Southern Colorado’s (Possibly) Hidden Hispanic Jews
By Ellen Marsalis
Mike Atlas-Acuña began his quest shortly after his mother’s death. Since his teenage years in Catholic school, he had doubted the religion that his family had practiced for generations. He wondered how Jesus could be the Messiah. Although his family was “more Catholic than the Catholics,” Acuña’s great-grandmother taught her children and grandchildren that it was not right to pray to the saints. They went to mass on Saturday, never on Sunday. When he became engaged to Helen Atlas, a Jew faithful from childhood, his’s mother gave them her blessing. “In fact, she was ecstatic that I chose to marry a Jew.”
When he and Helen adopted their daughter, Sara, Mike Acuña converted to Judaism. He wanted their child to grow up in a home that practiced religion, a family that “walked the walk.” Soon after Sara’s adoption, Mike’s mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer.
“I don’t want to die as a Catholic,” she told her son. On her deathbed, a local rabbi where she lived in California granted her wish and assisted her conversion to Judaism. That same year, 1990, Mike’s brother David converted to Judaism and another brother, Daniel, has subsequently begun studying for his conversion.
In one of the ironic results of the American “melting pot” with its loss of foundational cultural knowledge over several generations, the death of Mike and David’s mother made them want to know more about their heritage. They were especially puzzled and curious about their mother’s desire to convert to Judaism. Earlier that year, Mike had read about a culture called secret or hidden or crypto-Jews.
The Inquisition and the Jews
On August 3, 1492, the day before Christopher Columbus set sail from Spain, the Spanish Inquisition ordered Jews to convert to Catholicism, leave the Iberian Peninsula, or die as heretics. Many sought refuge in the Netherlands, in Great Britain, and in the Muslim Ottoman Empire. Many stayed.
Those who remained converted to Catholicism. These converts were called conversos. Although the term conversos includes all converts to Catholicism, whether formerly Protestant, Muslim, or Jewish, this article deals only with Jewish conversos.
Sephardad is the Hebrew word for the Iberian Peninsula: Spain and Portugal. Jews who lived there were called Sephardim or Sephardic Jews. (The term Ashkenaz or Ashkenazic Jew applies to Eastern European Jews.) Some Sephardicconversos were not faithful to the forced Catholic religion. “Crypto-Judaism” is the term used to define the secret beliefs and customs of those who adhered secretly to the Law of Moses while publicly upholding Catholicism.
As Jews, these people had been separated and ostracized from mainstream Catholic society, but as conversos, they had access to societal privileges and jobs that were formerly denied them. They were viewed as a threat because they were no longer identifiable Jews who could be kept “in their place.” They were technically Christians. Although many converted voluntarily and became devout Catholics, all “New Christian” Jews were perceived as insincere and unfaithful. Catholic society soon established a new separation between itself and the conversos, refusing to accept them as equals. By the mid-sixteenth century, “Old Christians” had established “purity of blood” laws to exclude “New Christians” from many areas of society.
The threat of these “heretics” was one reason given for instituting the Spanish Inquisition. Prior to the Inquisition, conversos could quietly practice Jewish customs with no risk to life or property. Conversos had already been rejected from the larger Christian community regardless of their religious practices, and by the mid 1500s the majority of Spanish conversos were born into Catholicism. As descendants of the original forced converts, they had no personal experience as Jews. Yet, assimilation into Christian culture was denied by the hatred, rejection and intolerance they suffered because of their “impure” blood.
From the beginning of the Inquisition, any observance of Jewish law or ritual became a punishable act. The penalty was confiscation of property or death, not only for the person found guilty, but for family members and associates as well. The Jewish culture was forced underground. One reason cited for the 1492 expulsion was to rid Spain and Portugal of the teachers, mentors and suppliers of Jewish goods for the crypto underground. After the expulsion, there were no rabbis, no ritual slaughterers to supply kosher meat, no mohels (circumcisers), and no synagogues. The sources essential to knowledge and guidance were destroyed. The Jewish community apparently disappeared.
Oral tradition became the only means for transmission of law, ritual and custom. Over time, much of the culture and most beliefs were lost. Certain rituals, such as circumcision, were abandoned. As time passed, most crypto-Jews assimilated into the Catholic mainstream and nearly all their Judaic practices were abandoned. Standardized religion could not be maintained in crypto-Jewish society. A few, however, maintained the customs of their ancestral faith and passed the traditions to their children and grandchildren. These family customs and traditions give today’s searchers valuable clues to their Jewish heritage.
