revolution and religious war divided Europe. The modern-

224 Lowney 233-234. 225 Lowney 235. 226 Lowney 236.

62 day states of England, Scotland, France, Germany, and the Netherlands sent countless suspected

heretics to the stake and gallows. Some historians estimate that as many as eight million people

may have died in the early seventeenth century as result of violent religious conflict.227 However,

it means little to calculate which European conflict was most lethal. The Spanish Inquisition’s

three century-long history has more to do with its perverse public display of victims, extensive

reach, and sinister practices. Accusations circulated unchecked throughout Spain, and the ever- mounting toll of confessions fueled hysteria that Judaizing conversos had infiltrated every level of Spanish society.228 Fernando and Isabela complained that despite their inquisitors’ determined

efforts to root out false converts, Spain was still laden with wicked Christians who Judaized and

apostatized from the Catholic faith.229

On March 31, 1492, the Catholic Monarchs drafted the edict of expulsion of Spain’s

Jews. They were convinced that the issue did not lie with the New Christians, but with Castile

and Aragon’s unconverted Jews who allegedly refused to leave the conversos to practice their

new religion peaceably. A declaration of expulsion provided a definitive solution: “To order the

said Jews and Jewesses of our kingdoms to depart by the end of July, 1492 and to never

return.”230 Spain’s Jews, many of whose families had resided in Iberia since immigrating from

Roman Judea in 70 C.E, now had to find a new home.231 The expulsion allowed Jews until July

31, 1492 to convert or depart, and it is estimated that half of Spain’s Jewish population converted

227 While Lowney provides this figure (eight million), it must be understood that this number is very high and not characteristic of the dominant scholarly perspectives on the matter. 228 Lowney 237-238. 229 Lowney 240-241. 230 Lowney 241. 231 The Jews had initially entered into the Diaspora and immigrated to Spain after the Romans besieged Jerusalem and destroyed the Second Temple in 70 C.E. Following the expulsion of the Spanish Jews in 1492, the term Sephardic was adopted to describe those Jews who came from Spain. Sefarad is the both the medieval and modern Hebrew word for Spain.

63 and between 150,000 and 200,000 chose exile.232 The soon-to-be exiles faced a predicament:

they needed to sell their homes and businesses, but they were prohibited from removing gold and

precious stones from the kingdoms. The Catholic Monarchs feared that as the Jews departed,

Spain’s capital would leave with them. Jews were also forbidden from removing pack animals

from Iberia, forcing the Jews to take with them only the amount of wealth they could wear or

carry across the border. They were also victims of petty scams, and many borrowers refused to

pay their debt until after the 31st of July. In a final twist of malice, the fleeing Jews were forced

to part with the last few coins they had, as the crown had levied a departure tax upon the

exiles.233

Many Sephardic Jews initially migrated to the still-independent kingdoms of Portugal

and Navarra. However, those who chose to escape Spanish persecution in Portugal were sadly

mistaken. King João II of Portugal was more ruthless than Queen Isabela; he kidnapped Jewish

children and enslaved entire Jewish families upon arrival. He sent baptized Jewish children to the

newly discovered Portuguese island colony of São Tomé, where he hoped to establish a

“pureblood” society of devout Christians.234 After losing his son to conversion and King João’s

treachery, there was no consoling Sephardic Jew Judah Abrabanel. In 1503, he composed an

elegiac poem to his lost son, one that speaks not only of his pain, but that suffered by parents of

every child killed in 1391, pressured to convert, or transported across the Atlantic to São Tomé:

“Exiling me while yet my days were green, Sending me stumbling drunk, to roam the world, Spinning me dizzy round about its edge… But how can I control myself when he is lost… That is the thought that sickens, strangles, slashes me;

232 Lowney 242. 233 Lowney 242-243. 234 Lowney 243. São Tomé was a Portuguese island colony (now an independent nation) located off the coast of the modern-day West African country of Gabon.

64 That is the razor, sharper than any barber’s blade…”235

Under pressure from the Catholic Monarchs, both Portugal and Navarra also expelled their Jews

in 1497 and 1498 respectively. Thousands of others migrated to more welcoming lands such as

Italy, the Maghreb, Greece, the Balkans, and the Ottoman Empire.236 With them, Sephardic Jews

also brought their Judeo-Hispanic language, Ladino, as well their unique religious culture,

traditions, and dress.237 Ottoman Sultan Bayaceto II openly welcomed the Jews to his territory,

and saw their entrance as a lucrative and beneficial blessing to his empire.238

However, following the dismemberment and secularization of the Ottoman Empire in the first quarter of the twentieth century, Jews lost much of their religious and civic autonomy. As a result, many chose to abandon their homes and move to Colombia, France, Argentina, the United

States, and British Palestine. Most of the Sephardic Jews who once resided in Greece, Italy, and the Balkans perished during WWII, either in battle or in Nazi death camps.239 Despite Hitler’s

attempt to eradicate Jewish life, large Sephardic communities still exist in France, the United

States, Israel, and Argentina, and Sephardic Jews currently comprise approximately 18% of

235 Lowney 244-245. Judah departed Spain and reestablished himself in Italy. His son was most likely sent to São Tomé. 236 The Jews who moved to Northern Africa also were subject to discrimination, but thousands remain in Morocco today and continue to practice Sephardic Judaism. In Italy, large Jewish communities developed in Naples, Venice, Ferrara, and Rome. The first Jewish ghetto was established in Venice in the sixteenth century. Greek Jewish communities developed specifically in the cities of Athens and Thessaloniki. Those who established themselves in modern-day Turkey were welcomed with open arms, and large communities of Sephardic Jews still reside in the Eurasian nation. 237 Ladino is a Judeo-Romance language derived from medieval Castilian. It still retains many linguistic characteristics of fifteenth-century Spanish, but the language evolved substantially following the Jewish expulsion from the peninsula. The language developed in unique ways depending upon where each community of Sephardic Jews reestablished itself, whether in Italy, Turkey, Greece, or elsewhere. 238 Rafael Cano, Historia de la lengua española (Barcelona: Ariel Publications, 2004) 1140-1143. 239 Cano 1144-1145. After the creation of the state of Israel in 1948, thousands of Sephardic Jews from Europe and around the Mediterranean immigrated to the Jewish nation. Israel has by far the largest Sephardic Jewish community, with a population of approximately 1.4 million.

65 global Jewry.240 While a dying language, Ladino is still spoken by older Jews in Sephardic communities and Jewish periodicals continue to publish material in the medieval Iberian language.241

240 “Sephardic Jews Eye Return to Spain.” Euronews.com 29 Aug. 2014. Web. 241 Cano 1145.

