The Call

When we sing, “Next year in Jerusalem” at the end of our Passover seder, we’re not really talking about Jerusalem. We’re singing our longing, God’s promise, and our hope for a better future, a time of peace and completion, wholeness, shalom.

After sharing seder with a warm and generous Israeli family on a kibbutz near Ashkelon, I traveled to Barcelona for the rest of my vacation, meeting Rachel for some much-needed time together. The modernisme architecture, World’s Fair grounds and buildings, and Gothic streets provided countless diversions and amusements; contemporary art exhibits around the city and the “Blue Period” works in the Picasso museum sparked thoughts and discussions. And the narrow streets of the Jewish Quarter, nearly indistinguishable from other narrow streets in the winding alleyways of the old Roman city, changed how I will sing “Next Year in Jerusalem” at future seders.

Spain’s once-thriving Jewish population, a large group in the city of Barcelona, living mostly alongside their Christian neighbors but in a close-knit community (the “kahal, a Hebrew word we still use today) and geographical area known as “The Call”>, faced persecution and eventually expulsion at the hands of Spain’s Catholic rulers. This is far from a story of redemption; rather, it is one of desperation and mourning—an entire community forced to convert, to migrate, to leave behind a rich culture, personal networks, lives they had built over centuries. The only trace of Jewish life in Spain that Rachel and I could find were a few doorposts marked in places where a mezuzah had once been affixed, some inscriptions along the walls of buildings that now house souvenir shops and clothing stores, and the remains of a 12-th century synagogue that now serves as a museum.

Unlike Barcelona’s Church tours, which focus on art, architecture, and history, the synagogue and museum also explains religion, outlining major Jewish practices and festivals for the non-Jewish tourist. Sadly, I am not sure how many of those the museum gets. When we walked in, the guide immediately asked us if we spoke Hebrew, and later that same day we ran into an Israeli tour group learning about the fraught and tragic history of our people in Spain and crowding together in the alleyways to imagine rather than see vibrant Jewish life in Barcelona.

Touching the stones of these former houses where people celebrated Passover and baked their Shabbat challah, I felt a sense of responsibility, as a Jew and as a future rabbi, to the memory of this community, but more so to Jewish communities around the world. It’s a feeling I never really internalized before, but I imagined what it might have meant, in medieval times, to be forced out of your village somewhere in the mountains, to reach the city of Barcelona, and to know that all you had to do was find the Call, and with it you would find open arms, a hot meal, a place to stay, an invitation to Shabbos dinner.

Later in the week, we visited another Jewish Quarter, in the city of Girona. Similarly, its museum, housed in what was once a major Girona synagogue, not only outlined the history of the Jewish community in Girona and in Spain, but also explained major Jewish beliefs, practices, and philosophies. The streets were narrow, and I could imagine the terrible days of being confined to just two streets with their intertwining courtyards, dead ends, and shallow stairs. Photographs of a nearby palace showed how Jewish cemeteries were raided, their carved stones used as building materials for new, Christian communities.

For the most part, I spent my time in the Jewish Quarters in contemplation—not in overwhelming or debilitating grief, though I certainly felt a sadness for a community that has all but disappeared. And then Friday afternoon came, and sunset approached, and it was time for Shabbat.

The progressive synagogue in Barcelona is not located on the nicest of the Gracia neighborhood’s streets. A metal grate covers the door until just before services begin, revealing curtained windows and a small mezuzah. But inside, it’s Jerusalem.

It was Kabbalat Shabbat at Bet Shalom. Greeting us warmly with a “Shabbat Shalom” and a kiss on each check, the dedicated members of this small but warm and welcoming kahal eagerly spoke with us (in broken Spanish, Hebrew, and English, and with much patience all around) about where we’re from, our visit, our synagogues, and my studies at HUC. Rabbi Jim Glazier, serving the community on his sabbatical from his home congregation in Vermont, graciously invited me to light the Shabbat candles and say the blessing, a great honor. The melodies were familiar, the cantor’s voice and presence were smooth and prayerful, the faces were bright and smiling, the mood in the room was enveloping, open, inviting. After the prayer, we chatted with Spanish, Catalonian, Italian, American, French—I can’t even count all the places of origin—members and visitors, students on their year abroad, families, friends. Rosina Levy, who helped us organize our visit, introduced us to members of the community, translated, learned about our lives, told us about the community’s activities, and generally did much to create a warm atmosphere. Suddenly, several people started setting up tables in the center of the room, and we found ourselves sitting down to a very late dinner (a Catalonian tradition), prepared by a member of the community. People lingered, talking and laughing, eating and drinking (we passed on the shots of Tequila!), sharing stories.

The Jewish Quarter in the old city of Barcelona thrives, but as a commercial center and a tourist destination. The people who live over its storefronts do not light Shabbat candles or bake challah. But in Gracia, a progressive community of Jews, mostly praying without a full-time rabbi, creates a kahal to which all Jews are welcome. They are making Judaism live and continue and thrive in a place that once saw crushing prejudice and mass destruction. They are making each Shabbat, each holiday, each community gathering a fulfillment of the promise of redemption and wholeness, completion and shalom.