*Temple Star in door at Nahalat Shalom in Albuquerque by Bert Goodrich. Door by Hershel Weiss. Photo Aztlan Times.*

Introduction

Sometime in the mid- 70’s of Southern California, while on a sleep-over at my Grandma Minnie’s house; as we lounged about in the stillness of late evening, far after I Love Lucy kept us in stitches, we idly chatted as the programming turned to late night talk shows.

Even as a preteen, I had an insatiable curiosity for what our family considered “homeland,” which is New Mexico. However, we were far from there then, in fact on the coast of California, right next to train tracks which separated us from the vast Pacific to the West, on the Southern shore of the Chumash nation, in a small dusty town with a pasted-on Catholic saint’s name, in the Californio manner.

Grandma Minnie was a country girl from New Mexico’s northeastern “Hi-Lo Country,” and even as a septuagenarian in southern California, didn’t own a driver’s license, preferring to walk. She left New Mexico as a young mother in the aftermath of World War II, and never looked back, and, despite her provincial upbringing, quickly became a modern woman accustomed to luxuries like running water and centralized heat…and television.

At this juncture in life, my homeland heroes were the Indians on the silver screen who fought against the Cowboys and settlers coming into our land: despite the paradigm being reversed at the time; the belief being the savage Indian was an impediment to the health and happiness of a growing America.

Curious to know how much Indian blood I had, and what type, I asked my grandmother that evening, “What kind of Indians are we?”

However, rather than immediately respond, she coolly sat there, apparently aloof, face partially lit by the glare of the television in the otherwise darkened room; seemingly avoiding my question.

“Are we Apache?” I eagerly offered, in a hopeful attempt to get a simple “yes,” or “no” answer, only to be met with more silence. And then, as if she sensed another question coming, she quickly blurted out, “We’re Jewish, Mijo,” just to shut me up.

It was a strange statement. One met with confused silence. Also, this statement was nowhere to be found in Fray Angelico Chávez’s Origins of New Mexico Families book, the official compendium of the founding New Mexican families, and based on the meticulous Spanish records of the period. A document every bit as important to the earlier Spanish settlers of New Mexico, as the “Blue blood” Mayflower list of families who arrived on America’s eastern shore some twenty-two years after their Spanish counterparts is to them.

As a youth, Chávez’s book was in our family bathroom for one’s perusal, and I spent my time acquainting myself with it, which made grandma’s statement all the more cryptic.

At that point, the belief was that we came from Spanish/Native American stock; although the Native American side was minimized in that era of willful repression, along with the Mexican connotation, ditched for the preferred, anglicized “Spanish.”

In the aftermath of this Jewish revelation, there was a brief period of searching my feelings for the truth. Further inquiries were met with vague responses and an aloofness which seemed to imply that none of this was important. So, I moved on, unsure of the truth, yet armed with plenty of fodder for the imagination.

The years went by; as their wont. The questions of identity discussed with grandma that perfect summer evening faded into the background, as I willingly gave up any sort of historical associations for acceptance into the current mode of that considered “cool.”

Roughly a couple decades after my grandmother passed away, at the outset of the 21st century, I accomplished one of her late husband’s/our grandfather’s last wishes; which was to have his family return to New Mexico from California.

*Hebrew Letters.* Nahalat Shalom, Albuquerque. Photo Aztlan Times.

However, I was apparently the only one willing to fulfill that wish, and leave the cultural pull of California; my homeland of sun and surf; the land of Palm Trees, Disneyland…the fantasy. It had only been about fifty years since our family had left New Mexico for the first time since at least the seventeenth century, and apparently Minnie’s husband, my grandfather, Epifanio, was itching to get back after only a couple decades of living in what’s now considered prime beach-front property: a testament to the pull of New Mexico.

In any event, the return of our family to New Mexico has forced me to confront the many push/pull factors associated with the place. I came here with the intent of getting to the bottom of many unanswered questions, and access to official documents and records, personal recollection from my own, extensive fieldwork, and a wealth of literature have populated my mind with a bevy of fascinating stories since then.

Yet, strangely, after over a decade of immersion in this milieu, I couldn’t help but notice the one tale which consistently seemed the most compelling; born from purposeful obfuscation; a world within a world; a phenomenon which had previously managed to escape somewhat undetected, yet affecting a massive swath of the current Northern Mexican and Southwestern U.S. population.

