Spain: Day 7
Hola familias!
Our day began with an unforgettable wake-up performance from the Casa de Chicas. You can’t have a bad day after that.
During the morning, we divided into two groups and rotated between two activities that both took place in our small town: a visit to the river/time in the park and a visit to the General Archives. With a thirteenth century Roman bridge as our backdrop, our security guard Miguel and I teamed up against Zach and Scott in ladder ball, and as the kids would say, “we cooked.” We didn’t finish the game yet and the score stands at 5-2. I’ll keep you posted on the winners.
The General Archives of Simancas was once a private castle for a family but was later chosen and converted into a national archive in the sixteenth century. 76,000 bundles. 55 million pieces of paper. 12 kilometers of documents if you were to line up the paper side by side. It should all have flaked away, yet these documents ranging from the eight to the nineteenth century have all somehow weathered centuries of war and peace, and they sit before us today to stand over and wonder. Our guide Joaqin gave us special access to rooms the public doesn't normally get to see, and you could tell between the electricity pulsing through his waving hands and the intensity in his voice that he loves what he does.
A major theme of this visit was the realization of the fragility of empires. To destroy a people is to eliminate their culture and history. It’s stealing their documents. We closed the visit with what we most came for: glimpsing original documents that led to the expulsion of the aljama--the Jewish community in Spain. The cursive ink seemed so harmless with its curves and beauty, yet it changed everything. We were reminded that one of the world's most damaging weapons is a piece of paper.
After these morning activities, we ate lunch in another underground bodega next to a beautiful pine forest. We tried a regional delicacy—lechazo. Lamb ribs. “OMG THIS IS AMAZING,” I heard Jolie say across the table. I took a picture of Jaren and his plate, wiped clean. Another moment of “la curva de la felicidad.”
Due to the rain, cold, and overall exhaustion, we decided not to hike through the pinar pine forest as scheduled and instead went to nearby Valladolid for some shopping. Before we turned the group loose for the bright lights and colors of the main shopping district, we took a short walk down a rambla—a pedestrian street. We stopped at an inconspicuous metal plaque in the ground. The plaque indicates that underneath the rambla was once a Jewish cemetery, and it displays a quote written in Hebrew and Spanish from a Sephardic poet Moshe Ibn Ezra. The poet writes how in the end, we all return to the grave, and there is no difference between the slave and the nobleman. We circled around the plaque, read the Hebrew and Spanish, translated it in English, and said Mourner’s Kaddish for our Jewish ancestors who deserved more.
After shopping, we ended the day with dinner by the river. Cheese croquettes, salad, steak and fries, cod, and mushroom risotto covered our tables as we stretched out our waist bands for one more big meal. This dinner was particularly special because our trip coordinator invited a Spaniard family to eat with us, and the two daughters ate with several of our kids.
During the morning, we divided into two groups and rotated between two activities that both took place in our small town: a visit to the river/time in the park and a visit to the General Archives. With a thirteenth century Roman bridge as our backdrop, our security guard Miguel and I teamed up against Zach and Scott in ladder ball, and as the kids would say, “we cooked.” We didn’t finish the game yet and the score stands at 5-2. I’ll keep you posted on the winners.
The General Archives of Simancas was once a private castle for a family but was later chosen and converted into a national archive in the sixteenth century. 76,000 bundles. 55 million pieces of paper. 12 kilometers of documents if you were to line up the paper side by side. It should all have flaked away, yet these documents ranging from the eight to the nineteenth century have all somehow weathered centuries of war and peace, and they sit before us today to stand over and wonder. Our guide Joaqin gave us special access to rooms the public doesn't normally get to see, and you could tell between the electricity pulsing through his waving hands and the intensity in his voice that he loves what he does.
A major theme of this visit was the realization of the fragility of empires. To destroy a people is to eliminate their culture and history. It’s stealing their documents. We closed the visit with what we most came for: glimpsing original documents that led to the expulsion of the aljama--the Jewish community in Spain. The cursive ink seemed so harmless with its curves and beauty, yet it changed everything. We were reminded that one of the world's most damaging weapons is a piece of paper.
After these morning activities, we ate lunch in another underground bodega next to a beautiful pine forest. We tried a regional delicacy—lechazo. Lamb ribs. “OMG THIS IS AMAZING,” I heard Jolie say across the table. I took a picture of Jaren and his plate, wiped clean. Another moment of “la curva de la felicidad.”
Due to the rain, cold, and overall exhaustion, we decided not to hike through the pinar pine forest as scheduled and instead went to nearby Valladolid for some shopping. Before we turned the group loose for the bright lights and colors of the main shopping district, we took a short walk down a rambla—a pedestrian street. We stopped at an inconspicuous metal plaque in the ground. The plaque indicates that underneath the rambla was once a Jewish cemetery, and it displays a quote written in Hebrew and Spanish from a Sephardic poet Moshe Ibn Ezra. The poet writes how in the end, we all return to the grave, and there is no difference between the slave and the nobleman. We circled around the plaque, read the Hebrew and Spanish, translated it in English, and said Mourner’s Kaddish for our Jewish ancestors who deserved more.
After shopping, we ended the day with dinner by the river. Cheese croquettes, salad, steak and fries, cod, and mushroom risotto covered our tables as we stretched out our waist bands for one more big meal. This dinner was particularly special because our trip coordinator invited a Spaniard family to eat with us, and the two daughters ate with several of our kids.
May we continue to set wide tables with an open seat for anyone to join. Buenas noches.
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The Felicia Penzell Weber Jewish Community High School admits students of any race, color, and national or ethnic origin.
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