By: Chaya Sora Jungreis-Gertzulin

It was a week before Pesach, and my twelve-year-old granddaughter was in a class play. No matter how busy a bubby is, there is always time for a school performance. What I didn’t plan on, was walking away with more than just a small dose of inspiration.

The play depicted the difficulties and struggles that the Marrano community endured while trying to observe Pesach. A mitzva they tenaciously held on to.

It took us back in time to the days of the Spanish Inquisition. Spain was under the rule of Ferdinand and Isabella, heartless, religious zealots. They became known as the Catholic Monarchs. In 1492, they ordered all Jews to convert to Christianity or be expelled from the country. Those who chose to leave were not permitted to take any gold, silver, or money with them. For all intents and purposes, they left with not much more than the shirts on their backs. Three-hundred-thousand Spanish Jews left everything behind, and with great faith and courage were ready to start life anew. A life where they could remain true to their G-d and their beliefs.

Of those who remained, sadly, some became Conversos – “new Christians”, converts to Christianity, under pressure from the Inquisition. But even they were not guaranteed safety. Many were accused of not being truly loyal to the church, and were thrown into dungeons or burned at the stake.

Many others became Marranos, Jews living a double life. Outwardly, they accepted Christianity, looking and living the part. However, behind the closed doors and the shuttered windows of their homes, they lived as Jews. They studied Torah, observed Shabbos, had kosher homes, and exerted extraordinary efforts to keep as many of the mitzvos as possible.

The term Marrano means pig in Spanish. Some say it was used as a derogatory name against the Jews. Others explain that the Jewish converts’ fidelity to the church was tested through a pig. A Christian neighbor would extend an invite to the new converts for an Easter dinner where ham was customarily served. If the Marrano declined the offer to partake in the ham dish, he would be reported to the Inquisition, where he would face terrible torture or being burned at the stake.

In Hebrew, the Marranos are called Anusim, meaning coerced, for they were tragically forced into a difficult situation.

Through drama, song and dance, my granddaughter and her classmates re-enacted the anxiety and fear that the Anusim lived with, day-in, day-out. Just going to the marketplace before Pesach was a cause of concern. Would they be discovered if they purchased extra vegetables for yom tov? Wherever they went, whatever they did, they were always looking over their shoulders.

For the Anusim, Pesach was a yom tov for which they made extra efforts to observe properly. They held clandestine Seders in dark basements, with only the yom tov candles to give them light. They recited the words of the Haggada with trepidation, always fearing an Inquisitor knocking at the door.

The life of the Anusim intrigued me. I came home and searched for stories of courage and strength during those tragic times.

Rabbi Shlomo Ibn Virga, a prominent Spanish historian and author during the time of the Inquisition, wrote about the life of the Anusim. He was a Marrano, who led the community with great mesiras nefesh. He personally witnessed numerous persecutions, including the Lisbon massacre in 1506. (The Inquisition had spread to include Portugal). He wrote, “The Anusim have underground shuls, deep beneath their houses, and serve HaShem with heart and soul… they keep the halachos of Pesach.”

I read the story of Moshe Aprengi, a Converso, whose father made a last request on his deathbed. He asked that Moshe return to the faith of his people. Moshe wandered from city to city, looking for a sign, a message that will help him return. On the fourteenth of Nisan, Erev Pesach, he arrived to the city of Tulitula. He made his way to the market. Upon observing a housekeeper purchasing a large amount of vegetables, he took it as a sign that she will lead him to a Jewish home.

Moshe followed the housekeeper and saw her enter a large, well-built home. He knocked on the door, again and again, begging to be let in. After many attempts, the door opened. “Please let me in. I have something of importance to share with the master of the home.”

Moshe was escorted in, and upon meeting the homeowner, revealed that he was Jewish. He asked to join the family for Pesach. Out of fear, the homeowner, a wealthy Marrano businessman, denied being Jewish.

“Please, listen to me”, Moshe pleaded, “Let me join you. My father’s last request was that I find my way back home, back to my Jewish roots.” The pintele yid is always there. It yearns to return.

Still afraid to trust him, the man remained silent. Moshe tried one more time. “If you let me join you for the Seder, all will be good. If not, I will reveal both your true identity and mine to the Inquisition. We will both die in their hands.”

The owner finally acquiesced. Moshe was to join the family for Pesach. But one question remained. The homeowner asked Moshe, “How did you know that I was Jewish?” To which Moshe replied, “The vegetables gave you away.”

After the play, I was speaking to my machateiniste, (yes, both bubbys were there). We agreed that we were both walking away inspired.

We thought about Pesach of the Anusim and the Pesach we are fortunate to observe. Yes, Pesach can be stressful. For those staying home, there is the cleaning, cooking, hosting. And, for those going away, that too can come with stress. Shopping, packing, travelling, the pressure of being on a hotel or someone else’s schedule. Additionally, at times, when extended family gathers, there are “ouch moments”. Little things that can add up and rattle nerves.

Boruch HaShem, we are fortunate that we can make Pesach in freedom. We can sit down to a Seder in a beautiful, well-lit room. We can sing the songs of the Haggada to our hearts delight, and not be afraid of a knock on the door.

As we sit with our families this Seder night, it’s important to keep things in perspective. It’s time to let go of the stress. As my mother a”h would say, “You don’t have to hear everything, you don’t have to see everything.” Let’s remember that history has not always been so kind to our people. From the secret Seders of the Anusim, to hidden Seders in Communist Russia, in Nazi Germany and in Arab countries, Jews have always risked their lives to observe Pesach.

L’Shana Ha’ba’ah B’Yerushalayim. May we be zoche to observe Pesach next year in Yerushalayim.

Wishing all my readers

a Chag Kosher V’Sameach!

Chaya Sora

Chaya Sora can be reached at csgertzulin@gmail.com

This article was written L’zecher Nishmas/In Memory Of HaRav Meshulem ben HaRav Osher Anshil HaLevi, zt”l and Rebbetzin Esther bas HaRav Avraham HaLevi, zt”l