66 Chapter Four: The Romanticization of a Forgotten Past

While the tiny Jewish minority gripped medieval Spain’s fevered imagination in the

late fifteenth century, the armed Muslim kingdom of Granada endured as a reminder to the

Spanish monarchy of the still uncompleted reconquest. Granada, the last vestige of Muslim rule

on the peninsula, lingered while Castile’s monarchs took to other priorities such as inquisition.242

Muslim Spain, however, no longer commanded enough strength to defend itself from the powerful Christian Iberian kingdom of Castile-Aragon. At an opportune moment of internal political strife, the Catholic Monarchs seized their chance to reconquer Granada and realize their dream of a fully reunited Christian Spain. Taking advantage of a Nasrid royal dispute, Fernando inserted himself into the struggle, pursuing a tenuous relationship with current Muslim king

Boabdil while at the same time slowly dismantling the state. He first sliced the kingdom in half, seizing its southwest territory and taking the southeast portion the following year. The once great

Muslim kingdom had been reduced to the city of Granada and its outskirts. The outcome of

Castilian victory was inevitable from the outset: Granada was a Muslim island in a Christian sea.

Fernando and Isabela took formal possession of Granada’s Alhambra on January 2, 1492, and like the many Castilian rulers that succeeded them, they too were awestruck by its grandeur and beauty.243 The Reconquest of Granada and the expulsion of the Jews signaled the end of an era;

the Catholic Monarchs had mandated the Convivencia out of existence.

Unlike the options presented to the Jews, the monarchs mapped out favorable surrender

terms for the Muslims, allowing the Granadans to “live in their own religion, and not permit that

their mosques be taken from them, nor their minarets.”244 The Muslims were to be judged

242 Lowney 238. 243 Lowney 239-240. 244 Lowney 240.

67 according to the sharia and not subjected to discriminatory clothing markers like those worn by the Jews. Granadans who had converted from Christianity to Islam were free to select the faith of their choosing. The terms of the surrender allowed those who refused to live under Christian rule passage to North Africa until 1495. Thousands elected to live amongst their coreligionists and soon after departed for the Maghreb. However, at the turn of the sixteenth century, the Catholic

Monarchs reneged upon their promises, and as they had with the Jews, subsequently forced the

Muslims to convert, depart, or die.245 The moriscos, those three hundred thousand Christianized

Muslims that still remained in Iberia, were finally expelled by King Felipe III in 1609.246 After the expulsion of the Muslims, non-Christian religious minorities no longer had a place in Spain; the last remnants of the Convivencia had been forced into exile.

When the Reconquista reached its final stage in the second half of the fifteenth century, literary works paradoxically began to reflect certain nostalgia for al-Andalus and romanticize its once glorious past. One of these “morisco-romances,” the Romance de Abenámar y El Rey Don

Juan, references Castilian King Don Juan’s attempt to recapture Granada in 1431. Before the splendid site of the city, the king asks his Muslim ally, Abenámar, to identity the marvelous buildings around Granada. Like many other narrative poems of this type, this too adopts the form of a short dramatic dialogue:

“What castles are those? They are tall and gleaming! The Alhambra, my lord, and the other the Mosque The others are summer palaces of marvelous decoration There, King Juan spoke; listen well to what he said; If you would love me, Granada, with you I would be wed; I would give you the dowry of Cordoba and Seville Married I am, King Don Juan, I am no widow

245 Lowney 240. As pressure mounted on the Muslims to convert, rebellions erupted in Granada and the mountainous region of Alpujarra in 1499. Suppression of these uprisings was severe, and as result, the more lenient conditions of surrender were withdrawn. 246 Pereira-Muro 128.

68 The Muslim has taken me and loves me greatly”247

While certain medieval Spaniards reflected fondly upon the Muslim Iberian past, those of contemporary Spain festively romanticize the Christian Reconquista and perceive the

Castilian warriors as their saviors from infidelity.248 Many Spain touristic guides highlight local

festivals that celebrate the Christian Reconquista. For example, the “Moors and Christians”

festival in Alcoy, Alicante, is the most important event of the year for the small provincial

town.249 The centuries-long Arabo-Christian struggle is recreated in two days of simulated

vaudeville battles fought between costumed Muslim and Christians. When the Christians

inevitably win the staged skirmish, a statue of the Virgin is carried proudly throughout the city as

symbol of Alcoy’s devotion to Saint George and Christianity.250 A similar annual event occurs in

the Valencian town of Boicarente, and every February, fireworks, costumes and a colorful

reenactment of the Arabo-Christian struggle light up this unique festival. In an explosive ending,

a stuffed effigy of Mohammad is blown up as part of the Catholic-inclined celebration. The

Granada Reconquest Festival celebrates the liberation of the city from the Muslims, and every

year on January 2nd, Granada fills with thousands of tourists who come to watch the military

reenactments of Arabo-Christian battles. The whole of Granada celebrates the Christians’ 1492

247 This is an excerpt from the anonymously written poem Romance de Abenámar y El Rey Don Juan. Translation provided by Zachary Strauss. 248 Pereira-Muro 73. For another example of a nostalgic “morisco-romance,” consult Olivia Remie Constable and Damian Zurro, eds., Medieval Iberia: Readings from Christian, Muslim, and Jewish Sources 2nd ed. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2012) 287. 249 “Alcoy: Moors and Christians Festival.” Spain.info. Spanish Department of Tourism, n.d. Web. 10 Jan. 2015. Frommer’s Spain (2012) cites this as one of the nation’s greatest festivals. 250 Simon Baskett, et al., The Rough Guide to Spain (New York City: Rough Guides, 2009) 869. This festival dates back to the sixteenth century and commemorates a battle fought in 1276, one in which Saint George supposedly intervened, helping the Christian fighters defeat the Muslims.

69 victory over the Arabs, and as a festive gesture, the municipal government opens the Alhambra’s

highest tower to the public.251

As supplementary research, fourteen personal interviews were conducted with those

who live in or have visited Andalusia. The interviewees were Christian, Jewish, or nonreligious,

and hailed from Spain, Belgium, Israel, or the United States. In one such interview, Spanish

journalist and Madrid native Sofia Martínez affirms, “In Spain, they talk about the Reconquista

as if were a challenge, a victory for all Spaniards against the Muslims. People speak of the

Catholic warriors as if they were our saviors.”252 This celebratory perception of the Christian

Reconquista appears to be widespread across Spain.

In general, Spain boasts one of the largest tourism industries in the world, and many

historic medieval cities such as Cordoba and Granada that do not have great industrial capacity

rely on tourism and foreign visitors for a large portion of their annual revenue.253 Today, many medieval Iberian cities are acclaimed to be the most popular and touristic locales in Spain.

Digital traveling guide TripAdvisor has published a list of Spain’s most touristic destinations, and Andalusian cities Seville, Granada, Malaga, and Cordoba were all placed firmly within the top ten.254 On the TripAdvisor page titled, “The Most Visited Monuments in Spain,” Andalusian

monuments such as Granada’s Alhambra, Seville’s Giralda, and Cordoba’s Mosque-Cathedral rank as numbers one, six, and seven respectively.255 Spanish national and Valladolid native Irene

Estefanía González remarks, “Andalusia has a high value in the revenue that it brings in from

251 Patricia Harris and David Lyon, Frommer’s Spain (Hoboken: John Wiley and Sons, Inc., 2012) 40-41. January 2nd is the anniversary of the Castilian reconquest of Granada. 252 Sofía Martínez, Personal Interview, 14 Oct. 2014. 253 OECD (2012), OECD Tourism and Trends and Policies 2012, OECD Publishing. According to this study, tourism is a large mainstay of the Spanish economy, accounting for almost ten percent of GDP and eleven percent of national employment. In 2014, Spain consolidated its position as the fourth largest global tourist destination in terms of arrivals and the second largest in terms of tourism receipts. 254 “Top Ten Destinations: Spain.” TripAdvisor.com. TripAdvisor, n.d. Web. 10 Jan. 2015. 255 “The Most Visited Monuments in Spain,” TripAdvisor.com, TripAdvisor, n.d. Web. 10 Jan. 2015.