For, strange as it seemed, it turned out grandma’s late-night confession in the 70’s was strangely true: we were Jews.

Mestizos and Anusim: Foundations of La Raza Cosmica

*Pre-show Ostraca Imagined Pottery Shards. Photo Hershel Weiss.*

“The biggest challenge in completing a study of this kind was determining the history of a group of people who for centuries tried desperately to cover their tracks, to leave behind as little evidence as possible, documentary or otherwise, that would jeopardize their security and that of their families. The Inquisition records that survived the vicissitudes of time provide unique windows into the past, through which historians can view the lives of people who ordinarily would have left no other records.”

Stanley Hordes, To the End of the Earth, Introduction.

In the sixties and seventies, the “official” story of most Mexican-American Southwestern families was that we descended from a proud line of conquistadors who successfully challenged and conquered the Meso-american populations of what is now North, Central, and South America. This partial-truth was quite alluring to most, for it instilled a sense of pride into a culture that oftentimes needed frequent injections, due to their unequal status in society.

The more liberally-minded families of the 70’s Chicano movement, conversely, championed the fallen indigenous culture. The term Chicano refers to Mexican-Americans who identify as liberal, oftentimes bordering on Anarchism, yet who also might be responsibly progressive.

Set against the consistent battle of these two ways of seeing identity, sometime around the early eighties, rumblings of a particular rumor started to bubble to the surface. At first, the news seemed to solely affect New Mexico, as it was the birthplace of the story. Yet, as the reverberations of the news spread to the metropolitan areas of California, Arizona, Texas, and Colorado, it quickly picked up steam.

The news, or rumor, of course was exactly Grandma Minnie’s late-night revelation that not just our family, but, potentially a good portion of all Mexican-American Southwestern families could share these same roots, i.e., are Spanish Jews, or Sephardim. In the wake of this declaration, chaos ensued. However, in a way, much stayed the same; replete with plenty of finger-pointing, accusations, and subversion.

This Jewish secret, however, was somewhat different from the previous norm; for the basis of “Jewishness” at the time was based on the contemporary American Ashkenazi population, and therefore viewed by their Mexican-American counterparts as predominately Caucasian and primarily from the East Coast and Midwest of America.

It was difficult to make the connection between us and them: too improbable.

What did we have in common with these gringos?

It took a concerted global effort to contemporize Iberian Peninsula history to uncover the strange truth of the phenomenon which came to be Crypto-Judaism. Indeed, the Spanish and Portuguese lost empire of Sefarad had, after seven centuries of influence and power, practically vanished into thin air after Fernando and Isabella took over in the 15th century, leaving behind no discernible trace.

In the wake of this apparent disappearance, and with the discovery of the New World, the Sefarad chapter was virtually ignored, shelved interminably for a Catholic and Conquistador mix which served as history for the Mexican-American population up till that point.

In the North American context, the obvious distinction between “old world,” versus “new world,” Judaism would come down to the contrast between Ashkenazi vs. Sephardic forms. The former coming from the Eastern European countries; specifically Germany, Poland, Russia, and the Ukraine; the latter coming from the Iberian Peninsula, Morocco, and parts of the Near Middle East.

This Sephardic culture; a pastiche of Arabic, Jewish, and Christian, was among the richest in the history of the planet, setting the tone for astronomy, poetry, music, philosophy, and academia, and, given the sway of Sefarad, it’s hard to imagine how its influence dissipated so quickly.

Though, in reality, it never truly disappeared, but has been there all along; merely masquerading as other entities, hiding in plain sight.

Currently, there are literally volumes dedicated to the workings and history of this past Arabic empire, (700-1400 A.D.), primarily administered by Jews, and occupied by a wealth of Christians, among others.

To detail the massive diaspora out of Sefarad at the end of the fifteenth century would take far more time than we have in this brief introduction. Suffice it to say, there is a wealth of legal, cultural, and sociological information readily available on the subject for those interested.

To further the matter, among the many regions globally reporting Crypto-Judaic roots, New Mexico has sprung to the forefront of late in the form of numerous books on the subject ranging from exhaustively-researched academic tomes, to independently-researched, localized folklore; perhaps commencing with the publication of David S. Nidel’s Modern Descendants of Conversos in New Mexico in Western States Jewish History 16 (1984). Since then, the offerings have grown to include coffee-table-like photo-essays, frequent presentations of local and national papers at seminars, scholarly publications, and many books by independent publishers.

