Author: Mirta Ines Trupp
My fascination with Jewish history and genealogy, coupled with an obsession for historical period drama, has inspired me to write four unique and enlightening novels. I have been a guest speaker for book clubs, sisterhood events, genealogy societies and philanthropic organizations. Sharing my passion for Jewish Argentina is an honor and a privilege.
A National Shabbat for America at 250: How Jewish Memory Illuminates Liberty
In special honor of 250 glorious years of American independence, a national jubilee of prayer, praise, and thanksgiving has been designated for this Shabbat, Friday, May 15, 2026.
“We celebrate the contributions that Jewish Americans have made to our way of life, we honor their role in shaping the story of our Nation, and we remember that religious devotion, learning, and service to others are enduring pillars of a thriving culture,” the president stated. “Through every trial and triumph, the contributions of Jewish Americans have shaped our past, have strengthened our communities, and will continue to inspire American greatness for generations to come.”
The timing feels especially meaningful. On May 15, 1776 — exactly 250 years ago — the movement toward American independence took a decisive turn. Following the Fifth Virginia Convention’s resolution instructing its delegates to propose independence, the colonies moved more deliberately toward severing ties with Great Britain, setting the stage for the Declaration of Independence. Even Patrick Henry resigned his military commission to join the political struggle for liberty.
Yet amid revolutionary fervor, America’s founders also turned toward spiritual reflection. Congress proclaimed May 17, 1776, a “day of Humiliation, Fasting and Prayer,” revealing something often forgotten today: the first national government of the United States believed that public prosperity depended upon the moral and religious vitality of the people. Congress called for nothing less than a “spirit of universal reformation among all ranks and degrees of our citizens,” believing that such devotion would “make us a holy, that so we may be a happy people.”
There is another striking parallel. May 15, 1776 corresponded to the 26th of Iyar, during the counting of the Omer — the sacred forty-nine-day journey from Passover to Shavuot. For Jewish colonials, this timing would not have been incidental. Iyar has long been associated with healing — “I am God your healer” — and the Omer marks the movement from liberation to covenant, from freedom gained to freedom disciplined and sustained.
In the spring of 1776, those sacred weeks unfolded alongside the colonies’ own decisive movement toward independence. Passover had begun only weeks after the British evacuation of Boston, while the Omer stretched across the very period in which the Continental Congress shifted from reconciliation to preparing a declaration of independence. Colonial Jews, many of whom strongly favored the Patriot cause, often interpreted contemporary events through the language and memory of Jewish history.
Just as Passover recalls liberation from Egypt and the Omer counts the journey toward Sinai and national covenant, many Jewish colonials would have recognized in America’s struggle echoes of an older story: a people seeking freedom not merely from oppression, but toward moral purpose and self-governance. The symbolism would have been especially powerful. During the Omer, Jews engage in daily reflection and self-discipline in preparation for receiving the law at Sinai.
For Patriots — Jewish and otherwise — liberty demanded sacrifice, virtue, and responsibility. Freedom was never understood as mere release from authority, but as the difficult work of building a people capable of governing themselves.
As I prepare for the release of Kindle the Light of Liberty, this moment feels particularly fitting. My novel explores not only the struggle for freedom, but the quieter truth that liberty is sustained by faith, memory, family, and the moral obligations we owe one another. Perhaps there is wisdom for all of us in Shabbat this weekend: to pause, gather with those we love, and remember that the light of liberty must continually be rekindled.
With love,
Jane Austen, the American Colonies, and the Fragility of Order
Americans have long embraced Jane Austen as though she somehow belongs to us.
We adapt her novels endlessly. We quote Elizabeth Bennet as if she were an old friend. Entire American industries have formed around Regency balls, tea culture, and Austen-inspired romance. Yet Austen herself appears to have regarded America with considerable suspicion.
In an 1814 letter written during the War of 1812, Austen confessed that while Britain remained “a Religious Nation,” she could not believe Americans possessed the same religious seriousness. It is one of the clearest surviving glimpses of her feelings toward the young republic. To modern readers, this can feel surprising. Austen is often claimed as a proto-progressive writer whose intelligent heroines challenge social expectations. Surely such a woman would have sympathized with revolutionary ideals?
And yet Austen’s fiction consistently reveals a deep suspicion of rupture.
She was born in 1775, only two years after the Boston Tea Party and in the very year the American Revolutionary War began. She grew up in a Britain shaken by the loss of the colonies and later horrified by the violence of the French Revolution. To Austen’s generation, revolution did not necessarily signify liberty. It often signified instability, betrayal, bloodshed, and the collapse of inherited order.
And betrayal, notably, becomes one of Austen’s great fictional obsessions.
Again and again, her novels revolve around broken trust tied to money, advancement, or self-interest. In Sense and Sensibility, Willoughby abandons Marianne for wealth. In Emma, Frank Churchill deceives nearly everyone around him to preserve his inheritance prospects. In Pride and Prejudice, George Wickham’s trail of deception—from his attempt on Georgiana’s fortune to his ruinous elopement with Lydia—exposes how easily self-interest can dismantle a family’s social standing. Even the pragmatic marriage of Charlotte Lucas feels like a betrayal of shared ideals to Elizabeth, proving that trust is often sacrificed at the altar of security. Finally, in Persuasion, Anne Elliot’s broken engagement becomes a quiet meditation on loyalty, regret, and wounded trust.
But Austen rarely discussed politics directly; instead, she wove its themes into the fabric of everyday life. In her novels, the tensions shaping nations often reveal themselves within families: through inheritance, courtship, duty, and belonging. The fractures of public life become emotional burdens that society must somehow bear together. I suppose, as a Jewish reader, this resonates with me. Contemporary culture often romanticizes revolution and social upheaval. Jewish history, however, tends to remember the cost.
Across centuries, revolutions, wars, and collapsing social orders rarely produced immediate freedom for Jews. More often, they unleashed uncertainty, scapegoating, displacement, or violence.
Stability itself became precious.
Maybe that’s why Austen’s suspicion of political rupture feels less alien to me than it might to some modern readers. Beneath the wit and courtship plots lies an intense concern with continuity: how families endure, how moral inheritance survives, and how fragile civilization can become when loyalty gives way to appetite and self-interest. This made a strong basis for my new novel, Kindle the Light of Liberty, which explores life in Colonial America during another age of uncertainty and transformation. For Jews living through the Revolutionary era, it was not merely a philosophical debate about liberty. It was personal and precarious. Jewish communities in places like New York City, Newport, Charleston, and Philadelphia had to navigate divided loyalties, economic instability, shifting governments, and the eternal question every Jewish community has faced in exile: will this society remain safe tomorrow?