70 tourism. If we have a friend coming in from abroad, we always say go to Andalusia.”256 The

achievements of the Convivencia endure as appealing touristic attractions, and according to

global visitors, the most significant structure in the nation is the Alhambra, not a cathedral or

Castilian royal palace.

Touristic medieval cities like Cordoba have preserved their old town centers and medieval monuments. Cordoba native Rafael Carrasco affirms, “Cordoba’s industry is really scarce. Tourism is the economy.”257 Many print and digital tour guides, as well as all fourteen

interviewees, affirm that Cordoba’s most touristic sites are the beautiful Jewish quarter and

Umayyad Mosque-Cathedral. However, the great majority of Cordobans identify as Catholic,

and those who make money off city tourism are not the peoples who originally constructed or

inhabited the sites.258 The Jews and Muslims were expelled from Spain centuries ago, but

Cordoba’s tourism enterprise advantageously capitalizes on the relics left behind by those

peoples that Catholic Spain expelled.

Cordoba attempts to recreate the illusion of Convivencia for touristic purposes and sells

itself as a “city of three cultures,” one flash-frozen in a medieval past of harmonious coexistence.

The touristic map endorsed by Cordoba’s municipal government is laden with advertisements

promoting al-Andalusian baths, Arab teahouses, and the Casa Andalusí, a museum-like

replication of a Muslim Andalusian home, complete with historic texts and fountains. All the

aforementioned sites are located within what is known as Cordoba’s Juderia, or Jewish quarter.

However, besides the name, there is not much left that characterizes it as Jewish, aside from the

whitewashed houses and small winding streets. According to “Made in Spain” Cordoba tour

256 Irene Estefanía González, Personal Interview, 16 Oct. 2014. 257 Rafael Carrasco, Personal Interview, 17 Oct. 2014. 258 “Europe: Spain.” CIA.gov. CIA World Factbook. 20 June 2014. Web. 10 Jan. 2015.

71 guide Carmen Flores Mengual, only twenty Jews currently reside in the once great Sephardic city, most of whom are Reform American Jewish ex-patriots.259 The small Sephardic synagogue currently serves as merely a historic site, as no regular prayer services take place there. The adjacent “Casa Sefarad,” Cordoba’s Sephardic Jewish museum, does provide a well-rounded historical overview of Spanish Judaism, but the center itself does not organize any Jewish activities for tourists or locals. Whenever I approached with such an inquiry, the curator of the museum would say to me, “Go to Seville.” The one Sephardic restaurant in the city, Casa Mazal, is located deep within the Juderia, and while it serves authentic Sephardic cuisine, the chefs are not Jewish and the food itself is not kosher.260 However, it is difficult to blame the Andalusians for taking advantage of this touristic opportunity, as it provides them with a great source of income and attracts visitors from all over the world.

In contrast to the superficial image of Convivencia promoted by Cordoba’s tourism industry, the city has no Jewish life and the vibrant Jewish quarter is an artificial façade preserved for financial purposes. The Jewish quarter is one of the city’s main touristic attractions and its largest touristic zone, with zero to few Jewish inhabitants and dozens of souvenir shops.

Cordoba native Rafael Carrasco confirms this assessment and states, “I really don’t think there is any Jewish presence here. [The Juderia] is sort of a theme park; it’s been restored for the sake of tourism.” Giving her opinion on the matter, Middlebury Spanish professor and Toledo native

Marta Manrique Gómez explains, “I didn’t see any Jewish life in the quarter. It had been converted into a commercial and touristic exposition. It didn’t even seem like a neighborhood

259 Carmen Flores Mengual, Personal Communications, Nov. 2013. 260 Casa Mazal Staff, Personal Communications, Nov. 2013. Any Jewish tourist who keeps kosher would not be able to eat at this establishment. The restaurant is disregarding the large base of Jewish tourists that visit the city.

72 anymore, only the structures of the streets remain the same.”261 Spain is approximately 94%

percent Roman Catholic, and most Spanish citizens only meet a Jewish person if they leave

Spain.262 Spanish journalist Sofía Martínez affirms, “I don’t know anyone who knows anyone

that is Jewish in Spain. It doesn’t exist; it’s not a topic. If you ask a Spaniard about Judaism, they

think of WWII and the Nazis.”263 What tourists see and what the locals experience are two

separately constructed sides of the same coin. Through her experience as a university exchange

student in Cordoba, Kristin Johnson found that “the Juderia and the Mezquita are emphasized

for touristic purposes, so the Cordoba that tourists see is completely different from the Cordoba

that Spaniards or exchange students see.”264

Even more significant is how the history of medieval Iberia, Andalusian Muslims, and

Sephardic Jews is currently taught in Spanish universities and secondary schools.265 According

to Madrid’s history curriculum, students learn about medieval Spanish history in their second

year of secondary school. They are briefly taught about Spain as a crossroads of the three faiths,

and teachers promote a positive image of Convivencia and harmonious coexistence.266 A product of the Madrid secondary school system, Ana Sánchez Chico affirms, “We never really spoke about Jewish influence or history. They did speak of a harmonious existence between the

261 Marta Manrique Gómez, Personal Interview, 12 Nov. 2014. Translation provided by Zachary Strauss. 262 “Europe: Spain.” CIA.gov. 263 Sofía Martínez, Personal Interview, 18 Oct. 2014. Sofia is a Madrid native that has worked for various Spanish publications, including EFE, one of the nation’s primary news agencies. 264 Kristin Johnson, Personal Interview, 22 Oct. 2014. Kristin is a current undergraduate senior at Mt. Holyoke College. She spent her junior academic year at the University of Cordoba’s Faculty of Philosophy and Letters where she pursued Spanish literature and history coursework. 265 For the purposes of this work, I consulted secondary school curricula from the regions of Madrid and Andalusia as well as lesson plans from the University of Cordoba’s Faculty of Philosophy and Letters. 266 “Decreto Por El Que Se Establace Para La Comunidad De Madrid El Currículo De La Educación Secundaria Obligatoria.” Madrid.org. Madrid Department of Education, 15 Sept. 2014. Web. 18 Dec. 2014.