Inquisition transcripts are the only documentation of the presence of crypto-Judaism that survive today. Researchers believe that some settlers who came to Spain’s American colonies were conversos or descendants of conversos. Fleeing the inquisitors after 13 people were burned to death in Mexico in 1649 for being crypto-Jews, somemay have ultimately made their way to the remote areas of northern New Mexico and later, during the nineteenth century, Southern Colorado, either from fear of the Inquisition and execution or from loyalty to Judaism.
The Search for Crypto-Jews
One support for the idea that there may have been crypto-Jews in this area is the presence of some Jewish symbols found on gravestones and in Catholic churches. In September 1989, writer Trudy Coca went with Jewish convert Dennis Duran to the cemetery in Santa Fe County, New Mexico, to say Kaddish (mourner’s prayers for the dead) for his family members. She reported that they discovered many gravestones with six-petaled lilies that crypto-Jews used to disguise the Star of David. The lilies had large three-pronged stamens. Coca learned from her rabbi in Santa Fe that the stamen represented a shin, which is used to symbolize the word Sh-ddai, a name for God. None of these stones had a cross or other Christian symbol.
On a return visit with her husband, Emilio, they discovered two headstones had a Star of David, the overt symbol of Judaism, on the lilies in place of stamens. “We were overwhelmed with shock and excitement. The dates of the stones were in the 1940s. Someone in this community had an affection for this longtime Jewish symbol.”
They visited other area cemeteries and say they found numerous headstones with Jewish symbols and Hebrew inscriptions. In addition, they found many small stones placed on gravestones. The Cocas believe this traditional Jewish custom is further indication of the presence of crypto-Jews.
Coca wrote of her discoveries in the Intermountain Jewish News. When Atlas-Acuña read the article, he contacted Coca. He wondered if perhaps crypto-Jews had lived in Southern Colorado, too. Subsequently, he visited cemeteries in Trinidad, Avondale and Walsenburg where he too found gravestones with apparent Jewish symbols.
Not everyone accepts these gravestones as proof that crypto-Jews migrated to northern New Mexico and southern Colorado. David Sandoval, professor of history at the University of Southern Colorado, points out that these graveyards were established in the 1800s, two hundred years after the conversos reportedly began their migration to this area in their flight from the Inquisition.
“I’m not saying there weren’t crypto-Jews in the area. I’m just saying there is no proof, no documentation to substantiate the claim. Show me documentation of one name of one man who came to the area with Pedro De Villazur in 1720 [during the first Spanish survey of the area after the execution of the Mexican crypto-Jews]…There are no gravestones from that time as documentation. The headstones then were made of wood. Stone markers weren’t used in this area until the 1800s.” Even Coca’s discoveries were dated in the 1940s and cannot be used as proof of early crypto-Jews.
Gravestones are not the only evidence offered by searchers for hidden Hispanic Jews. During his heritage search, Atlas-Acuña inspected the Trinity Catholic Church at Trinidad and says he found several Jewish symbols: the Star of David with the Hebrew inscription “Adonai” in the center, a large Sephardic star and a menorah.
“A lot of Hispanic people may be descendants of these people,” he notes. “I’m Hispanic and in doing my genealogy I found that our family is probably descended from Sephardic Jews.” He bases his belief partially on finding the names Acuña,Tacuña, de la Cu˜a, and la Cuña in Inquisition records in Mexico.
Dr. Robert Saunders, student rabbi at Pueblo’s Temple Emanuel, claims that as many as ten percent of Hispanic Catholics in Southern Colorado may actually be Jewish. “In the past year, seven or eight Latinos in Pueblo have discovered their Jewish heritage and joined Temple Emanuel. Once you are a Jew, you cannot not be a Jew. But, we must re-educate our brothers regarding the Jewish life, the Jewish calendar, spiritual ethics and common dynamics. The process [for conversion] is the same for crypto-Jews as it is for other proselytes.”
Nevertheless, Jewish leaders are divided on what to do about those who believe they are crypto-Jews. Orthodox Jews adhere to the belief that those who have not practiced Judaism and cannot prove their Jewish heritage should convert by traditional methods. Other congregations are less strict and believe crypto-Jews should be welcomed back in as simple a manner as possible.