Some Jews supported the Revolution enthusiastically. Others feared the chaos that revolutions inevitably unleash. Many simply hoped to preserve their families, faith, and fragile place within society while empires battled around them. That tension between liberty and stability, hope and uncertainty, reinvention and continuity feels profoundly Austenian to me—even though Austen herself may never have intended it so. After all, the author’s greatest conflicts are about what happens to human relationships when social structures begin to shift. Her characters must navigate competing claims of duty, desire, inheritance, class, morality, and personal freedom. Beneath the drawing rooms and courtships lies a deeper anxiety about continuity itself: what must be preserved, what may change, and what is lost when loyalty gives way to self-interest. That is one reason Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy profoundly influenced the dynamic between Rose Wachsman and Nathan Hirsch—characters in my own forthcoming novel. Their misunderstandings are not merely romantic obstacles; they reflect the delicate balance between personal freedom and communal expectation, individual judgment and inherited responsibility. Those tensions felt especially relevant to me while writing about Jews in Colonial America, where questions of loyalty, belonging, security, and identity were not theoretical abstractions, but daily realities.
Austen may never have trusted revolutions. But she understood what it meant to live in a world where old certainties were beginning to fracture. Perhaps that is why her novels still speak so powerfully to readers shaped by histories of displacement, endurance, and survival — to readers who know how fragile civilization, continuity, and belonging can become. If these themes resonate with you, I invite you to journey into the world of Kindle the Light of Liberty. Through the lives of Rose Wachsman and Nathan Hirsch, the novel explores what it meant for Jewish families to navigate a revolutionary age while trying to preserve faith, belonging, and hope in an ever-shifting world.
Kindle the Light of Liberty will be released this July.
With love,
My Guest Post on History Imagined; what an honor!
I had the honor of submitting a guest post on the History Imagined blog. I invite you to click on the link below and read the article. Please share your comments there; I’d love to read your thoughts on the topic of #jewsincolonialamerica
Shabbat Shalom and God Bless America!
In Honor of the 250th Anniversary of This Great Nation’s Independence: Let’s Discuss Jewish American Colonists
A candle to one is a candle to many ~ Talmud, Shabbos 23b
I am thrilled to share a first look at my new novel, Kindle the Light of Liberty, arriving on July 4, 2026! As we approach the 250th anniversary of this nation’s Independence, I wanted to write a tribute to the diverse, complex voices of the Revolutionary period—especially the Jewish colonists who fought for a home in the new Republic.
While my characters, Rose Wachsman and Nathan Hirsch, are definitely influenced by the sharp, social wit of Jane Austen, this story isn’t just about parlors and assemblies; it’s about the hidden sparks of rebellion carried by those whom history often overlooks.
Remarkable figures navigated quiet alliances and treacherous loyalties before and after 1776. People such as: Frances Sheftall, Mordecai Sheftall, Haym Solomon, Issac Franks, The Gratz Family, Abigail Minis, Gerhom Mendes Seixas, Jonas Phillips, Moses Michael Hayes, Solomon Bush, and many more! We often focus on the muskets and battles, but liberty was also won in the shadows by men and women of profound faith and courage.
I’ve called this an American Revolution Love Story. I suppose you can interpret that in different ways. There is a familiar Pride and Prejudice trope, certainly, but as Jane Austen wrote, “there are as many forms of love as there are moments in time.” I can think of a few: Love of Country. Love of Heritage. Love of Liberty.
It is such an honor to celebrate these unsung patriots as we prepare for this massive milestone in our nation’s history! Please look for the book on Amazon this July!
They had no voice. They held no power. Yet they helped decide the fate of a nation.
In the bustling streets of Philadelphia, Rose Wachsman has no time for the rigid expectations of her community—and even less for the infuriatingly reserved Nathan Hirsch.
She is a woman of the hearth, sharp-witted and fiercely loyal to the cause of liberty; he is a man of business and tradition, seemingly more concerned with ledgers than the fires of revolution.
But as the war moves from a tradesman’s chandlery to the parlors of the elite, Rose and Nathan find themselves forced into a dangerous game of intelligence and alliance. In a world that would rather forget their names, they must overcome their own prejudices to discover that their greatest adversary might be their only hope.
Jews and Christmas~ A look at Chess and its Role in the life of Regency Jews
Most everyone knows the modern quip that American Jews eat Chinese food on Christmas. Less remarked upon—but far older—is the tradition of playing chess. Its origins lie in the long and uneven Jewish experience of Christmas in Christian lands, yet its meaning has not been static. By the time of the Regency era in England, the custom no longer arose from fear, but from habit, memory, and choice.
For centuries across much of Eastern and Central Europe, Christmas Eve had been a perilous night for Jews. Authorities often warned—or compelled—Jewish residents to remain indoors during Christian holy days. Synagogues and schools were closed; travel after dark could invite harassment or violence. In some regions, Christmas celebrations coincided with pogroms and mob attacks. Rabbinic leaders, concerned for the safety of their students, prohibited leaving home to study Torah on that night. From these conditions emerged the practice known as 𝑵𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒍 𝑵𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒕.
Jews remained indoors not out of preference, but prudence. Because Torah study is traditionally associated with joy and spiritual elevation, it was avoided on 𝑵𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒍 𝑵𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒕 as a gesture of mourning—both for the immediate danger of the season and, over time, for the accumulated memory of lives lost during Christmas-time persecutions. In the absence of study and public activity, permitted forms of diversion filled the long winter hours. Chess, a game of logic, foresight, and disciplined thought, proved ideally suited. It required no public exposure, violated no religious prohibitions, and exercised the intellect. Cards and even modest gambling sometimes accompanied it, since Christmas was neither a Jewish festival nor the Sabbath.
Yet England offered a different setting. By the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, Jews living in London—especially in areas such as Whitechapel, or in Manchester or Liverpool—did not face the same threats that had shaped 𝑵𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒍 𝑵𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒕 on the Continent. While full civic equality had not yet been achieved, English Jews enjoyed a level of legal protection, economic participation, and physical security rare in European Jewish history. Christmas Eve was not a night of shuttered fear, but one of quiet withdrawal from a holiday not their own. Staying in was less an act of survival than of cultural distinction.
In this context, chess persisted not as a response to danger, but as an inherited custom refined by circumstance. It became a familiar way to mark the evening: thoughtful, domestic, and communal. The game itself had long resonated within Jewish intellectual culture. Its emphasis on layered strategy and consequence mirrored modes of Talmudic reasoning. Medieval authorities recognized this affinity early on. Rashi, writing in eleventh-century France, discussed chess’s educational value and even encouraged Jewish women to play. In twelfth-century Spain, Abraham ibn Ezra famously praised the game in Hebrew verse:
𝑻𝒘𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓,
𝒀𝒆𝒕 𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆,
𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒓 𝒊𝒔.