73 Christians and Muslims, how their artistic and architectural influence was positive in Spain.”267

This stands in stark contrast to the way in which fifteenth-century Spanish history is taught. The

students are to learn how to “identify the relevant moments in the history of Spain’s monarchs in

the early and late Middle Ages.”268 However, nowhere in Madrid’s history school curricula,

regardless of year, are the words “expulsion,” “inquisition,” “converso,” or “morisco” ever

mentioned. The inquisition and monarchical mistreatment of religious minorities are omitted.269

Reflecting on her experience as a Spanish history student, Sánchez Chico asserts, “I think they need to change how they teach history in high schools in Spain. In my opinion, we need to recognize and give value to the other religious groups that exist and have existed in Spain.”270

Andalusia’s students also study medieval Spanish history during their second year of

secondary school. As a goal of their history course, the Andalusian students are supposed to be

able to “identify the different groups that coexisted in medieval Spain and recognize examples of

their cultural and artistic legacy in modern Spain.”271 The curriculum focuses on the architectural

achievements of the Iberian Muslims and their Spanish artistic legacy, but that is where

recognition of al-Andalusian culture ends. The Jews are never specifically mentioned and the

words “inquisition” or “expulsion” are never used in reference to medieval royal policies. The

Spanish education system completely ignores Sephardic history and reduces the Muslim

267 Ana Sánchez Chico, Personal Interview, 16 Oct. 2014. Translation provided by Zachary Strauss. 268 “Decreto Por El Que Se Establace Para La Comunidad De Madrid El Currículo De La Educación Secundaria Obligatoria.” 269 “Decreto Por El Que Se Establace Para La Comunidad De Madrid El Currículo De La Educación Secundaria Obligatoria.” 270 Ana Sánchez Chico, Personal Interview, 16 Oct. 2014. Translation provided by Zachary Strauss. 271 “Currículo de la Educación Secundaria Obligatoria En La Comunidad De Andalucía: Ciencias, Geografía E Historia.” Torredebabel.com. Andalusian Department of Education, 12 Dec. 2012. Web. 18 Dec. 2014.

74 influence in Iberia to the few Islamic buildings and structures that still remain.272 Having studied

in the Spanish secondary school system, Middlebury College student Irene Estefanía González

concludes, “they don’t go into detail about the inquisition, and honestly even today, I don’t really

know anything about it.”273 It appears that Spanish educators seek to highlight the positive

aspects of medieval Spanish history and completely ignore the darker facets for the purpose of

constructing a Christian-centric national identity narrative. In a scathing review of the Spanish

education system, Madrid native Ana Sánchez Chico declares, “When you leave Spain, you

realize that [the Reconquista] wasn’t positive for everyone. [Spaniards] don’t appreciate the

opinion of the other side: the Jewish or Muslim perspective of the expulsion or Reconquista.

Spanish people don’t understand what the Reconquista meant for Jews, or what it meant for a

Jew to convert by force to Christianity.”274

Even within the university system, medieval Iberian history is taught through a

Christian lens, as Muslim and especially Jewish history is marginalized. For example, in the third-year course titled “Medieval and Renaissance Literature” no Muslim or Jewish literature is read; the entire course focuses upon works produced solely by Christians during the Middle

Ages.275 From her experience as a Spanish literature and history student in Cordoba, Kristin

Johnson explains, “I took several courses on Spanish and medieval literature, where the primary

focus was on Christian and Catholic literary culture. We talked about how Spanish poetry had

272 “Currículo de la Educación Secundaria Obligatoria En La Comunidad De Andalucía: Ciencias, Geografía E Historia.” 273 Irene Estefanía Gómez, Personal Interview, 16 Oct. 2014. 274 Ana Sánchez Chico, Personal Interview, 17 Oct. 2014. Ana studied in the Spanish educational system until the age of seventeen. Translation provided by Zachary Strauss. 275 “Literatura Hispánica Medieval y Renacentista.” Uco.es. Universidad de Cordoba: Facultad de Filosofia y Letras. Web. 18 Dec. 2014. According to the online lesson plan, the students read El Mío Cid, El Libro de Buen Amor, La Celestina, Conde de Lucanor, Cárcel de Amor, Marco Aurelio, and individual poems by Garcilaso de la Vega.

75 roots in Arabic poetry, but we never actually read any Arabic poetry.”276 The lesson plan

published for third-year course “Spanish Medieval History” specifically highlights only the

events and social factors that contributed to the formation of Christian Spain in the Middle Ages,

with no mention of Muslims, Jews, or inquisition.277 Middlebury Spanish professor Marta

Manrique Gómez confirms this trend and states, “If they don’t study history in university,

Spanish people don’t learn about the inquisition. They know it was something bad, but they

prefer to ignore or avoid it. I learned about it much later in my education, but in secondary

school it was very brief: the Jews were expelled, they converted, blah, blah, blah.”278 Christian

Spain is unwilling to recognize its faults and errors, and appropriates the structures of medieval

Jews and Muslims with little knowledge of the Convivencia.

276 Kristin Johnson, Personal Interview, 22 Oct. 2014. Kristin was a student in the course “Medieval and Renaissance Literature.” 277 “Historia Medieval de España.” Uco.es. Universidad de Cordoba: Facultad de Filosofia y Letras. Web. 18 Dec. 2014. 278 Marta Manrique Gómez, Personal Interview, 12 Nov. 2014. Translation provided by Zachary Strauss.

76 Chapter 5: The Contemporary Relevance of Medieval History

Over the past few years, medieval Iberia has made international headlines. On June 9,

2014, a picture of Cordoba’s famous Mosque-Cathedral lit up the front page of the International

New York Times. Among other contentious issues, journalist Rafael Minder’s article discuses the current debate surrounding the Mosque-Cathedral’s name and ancestral significance.279 The

history of the building is the source of current controversy in Cordoba. When Umayyad leader

Abd al-Rahman I established himself in the Muslim city of Cordoba in 756, he sought to

construct a mosque that would rival those of Mecca and Damascus. He initially purchased half of

St. Vincent’s church, once a Visigothic religious structure, and subsequently acquired the entire

edifice. He demolished the Visigothic church, and in 784, began constructing the architectural

marvel that stands today in Cordoba’s historic center. Over the next three hundred years, the

ruling powers of the city made additions to the structure’s ornament and size.280 However in

1236, Castilian King Fernando III reconquered Cordoba and immediately consecrated the city’s

Great Mosque as a cathedral.281 While the majority of the original Islamic architectural designs

were kept as they were, in 1523, King Carlos V constructed a large basilica directly in the center

of the building as a symbol of Christian dominance over the conquered Muslims.282 However,

the Christians did not destroy the Great Mosque like they did the rest of the Andalusian mosques,

and it must be understood that had they not taken it for their own, it would not exist today.

279 Raphael Minder, “Seeking to Renew Balance in a Site’s Dual History,” The International New York Times 10 June 2014: A7. 280 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 58-59. 281 Menocal, Ornament of the World, 198. 282 Balbale, et al., 267.