To Saunders, all Southern Colorado Hispanics are potential Jewish brothers and sisters. Saunders’ agenda is “to educate the community and provide a permissive atmosphere for people to explore their roots in a safe environment.” He believes his crypto-Jewish brothers and sisters deserve special consideration. He calls his mission “Outreach without Battering.”
In his search for his new Jewish identity, Atlas-Acuña also contacted Stanley Hordes, a professor at the University of New Mexico and former New Mexico state historian who says that he had many visits in the mid-1980s from people who told him of secret customs: “Some people have come into my office and poured their hearts out to me, telling me what they know. Then they leave my office and I never hear from them again and never find them.”
Crypto-Jews also told Hordes that they would deny what they said if he ever disclosed it. He believes that fear of discrimination and potential problems with family members, in addition to the generations of secrecy, are at the root of this caution.
“There’s a lot of denial among some of the people,” Hordes says. “But if you are secure about who you are, the knowledge about the past is easier to accept.”
Hordes received a Fulbright-Hays fellowship for his doctoral dissertation on the Inquisition in Mexico. He examined archives there and in Spain and found the details of alleged Mosaic rites, as well as surnames of accused crypto-Jewish families. Many New Mexicans who came to Hordes came for assistance in locating family records. The archives Hordes had accumulated contained baptismal, burial and marriage documents in addition to Inquisitional judicial records and documents. In addition, Hordes helped these visitors search area land-grant records.
In 1985, Hordes left the position of state historian and started his own consulting service. He also spent increased time researching crypto-Jews and subsequently established the Society for Crypto-Judaic Studies. Part of the purpose for the Society was to assist those who felt they were crypto-Jews to research their personal history.
Authors Barbara Ferry and Debbie Nathan, for the December 2000 issue of Atlantic Monthly, using leads from Hordes, researched the personal history of several crypto-Jews and report that by the early 1990s, dozens of Latinos from Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas were sharing tales at conferences and in Internet forums of a Jewish past. They described childhood memories of eating unleavened flatbread in the spring, of playing with small tops that resemble the dreidels associated with Hanukkah, and of mothers and grandmothers calling out from deathbeds, “Children, we are really Israelites.”
One of the New Mexico participants introduced to Ferry and Nathan by Hordes was Isabelle Medina Sandoval. Isabelle was born in the Mora Valley in New Mexico and grew up in an impoverished neighborhood in Laramie, Wyoming. As a child, someone told Isabelle, before she knew what the word meant, that she looked Sephardic. Sandoval says she always felt different from both Anglos and Hispanics and she wondered about her true origins. On a visit to New Mexico, her grandfather confirmed that the family had no Native American blood: “We are Spaniards!” he insisted. When she heard a talk by Stanley Hordes, she felt she understood her grandfather’s statement.
As she reflected on Horde’s descriptions of customs and gravestone markings, she developed a theory as to why her family avoided Catholic mass and paid no homage to Catholic saints. She remembered the wine with a picture on the label of “people sitting around a table with funny little hats” that her family drank. They told her it was because it was “clean.” After hearing about crypto-Jews, she surmised “clean” meant “kosher.” Before long Isabelle became very involved with the crypto-Jewish community and was leading support groups, writing poetry and appearing at crypto-Judaic conferences.
Juan Sandoval, no apparent relation to Isabelle, but also from the Mora Valley, also joined the group. A folk artist by trade, Juan created Christmas wreathes and Native American-style ceramics. In the early 1990s, for reasons that remain unclear, Juan determined he was a crypto-Jew. He soon discontinued his line of Southwestern wreathes and ceramics and began fashioning menorahs and other Jewish-themed ceramics. Although he raised chickens on the small ranch that he inherited from his family, his wife bought him kosher chickens. She also purchased a white prayer shawl and candles for him to celebrate Sabbath.
Loggie Carrasco, an elderly group participant, revealed she was a member of a clan that had for generations practiced crypto-Judaism in Albuquerque. According to Carrasco, they were descendants of Manuel Carrasco, a victim of the Inquisition in Mexico in the seventeenth century. Loggie Carrasco possessed a rosary with no cross that she described as a family heirloom that dated from colonial times. Carrasco claimed that some of her ancestors recited ancient Sephardic prayers and folk rhymes. Others followed the practice of hanging goats upside down after slaughter to drain the blood and make the meat kosher.