The Ashkenazi tradition of playing chess on Christmas Eve—now more than four centuries old—originated not in leisure, but in survival. What began as a response to fear and enforced isolation endured long after pogroms waned, preserved in Hasidic communities as a meaningful custom. A Hasidic story captures the deeper symbolism of the game:
𝑶𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝑹𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒊 𝒀𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒇 𝒀𝒊𝒕𝒛𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒌 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝑵𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒍 𝑵𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑹𝒆𝒃 𝑬𝒍𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝑫𝒐𝒗 𝒐𝒇 𝑹𝒂𝒅𝒋𝒐𝒗. 𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝑹𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒊 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒎 𝑩𝒆𝒓, 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅, 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚, “𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒊𝒄𝒆.” 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅, 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆. “𝑨 𝑱𝒆𝒘 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒋𝒐𝒓 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑱𝒆𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒔, 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒘𝒏𝒔, 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆. 𝒀𝒆𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆—𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇-𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌, 𝒂 𝑱𝒆𝒘 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒈—𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔—𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.”
By the Regency period and certainly into the Victorian-era, chess had also become a site of Jewish cultural confidence. Jewish players were increasingly visible among Europe’s leading exponents of the game. Aaron (Albert) Alexandre, for example, emerged as a celebrated chess master and prolific writer. In 1838, he defeated Howard Staunton in a London match, cementing his reputation within England’s thriving chess world. He was followed by Wilhelm Steinitz who won the first official world championship in 1886 and Emanuel Lasker who domintated the title throughout the 19th century. Art, too, reflected this moment. In a well-known painting by Moritz Daniel Oppenheim, a chess game unfolds beneath the inscription:
ברוך אתה בבואך וברוך אתה בצאתך
If you look closely, you will see the Hebrew phrase which, translated, states: Blessed shalt thou be when thou comest in, and blessed shalt thou be when thou goest out.”
The scene belongs to the age of Enlightenment, when Jewish participation in modern society was increasingly visible. Oppenheim’s chess-playing figures evoke not conflict, but dialogue—recalling, perhaps, the famous encounter in which the Swiss clergyman Johann Kaspar Lavater attempted, unsuccessfully, to convert Moses Mendelssohn. Mendelssohn’s calm refusal, calling for reason and tolerance, seems to mirror the chessboard itself, doesn’t it? A true debate is a contest of ideas conducted without coercion. At least, one can hope!
Today, playing chess on Christmas functions less as a response to danger and more as a conscious act of continuity. It is no longer an act of watchfulness born of necessity, but a way of passing the hours in quiet thought, while bearing witness to a modern world in which Jewish and Christian lives meet not in fear or exclusion, but in shared seasons and mutual respect.
Wishing you the joys of the season, with love,
Celebrating Jane Austen’s 250th birthday; A Jewish Austen Fan Fiction Author’s Review of the Year
It has been a grand celebration! All year long, Janeites from around the world have been celebrating Jane Austen’s 250th birthday. Naturally, there have been events in Chawton, Hampshire where the author lived and wrote her novels. The city of Bath in Somerset, held a Yuletide Birthday Ball. A special church service was held in Steventon in Hampshire where Jane was born. The Jane Austen Society of North America (JASNA), with a membership exceeding 6,000, organized balls, brunches, and teas across the land. Beyond this, thousands more around the globe—from Argentina to Israel, Australia to the Czech Republic, and places far and wide—gathered to commemorate the occasion. 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒕𝒐-𝒅𝒐!
Professor Michael Kramp of Lehigh University in Pennsylvania invited me to participate in his ongoing public humanities research project entitled, “Jane Austen and the Future of the Humanities.” I’m still blushing…what an honor! We spoke of my passion of incorporating Jewish protagonists into Austen’s storylines and even explored the cultural and historical roots of Argentina’s vibrant Austen fandom. I will share that interview once the episode is ready to be released and aired on his podcast.
Soon after, I was contacted by Juana Libedinsky, journalist and novelist extraordinaire! She was conducting research for her (now released) book, Queremos tanto a Jane. The scope of that work speaks to the longevity of Austen’s popularity. One of my titles, The Meyersons of Meryton, had led Juana to me. She soon discovered that I had also written a JAFF with connections to colonial (or Regency) Argentina. We talked quite a bit about my immigrant experience and how I connected Austen with the Viceroyalty of Rio de la Plata in Celestial Persuasion.
Between the three of us, we covered Buenos Aires, New York, London, Las Vegas, Nevada and Bethlehem PA.!
Throughout this year, I have had the pleasure of attending Regency teas and was the guest speaker at various book clubs.
In May, I attended the annual Jewish Book Council’s Network Conference where I presented, The Jews of Donwell Abbey: An Emma Vagary. We were each given two minutes to “pitch” our book. No pressure, right? In all honesty, it was a strange combination of anxiety and pride and fun!
The culmination of the year was two-fold. I attended JAFFCon 2025, where I met with other authors and readers of Jane’s fandom. Lively discussions and informative presentations were coupled with games, raffles, dancing, and the partaking of refreshments!
Lastly, I attended the Vegas PBS Annual Tea, where we celebrated Jane’s birthday and enjoyed a wonderful presentation by world renown historian, author, and curator, Lucy Worsley. I heartfelt ‘thank you’ to Cindy Jensen for the invitation!
Austen’s fandom is alive and well! I look forward to new experiences, new stories, and connecting with my fellow Janeites throughout the world!
Celebrating Chanukah~ A Look at the Festival of Lights During the Regency Era
What’s a nice, Jewish girl to do when the vast majority of the population is snuggling by a roaring fire with Hallmark movies and Dickens’ classics? Well, I’ll tell you. If that nice, Jewish girl happens to write Jane Austen Fan Fiction, she may share a little bit of history on the Jewish Festival of Lights. She may also share a snippet or two from her novels to illustrate the true meaning of the season.
I’ll stop writing in the third person now…
I realize that we’re still in the fall season here in the northern hemisphere, and there are other holidays to commemorate before we head into the darkest part of the year. However, I felt that this post was well-timed as the Jewish community has been experiencing “the darkest part of the year” since the horrific events of October 7, 2023. To date, we are still waiting for all of our hostages to be returned.
In just a few weeks’ time, we will begin preparing our latkes and sufgenyiot for our holiday meals. Dreidels and coins will decorate our tables too. The battles that were won, the significance of the dreidels and coins, the reasons why we eat fried foods—or, even dairy—are all well documented; you can read more about it here.
A Great Miracle Happened There!
