Beyond Folklore: The Identity
of the Sephardic Jew
Abraham B. Yehoshua. Writer, Israel
Sephardic Jews, after their expulsion from the Iberian Peninsula, were condemned to exile and
developed a collective nostalgia for the absent Other that would persist for generations and give
way to a highly respectable tolerance of difference. Today, several centuries after that exodus, in
examining the identity of the Sephardic Jew we can ask the following questions: what is Sephardic
Jewishness? Is it a matter of origin and roots? Is it an historical identity, or also a political and
cultural one, which a person may adopt as his or her own? How does Sephardic identity fit into
the larger matrix of Mediterranean identity in an age of globalization?
My father was born in 1905, in Jerusalem. Also
his father and grandfather and great-grandfather,
which made him a fourth-generation native
of the Land of Israel. His forebears came
to Israel from the city of Salonika, at the beginning
of the 19th century. At that time, Salonika
was under Ottoman rule, though most of its
residents were Greek Christians. Although my
father was in no palpable way connected with
Spain – which in Hebrew we call Sepharad – he
defined himself as a Sephardic Jew. During the
last third of his life, he explored this identity
by writing twelve books about the Sephardic
Jewish community of Jerusalem.
His identity as a Sephardic Jew was not
meant merely to signify his difference from
Ashkenazic Jews, but was also bound up with
Spain itself, which he regarded as the original
source of that identity. Within his extended
family, he spoke the Judeo-Spanish language
called Ladino, which gave him a sense of carrying
living genes of the true Spanish language.
Everything that happened in Spain was of interest
to him. During the Civil War, he would
meet with the Republican Spanish consul in
Jerusalem to commiserate with him over the
defeat of democracy in Spain. Sometimes, to
amuse his children and grandchildren, my
father would dance a few flamenco steps, waving
a handkerchief. And when he was sixty, he
overcame his natural reluctance to travel, and
left his homeland for the very first time to go
to Spain, a visit he enjoyed immensely.
I cite my father as only one example of the
virtual Spanish identity adopted by many Jews,
including those whose families lived for centuries
in Islamic lands – North Africa, the Middle
East, and the Ottoman Empire – as well as those
who lived in such Christian countries as Italy,
Holland, England, Germany, and Bulgaria.
And the question is this: how can the
memory of Spain be retained as if it were a
cherished memory of Jerusalem? How can it
be that Jews, whose ancestors were cruelly banished
from Spain in the late Middle Ages and
lived in exile in Muslim or Christian countries,
have insisted on preserving a Spanish identity
of sorts for more than four hundred years? It is
as if they had said to those who drove them out:
you succeeded in expelling us physically from
152 Beyond Folklore: The Identity of the Sephardic Jew Abraham B. Yehoshua Spain, but you will never succeed in expelling
Spain from inside of us.
More amazing still: of the perhaps 200,000
Jews expelled from Spain in 1492, the great
majority went to Portugal. Only one-third or so
were scattered throughout the Mediterranean
basin and beyond – and yet they transferred
their Sephardic identity to the Jewish communities
that absorbed them. Jews who throughout
their history had no contact at all with Spain
adopted the identity of the refugees who came
to live among them – a complete reversal of
the usual situation, in which refugees adopt the
identity of those who take them in. So we must
ask – what was so valuable and important in
this Sephardic identity that not only those who
had been expelled from Spain refused to give
it up and handed it down to their descendants
for many generations, but that Jews utterly
removed from Spain desired it so strongly, and
converted their own local Jewish identity into
a virtual Sephardic one.
Jews who throughout their history had no
contact at all with Spain adopted
the identity of the refugees who came
to live among them – a complete reversal
of the usual situation, in which refugees
adopt the identity of those who take
them in
After all, one would think that Spanish
Jews would have shed their identification
with a country that had presented them with
the two painful alternatives of conversion or
expulsion. Why on earth would they cling to
the name Sepharad as a precious stone, sewn
into the fabric of their identity?
This leads us to another serious question,
this one having to do not only with the Jews but
with the Muslims, who in 1502, ten years after
the expulsion of the Jews, were given the same
choice: convert, or leave Spain. Muslim exiles
would never call themselves Spanish Arabs,
but they do passionately maintain, centuries
after the Reconquista, the sweet memory of
Al-Andalus, accompanied by a quasi-political
fantasy of returning to that lost paradise, which
was unjustly stolen from them.