77 The Mosque-Cathedral is too complicated architecturally and historically to be defined

by just one name. It is not a Mosque or a Cathedral, but a Mosque-Cathedral.283 Recently,

however, the Catholic Church, the centuries-long owners of the Great Mosque, has made

deliberate attempts to erase the building’s Islamic history and heritage. Much of the current

touristic literature provided to those who visit the structure reads “The Cathedral of Cordoba,” as

opposed to the hyphenated denotation.284 According to the International New York Times, “A

citizens group presented a petition to the government of Andalusia urging lawmakers to defend

the multi-cultural roots and history of the building against the abusive control of the Church.”285

Thousands of Cordobans backed the petition, and the signatories demanded full disclosure on

how the Church spends the millions it receives from entry tickets every year. They also wished

to see both state and church officials as well as independent experts on the structure’s board of

governors, not just Catholic clergymen. While the citizens group is concerned with protecting the

site’s dual heritage, those in favor of the petition mostly wish to undermine the Church and target

the ruling clergymen for their questionable financial practices.286

The Catholic Church is providing tourists with an adulterated history of the structure,

one that belittles its past as Cordoba’s Great Mosque. The Church denies that it is deliberately

trying to manipulate history, and states that it merely wants to make clear to tourists that they are

entering a cathedral. Former UNESCO director Federico Mayor Zaragoza chimes in on the

subject and declares, “Any attempt to make one religion prevail over the other clearly worries

283 The building is defined by its unique hybrid history and architectural style, and was granted UNESCO world heritage status in 1984. 284 Minder A7. I visited the Mosque-Cathedral on four occasions over a five-month period, and every time I went, the provided literature had “Cathedral of Cordoba” emboldened on the front page. 285 Minder A7. 286 Minder A7.

78 me.”287 In 2014, Spanish lawmakers proposed that the Church bequeath ownership of the

building to the state, but Cordoba’s leading clergymen flatly refused. The Church is comfortable

receiving 11.5 million euros annually from the site, and does not view changing the name of the

structure to be problematic. Father Garzon, the spokesman for the diocese, asserts that it would

be impossible for the Church to cede control of the property to the board of governors, and

defensively professes, “we inherited this Cathedral, and it is our duty to maintain it for the next

generation of Catholics in Cordoba.”288 The clergy of Cordoba, like many who reside in the city,

view the structure as only a Catholic Cathedral, given that it currently only serves a Catholic

religious community and the Church refuses Muslims the opportunity to pray there.289

While al-Andalus recently surfaced in global media, so too has Spanish Jewry entered

the world spotlight. The Jews were ordered to leave Spain over five hundred years ago, but it

seems the Spanish government now seeks to provide them with an opportunity to return. In 1924,

a Spanish immigration law passed granting Sephardic Jews the right to return and receive

citizenship. However, under the original twentieth-century legislation, Sephardic Jews could

only apply for citizenship if they had resided in Spain for more than two years and could prove

family ties to expelled Spaniards. Each request was evaluated individually and approved or

rejected by a senior Interior of the Ministry official.290 The 1924 legislature stipulated that Jews

had to give up their existing citizenship if they wish to become Spanish, which put off many

potential applications.291 Sahar Arian, a Sephardic Israeli lawyer who obtained citizenship under

the original 1924 legislation, asserts that Spain’s existing procedures for Sephardic return have

287 Minder A7. 288 Minder A7. 289 Minder A7. 290 Cnaan Liphshiz, “Is Sephardic Spanish Citizenship ‘Fever’ for Real?,” The Jewish Daily Forward 10 March 2014. Web. 19 Dec. 2014. 291 Daniel Silva, “Sephardic Jews Charmed by Citizenship Offer,” The Times of Israel 4 March 2014. Web. 19 Dec. 2014.

79 yielded few passports. To obtain her citizenship, Arian had to prove she was related to Spanish

citizens descendant from Jewish converts to Christianity. Although Arian had relatives in Spain

and could firmly identify her ancestral connection, her application still took several years to

process.292

However, on February 7, 2014, the Spanish Council of Ministries approved a draft of a

law that would modify Article 23 of the national Civil Code. This bill would streamline the

Sephardic citizenship process by clarifying the qualifying criteria and allowing applicants to

maintain their foreign citizenship.293 Under the newly proposed standards, Spain would

naturalize any applicant, Jewish or not, who meets one of four requirements: knowledge of

Ladino, a birth certificate or wedding certificate that demonstrates observance of the ‘Castilian

Rite,’ a certificate issued by a rabbinical authority, or a certificate issued by the Federation of

Jewish Communities in Spain.294 This plan, which has spent most of 2014 working its way

through the Spanish legislative system, should be in full force by early 2015, clearing the way for

thousands of Sephardic Jews to apply for Spanish citizenship if they so choose.295

Spanish Justice Secretary Juan Bravo affirms that there will be checks on the applicants

and states, “the applicants must be of Sephardic origin.” A published list of identifiable

Sephardic surnames can also be found online at Sephardim.com, but a Judeo-Hispanic name alone does not immediately merit a passport.296 The Spanish government estimates that between

ninety thousand and five hundred thousand Jews will apply for Spanish citizenship over the next

292 Liphshiz, “Is Sephardic Spanish Citizenship ‘Fever’ for Real?” 293 Sofía Martínez, “Volver a Sefarad: Un Sueño de 522 Años,” El Diaro.es 26 April 2014. Web. 19 Dec. 2014. 294 Liphshiz, “Is Sephardic Spanish Citizenship ‘Fever’ for Real?” 295Suzana McGee, “Economic Boost, Sephardic Jews Contemplate Return to Spain,” The Guardian 26 Nov. 2014. Web. 19 Dec. 2014. 296 “Sephardic Jews Eye Return to Spain.” Euronews.com. 29 Aug. 2014. Web. 19 Dec. 2014.

80 five years.297 This offer of citizenship has indeed sparked a flurry of global interest, so much so that the frenzy has been dubbed “Spanish Fever” by the Israeli media. Israeli citizenship lawyer

Maya Weiss-Tamir claims to have received over one thousand inquiries since the Spanish

government approved the draft of the bill this past February. While the majority of applications

have come from Israel, Sephardic Jews in Argentina, Venezuela, and Turkey also have shown

great interest in receiving Spanish citizenship. The Federation of Spanish Jewish Communities, a

private umbrella organization for Jewish groups, says it has received more than five thousand

requests for information from Jews around the world since the government announced its plans

to ease the naturalization process.298

However, some are less hopeful about the bill’s outcome, and while many will probably

apply for citizenship, few will actually uproot their lives and move to Spain. Argentine Jew

Alejandra Abulafia states, “For me a Spanish passport represents the return to our lost homeland.

It’s a key. But I don’t think Sephardic people from all over the world will return to Spain. They

will apply for citizenship and then stay where they are. Most of them have no interest in moving

to Spain.”299 With a nuanced viewpoint, Israeli lawyer Maya Weiss-Tamir affirms, “The new generation, the young people, they want it mostly for practical reasons, they want to work in

Europe, they want to have a job. Others want it for more sentimental reasons, they feel like it is the citizenship they lost and now they can gain it back.”300

Many potential candidates have no interest in taking advantage of this opportunity, and

it is difficult to see how Jews would fit into contemporary Spanish society if they were to

relocate there. Sephardic Jew Leslie Liberman completely rejects the new proposition and

297 “Sephardic Jews Eye Return to Spain.” 298 Silva, “Sephardic Jews Charmed by Citizenship Offer.” 299 “Sephardic Jews Eye Return to Spain.” 300 Silva, “Sephardic Jews Charmed by Citizenship Offer.”