Among the wealth of literature currently available, the one work which truly drew a line in the sand regarding the factual existence of a Crypto-Jewish population in Mexico and New Mexico was Stanley Hordes’ To the End of the Earth (Columbia University Press, 2005). Meticulously researched, Hordes’ book succinctly put together what had theretofore been either too cumbersome, or too inaccessible for most.

*Mezuzah by Levi ben Macario. Nahalat Shalom, Albuquerque. Photo Aztlan Times.*

In his work, Hordes essentially constructed the modern framework for the field, and within its scope, one might find a map of the terms and organization of the New Mexican and Mexican Crypto-Judaic world.

For example, here are some important terms and distinctions:

The descendants of Jews who converted to Catholicism in Spain and Portugal in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries were referred to as conversos, which obviously means “convert.”

However, within the term, there are two distinct subsets;

(1) those who converted sincerely and embraced their new faith

(2) those who converted in name only and secretly continued to practice their ancestral Jewish religion.

To further complicate the matter, the Crypto-Jews of the latter subset are further divided into (1) anusim, Hebrew for “forced converts,” and (2) meshumadim, or “willing converts.”

It would be difficult nowadays to grasp the amount of commitment one needed to defy the Inquisitional eye and public opinion in fifteenth and sixteenth century Spain. Indeed, the idea of religious identity became a life, or death situation for most in the Jewish community, and in Sefarad, in particular; that fact created an entire subset of circumstances which are now just being uncovered.

The Mestizo’s of our chapter’s title are purportedly composed of Spanish and Portuguese settlers and various Native American peoples, though it’s important to note that the catch-all phrase mestizo sorely lacks detail and relies on blanket descriptions of complex situations. Accordingly, a simple examination of the two worlds of the mestizo: European and Native/Meso- American, shows that complex populations were placed into basic categories, defying their intricate nature, losing vast tracts of history in the process.

The Anusim, the other population noted in our chapter’s title; the forced converts to Christianity, who never really converted, but were merely engaging in Political and Social maneuvering, comprised a good deal of the original inhabitants of Mexico. Expertly trained in all matters pertaining to Kingdom and its management, the Anusim of Mexico were instrumental in the planning and execution of the new empire.

In his encyclopedic work Secrecy and Deceit: The Religion of the Crypto-Jews (UNM Press, 1996), David Gitlitz details how high-ranking Jews from Spain were able, after “conversion,” to emigrate to Mexico and assist in administering empire. Accordingly, they took the opportunity to create an “underground railroad,” of sorts, to bring over family members and colleagues, who in turn would further the group’s interests.

*From “Ostraca Imagined,”: Reproduction of fragment from Santa Maria La Blanca, (Ibn Shushan Synagogue) Toledo, 1180. Photo Aztlan Times.*

The two “M’s,” mining and mercantilism formed the bedrock of this insular world which continued to subvert religious law and covertly practice “the law of Moses.” The fact that many of their institutions survive today is testament to the purposeful intent of the enterprise.

Granted, it is a strange mix: Mestizo and Anusim. Their respective social and economic statuses having survived the test of time, and within the unfolding of years and the distribution of power, there have been equal amounts of repression applied to each side.

However, it’s the final group of our chapter’s title La Raza Cosmica, a term coined by Mexico’s Minister of Education, José Vasconcelos in his book of the same name (1925), and who was instrumental in creating the muralist movement in Mexico, where we find resolution in Southwestern roots.

Vasconcelos’ vision had the future Mexican population, “the cosmic race,” investigating, then coming to terms with a storied past which proudly recognized all its roots and celebrated those by integrating them into a national context of equality and fairness.

This sort of idealism was allowed in the aftermath of the Mexican Revolution, however, the phenomenon of Crypto-Judaism stayed somewhat covert during this period, never really incorporating itself into the national fabric in obvious ways, for, this is not in its nature.

For, as with most things related to government, politics, administration, and the such, accountability for Vasconcelos’ ambitious plan never fully played out, and its enlightened views were primarily confined to the exceptional murals of the time by Diego Rivera, among others.

That reality has somewhat led to our current state. One in which the border separating Mexico from the U.S. has allowed further separation between two distinct Nations.

Furthermore, the obvious issues of class and racism have rendered insignificant the conversation of religion for the most part.