Recently, I read Antonio Muñoz Molina’s
marvelous book, Sepharad, which employs
the Hebrew name for Spain as a metaphor for
loss and longing. In this book, I was amazed
to discover another strange layer in the idea
of Sepharad that is not limited to the exiles,
Jewish and Muslims, but extends to Spanish
Christians themselves – as though they too,
according to Muñoz Molina, retain a gene of
sorts within their Spanish national identity,
an echo, cultural or existential, of what the
expelled Jews and Muslims left behind half a
millennium ago.
How can we explain this phenomenon?
Why is it that a man like me, a thoroughly
secular Israeli steeped in Western culture,
whose principal identity is fifth-generation
Israeli, a man with no particular connection
with the Spanish language or culture, defines
himself deep down as a Sephardic Jew? In
my many novels, there appear from time to
time, in crucial roles, characters who may be
identified as Sephardic Jews. These include
the five generations of central characters in
my novel Mr. Mani, who stand at five critical
crossroads in the history of the last two hundred
years, each time another Mani who offers
an historical or political option that is not, in
the end, realized. Or an elderly grandmother
in Jerusalem named Veducha who wakes up
from a coma after the Yom Kippur War, in my
first novel, The Lover. I wrote a novel called
Molkho, about another Sephardic Jew in Jerusalem,
who after the death of his wife, an
immigrant from Germany, experiences a year
of strange adventures as he searches for a new
wife. And most obviously there is my novel of
the Middle Ages, Journey to the End of the
Millennium, which takes place in the year
Quaderns de la Mediterrània 14, 2010: 151-155 153
1000, and describes a debate in Paris between
Sephardic and Ashkenazic Jews as to whether
polygamy is compatible with Jewish law.
I shall attempt to decipher the elements
of this identity – which we call Sephardic,
even though those who carry it today are
Jews who live in a wide variety of countries,
as well as those whose families have lived in
Israel for generations. All of these are people
who never had a genetic or familial connection
with Spain itself. Even the basic folkloric
ingredients of what we consider Sephardic
identity, for example, the Ladino language,
or certain foods, or a style of music and song,
are hazy in these people’s identity, if not
absent entirely.
In my opinion, this Sephardic identity
contains – overtly or covertly – three components:
Christian, Muslim, and Jewish. These
three elements are blended in the memory of
a wondrous and powerful cultural symbiosis,
real or mythic, during a Spanish Golden Age
in the first centuries of the second millennium.
The three-way dialogue during that period also
produced highly significant and influential
texts. Therefore, even after the Christians took
absolute control over Spain and made it into a
strictly Catholic country, there remained within
Spanish identity a recollection of that strong
symbiosis, which even after the expulsion of
the Jews and the Muslims continued to murmur
beneath the surface in Christian Spain. Perhaps
this helps explain the ferocity with which the
Inquisition sought to purge heretical or non-
Christian elements from Spanish identity.
When the Jews left Spain and moved, for
example, to Muslim countries in North Africa,
the Christian element, the Christian memory,
Abraham B. Yehoshua (L’Altrange).
154 Beyond Folklore: The Identity of the Sephardic Jew Abraham B. Yehoshua remained in their identity despite the absence
of Christianity in their immediate surroundings.
Similarly, Jews who moved to such Christian
lands as Italy, Southern France, or even
Holland, retained a whisper of Arabic culture
and Islam in their identities even when there
were no Muslims or Arabs in the vicinity.
The consciousness of the Other became
a structural element that enriched and
fertilized Sephardic identity, even as
the reality of the Other became foggy
and ultimately vanished altogether
One might say that the special quality that
is preserved in Sephardic identity is its ability
to include the Other even when he is gone
and forgotten. The consciousness of the Other
became a structural element that enriched and
fertilized Sephardic identity, even as the reality
of the Other became foggy and ultimately
vanished altogether. This internal element developed
into a kind of cultural gene, strengthening
its carriers’ capacity for tolerance and
pluralism. The wistfulness or nostalgia for the
vanished Other was handed down from generation
to generation, for hundreds of years after
the expulsion. This sad, nostalgic mood permeates
folk songs in Ladino, the language whose
very existence nourished Sephardic identity
even when the languages actually spoken by
Sephardic Jews in various countries were different
languages entirely.