81 declares, “I don’t want to get citizenship from a nation that kicked out my ancestors. I don’t feel

like a Spanish citizen; that’s not my place.”301 If thousands of Jews were to move back, it would be difficult for them to find a place in a largely Catholic society where pork and shellfish are dominant facets of national cuisine. Giving her opinion on the subject, potential citizenship candidate Shira Israel states, “I don’t think I personally intend to do it. I don’t think Jews would treat Spain as a place to live. It would be very difficult for them to find their way; everyone eats pork.”302 Commenting on Spain’s Catholic majority, Spanish professor Manrique Gómez

affirms, “Jewish culture would exist in parallel to Catholic society, but they would never mix

with one another. Jews would have to exist separately.”303 The Catholic Monarchs did permanent

damage to the Spanish Convivencia, and after over four hundred years of Christian homogeny,

any governmental attempt to promote interfaith coexistence in Spain would not be successful.

Many have questioned the Spanish government’s motives in reference to this gesture of

generosity, especially as Spain suffers from the effects of economic crisis. According to Spain’s

Minister of Justice, Alberto Ruiz Gallardón, this act is about rectifying one of the country’s most

historic errors, with no economic consequences or goals.304 The Guardian columnist Suzana

McGee is dubious of the government’s intentions and writes, “Much of Spain’s actions are

motivated by economic opportunism. Odds are those that qualify for Spanish citizenship… will

be those with resources and who are resourceful; who are entrepreneurial and willing to break

new ground.”305 However, this is not the first time a country has reached out to Jewish

populations across the globe for an economic boost. In his New York Times editorial, Alan

301 Leslie Liberman, Personal Interview, 17 Oct. 2014. 302 Shira Israel, Personal Interview, 16 Oct. 2014. 303 Marta Manrique Gómez, Personal Interview, 12 Nov. 2014. 304 McGee, “Economic Boost, Sephardic Jews Contemplate Return to Spain.” 305 McGee, “Economic Boost, Sephardic Jews Contemplate Return to Spain.” Spain was hit hard by the 2008 recession, and the country continues to struggle with high unemployment and low economic morale.

82 Stevens noted that both Argentina and Mexico sought out Jewish immigrants in the nineteenth century as a way to help their economies grow, and Egypt’s nineteenth-century rulers encouraged Dutch Jews to develop their economy after the building of the Suez Canal.306

Spain has been waking up to the economic potential of the Sephardic Diaspora since

1898, the year in which it lost the last of its imperial possessions. Given that it has been more than a century since Spain began reevaluating its relationship with the descendants of Sephardic

Jews, is it coincidence that this new and progressive initiative occurs just when Spain could benefit most from immigrants who have capital to deploy?307 However, one must look at this through a nuanced lens, and just processing the number of expected applications would cost the

Spanish government around thirty million euros.308 Regardless of the government’s motive, many Jews around the world feel very positively towards Spain’s magnanimous gesture. Issac

Querub, the President of Spain’s Jewish national association, states, “It is always the right time to right a wrong and to see justice done. Sephardic Jewish people have longed for this rectification for a long time.”309

306 McGee, “Economic Boost, Sephardic Jews Contemplate Return to Spain.” 307 McGee, “Economic Boost, Sephardic Jews Contemplate Return to Spain.” 308 “Sephardic Jews Eye Return to Spain.” 309 “Sephardic Jews Eye Return to Spain.”

83

84 Conclusion

Medieval Iberia truly was a unique place, one characterized by intercultural achievement, multireligous interaction, and at times, violent conflict. The Jews, Muslims, and Christians of the medieval peninsula set a relatively peaceful precedent for the world to follow, and modern

Spanish society should relearn the nuances of their history. For example, Christian Mozarab women and male Muslim poets together crafted a novel poetic tradition distinct to Islamic Iberia, and eleventh-century Jews followed the Andalusian legacy in producing their own canon of

Hebrew lyric. Both Arabic and Mozarabic language contributed to the evolution of the modern

Spanish lexicon, and multireligious influences were key elements in the development of

Kabbalah, Sufism, and Iberian rationalism throughout the Middle Ages. Medieval Iberian

Mudejar synagogues and Mozarabic churches stand today as symbols of the Convivencia, and in many cases, members of the three faiths fell in love and conducted business with one another.

In my opinion, the sheer fact that the three faiths interacted in a positive manner amidst political turmoil and the Reconquista is a feat in itself. Cross-cultural interaction was entrenched in all aspects of medieval Iberian society, and the Convivencia serves as a brilliant example of interreligious cooperation that contemporary society could learn from. Medieval Iberian history could serve as a ray of hope for our future; we can look back upon how such differing peoples separated by cultural and religious distinctions cohabited peaceably. While the nature of the

Convivencia is debated, the reason for such coexistence should never overshadow the fact that it occurred or the achievements that resulted.

However, many tragedies accompany this bright history, and we must learn about both the light and dark facets of the medieval Iberian past if we are to truly understand the time period. In the second half of the fifteenth century, the Iberian religious landscape changed

85 forever. As the Christians gained power and expanded their influence across the peninsula, they

began to see religious minorities as threats to their way of life. The Catholic Monarchs conceded

to the Christian masses and in 1478, issued an order for inquisition, successfully converting over

half of Spain’s Jewish population and killing thousands more. On January 2, 1492, Fernando and

Isabela officially took control of Granada, and at the turn of the sixteenth century, they prompted

the Muslims who remained in Spain to depart, convert, or die. In a final blow to Iberian Judaism, the Catholic Monarchs expelled all unconverted peninsular Jews on July 31, 1492, clearing Spain

of any significant Jewish presence, both past and present.

Despite the absence of Jews and Muslims in modern Spain, Cordoba’s tourism

enterprise attempts to keep the Convivencia alive. However, the city’s Jewish quarter has been converted into a touristic exposition and the remaining synagogue does not serve a functional

Jewish purpose. Arab baths and museum-like Andalusian homes dot the city’s old center, but they are no more authentic than a touristic experience at a theme park. The Great Mosque-

Cathedral is the city’s greatest touristic attraction, but the Catholic Church forbids Muslims from praying within the structure and has removed the name “Mosque” from touristic literature.

Christian Spaniards sell Cordoba as a “city of three cultures,” but the Spanish demographic and historical reality speaks to the contrary. For Spain’s touristic enterprise, financial gain and ignorance triumph over historical truth.

Modern Spanish society deliberately ignores that which tarnishes the idealistic construct of the Convivencia. Spanish secondary schools and universities speak positively of the interreligious coexistence that made medieval Spain unique, but refrain from teaching their students about Jewish expulsion or the Spanish inquisition. Certain Spanish medieval literature courses neglect Jewish or Muslim poetry, regardless that all three faiths contributed to the

86 development of medieval Spanish literary culture. Many Spaniards see the Reconquista as the

climax of the Spanish Middle Ages, and view the medieval Christian warriors as their national

saviors. It is not in the Spanish mindset to question what the consequences of the Reconquista

were for Muslim Andalusians or Sephardic Jews. In not relaying the truth about medieval

Spanish history, Spanish educators are doing a disservice to their students by providing them a

Christian-centric and adulterated understanding of their nation’s history.