In addition to this problem, and despite the volumes of scholarly work, the years of painstaking research and ingenuity, it took scientific fact to convince most Mexican-Americans that the potentiality of Jewish roots was a real thing; and there was a good chance one might have some in their blood.

Accordingly, an October, 2008 Smithsonian Magazine article entitled, The ‘Secret Jews’ of San Luis Valley, by Jeff Wheelright, detailed the case of a group of Catholic Hispanic women from Southern Colorado’s San Luis Valley, (where our other grandmother is from), wherein they were diagnosed as having a rare form of genetic mutation which oftentimes manifested as breast Cancer.

The mutation 185delAG, is a variant of a gene called BRCA1, which helps protect breast and ovarian cells from cancer. 185delAG occurred about 2,000 years ago among the Hebrew tribes of Palestine and spread out as groups moved into Europe. Inter-marriage apparently exacerbated the situation, and currently, about 1 in 100 Jews carries the form of the variant. The article also acknowledges Hordes’ work and contributions to the phenomenon, expanding the scope of their findings with his anthropological and historical expertise.

Almost a decade after the Smithsonian article, sometime around late-Summer of 2016, while preparing for my presentation at that year’s New Mexico Jewish Historical Society’s Seminar, Jewish Identities, Lost, Rediscovered, and Reclaimed, in Santa Fe, I was confronted with the reality I was getting a nuanced education in the processes of New Mexican history, for in the months spent researching our presentation, I was introduced to a side of Crypto-Judaism I was completely unaware of.

There were many official records from Mexico City, yet they were written from the perspective of the Inquisitor: the arm of the law, and therefore were merely accusatory in nature. To get a better sense of the playing field, I reached out to Stanley Hordes, to the end of picking his brain.

Fortunately, he agreed to meet for lunch, and about a week later we met at the now-defunct Zacatecas restaurant on Central Avenue in Albuquerque; the irony being that the city of the same name in Mexico was the staging place for the final push up to New Mexico for many Sefardim to the northernmost reaches of the Empire was not lost on either of us.

*(Ark), or, Aron Kadesh of Nahalat Shalom. Made by Hershel Weiss. Photo Aztlan Times.*

However, over the course of our discussion, it became evident that, despite our mutual awareness of the Crypto-Jewish phenomenon of New Mexico, and the fact Stanley’s encyclopedic knowledge on the subject far surpassed mine regarding said phenomenon, the reality was we were quite different people.

Hordes is from Washington D.C., and came to New Mexico in 1971 for graduate study, going on to complete his Doctorate in New Orleans at Tulane. He was afforded access to the best minds of the time regarding Spanish Colonial records, over the years going over them in painstaking detail, i.e., he understood my family’s lineage in a manner understood by very few, going so far as to include Grandma Minnie’s family in his book.

But what the East Coast guy who cut his academic teeth in Aztlán and the deep south didn’t know was what it feels like to be a Crypto-Jew of New Mexico. Economics, class, and race aside, the cultures and attitudes of our respective homelands were essentially different in fundamental ways.

There is a vast difference between studying something, and experiencing something; the differences, while appearing minute, can also be expansive as the Grand Canyon.

In any event, after paying for lunch and thanking Mr. Hordes profusely, my mind was racing with various thoughts around the subject; keenly aware the act of thinking and defining my Jewishness was still in its infancy, but inspired by its facts and patterns.

For, if I learned anything in those long hours of research over the years, it was that ‘reading between the lines’ was a necessary skill one needed to utilize in order to read the invisible ink Crypto-Judaic history was written in.

The Trembling Winds of Poetry

*Wind Mobiles at Tingley Lake, Albuquerque. Photo Aztlan Times.*

“The contemporary practice of poem-writing recalls the medieval alchemist’s fantastic and foredoomed experiments in transmuting base metal into gold; except that the alchemist did at least recognize pure gold when he saw and handled it. The truth is that only gold ore can be turned into gold; only poetry into poems.”

Robert Graves, The White Goddess: A Historical Grammar of Poetic Myth.

In the years following our 2016 presentation at the New Mexico Jewish Historical Society, the subject of Crypto-Judaism seemed to quietly recede into the walls. Of course, there are always a few individuals doing their own work on the subject, but for the most part, this happens in private.

