The Law unifies the two main ways the Government has addressed Jewish history. Not only does it present a version of Sephardic past, and present identity which is in line with their revisionist account, but it frames the law as the culmination of the nation’s ‘correction of a historical error’.
The Law steps off the page of history through projecting this revision of the past onto present Sephardic identity.
Given that the Sephardim bear a ‘love for Spain’, as the preamble states, there is apparently nothing wrong with asking them to demonstrate their ‘special connection’ through taking a Spanish language and contemporary culture test.
The notion that Spain still possesses the qualities which Sephardim would be nostalgic for, and can identity their Sephardism with, is shown through the Preamble of the Law as the ‘The children of Sefardi…maintained a flood of nostalgia immune to languages and generations’.
Lucia Aquilar, explains how the Government’s fabrication of this nostalgia in Sephardic Jews could be relocated in Modern day Spain:
‘They make a narrative of continuity since 1491. The Spanish state is creating an artificial identity of Sephardic Jews as a whole group – being nostalgic of Spain – having been frozen from 1492.’
This bears close echoes to Primo Rivera’s Right of Return law from 1924, where in the Royal Decree the Sephardim were described as having ‘feelings rooted in love for Spain’.
Both accounts take the Medieval age and place it within the framework of Modern Spain’s identity, as if the diversity and cultural symbiosis of convivencia had been maintained throughout the inquisitions that expelled Muslims and Jews.
Victor Sorrenson expands on this constructed identity. In his view, not only is Spain different from Sepharad, but the reason many came to Spain was out of necessity, not choice. This is unsurprising, considering that only in 1968 were they allowed to practise Judaism in the open:
‘When the people came here, it was not for sentimental reasons, it was because they were trying to escape from Morocco when Morocco won Independence. They were trying to escape from Nazism in Central Europe, as well as from Latin America in a time when there were military dictatorships there. They did not come for emotional reasons, it was not part of our identity.’
On a purely practical level, this ‘correction’ may lead more to feelings of frustration than atonement. The amount of restrictions on the law mean that the 250,000 Spanish Jews, who are estimated to pass the law in the future, will be dramatically less.
Spain’s avoidance of a process of self-scrutiny, which many of its European neighbours have undergone, means whole swathes of Sephardic and Jewish history are not known, and Spanish society has no consciousness of their government’s complicity with Shoah: two manifestations of anti-semitism.
It is revealing that Catalonia, a nation which fights for the legal freedom to process the persecution of the 20th Century, is also pioneering research into this more recent persecution.
I spoke to Jusep Boya, Catalonia’s Head of Heritage, on why the nation was funding research into this period of history. We sat in an office behind the proud ballrooms of Palau Moja, where none of the embroidered benches had red ropes cordoning them off:
‘We have to talk about this nowadays. I want to make you see that we have a didactic approach to tolerance. We want to make people conscious of the injustice, the errors’.
Boya speaks for a nation who are more authentically progressive through their actions, not because of their rhetoric and symbolic gestures, and whose Jewish community will benefit through this.