Medieval Iberia saw a unique interreligious society full of cross-cultural interaction and multifaith innovation. However, modern Spain disregards the fact that three coexisting faiths, not just Christianity, contributed to the development of Spanish national history and identity. One can only hope that in the future Spain reconciles with its errors and openly acknowledges the faults it has committed against its non-Christian minorities. Until then, Cordoba will remain flash-frozen in a world of medieval fantasy, the Convivencia an ever-present truth.

87

88 Epilogue:

As a practicing Jew, life in Spain can be difficult, enlightening, and frustrating. Since

the age of sixteen, I have lived in Spain for a period of nine months in the cities of Seville,

Cordoba, and Barcelona. During the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high

school, I participated in a Spanish immersion program in Seville, the capital of Andalusia. I took

courses focused on Spanish language and culture, and my professor never failed to highlight the

period of great interfaith coexistence he denoted “La Convivencia.” It was at that time that I became interested in Spanish religious history and the current status of Spanish Jewry. However, it was not until after I left Seville that I realized nobody I met ever mentioned what happened to the city’s Jews, or why the famous touristic Jewish quarter, El Barrio Santa Cruz, was devoid of

Jewish life. I lived with a kind, yet very conservative Catholic host family in Triana, the city’s old gypsy quarter. They had never met a Jewish person before, and many of the conversations I had with my twenty-year-old host brothers revolved around our mutual cultural and religious curiosities.

Every afternoon and evening, my host family said a prayer prior to eating their meal and crossed themselves in front of a massive oil painting of Jesus. I never followed suit, and finally one day my host mother asked me why I chose to remain silent during their moment of benediction. I sensitively explained to her and my host brothers that I did not believe in Jesus, that in my mind he was a historical figure who lived and died just like the rest of the ancient

Judeans. You could have heard a pin drop in that room. They had a very difficult time comprehending that, in my perspective, Jesus was not my savior or the Son of God. One

Saturday while in Seville, I, along with the rest of the students, took a day trip to the medieval city of Cordoba. I distinctly remember crossing the famous Roman bridge and looking upon the

89 Mosque with wide eyes and amazement. We took a tour through the Great Mosque, and at the

time, I did not find it strange that a church had been built inside the Muslim structure. I just

thought, “Oh, it’s a church in a mosque.” As I got older, that changed. We walked through

Cordoba’s Jewish quarter, or La Juderia, and I recall feeling excited to finally see true remnants

of Sephardic history in Spain. I took a picture in front of the life-like statue of Maimonides and said a prayer in the last remaining synagogue in Andalusia. From my brief experience there,

Cordoba appeared to me like a city that not only respected its Jewish history, but one that also boasted a thriving Jewish community. That few Jews now live in Cordoba, let alone why, seemed to have escaped the tour guide’s memory.

When presented with the opportunity to go abroad my junior year of college, I instantly thought of returning to Andalusia, a place that had captured my interest five years earlier.

Fortunately, Middlebury College offers a student exchange program in Cordoba, Spain. I packed my bags with excitement, expecting to spend the fall semester of 2014 perfecting my Spanish and connecting with my Jewish roots in the heartland of medieval Sephardic Judaism. However,

I was sadly disappointed. I am fairly certain that I was one of ten Jewish people in the entire city.

As I spent more time in Cordoba, I realized that the Jewish quarter I had fallen in love with five years ago was in fact just an artificial touristic attraction designed to appeal to foreign visitors.

The synagogue was not a functioning religious building and I was denied access to the structure on Erev Shabbat. I decided to fast on Yom Kippur while in Spain, but I could not find any

Jewish organization or community with which I could break fast. While the Jewish museum did provide a well-rounded history and perspective on Sephardic Jewry, the curator was less than willing to organize any Jewish related activities. I asked many times if any Hanukkah events

90 would be taking place in the city, but I was always met with an “I don’t know” or “Go to

Seville.”

Therefore, I took into my own hands to organize a Hannukah celebration in Cordoba. It

so happened that Thanksgiving and Hannukah overlapped that year, and my two American

friends and I invited our Spanish and other European classmates to what we called a

“Thanksgivikah feast.” My mother had sent me a menorah as well as Hanukkah candles, and I went to work on making the best latkes I could in my small Spanish kitchen. As soon as I lit the

candles and began reciting the prayers in Hebrew, I immediately noticed that all of my Spanish

friends began taking pictures and recording me. I was the first and only Jewish person they had

ever met, and what they were witnessing was foreign and exciting to them. It felt as if I had been

“exoticized” for my Jewish heritage. However, I was very happy that all of my friends had

showed interest in sharing Hanukkah with me in Spain. As a lone Jew in a very Catholic-

dominant environment, it made me feel welcome and accepted.

Throughout my time in Spain, I realized that the remnants of Jewish conversion are still

visible throughout the nation, especially in Andalusia. I met many individuals with Sephardic

surnames who knew they had been Jewish in a medieval past, but were now Catholic and

disconnected from Judaism. My university program director, Teresa Corduva, was very aware of

her Jewish roots, but had no interest in learning more about the faith or her family’s Sephardic

history. As a proud Jew and descendant of a Holocaust survivor, I find it very odd that so many

Spaniards knowingly acknowledge their Jewish heritage, yet ignore the significance of that

historical connection. The Spanish inquisition succeeded: Jewish culture and community

vanished from Spain with nothing left to show for it except four synagogues, touristic Jewish

quarters, and the slight curiosity of forced converts. While relaxing at a bar with Spanish

91 classmates, I was introduced to Israel Redondo. I was intrigued by his name, and politely asked

him if he was Jewish or of Jewish descent. His response is representative of the average

Spaniard’s perception of Judaism: “I am not Jewish, I am from Spain.” He said it with such

conviction, as if the two concepts were, and always have been, mutually exclusive. He believed

Judaism was strictly an American or Israeli phenomenon, completely unaware of the Jewish history of his own city and nation. In general, they do not teach about Sephardic Jews in the

Spanish educational system, nor do they learn about faiths other than Catholicism.

During the summer of 2014, I was selected for an internship with the State Department at U.S. Consulate General Barcelona. I received my government security clearance, packed my bags, and moved into my temporary apartment in the heart of the city. My coworker mentioned that Barcelona had a Jewish quarter as well as a synagogue, and like any good Jewish history enthusiast, I decided to investigate. What I found disappointed me: two short, poorly maintained streets and a very small room that may have once served as Barcelona’s central synagogue.

However, no touristic signs or plaques indicated any Jewish sites, and I had to ask at least five people before two nice ladies from the area told to me that no Jews live there anymore. They recommended that I visit the synagogue located in the “Grácia” district. The following Monday,

I contacted the synagogue and relayed that I would be attending services that day. Prior to

entering the synagogue, I was frisked and aggressively questioned about my intentions and

purpose for being there. It became very clear that Jewish communities in Spain and most of

Western Europe did not feel safe, as I had heard that this was also common practice in Paris and

Prague. While I enjoyed the service, few congregants were actually native Spaniards and most spoke not Ladino, but Hebrew. Most of the synagogue members were orthodox Ashkenazim, not traditional Sephardic Jews. I don’t think they even really spoke Spanish.