Last month, though, I happened to be looking for any new material, feeling the need to incorporate the story of Crypto-Jews onto my website. Accordingly, I scoured the local papers for events relating to the subject, to see what might be available. In an unexpected moment of kismet, I saw the words Sephardic Poetry jump off the screen, and, encouraged, investigated further.

The poetry was part of the Festival Sefardi: poetry, stories, music, art, at Nahalat Shalom, in Albuquerque, going on all weekend. Scanning the schedule for an event in the time frame we had available, I decided on the alluringly worded Singing Diverse Worlds: Panel with Myriam and Ruth, a conversation regarding Ladino, Spanish, Sephardic history and literature, the writing process, Cuba, Mexico, and more, mediated by Mexican Poet Héctor Contreras López.

The ‘Myriam and Ruth’ of the panel, admittedly, were unknown to me at that time, yet I understood them to be published authors of Sephardic poetry and prose.

According to their respective bio’s, Myriam Moscana was born in Mexico City in the mid-50’s of Bulgarian parents who had immigrated first to Israel, and then to Mexico in 1951. She has published many books of poetry which have been translated into Greek, German, English, Hebrew, and Arabic. A Guggenheim Fellowship recipient in 2006, she particularly writes about the Judeo-Spanish, or Ladino traditions.

Ruth Behar was born in Havana, Cuba, and moved to the United States at the age of five. Her Polish and Turkish parents thought the move to Queens from Cuba was only a temporary matter, and that soon they would return to Cuba, yet it wasn’t in the cards, and Behar became an American. She received her B.A. from Wesleyan and her Ph.D. from Princeton in Anthropology at the age of twenty-six. She is the Victor Haim Perera Collegiate Professor of Anthropology at the University of Michigan, and the recipient of a MacArthur Fellows Award. Her many books include The Presence of the Past in a Spanish Village, Translated Woman: Crossing the Border with Esparanza’s Story, and The Vulnerable Observer: Anthropology That Breaks Your Heart. She is also a celebrated Children’s author, and Poet.

After perusing their bio’s online, I was prepared to be delighted, yet managed my expectations. For one, it was the middle of Summer in New Mexico, and the thought of going out into the midday heat seemed rather unappealing. While monsoon season and its cooling thunderstorms had blessed us with its presence at summer’s outset, it had recently turned to tantalizing us frequently, then disappearing into thin air. That day was no different, yet it was somewhat cool inside the grand room at Nahalat Shalom that afternoon as Mediator Héctor Contreras López coolly advanced the dialogue as it veered across the globe, tracing Sephardic roots as the presenters unfolded their stories.

*Ostraca Show preparation. Photo Hershel Weiss.*

When discussing Poetry, at one point, Myriam says:

“I belong to the world of poetry. Poetry is a very hard master.”

Regarding the Jewish experience, Ruth says:

“Expulsion is similar to immigration.”

By the end of the segment, it seemed to be a given fact among the panelists that, as Myriam had just stated:

“Being Sephardic is a minority inside of another minority.”

However, I would add to that statement, being a New Mexican-Crypto-Jew is yet another minority within those two. The fact that locale plays a part in a global cryptic network adds another layer to the minority divisions in their myriad interpretations; in New Mexico and beyond; each locale adding their own particular flavor.

The event ends and we go our separate ways into the mugginess of mid-afternoon. Sometime later that week, though, I feel compelled to investigate the offerings at Nahalat Shalom further. After e-mailing Hershel Weiss of Nahalat Shalom and Casa Sefardi, I invite him to lunch to discuss the program he and the Mexican Poet Héctor Contreras López had just put together. He responds somewhat quickly, and we agree to meet later that week.

As we sat on the patio of a Mexican restaurant by the forest of the Rio Grande whose shade offered a temporary respite from the still-relentless summer heat, me sipping a beer, and Hershel iced-tea, we discussed Crypto-Judaism in New Mexico and Mexico, poetry, history, and our own journeys. Hershel informs me there is a companion event in the form of a Poetry and Art exhibition entitled Ostraca Imagined: Shards of Hebrew Poems from Medieval Spain one might attend.

Also, it turns out Héctor Contreras López is still in town and is willing to meet to discuss the Festival Sefardi and Ostraca Imagined. We secure a time later that week, and in the interim, find time to peruse the poems available online from Ruth and Myriam, as well as from a wealth of others. Suddenly, the world is flowering, in the process crossing dimensions and oceans, all via the world of poetry; the quality and quantity of which give one a sense of frisson while scouring their pages.