Chanukah tells the tale of an impossible victory over the mighty Greek army in the 2nd century. This was a true, historical event—a terrestrial miracle that serves as reminder that Jerusalem and the Temple were lost and recovered due to the Maccabean revolt against tyranny and forced assimilation.
The second miracle of the holiday, however, is not so tangible. It is the story of how a small vial of sanctified oil was able to keep the Temple’s menorah lit for eight days and nights. The flames of the chanukkiah (the Chanukah menorah) speak to faith (emunah) and trust (bitachon). In celebrating this holiday, we are encouraged to emulate these characteristics, even when the world is enveloped in darkness—even when we are heartbroken and our spirits are brought low. As an author of Jane Austen Fan Fiction (J.A.F.F.), I wanted to highlight these themes, and show how I have attempted to underscore their importance in my J.A.F.F. or Jewish Austen Fan Fiction.
חג חנוכה שמח
The Hebrew greeting noted above is transliterated as Chag Chanukah Sameach, which means Happy Chanukah Holiday. No doubt, you have seen many different spellings of Chanukah, Hanukkah, even Januca—as it is written in Spanish. While many people call it a minor holiday—it’s not included in the Torah (the Five Books of Moses a.k.a. Pentateuch)—it has been commemorated by Jews for centuries… even in Jane Austen’s time.
On November 5, 1817, just prior to the holiday season in Regency England, tragedy struck. Princess Charlotte, the Prince Regent’s daughter, and heiress-presumptive to the throne, died after giving birth to a still-born son. The whole of the empire had been following this pregnancy; Charlotte was a favorite amongst the British people and her marriage to Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha had been a love match. The public were besotted by their fairy-tale union and by what the couple’s future foretold; however, Charlotte’s death at the age of twenty-one threw a stunned nation into deep mourning.
The outpour of grief for the young woman and her child was said to be unprecedented. Mourning protocols were highly respected during this period of time. Needless to say, when the deceased was a member of the royal family, and a favorite at that, the public were united in their sorrow.
“It really was as though every household throughout Great Britain had lost a favourite child.” ~ Henry Brougham
The Royal Exchange, the Law Courts, merchants, tradesmen, and schools closed down. There was a shortage of black cloth, as everyone wished to show their respect by wearing mourning armbands. Jane Austen and her family would have participated in these rituals. Naturally, the Jewish community aligned themselves with their compatriots.
Per the Gregorian calendar, November 19, 1817 correlated to the Hebrew date of the 10th of Kislev, 5578. Prior to the tragic news, Jewish congregations throughout the land would have been planning for the upcoming Festival of Lights; Chanukah falls on the 25th of Kislev. However, all such preparations came to a halt upon receiving the sorrowful news.
On November 19th, a memorial service was organized for “prayer and psalms for the day of grief” in the Great Synagogue, St. James’s Place. Congregants were allowed to “pour out their complaint before the Lord, on the day of burial of H.R.H. the Princess Charlotte.”
Hyman Hurwitz, the head master of a “fashionable” Jewish school at Highgate, composed Mourn the Bright Rose: A Hebrew Dirge and it was chanted to the tune of a well-known composition, typically recited on the Ninth of Av—a tragic and solemn occasion on the Hebrew calendar.
Rabbi Tobias Goodman, known amongst his congregation as Reb Tuvya, spoke on “the universally regretted death of the most illustrious Princess Charlotte of Wales and Saxe-Coburg.” Rabbi Goodman quoted Ecclesiastes in saying, “A good name is better than precious ointment, and the day of death than the day of one’s birth. It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting, for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart.”
I don’t know what followed. Perhaps the rabbi repeated the time-honored phrase, “Od lo avda tikvatienu,” (our hope is not extinguished) capturing the essence of Chanukah. He might have referenced Joseph and his brothers in Egypt, by saying: “Praiseworthy is he who places his faith in God” and “Remember I was with you.” Whatever else was said that day, I can only imagine the congregation went home with words of consolation and hope.
Jane Austen said, “My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.” That speaks to her genius, of course. As in any book, there needs to be an arc to the storyline. There needs to be growth. The heroine must face her fears and rise above the obstacles placed in her path.
In my novels, these concepts are interwoven in Becoming Malka, Destiny by Design: Leah’s Journey, Celestial Persuasion, and most recently in The Jews of Donwell Abbey: An Emma Vagary. In keeping with Miss Austen’s playbook, my characters—Molly, Leah, Abigail and even Harriet Smith—all have a little trouble, but it is ultimately their faith and trust that helps achieve their Happily-Ever-After ending.
Of all my books, I think The Meyersons of Meryton highlights the Chanukah message best. In this story, due to a variety of unforeseen circumstances, Mrs. Meyerson—the rabbi’s wife—and Mrs. Bennet find themselves much in one another’s company. Miss Catherine Bennet (Kitty, as we know her) has endeared herself to the rebbetzin and her young daughter, Rachel. In a rather poignant moment, Kitty makes an emotive declaration and both Mrs. Meyerson and Mrs. Bennet are moved—most profoundly.
The passage below is a snippet of the final chapter, where Mr. and Mrs. Bennet have an interesting exchange.
An Excerpt from The Meyersons of Meryton…
When the happy couples at length were seen off and the last of the party had departed Longbourn, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were found in the dining room quite alone, sharing the last bit of port between them.
“What shall we do now, Mrs. Bennet, with three daughters married?”
Surprised at being asked her opinion, Mrs. Bennet gave the question some thought before replying. “I suppose we have earned a respite, husband. Let us see what Life has in store for us.”
“No rest for the weary, my dear, for soon Mary will leave us and then Kitty. We shall have to make arrangements for the inevitable. Perhaps you shall live with one of the girls when I am gone and Mr. Collins inherits the place.”
“Mr. Bennet,” she giggled, “you should have more bitachon.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Perhaps it was the port, or perhaps it was pure exhaustion, but Mrs. Bennet found she had no scruple in sharing the entire tale of Chanukah with her most astonished husband. “Pray Mr. Bennet,” she finally concluded, “what was the true miracle of this holiday?”
“The logical answer,” he replied dryly, “would point to the miracle of such a small group of men overcoming a fierce and mighty army.”
“No, that is not it.” She giggled, as a hiccup escaped her lips.
“Well then,” he sighed, “the esoteric answer would point to the miracle of the oil lasting eight nights.”
“No, Mr. Bennet. Again, you are incorrect.”
“Pray tell me, wife, what then was the miracle, for I can see that you may burst with anticipation for the sharing of it!”
