ANUSIM אֲנוּסִים 

Growing up Hispanic I thought all Hispanic families were the same in terms of traditions and culture. I was unaware that many Hispanic families had come from Spain searching for a new way of life.  As I read about the Spanish Inquisition, and its horrible treatment of the Spanish Jews I became more, and more intrigued. Were all Spanish families living hidden lives like the one I grew up in, or was it just a few handfuls?  Could it be that my ancestors were put  right in the middle of these mass conversions that happened in the Spanish Inquisition? Full of suspicion I was determined to find out.  This idea has launched me on a search for the truth that continues to unfold on a consistent basis.

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 I was raised in a Mexican-American culture, where Catholicism was pervasive.  Although we were not Catholic like other Mexican families I always felt different. I never felt like I belonged.  I decided that it was time to trace my roots to see what I could find.  The oral history within my family was that my maternal great great grandmother was born in Spain. I managed to traced my maternal family all the way back to the south of Spain. 
As I learned about the Spanish Inquisition I realized that my ancestors were probably those Spanish people who came to the Americas in search of a different life. They were those families that were forced to convert to a system of beliefs unfamiliar to their own, which in essence forced them to live two lives for their survival. One way inside their home, and another outside the home.  That secrecy continued through many generations, as it became very important to keep what went on in their private lives separate. It was very dangerous if anyone found out that they in fact were not true Catholics.   Little by little I began to understand why we were so different.  I wanted to understand who  these people were, and what this meant for me.

My parents were born in Mexico and immigrated to the United States in the early 1900's. My father was born in Chihuahua Mexico, and my mother in Jalisco Guadalajara. These two places in Mexico were a world apart in those days, but somehow my parents found each other. A world away, yet they had some of the same traditions. I asked myself was this a coincidence, or did this mean something?

 My father immigrated to El Paso Texas from his birth place with his family.  Eventually he moved to California where he settled down. I was raised Christian, even though my parents had a Catholic upbringing.  I thought many of our beliefs, and rituals were Catholic when in actuality these beliefs, and traditions had a lot of Jewish overtones.
 I have always been drawn to Judaism, and thought I was crazy for feeling that way.  My family shrouded in secrecy raised us to be separate from others to the extreme of getting reprimanded for bringing a friend into our home.

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One afternoon as a high school friend dropped by I was chastised for allowing someone to come over.  Sometimes I wondered if we had a dead body, or something lying under the house, because of all the secrecy. When I asked about it no one could give me a good answer. Secrecy was a big part of Jewish life in Spain, and Mexico, during the Spanish Inquisition, and for hundreds of years following.

About a year ago  a friend I hadn't heard from in about 30 years contacted me through Facebook and asked me if I had read a book by Dr Dell Sanchez, "Out from Hiding Evidence of Sephardic Roots"? Well I was hooked. As I read this book I wondered how the author could have so much insight into my family life, and my strange upbringing.  As I read the book I began  to understand, and that's when I started to see all the pieces come together.

When my grandfather died I was about seven years old. We were notified and got in our car and drove to Baja California Mexico where he lived the last years of his life.  I remember that my mother cleaned him up,and shaved him and wrapped him in a white sheet. I remember my mother, and aunt dressed completely in black. I have a vivid remembrance of this because, my mother's brother was not dressed in black. I saw him put on a black arm band.  I distinctly remember feeling sorry for him.  I thought he did this because he did not own any black clothing, and he wanted to represent himself in mourning with the rest of the family.  Just recently I found out that wearing a black armband is a Jewish custom.  I thought it was strange that before leaving to the burial site he covered all the mirrors with a black cloth. I did not think much of it, as I was young. Now looking back I can see that these brief episodes of memory would one day help me to uncover many secret things, and help me to understand who I am.

Throughout my childhood we made it a habit to visit with my grandmother at least once a year.  Now that my grandfather was gone we seemed to visit a lot more often.  While we were there visiting we would go to the cemetery where my grandfather was laid to rest to bring flowers.  When we were about to leave one afternoon the same uncle that wore the black band on his arm, and covered the mirrors with a black cloth asked me to go and find a pretty rock and bring it back to place on the grave.  Being a child I was scared that maybe taking rocks from other graves would anger those dead that were there. What can I say I was just a child. I complied with his request, although I did not understand why I was doing this.  I thought that maybe I was getting on his nerves, and he was sending me off to do something to keep me occupied.  Now I know that this is also a Jewish custom.

