On Mallorca and Me:
How a Jewish travel tale, reveals hidden imprints in our history
It was simply a dream come true. Not one of those dreams that comes out of the blue, rather one that required some meticulous planning and determination, mixed with good luck, fruition, and timing. Guiding tours in Israel has been my passion and profession these past years, but with the circumstances being what they are, I’ve had to explore new horizons. And so, I am returning to you having spent a week on the Spanish Island of Mallorca, guiding tours and exploring a powerful Hebrew story of triumph and tragedy, tucked within the cannon of Jewish history that left me exhilarated and wanting more. This is the story of the Xuetes, together with that of my own return to the Mediterranean paradise known as Mallorca. For me this Island was a sought-after destination of wonder and mystery. For my Jewish ancestors, it was a place of entrapment and cruelty.
But first allow me to share with you a little personal background. Mallorca is an Island that I visited twice before, once at 17, when I had spent the summer studying abroad in Barcelona, and again 20 years later, for a yoga journey with my wife. This third visit was a unique opportunity, not just for my own personal exploration and enjoyment, but study up about the local Jewish history and lore, that I would be capable of welcoming other travelers to discover the story of our people on this very unique island of wonders. There is a story here that needs to be shared and while my dear friend, Dani, has been carrying the torch these past years, this time it was I who had the chance to tell the tale. But before we talk about this contemporary visit, we have to go back a bit further.
I often say that, “Judaism isn’t a religion, it’s a relationship”. And in this case, it’s a friendship that was fostered by a deal colleague and mentor, Rabbi Golan Ben Horin. Rav Golan heard that my wonderful wife, Devra, and I were heading to Mallorca some 5-years ago, and put me in touch with a fellow Jewish educator and Hebrew spirit, much like ourselves, named Dani Rotstein. Dani had been living on the island with his lovely wife, Carla, and their darling son. His wandering soul took him around the world and he managed to meet a nice girl from Barcelona, the very same city that his grandfather ran from to escape the Nazi onslaught some 70 years earlier. And so, I met Dani 5-years ago, and a bromance ensued. While we only managed a quick encounter over lunch, and the chance to briefly enjoy his good company before he had to run off, it was enough to plant the seeds of a friendship and an on-going conversation between Jewish educators these past years. We would leave periodic messages for one another, sharing our hopes and dreams, successes and failures alike.
For me, Spain has always been a source of intrigue and wonder. Like I mentioned, I studied there at 17 for a summer to attempt and strengthen my Spanish tongue, as well as enjoy my teen years abroad. There I met a young lady from Brazil, Camilla, who I fell madly in love with and with whom I would enjoy romantic afternoons in the park and flirtatious summer days. Little did I know that my Jewish identity was a touch of a taboo for this gal raised in a strictly Catholic household. Upon revealing her romance to her parents, a family secret was shared with her that would shatter our youthful innocence. It turns out that her grandmother was a survivor of the horrors of the holocaust, and upon arriving in the new world, she shed her Jewish identity and decided to do what many have been compelled to do over the millennium, and convert to the local faith for the supposed safety of the generations ahead. This was a story that Camilla had never heard and came as a shock to this strictly Catholic young woman who wanted to rattle her parents a bit, by confessing that she had been kissing in the park with a nice American Jewish boy. Needless to say, she dumped me a few days later and that was the end of that chapter of my summer romance with Camilla, but my interest had been sparked as to the circumstances of a diverse population known as conversos. Who were these Jews who left the faith of Moses? What happens to a Jew when they no longer choose to remain Jewish? Most of us have heard of the mass expulsions of Jews from the Iberian Peninsula in 1492, and the horrors of the Inquisition that persecuted those who converted under compulsion or dubious circumstances. And yet, some 500 years later, the implications of these events and the ripples of history that followed had ruined yet another chance for a young Amir to pursue a beautiful gal, who was admittedly, a little out of my league.
And so last week, I returned to Mallorca for the 3rd time and began to learn the powerful story of the Jewish of this island. What began as a typical Jewish community of traders and merchants, not unlike hundreds of other communities around the Mediterranean region, took on a sinister twist of fate. A pogrom in 1391, a forced conversion in 1435, the rise of the Inquisition shortly thereafter, and the dots that delineate history lead us to a conundrum that must be unraveled. For some 250 years, a small community of crypto-Jews lived on this island in secret. They were outwardly Christians, yet they maintained enough of their former Jewish culture and practices, to uphold their faith and adherence to the Hebrew people. They hid their secret for it was a matter of life and death with the sinister and cruel Inquisition carefully watching to see who was a pious follower of Christ, and who would dare maintain the ways of the disgraced Hebrews. Without delving too deeply into a story I invite you to explore in person, I’ll reflect on an important element of this tale of tragedy and wonder. How could a tiny island community of Jews manage to hold onto their faith under such duress? How much conviction must one have to survive such an ordeal? And yet tragically, it’s a question that we’ve ask dozens of time throughout the often-painful historical experience of Jews living amongst hostile ‘others’. How did we remain faithful in the death camps in Poland? How could we light candles in secret, when Stalin’s Soviet forces were searching for us? How did we manage to stay afloat, when it seemed the only choice available was to submit, as Camilla’s grandmother had done?
These questions swirled around me as I learned from Dani, as I walked around the Jewish ghetto of Palma, Mallorca, as I learned from the books and resources my friend had shared with me, that I would be empowered to share this tremendous story with others. And so, on the last day of my visit to Mallorca, while Dani was in the mountains with his beautiful family, I welcomed a Jewish couple from the United States to embark on a tour with me into the story of the crypto-Jews of Mallorca. It was a wonderful day of sharing and strolling, of learning and letting my guests experience a tale of the lesser-known history of a small chapter of Jewish history, unique to a small vacation island in the Mediterranean Sea.
I have since returned to my war-torn Israel, and the work I have yet to finish here at home, but if you wish to experience for yourselves this tremendous tale, I invite you to reach out to my dear friend Dani, at www.JewishMajorca.com (insta/facebook) and see for yourself the wonders of this island, and the rich history of the Xuetes.
I hope to return soon to this place of passion and invite you to do the same. There are flights directly from Newark to Palma, as well as from every major European airport. I invite you to unravel this lesser known chapter of our ever-evolving Jewish story, and say ‘hello’ to my dear friend Dani for me, until I can visit again.
From my home in Israel, to you wandering souls around the world, I wish you wonderful travel, safe returns, and “que se vaya con Dios!”