“The miracle, sir, was that they had bitachon. I do hope I am pronouncing correctly. At any rate, it means trust. They knew they only had one vial of sacred oil and had no means to create more. They lit the candle and left the rest up to the Almighty. And that is exactly what we should do in our current circumstance.”
“My dear, it is a lovely tale and I am certain that it has inspired many generations before us and will inspire many generations after we are long gone, but it does not change the fact that Mr. Collins is to inherit Longbourn…”
“Longbourn is entailed to Mr. Collins if we do not produce a son.”
“Yes, and well you know that we have produced five daughters, although you are as handsome as any of them, Mrs. Bennet. A stranger might believe I am the father of six!” he said with sincere admiration.
“You flatter me, Mr. Bennet. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I wish to say…”
“You were but a child when we wed,” he waved her silent, “not much more than Lydia’s age, if I recall. But, my dear, that is neither here or there, for in all this time a son has not been produced and there’s nary a thing to do for it!”
“Mr. Bennet, there is something I have been meaning to tell you. That is, if you could spare a moment of your time—or does your library call you away?”
His wife’s anxious smile made him feel quite the blackguard. Had he not made a promise in Brighton? Did he not vow he would change his ways? Mr. Bennet decided it was high time he put the good rabbi’s advice into practice. Bowing low, he replied, “Madam, I am your humble servant.”
Happier words had never been spoken.
No matter which holiday you celebrate this December, whether the lights of your chanukkiah or the lights of your Christmas tree shine brightly against the dark, wintery nights, I hope your home and your hearts are blessed with peace.
With love,
Juana Libedinsky, Jane Austen’s World-wide Fandom, and me!
Today’s post is a little bit of this and a little bit of that. It’s not an Author’s Interview—not in so many words. It’s not about one of my books—not in so many words.
You see, I didn’t interview Juana Libedinsky; in fact, it was the other way around. And while I will share a little of our conversation, this post is about the world-wide cultural phenomenon that is Jane Austen’s fandom. But let me go back and start over…
Juana is a columnist for one of Argentina’s most popular daily newspapers, La Nación, and is a cultural correspondent in New York for Uruguay’s newspaper, El País. A graduate of the University of San Andrés, she completed master’s degrees in Sociology of Culture at the National University of San Martín and in Reporting and Cultural Criticism at New York University. In addition, Juana was a New York Observer Fellow at New York University and a Wolfson Press Fellow at the University of Cambridge. Juana’s work has been published periodically in Vanity Fair and Spain’s Condé Nast Traveler. If that weren’t enough, Juana is the author of English Breakfast and Cuesta abajo—a first-person testimony about the dramatic skiing accident suffered by the author’s husband.
Before all the above was accomplished, Juana, of course, was a child much like any other. Born and raised in Argentina, her parents enjoyed attending flea markets and collected interesting objects to fill their home. I learned from Juana that, come hail or high water, the family would search through “the ugly, the kitsch, and the banal” like impassioned archeologists searching for buried treasure—much to Juana’s displeasure.
What did Juana prefer to do? She preferred reading. She discovered Jane Austen early on thanks to a distant relative, a relative with British ancestry. Partaking tea and scones whilst enjoying Austen apparently was a thing in the town of Acassuso, a locality of San Isidro. There, Juana fell in love with Austen’s happily-ever-after stories.
Unfortunately, these early reading experiences were based on poor translations that distorted the author’s original intent. Austen’s humor—that infamous irony—was all but removed by sentimental, decorous, dialogue. It wasn’t until much later, that Juana discovered the power of Austen’s genius— thanks to updated translations that were finally made available. Here Juana discovered the truth: underneath the romance, the author was a keen observer of society. Austen’s novels were actually witty commentary on class issues, gender issues, and a hypocritical society. Austen wasn’t simply an author of classics, but “a modern, ironic, political writer who was deeply observant of her social environment.”
Wanting to join in the celebration of Jane Austen’s 250th birthday, Juana—along with being a wife and mother and journalist—came up with an idea for a new book. This “little book,” as she calls it, was not meant to convince anyone to love Jane or celebrate her work. Juana simply wanted to share a chronicle of adventures she undertook while experiencing Austen’s world-wide fandom.
Living in New York, Juana was fortunate enough to participate in the Jane Austen Society of North America’s various celebrations. But, it didn’t stop there! She traveled across the pond and visited London, Winchester, Bath and Chawton, attending balls, routs, and soirées in Regency attire.
“Nos llaman los Janeites. El término, utilizado ya desde el siglo XIX, designa a quienes sentimos una conexión emocional intensa con las novelas, los personajes y el universo moral de Austen. Carga con un matiz de burla –por los excesos que puede implicar esa devoción–, pero también con un fuerte componente de orgullo por la pertenencia.”
This is when Juana contacted me…when she was in England…out of the blue…to my Total. And. Complete. Shock.
Imagine it! I receive an email from this renown journalist—from La Nacion—asking if I would be interested in being interviewed for her new book.
She told me that she had read, The Meyersons of Meryton, and was excited to find that we had so many things in common.
We spoke of our love of Austen, of our ties to Argentina, and how we both experienced frustration as young readers with regards to fiction and Judaism. I laughed when I heard the trials she had experienced with her name. The “J” and “H” are quintessential problems for Spanish/English speakers. “Juana” was pronounced Kuana or Guana or Huana—it reminded me of my own experiences as Mirna, Mirda or worse yet, Merda. Ugh!
In any event, we shared emails, WhatsApp messages, and Messenger texts as Juana continued to travel. We finally set a date for the interview where I had the honor of participating in a dialogue that ended up in Juana’s book.
But she wasn’t done yet.
After traveling through England, Jane Austen Argentina was the next stop! She happily returned to Buenos Aires to partake in Austenesque activities and, of course, took the opportunity to visit her parents. They even had time to return to the flea markets in San Telmo, where she found old copies of those “imperfect” Austen translations. Juana shared that she no longer resented those works—or the time spent seeking buried treasure—because these experiences lead her to Jane in the first place. I love how she states the sentiment: “I suppose that, like Elizabeth, Emma, Anne, Catherine, Fanny, Marianne, I grew up.”
“Con picardía y erudición en el tema, Juana Libedinsky ha escrito un libro festivo, que celebra la creatividad y fineza de una autora que ha resistido la destemplada prueba del tiempo y es una voz imprescindible del canon de la literatura occidental.”
Juana’s book, Queremos tanto a Jane, was recently published. It is available in Spanish, which speaks to Austen’s popularity throughout Latin America. In the passage below, I share a translated version of our interaction (thanks to AI).