The morning of the appointment comes. Hershel and Héctor meet me in the gallery space of the exhibit as we take photos and shoot video.

As I meander about, shooting what catches the eye, Héctor and I fall into a dialogue. Yet, rather than being about our immediate surroundings, it’s apparent the conversation is a free-form association between us. The Chihuahuan Poet catches my references, and me his. A subject broached opens a world of opportunity. The conversation turns intermittently deep, then light; going on in this chiaroscuro fashion until it’s nearly afternoon. The mugginess of the hour signals it's time to go. The day is fully swollen, and needs tending. We agree to meet later that week for a more formalized, extended interview, wherein Hectór and I might plumb the depths of Sephardic Poetry. While this statement may seem mildly melodramatic, the truth is, this sort of ancient poetry speaks to a world rarely visited these days; a world beyond what one might see, feel, or touch. Yet the ancestor’s knew poetry is not merely flowery words meant for transcendent reflection, but instructions for the soul. Accordingly, we take heed.

The days in-between that first meeting and the upcoming interview we spend engrossed in Poetry from Sephardic Spain and the places where diaspora took the Crypto-Jews in the aftermath of the Catholic take-over. The poetry reveals that the process of being forced to flee repeats itself over and over across time: its modern construction mirroring the political motivators of the past.

Meditating on poetry of a sacred nature requires one stay focused on the quivering razor-blade of truth and non-truth; hard facts and vast imagination. This ‘quivering razor-blade’ however, belongs to the Dionysian realm where the unseen is on equal ground with the seen. The place where logic fails to detail reality, now recognized as part of our multi-dimensional existence in a multi-dimensional universe.

The morning of the interview comes and the hectic nature of the day ensures my tardiness. Upon arrival, I enter the gated courtyard of Nahalat Shalom to find Hershel and Héctor lounging under a portico. After saying our hello’s, and me apologizing for being late, Héctor, possibly in a move to make light of the situation, adds, “I just got here myself.”

*Héctor Contreras López* *(left) and Hershel Weiss (right) at Nahalat Shalom. Photo Aztlan Times.*

Once again, it’s hot. Not as hot as previous, but it’s a warm morning and the humidity is already aggressively consuming the fresh morning breeze. While setting up our gear, we idly chat as we get close to being ready. However, later, we discover I’d opened up the wrong file in an e-mail, and have the wrong poems, though Héctor hands me copies of the right poems - five poems he will read in Spanish, with me providing the English counterpart. The impromptu switch catches me off-guard for a moment, yet a cursory glimpse of the poems reveals there’s nothing too difficult therein, so I quickly assent and confirm that I’m ready to proceed.

There’s something about recording conversations in a staged environment which sets the tone for the proceedings and lends a captured-in-time quality, separating it from the mundane. Therefore, it would do one well to remember one’s words in that span will also be frozen in time, to be used for, or against one at random by a variety of sources: these thoughts should be in the back of the minds of those who actively engage in said activity, particularly in this day and age of instantaneous broadcasting.

Regarding the interview between Héctor and I, the conversation unfolds easily, as we both seem aware of the moment and the respect we share for the subject matter, and, after setting the tone on the scope of sacred poetry, I mention, then read aloud a quote from Peter Cole, who’s translations of several poems appear in the Ostraca Imagined show…which goes like this:

“Poetry emerges through sensing and making, theology through thinking. Poetry percolates through words, theology through ideas. There is most definitely a poetry at work in theological inquiry, and a sort of theology implicit in the making and sensing of poems. The two feed off of one another, and I often find myself veering from one to the other. The danger is the easy access to big ideas that theology affords. Genuine poetry, no matter how minor the poem, takes shape from the ground of feeling upward through thought and speech, not downward from concepts.”

(Peter Cole, Commonweal Magazine, Interview with Anthony Domestico, April 30th, 2018.)

In response to Peter Cole’s quote, Héctor replies:

“Poetry, in general, comes from this contact between consciousness and the material world. And, many times we as readers of poetry can connect with the poems through…those experiences…like touching, smelling, and, also, as the quotation mentions - feelings. So, it’s not about ideas. It’s about; feelings, about perspectives, about imagination, about sensations, and as long as we remain human, we will be able to connect.”