The subconscious existence of the absent
Other in Sephardic identity – whether that of
the Muslim as fellow exile, or of the forced
Jewish and Muslim converts who stayed behind
in Spain – made the Sephardic Jew heavier of
heart, but also more tolerant. One thing may be
said for certain – religious fanatics are hard to
find among Sephardic Jews. Such zealotry did
develop among Ashkenazic European Jews, who
had to struggle against doctrinal Christian animosities,
both Catholic and Protestant, and also
against Jewish secularization, which became a
threat in the modern period. Such ideological
secularization, by and large, was not a factor in
traditional Sephardic societies.
Which brings me to the Mediterranean. We
Israelis are continually called upon to answer
the question, what is your country – an Eastern
one or a Western one? The basic argument of
the Arabs against Israel, apart from territorial
disputes, has to do with the identity of the Jewish
state. “In essence, you are strangers to the
region,” is their charge against us. You came
here like the Crusaders in their day, sent by
Western imperialists in order to ruin our lives
and take control of our identity. All in all, you
came here not out of love for what you call
“the ancient homeland,” but only because you
were thrown out of Europe. You continue to
turn your faces westward, to Europe and the
United States, which are the true models of
your identity, which is why you will never fit
into the Middle East. You are foreigners, and
you will continue to be foreigners until we kick
you out or you will get sick of this place and
leave of your own accord, and again be scattered
throughout the world, just as you were for the
last two thousand years.
The response to these accusations – which
sometimes contain a grain or two of truth – is
the claim of Mediterranean identity, which is
the appropriate and correct identity not only for
Israel, but for the entire region. This identity
stands in opposition to the steamroller of American-
style globalization (and, soon enough, Chinese-
style), whose flaws and economic failures
we see at this very moment.
Israel is not a Western, European state, nor a
Middle Eastern one, but rather a pure example
of a Mediterranean state. This is certainly so
from a geographical perspective: the distance
between Israel and Cyprus or Greece is less
than the distance to Iraq or Yemen. Israel’s
true neighbors are Egypt, Lebanon, Syria
and Turkey, Greece and Southern Italy, North
Quaderns de la Mediterrània 14, 2010: 151-155 155
Africa, and Spain, which guards the western
entrance to the Mediterranean Sea. Here is the
heart of her identity; here, in the cradle of the
great civilizations – Greek and Roman, Jewish
and Christian and Muslim – Israel is a member
in full standing. Indeed, half the population of
the State of Israel is made up of Jews who came
from Mediterranean countries.
We may speak of a Mediterranean
identity, one of whose unifying
components is the Sephardic Jew,
who carries in his soul the vanished
Other, the Christian and the Muslim.
This is his role, his mission
What are the characteristics of Mediterranean
identity? First of all, since the Mediterranean
Sea is a closed circle, it incorporates
into one group all the countries and peoples
living on its shores. As an inland sea, it is quite
homogenous, in that its gulfs and coastlines
are all quite similar. And therefore, despite
the cultural pluralism, the ethnic, religious,
and historical differences among the peoples
living here, there is a unifying geographic
matrix. The traveler from Beirut, or Antalya
in Turkey, to the beaches of Greece or Sicily
will not feel a great dissimilarity, despite wide
differences in the religion, ethnicity, and history
of the populations. Despite the enormous
difference, for example, between Jewish religious
civilization and the pagan civilization
of Greece and Rome, they share a unifying
physical landscape.
Archaeology is part of the Mediterranean
framework as well. The vestiges of ancient
Rome may be found in Lebanon, in Israel,
in Italy, Turkey, and Tunisia. They make the
citizen of the Mediterranean feel at home in
many different countries.
Mediterranean-style pluralism, rooted in a
real and not an artificial unity, is not to be found
in many other regions of the world. Surely, we
may therefore speak of a Mediterranean identity,
one of whose unifying components is the
Sephardic Jew, who carries in his soul the vanished
Other, the Christian and the Muslim. This
is his role, his mission. Not merely Ladino love
songs or folkloric foods or Sephardic melodies
and modes of prayer in the synagogue, but a political
and cultural mission. A mission of peace
and tolerance, addressed first and foremost to
the Arabs of the Mediterranean – a mission
with which Israelis who are not Sephardic are
also likely to identify. Here again, I return to
the wonderful book by Antonio Muñoz Molina,
in which the name Sepharad means not only
roots, but an option of identity for the people
of the Mediterranean.