Translated excerpt from “Queremos tanto a Jane,” by Juana Libedinsky
In fact, back in Winchester, during an impromptu chat with other enthusiasts at the café across from the cathedral, I discovered an author I hadn’t heard of before: Mirta Ines Trupp. I immediately felt that her books needed to reach my Argentine friends. Her story would turn out to be as astonishing as Amy’s and her Mr. Darcy, the bookseller on Corrientes Street.
Trupp’s book, The Meyersons of Meryton, was first recommended to me. Written in 2020, it featured Jewish characters: As far as we know, Jane Austen never met any Jews, although Jewry Street—which commemorates the Jewish moneylenders and merchants who lived there before their expulsion from England in 1290—runs through Winchester, where Austen went to receive medical treatment for a then-unknown illness, possibly autoimmune, and where she died at age 41.
But that detail, Mirta told me, was secondary. I had been put in touch with her by the prestigious Jewish Book Council in the United States, an organization with which she collaborates. Mirta told me that, when she was a girl, all the stories with Jewish characters were like The Diary of Anne Frank, Fiddler on the Roof, or The Merchant of Venice. Spoiler: they didn’t end well, and she would have given anything to read one where a Jewish girl could see herself represented—without death or sacrifice.
Moreover, there are no traces of antisemitism in Jane Austen’s novels, something rare for her time. According to theologian Shalom Goldman, although the phrase “rich as a Jew” appears in Northanger Abbey, it’s not spoken by Austen herself—it comes from John Thorpe, a thoroughly unpleasant character, suggesting that Austen used the phrase to expose his pomposity and prejudice, not to normalize it.
“Jane Austen was the daughter of a clergyman; I don’t doubt her capacity to love and to recognize and value the humanity in everyone. I have faith that her most beloved characters would have been able to move beyond prejudice. In a sense, that’s what one of her greatest novels portrays,” Mirta explained to me over the phone from Las Vegas, where she lives.
Trupp’s first J.A.F.F. book introduces the Meyersons into the world of Pride and Prejudice. But it’s in her second, Celestial Persuasion, that the real surprise appears: she moves Austen’s characters to the Río de la Plata. Captain Wentworth from Persuasion crosses paths with San Martín, Alvear, and Mariquita Sánchez de Thompson, as well as with young English Jews who arrive, full of hope, drawn by the ideals of independence in a land free from inquisitions and persecution.
Of course, all of that serves as a backdrop for a grand love story.
Mirta was born in Buenos Aires, but when she was very young her family moved to Houston and, later, to Los Angeles. “My dad started working with Pan Am. That allowed us to travel to Argentina frequently—sometimes, for several months at a time; my life was always with one foot on each side,” she says.
In high school, she read Pride and Prejudice as part of the curriculum—and lost her mind. “The classic story: I fell in love with English history, with the fashion of the era, and above all, with Mr. Darcy. I could never think of anyone else again,” she laughs.
Although—she did. She met her “Mr. Darcy from Almagro,” as she naturally calls him, during one of her trips to visit family. They married in California, had three children, and later moved to Las Vegas. But it wasn’t until the kids left for college—and the empty nest syndrome hit—that Mirta began writing her Austen adaptations.
“I had already done something autobiographical about my ancestors who came from Russia to the Jewish colonies in Entre Ríos and La Pampa; then I wrote a couple of fiction books about that. It was something I enjoyed researching, and I did it for fun, but I got so many comments, so many requests to continue, that I began to investigate what might have happened to Jews who arrived even earlier—and that became the theme of a new novel.”
The spark was the 1813 painting entitled, The National Anthem in the Home of Mariquita Sánchez de Thompson—the scene of the anthem’s first performance—an oil by Pedro Subercaseaux that hangs in the National Historical Museum. When Mirta saw it, she had an epiphany. The women, in their empire-waist dresses, could have stepped straight out of a Jane Austen novel. And though the painting doesn’t identify everyone depicted, it’s believed that one of the military men represents Martín Jacobo Thompson, Mariquita’s husband and Argentina’s first naval prefect, who trained in the British navy and maintained ties with English sailors all his life.
For Mirta, the conclusion was immediate: “He could easily have been friends with Captain Wentworth! And through him, could have met Mariquita, San Martín, Alvear… All of them were highly educated and could have crossed paths with English Jews of certain standing and education in England who, through the navy, also came to know the southern part of the Americas.”
In Persuasion, Captain Frederick Wentworth proposes to Anne Elliot when they are young, but she rejects him under family pressure—he had no fortune or position. Hurt, he goes to sea. Austen’s novel mentions some ships and destinations, but she never specifies a route or offers detailed geography. What matters is that Wentworth returns triumphant and wealthy enough to marry her, completely reversing his initial situation.
For Mirta, this means he could have been in the Río de la Plata—and that when he returned to England, his heart wasn’t entirely closed to a second chance with Anne thanks to the “persuasion” of the good friends he had made there.
The book is utterly charming, and today—to her surprise—Mirta has become a recognized figure in the world of Jane Austen retellings. Scholars consult her for research; she participates in conferences, book fairs, and podcasts commemorating the 250th anniversary of Austen’s birth.
She admits that jumping between Las Vegas, Regency England, and the Viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata isn’t easy—but she has the time now. “I retired last year from my job within the local government. My husband and I don’t go to casinos, and we’ve already seen Céline Dion and The Phantom of the Opera too many times, so now I can dedicate myself to this.”
What she loves most, she says, is when she’s invited to Jewish book fairs. “I go dressed as a Regency character, bring extra costumes, and people—the ones you least expect—get interested and sometimes even dress up too. Around me, there are brilliant books about the Inquisition, the pogroms, the Holocaust, the current surge in antisemitism. Clearly, I’m not Tolstoy. But there’s always a line at my booth. And if what I do serves, even just a little, to lift people’s spirits, I think Jane Austen would have approved.”
I am thrilled to have participated in Juana’s inspired project. To say that it was an honor to have been included along with other renown authors, professors, and academics doesn’t suffice. There is something very special about sharing this interest—this love—with other Janeites. I’m certain that Juana’s experience with Austen’s fandom was just the beginning of many more brilliant opportunities to gather, to discuss, and to debate the genius of Austen.
Juana—Juanita—I hope you’ll call me before you go on your next world-wide tour, because—to paraphrase your own words—I don’t want to take off my empire dress anymore!
Here’s to more celebrations and more engaging conversations!
With love,
Two Austenites and the Connection Between our Asurim and our Anusim…
Months ago—after having the honor and the delight of being interviewed by author and journalist for the Argentine newspaper La Nación, Juana Libedinsky—I began planning today’s blog. Our discussion was not about Columbus Day or the Anusim (crypto or converso Jews) but rather about Jane Austen—naturally.