(Héctor Contreras López, Interview with aztlantimes.org. August, 2022)

In Héctor’s extemporaneous commentary on Cole’s quote, the tone of our interview might seem to have veered toward the ethereal, however, we recognized in the moment we were close to the bone, and, to have continued in that vein might have risked slipping into romantic idealization. Presciently, Héctor ends our bi-lingual readings of the five poems with a modern-day Poet some say is a soon-to-be Nobel candidate; Argentinian Poet, Juan Gelman (b. Buenos Aires, 1930., d. Mexico City 2014.) His poem, After I Die that we read reminds me of the intellectual and physical trauma of colonial South America and the dark and murderous depths its political reality can send one’s thoughts. Gelman’s presence in the line-up of poems also baffles somewhat. Granted, Gelman is a Jewish name of Ashkenazi origin, and he comes from the Spanish-speaking world, yet, he does not come from Crypto-Judaic origins, and the poem we read is obviously modern. However, the timeless quality is undeniable, if intricately nuanced, reminding me of the underlying structure of unseen forces present in poetry.

As we finish our reading of Gelman’s poem, I intuitively glance at the clock, realizing the interview has gone over by a good twenty minutes, so we quickly wrap things up. Also, Héctor’s got to go. He was due to leave that afternoon for the long journey back to Chihuahua, and that realization had me wondering if I’d made him late, so I sincerely thank him again, and we say our goodbyes, all going our separate ways, probably still under the influence of poetry.

Later that night, I’m thinking of Héctor on the road back to Chihuahua as the sun sets in indigo hues out my backyard, slowly slinking its way under the extinct volcanoes on the ridge out west, as storm clouds gather high and mighty on the horizon; silver, white, orange, azure, and grey all mingling in the gouache sky; a poetry all its own.

While my mind is engaged in this meditative state, it travels with Héctor; riding shotgun down south among the long hours of silence passing mile after mile of desert, re-tracing the paths of our ancestors in a constant journey of peregrination to and from the boundaries of our sacred land; along the highways studded with the cacti and boulders which have kept their secrets of time and are now part of our collective memory. They are receptacles of many languages and gods, yet can only speak their own. Unaware of the conflicting beliefs which fill the air, they speak to us of the carbon of time, remind us of the right to utter countless names into the breeze, creating the trembling winds of poetry.

Part One: Mexican Poet Héctor Contreras López Interview at Nahalat Shalom, Albuquerque. August, 2022.

We apologize for the somewhat undesirable sound. It was a hot day and a much-needed fan was on in the room.

Part two: Mexican Poet Héctor Contreras López Interview at Nahalat Shalom, Albuquerque. August, 2022.

Part Three: Mexican Poet Héctor Contreras López Interview at Nahalat Shalom, Albuquerque. August, 2022.

pART FOUR: Mexican Poet Héctor Contreras López Interview at Nahalat Shalom, Albuquerque. August, 2022.

Bibliography

Anaya, Rudolfo A. Lomeli, Francisco A. Aztlán: Essays on the Chicano Homeland. 1989, UNM Press.

Basso, Keith. Wisdom Sits in Places: Landscape and Language Among the Western Apache. 1996, UNM Press.

Berlin, Adele, and Brettler, Marc Zvi, Editors. The Jewish Study Bible. 2004, Oxford University Press USA.

Chávez, Fray Angelico. Origins of New Mexico Families: A Genealogy of the Spanish Colonial Period. 1992, Museum of New Mexico Press.

Gitlitz, David M. Secrecy & Deceit: The Religion of the Crypto-Jews. 1996. UNM Press.

Graves, Robert, The White Goddess: A historical Grammar of Poetic Myth. 1948, Farrar, Strauss & Giroux.

Hordes, Stanley M. To the End of the Earth: A History of the Crypto-Jews of New Mexico. 2005, Columbia University Press.

Nidel, David S. Modern Descendants of Conversos in New Mexico. Western States Jewish History 16 (1984)

Online

Cole, Peter. Commonweal Magazine quote from: http://ibiseditions.com/petercole/

Wheelright, Jeff. The ‘Secret Jews’ of San Luis Valley, 2008 Smithsonian Magazine: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/jeff-wheelwright-on-the-secret-of-san-luis-valley-13397430/

Unique windows to the past: The Crypto-Jews of Mexico & New Mexico