Hordes brought other reporters to interview some of these people. The stories were published and attracted more stories. Carrasco and the others, however, soon grew hesitant to speak to outsiders. “They complained that Ashkenazic Jews looked down on Spanish-speaking Sephardim. Synagogue congregations, the crypto-Jews said, were often suspicious and unfriendly. So were many reporters, who seemed skeptical about the claim. Researchers, too, seemed insensitive to these anusim—an ancient Hebrew word meaning ‘people who have been forced,’ used for Jews made to abandon their religion,” report Ferry and Nathan.
Hordes went along with the reports of unfair treatment and ultimately refused to identify his crypto-Jewish informants. He blocked out names on the gravestones with Stars of David that he displayed in his slide shows and he refused to disclose the locations of the cemeteries. Meddling outsiders had hurt anusim and made secrecy necessary, he said. Researchers and reporters soon accepted that Hordes and his associates were to be the primary sources of information.
In the early 1990s, Judith Neulander, a student at Indiana University, researched crypto-Jews for her doctorate in native folklore. An Ashkenazic Jew, she had master’s degrees in folklore and Jewish studies. When she arrived in New Mexico, Hordes showed her slides of gravestones and provided names and phone numbers of people she could contact in his organization. Neulander contacted them for interviews. She soon became suspicious. The information Hordes provided was so incomplete it prevented her from independently locating the graves that were provided as evidence of the crypto-Jewish presence. She visited various cemeteries on her own. She found a stone she recognized from Hordes’ slide presentation. When she tracked down the family of the deceased, they were pleasant, but explained they were Catholic and their Irish Catholic priest had selected the design for the stone.
Neulander’s research also uncovered a group of people in Venta Prieta, Mexico, where people had referred to themselves as Jews since the 1930s. “It seems a fundamentalist splinter group called the Church of God Israelite left Mexico City to proselytize elsewhere; some settled in Venta Preita. The group was a branch of the Church of God (Seventh Day)—a sect originally located in Iowa and now headquartered in Colorado.” Members observe Sabbath on Saturday and believe Christmas and Easter to be “pagan.” Southwest branches celebrate versions of Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Sukkoth, along with Passover.
Neulander believes the children and grandchildren of former members of this Protestant sect are remembering and misinterpreting the customs and traditions of fifty years ago—not 250 years.
Faked Evidence?
Today, Hordes continues to assist people in tracing family trees. He is also doing research regarding the Santa Fe Trail.
Ferry and Nathan report that a few years ago when Juan Sandoval began selling his crafts among Ashkenazic Jews, his ex-wife and children called a press conference and declared him a fake. His son displayed a Styrofoam mock-up of a gravestone that with a Star of David. It was painted gray on three sides. The son presumably found it after a photo shoot.
Isabelle Sandoval’s life has been transformed. According to Ferry and Nathan, “Today as a self-styled ‘crypto-Jewess’ writer and teacher, Sandoval has reconstructed a happier past. Now her girlhood occurred not in a drab neighborhood in Laramie, Wyoming, but in a quaint New Mexico village. Now her mother and grandmother enthusiastically venerated a saint—Esther—and clothed little Isabelle for Saint Esther’s Day in a lovely pink dress, patent-leather shoes, and dainty flower earrings.”
Meanwhile, Atlas-Acuña remains active in his synagogue. His search for his heritage has drawn him closer to his Jewish beliefs. For the past eight years he has served as president of his synagogue, and he spearheaded the extensive renovation of the deteriorating synagogue building. He says that since he learned about his ancestors the primary change in his life is in his attitude about other people’s beliefs. “I grew up thinking Jews were Christ-killers. Now, I’ve found out that I’m actually one of them—one of the Jesus-killers. It taught me that we should all be more tolerant of what other people believe and not judge those beliefs. We shouldn’t go around trying to change—to proselytize them—and make them accept what we think they should believe. I can’t emphasize enough how important it is to let people know how I feel about this.”
Whether or not the people who believe they are crypto-Jews can prove with solid documentation that their forbearers inhabited Southern Colorado, they stand firm on their beliefs. But belief, of course, is about more than historical documentation. Religious faith is built on beliefs. And, the beliefs of the crypto-Jews in Southern Colorado may ultimately be all they need.