However, Juana posed a question that stirred my curiosity to previously unexplored heights. I wanted to write about my discoveries here today. Needless to say, no one could have predicted that we’d be on the verge of seeing our beloved meshpucha home once more.
The hostages are said to be released within the next several hours.
Uploading a blog post today of all days seemed a bit…indifferent and self-serving. But, upon further thought and introspection, I found some interesting connections between today’s news headlines. At least, it was interesting to me—I hope you’ll let me know your thoughts in the comments section below.
The Hebrew word “anusim” (אֲנוּסִים), is derived from the root א-נ-ס (Aleph-Nun-Samekh). The etymology of the word meaning crypto or converso Jew, suggests the concept of being forced or coerced. The Hebrew word “asurim” (אסורים), refers to one who is physically restrained, held captive or hostage.
The Asurim we have long prayed for, and are anxiously awaiting, are a living reminder of “coerced vulnerability, of innocence bound.” If we reflect on the descendants of the Anusim (those forcibly converted in Spain, Portugal, etc.), it is hard not to see the correlation between the trauma of stolen individuality and the loss of the sacred, of innocence, and of peace of mind.
According to our tradition, we—as a community, as a family—bear the duty to remember, redeem, and restore. Freedom—whether of the body or soul—is an act of redemption. I learned this today while contemplating whether or not I should upload this post—a post about Christopher Columbus, about the Spanish Inquisition, about members of Klal Israel who were lost to us because they were coerced and held spiritually captive.
When I was a child, October 12th was celebrated as Columbus Day. Today—well, not so much. The day is now acknowledged as Día de la Raza (Day of the Race) or Día de la Hispanidad (Day of Hispanicity). Some communities prefer to acknowledge the day with celebrations of Indigenous Peoples’ Day or even Discoverers’ Day. In other words, we have gone from a Day of Observance, where President Franklin Delano Roosevelt invited “the people of the United States to observe Columbus Day, in schools and churches, or other suitable places, with appropriate ceremonies that express the public sentiment befitting the anniversary of the discovery of America” to outright disregard, disdain, and disrespect.
Christopher Columbus—Cristoforo Colombo or Cristóbal Colón— was the son of Domingo Colón y Susana Fontanarossa. There has been an ongoing debate about the family being cryptic or converso Jews. There hasn’t been any concrete evidence to prove that point, but it is interesting to note that Columbus had close ties with Sephardic Jews, and conversos, and his famous voyage in August 1492 coincided with the Jewish community’s final expulsion from Spain.
Coincidence? You tell me. And also ponder this interesting tidbit: Columbus used Hebraic or Kabbalistic notations on his documents and diaries. Why?
There are thirteen surviving personal letters written by Columbus to his son Diego. With dates ranging from November 1504 to February 1505, twelve of these letters display the Hebrew letters ב״ה, which are understood to be shorthand for Baruch Hashem (Blessed be He or With God’s help). And when he was and his crew were stranded in Jamaica among the Taíno peoples, Columbus used his knowledge of Jewish astronomy in order to save the day.
Columbus and his crew were running short of supplies. Relations with the Taíno were…stressed. By consulting the Ephemerides of Abraham Zacuto, a renowned Jewish astronomer, Columbus noted that a lunar eclipse was due on February 29, 1504. In order to secure food and shelter, Columbus told the Taíno that his God was angry at their refusal to help, and that His wrath would be made known with the disappearance of the Moon. As this “magical” phenomenon began to unfold, the Taíno, naturally, were terrified. Columbus “promised” to intercede with his God on their behalf; and, when the Moon reappeared, the matter was quickly resolved to everyone’s satisfaction. Yes, Columbus manipulated an indigenous people to his own benefit. My point, however, is this event showed yet another connection to Judaic practice and knowledge.
Why would Columbus have known the works of a Spanish Jew?
Juana Libedinsky was in the midst of writing her upcoming book, Queremos tanto a Jane (scheduled to be published in November 2025) when she called me to talk about my fascination with Jane Austen. To say that I am honored to have a small part in her latest project would be an understatement! We discussed my novel, Celestial Persuasion, that takes place in the Viceroyalty of Río de la Plata—otherwise known as Argentina—and how I incorporated a Jewish storyline into Jane Austen Fan Fiction. Juana touched upon one of my recurring pet peeves: Why don’t we ever read about Jews in historical fiction outside of the Inquisition or the Holocaust? Why are Jewish fictional characters always portrayed in a demeaning light, money lenders and rag peddlers? Naturally, the question about Jews in Argentina was posed.
Juana asked if I could substantiate my suggestion that Jewish people have been in that country since the famous voyage of 1492. At the moment, unfortunately, I could only rely on conjecture based on family anécdotas—anecdotes—and Argentine history. I promised Juana that I’d look further into the matter. When I wrote Celestial Persuasion, I completed hours and hours of research on the internet. But, now, I had another resource: ChatGPT. In truth, I am not a fan of AI—much like the Taíno, this “magic” terrifies me. That being said, I couldn’t resist trying to find out more on the subject of early Jewish immigration to the New World.
This is only the tip of the iceberg:
Conversos, Hidden-Jews, New Christians, or Those with Unknown Heritage:
Juan Cardoso Pardo
- Born in Lisbon, possibly one of the first conversos to arrive in the Río de la Plata
- On April 16, 1614, the (Roman Catholic) Buenos Aires City Council imprisoned the 22-year-old teacher. He was accused of not teaching the Apostles’ Creed and not praying with his students
Diego Núñez
- Born in Córdoba del Tucumán, Diego was the son of a Portuguese converso. Like his father, Diego was a physician; unlike his father, Diego was suspected of being unfaithful to Catholicism.
- While in prison, Diego circumcised himself, and urged others accused of Judaizing to maintain their faith at all costs
- Subjected to torture and starvation for twelve years, he later was burned at the stake in 1639
Diego de León Pinelo
- Born in Córdoba del Tucumán in 1608. His father, Diego López de Lisboa y León, and mother, Catalina de Esperanza Pinelo, were conversos who fled the Inquisition
- The family was often under suspicion and harassed by colonial authorities; however Diego went on to be Argentina’s first literary figure
Ensign Juan Rodríguez Estela
- A wealthy Portuguese rancher, he married a daughter from a family of conquistadors.
- He was suspected of Judaizing and sent to prison, where he was tortured to confess, and later burned at the stake
Manuel de Lucena
- Lived in Buenos Aires in the mid-to-late 1600s
- Accused of practicing Judaism by the Inquisition of Lima
- Secretly observing Shabbat, avoiding pork, and Catholic rites
- The outcome of his trial is unclear in surviving records, but his arrest is well documented, one of the few documented instances of a converso persecuted in Buenos Aires
Domingo Faustino Sarmiento (President of Argentina from 1868 to 1874)
- Born in San Juan, Argentina, 1811 to Paula Zoila Albarracín y Irrázabal, a descendant from the Acosta family.