92 Barcelona has many famous tourist attractions, one of which is a mountain within the

city limits known as “Montjüic.” What most people, both locals and tourists, don’t realize is that

Montjüic is Catalan for “Mountain of the Jews.” The mountain once served as the site of

Barcelona’s Jewish cemetery, as Spanish Jews were forced to bury their dead away from

Christian areas. Not surprisingly, the cemetery and its many Hebrew-scripted headstones were destroyed and desecrated in the sixteenth century. However, the bodies still remain in the ground and the medieval ruins of many headstones still exist upon the mountain. Currently, Montjüic is

home to Barcelona’s former Olympic stadium and many athletic venues constructed for the 1992

Summer Olympics. A beautiful park circles the entire mountain, and every Sunday during the

summer months, Barcelona’s youth gather atop Montjüic for what is known as “Techno Picnic.”

I saw no signs that indicated where one might find the old cemetery. I politely asked a food

vendor on the mountain where I may find any remnants of the Jewish site, even a small plaque.

She responded, “That doesn’t exist here anymore. I don’t know what you are talking about.”

After many similar answers from locals, it occurred to me that Barcelona had erased Montjüic’s

Jewish significance for the sake of international recognition and tourism. While the mountain’s name hasn’t changed, nobody seems to know or care about the Jews of Barcelona.

Over my nine months in Spain, I spoke with many people and learned many things. I

had various enlightening conversations, many of which pertained to Spain’s medieval history

and current Catholic character. One conversation, however, sticks out above the rest. While

interning at U.S. Consulate General Barcelona, I sometimes worked in the Public Diplomacy

office with a young Catalan woman named Astrid. In conversation, I relayed to her my many experiences as a Jew in Spain and how I felt as an exchange student in Cordoba. She said to me,

“In Spain, we love to talk about our Roman and Greek history and heritage. We point out our

93 Roman bridges, aqueducts, and roads. But we reject our Jewish history. We don’t talk about it

and many Spaniards want nothing to do with it.” This quote speaks volumes about the current

state of affairs in Spain today, especially in relation to the recent escalation of anti-Semitism and

Islamophobia across Western Europe. Spanish society has molded its image to reflect the

Christian narrative, selecting the facts and events that fit the history it wishes to project to both the Spanish and touristic public. If Spaniards actually learned about the expulsion of the Jews, the tragedy of the Spanish Inquisition, or the nuances of the Convivencia, they would understand that their national heritage could be found not only in gothic cathedrals, but also in Andalusian mosques and Sephardic synagogues. Perhaps that is just wishful thinking.

94 Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Professor Burnham for serving as my thesis adviser; she provided me with helpful resources, positive and constructive feedback, and always kept me motivated. I would also like to thank Professor Rohena-Madrazo for volunteering to serve as my second reader. He, too, provided me with research materials and helped me better understand the linguistic facet of my thesis. I would like to acknowledge Davis Family Library for supplying me with the majority of my research materials as well as my thesis carrel. I would like to thank

Middlebury’s International and Global Studies department, especially for binding my thesis. This thesis would not have been made possible without the fourteen individuals I was fortunate enough to interview; their input was incredibly valuable and added greatly to the work in its entirety. Finally, I would like to deeply thank all of my friends and family who have supported me throughout the thesis writing process, especially my parents, Julia Paolillo, Shelby Friedman,

Davis Woolworth, and the residents of Battell Hall’s Monastery.

95

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100 Appendices

European Studies Thesis Interview Questions

1. What is your name and where are you from?

2. If you chose to identify, what religious group do you identify with?

3. In what capacity, if any, are you familiar with Spain, its culture, and its medieval history?

4. Have you ever visited Spain? For how long? If so, where? In what capacity were you there: work, student, tourist, other? If you are from Spain, where you are from and have you studied in the Spanish school system?

5. Have you visited or lived in Andalucía? For what reason? Where have you visited/lived in Andalucía?

6. Have you lived in or visited more specifically the city of Córdoba? For how long? For what reason?

7. If you were a student, did you study in the public education system there? While studying in the city, did you learn about the Jewish or Muslim influence and history in the city and the region?

8. What did you learn about Córdoba or Islamic Spain while there? If a tourist, did you receive information from a tour guide to this respect? What was it? Did you know anything about the city or region’s history before arriving in the city?

9. Walking through the preserved Jewish quarter, would you think a vibrant Jewish community still exists in Córdoba? Do you think the synagogue is functional? Did you see any Sephardic food restaurants or kosher establishments?

101 10. How do/did you feel walking through the city, especially the old medieval quarter? What was the city trying to reflect? What do you think the biggest tourist attractions are in the city? From your experience, do you think that Jews and Muslims were still key facets in the city today?

11. Do you think the city is trying to capitalize on the relics of Jews and Muslims? In your experience, if you can attest, do people in Córdoba care about the influence and history of these people in the country?

12. How do you think the city tries to portray itself? Modern, medieval, touristic? How does the city make use of the relics of Jewish and Muslim past to appeal to tourists? Were you aware while there that almost no Jews live there today?

13. What did/do you think of the architecture in the city? Is the historical interaction of Jews, Christians, and Muslims still prevalent in the construction of the city and its buildings? What does that mean knowing that both the Jews and Muslims were expelled?

14. Did you enter the La Mezquita? If you had a tour guide or informational pamphlet, how did they explain its history and place in the city? Did you learn that the Christian processional adornments are housed in the Mosque?

15. Did you feel like you were in a mosque or a church? Did the catholic element in the building seem forced and out of place? What do you remember most? What was striking?

16. How did your react to the cathedral erected directly in the center of the mosque? What does this represent? Were/Are you aware that the Catholic Church owns the building and that the only time one can enter for free is for Catholic mass?

17. Do you think it matters that the church has begun removing the word Mosque from the title of the building? Instead of Mosque-Cathedral, entry tickets display the name “Cathedral of Córdoba.” If you have visited the structure and learned about its history, how do you find that information?

18. How do you feel that Muslims are not allowed to pray to Allah in the building in Islamic custom?

102 19. After living in/visiting Córdoba or Andalucía, what do you think the status of Judaism is in the city, region, or country? Would Córdoba’s cityscape make you believe differently?

20. What is the basis of Cordoba’s tourism industry? What are its draws?

21. While in Spain, are/ were you aware that the government recently offered citizenship to Sephardic Jews if they can provide lineage to the land? Did a tour guide tell you; was it on the news or in the newspaper? Was this presented as important information as a resident or tourist in the city?

22. This offer was extended to the Sephardic community at the height of Spain’s economic recession? Do you think there is a correlation between the two, or should that be merely dubious speculation? Why now? Why not ten years ago?

23. If you have visited other places in Spain, such as Toledo, Barcelona, or Granada, how do the themes of Jewish, Muslim, and Christian history and memorialization surface there? Do you see Judaism there? Are Muslim/Jewish buildings and culture a true part of the culture, or just tourist attractions?

24. Do you have any other comments or statements to make in reference to the aforementioned questions or topics?

Thank you for your help,

Zack

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