 My mother shared stories and traditions that she was taught, and I wasn't too interested at the time.  I figured we are in the United States now we needed to live and adopt the American culture. When one of her brothers died I must have been around thirty years old.  Two of my sisters, and I along with my two daughters drove to Baja California Mexico. We arrived in the evening. My mother was already there as they prepared for an all night vigil.  In those days they stayed up all night in silence around the casket, while friends and family brought food, and paid their respects to the family. They usually buried their dead within twenty-four hours.

The next morning we drove in a funeral style to the cemetery. I told my sister that I was going to stand in the back, because we were not Catholic, and I felt awkward participating in their rituals. As they lowered the casket down they tossed handfuls of dirt.  I thought this too was a Catholic custom, but boy was I wrong.

 

In the early years when my mother was about to give birth my grandmother would come and help her to take care of us.  She, and my mother would sit for hours talking about things they would do on certain holidays, such as baking bread and other customs in which I had no interest in.  After someone died they did something on the 7th or 8th day. During Easter they baked a bread called capirotada around Christmas they made bunuelos.  

Nearly every time we visited them in Mexico my mother's family slaughtered a goat for a big family dinner. My kids think it gross that I can almost slaughter a goat myself. As a child I watched how my uncles would do it, and I remember it well.  They always made sure they drained the blood before they did anything else, and buried it. Both my parents believed that eating blood was a sin.  My mother soaked all the meat in water. I thought she was just trying to defrost the meat.  If she was cooking a piece of meat, and blood seeped up she would clean it off.
 Not that long ago my husband was fixing a steak, and I noticed that he didn't cut the fat off or soak and wash the meat to get rid of the blood. Needless to say I was disgusted.  I told him he needed to do that and he said "no.. that's where you get all the flavor!" I walked away laughing to myself thinking if he only knew I had done this all of our married life.  If an egg had a speckle of blood my mother would throw it away.  She swept to the middle of the room always. My father did that too.  I sweep to the middle of the room because that is what I observed growing up. When I married my husband and watched how he swept I thought ..that's not how you're supposed to sweep "who does that?"  

 When my kids were little I used to bathe them in the kitchen sink, and I would splash water on their foreheads and later on the back of their heads. I had learned this from my mother so of course I imitated the behavior.  I never asked why I just thought that maybe it was to introduced water to their bodies.  I did not know this was a Jewish blessing. My grandmother and my mother had their own dishes they used only for  themselves.  I thought that this was what old people do.  I had no idea that this was a Jewish custom. 

In reading everything I could find on the Spanish Inquisition I learned that these new conversos (new converts) or marranos (swine) were forced to convert to Catholicism for self preservation. By hiding their identity, and not scumming to the pressure they survived so that future generations could live. I thank them for that.

My ancestors fled Spain and crossed the Atlantic Ocean to flee religious persecution and found out that it followed them over where they fled.  Realizing that all these facts could not be a coincidence I had DNA testing.  I decided to work with three different DNA companies and on all three I have Jewish DNA. I have also had my youngest daughter tested, and she also has Jewish DNA.

Five hundred years ago Jewish parents in Spain lost their ability to safely practice who they really were. My hope is to revive the Crypto-Jewish heritage and pass it along to our children not as Crypto Jews in hiding, but as proud people in this unique heritage.  If we don't tell our children of their heritage they won't know.  
As the years go by, and the generations bring forth the next generations the DNA may be lost, as it recombines with more recent DNA. We run the chance that these stories of culture, and tradition may also be gone. So we must do something.  

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Maybe after reading my story you can look back on your family history, and find out if maybe you too come from these amazing people that just wanted to live.  These Crypto Jews stop telling their children who they were, and allowed them to assimilate into other cultures for survival sake. There are  large numbers of Hispanic people that share the same history  as I do, and have no clue.  I ask could that be you?

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