- Sarmiento’s maternal grandmother, María Jesús de Irrázabal y Acosta, was the daughter of Miguel de Acosta.
- Miguel descended from Gaspar de Acosta, a Portuguese settler in colonial Chile/Argentina.
- Through the Acosta line, Sarmiento also descends from the Antúnez and Gómez/González families. These families are documented in early colonial Chile and Cuyo (today western Argentina), where many Portuguese conversos settled during the 17th century
- This is supported by Inquisition trial records in Lima and Cartagena and archival documents showing New Christian status in colonial Chile and Argentina.
Juan Manuel de Rosas aka Juan Manuel José Domingo Ortiz de Rosas y López de Osornio (Nicknamed “Restorer of the Laws”, was an Argentine politician and army officer who ruled Buenos Aires Province and briefly the Argentine Confederation)
- Born in Buenos Aires 1793 to Agustina López de Osornio, who was connected to the Machado family
- María Antonia de la Trinidad de Azcuénaga y Basavilbaso (the daughter of María Rosa de Basavilbaso y Urtubia, daughter of Domingo de Basavilbaso) and/or María López de Osornio are the descendants of Ana de Machado, a 17th-century member of the Portuguese Machado family in Buenos Aires
Carlos María de Alvear (A soldier and statesman, Supreme Director of the United Provinces of the Río de la Plata in 1815)
- Born in Santo Ángel, Misiones Orientales (now Brazil) in 1789 to María Balbina de Sáenz de la Quintanilla y de la Cámara. She was from a noble Spanish family, but her ancestry includes names such as Fonseca and Cámara. Both were associated with Portuguese conversos
- His father, Diego de Alvear y Ponce de León was born in Montilla, Córdoba, Spain, of Andalusian and Portuguese origin.
- The Portuguese surname “Alvear” is documented among New Christian families in Porto, Lisbon, and Seville. The Alvear family in Iberia included notaries, merchants, and soldiers, professions frequently held by New Christians.
- Members in the Alvear lineage appear in Portuguese and Spanish Inquisition records accused of Judaizing.
José Hernández (One of Argentina’s most important literary and political figures of the 19th century, best known for his epic poem, Martín Fierro)
- Born in San Martín, Buenos Aires in 1834 to Isabel Pueyrredón whose ancestry includes: the Sosa, Rojas, and Alcaraz families.
- The surname Sosa is of Portuguese origin, and appears frequently in Inquisition records in Brazil and Peru. Several New Christian families named Sosa fled from Portugal to Brazil and the Río de la Plata in the 16th–17th centuries.
- The Sosa family of Corrientes and Santa Fe, were active in trade and law in the 17th century, had crypto-Jewish connections
Mariquita Sanchez de Thompson aka María Josefa Petrona de Todos los Santos Sánchez de Velasco y Trillo ( A founding mother and patriot)
- Born in 1786 to Petrona Trillo y Cárdenas, a descendant from the Trillo, Cárdenas, and del Valle families.
- The Trillo surname appears in Portuguese Jewish naming patterns in Seville and Lisbon in the 16th century
- There are Inquisition records from Peru and Brazil in which individuals named Trillo were tried for Judaizing
- In Buenos Aires, Trillo family members were involved in trade, a common profession of New Christians
- The Trillo surname appears in Portuguese Jewish naming patterns in Seville and Lisbon in the 16th century
- Father, Don Tomás Antonio Sánchez de Velasco y Pérez, belonged to the Sánchez de Velasco family—an established Castilian-Creole family in Buenos Aires
- The del Valle surname is found in Inquisition records across the Iberian world.
- Juan del Valle and other family members were tried in Cartagena and Lima for Judaizing
- Families named del Valle were sometimes of Sephardic origin, and migrated to the Americas under false Christian identities
- The del Valle surname is found in Inquisition records across the Iberian world.
- The Cárdenas, Trillo, and possibly Velasco lines include individuals involved in colonial trade, which was disproportionately managed by (Portuguese) New Christians
The last Jews left Spain on the 9th of Av or August 2, 1492. A member of a wealthy converso family, Luis de Santángel, loaned most of the money for Columbus’ voyage. Many speculate that it was Santángel’s “desire to help his persecuted brothers.” On his second voyage to the New World, Columbus set sail with 17 ships and approximately 1200 men. The expedition was paid entirely by the gold, and other valuables, confiscated by Spain from the expelled Jews. This also coincides with log entry written by Columbus which stated: “The object was to secure the property of the secret Jews for the state treasury … [and to] confiscate the property of those who openly professed to be Jews.”
Whatever else can be said about Christopher Columbus, I can’t help but think of the multitude of people who were saved from the Auto-da-Fé (a ritualized, public penance carried out by “relaxing’ or burning the Judaizer as a form of spiritual release or purification) because of his voyages. What does this have to do with Jane Austen Fan Fiction? Nothing—and everything. Everything because fan fiction is a medium that allows an author to incorporate his or her own culture, religion, and traditions into Austen’s beloved classics. Fan fiction allowed me to imagine a Jewish young woman journeying from England to the fledgling nation of Argentina—a country that would abolish the Inquisition laws from its constitution on March 23, 1813.
The Anusim, whether tradesmen, laborers, teachers, soldiers, entrepreneurs or statesmen, were born into Jewish families. Somewhere along the line, they were forced to convert, to flee and abandon their homes, their livelihoods, their faith and culture. Their descendants, for the most part, were lost to the people Israel. Kabbalistic and Hasidic sages viewed these conversions as a metaphor for exile. Their physical beings were coerced by outside forces, and they were trapped in a cultural assimilation. Their souls, too, were held captive by circumstance, and these souls yearned to return, for Teshuva.
According to an article on Chabad.org, it doesn’t matter if a Jew converts or if a Jew lives a secular lifestyle or if, God forbid, a Jew is held captive and is unable to fulfill the rites and responsibilities of his or her faith. That Jew remains “intimately bonded with the God of Abraham.” God “awaits the moment this precious soul will return.” Just as we await, with bated breath, for the release of the hostages; the Asurim, who have too long been bound in exile. May their physical, emotional, and spiritual souls find healing and Ge’ullah—redemption.
Today, when we witness the hostages restored to their families, we will recite:
Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, matir asurim
בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, מַתִּיר אֲסוּרִים
“Blessed are You, Adonai, Ruler of the Universe, Who frees the captives.”
Amen.
Mirta Ines Trupp~ Author 