Jewish Historical Fiction – Mirta Ines Trupp~ Author

I have never been particularly shy about admitting Jane Austen’s influence on my writing. In Kindle the Light of Liberty, my novel of Revolutionary-era Philadelphia, the echoes of Pride and Prejudice are there by design.

Rose Wachsman and Mr. Nathan Hirsch follow character arcs that owe something to Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. Mr. Hirsch’s father possesses more than a little of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s imperious nature. The historical Rebecca Franks serves as my Caroline Bingley, while my Mr. Montagu, though afforded considerably less page time than Mr. Wickham, shares that gentleman’s capacity for selfishness and callous disregard for others.

These parallels were intentional. I knew what I was borrowing, and I was perfectly happy to acknowledge it. What I had not fully appreciated, however, was another possible Austen connection hiding in plain sight. Charlotte Lucas.

Or, more precisely, Charlotte Lucas and my portrayal of Betsy Ross.

At first glance, they might seem an unlikely pair. Charlotte is a fictional woman of the English gentry, while Betsy Ross belongs to the history and mythology of America’s founding. One accepts a marriage that promises little romantic happiness but considerable practical security. The other, as I portray her in my novel, marries for love and pays a substantial social price for doing so. Yet perhaps the distance between them is precisely what makes the comparison worth considering.

The choice Charlotte makes

In Pride and Prejudice, Charlotte Lucas is twenty-seven, sensible, and acutely aware of her limited prospects. She is not a romantic fool, nor is she particularly interested in pretending that marriage is something it need not be. She understands the practical realities of a woman’s position in her society, and she acts accordingly.

When Charlotte accepts Mr. Collins, Elizabeth Bennet is dismayed. Elizabeth sees the absurdity of the match, the deficiencies of the man, and the likelihood that Charlotte will never know the kind of affection Elizabeth herself desires. Charlotte sees something else.

She sees a home. She sees financial stability. She sees a future that, given her circumstances, is considerably more secure than the alternatives available to her. Austen does not ask us to admire Mr. Collins, nor does she require us to believe that Charlotte has made a romantic choice. Instead, she invites us to consider the world in which such a choice makes sense. Charlotte is not necessarily choosing happiness as Elizabeth understands it. She is choosing the life she believes she can reasonably secure.

That distinction matters.

It is easy to condemn Charlotte if we imagine that she possesses the same freedom Elizabeth enjoys. But Charlotte is older, has a different temperament, and cannot count on inheriting a comfortable fortune. Her decision is not made in a vacuum. It is made within a society that leaves women with remarkably little room for financial independence. Charlotte understands her circumstances. She does not confuse prudence with romance, and she does not insist upon a grand passion that may never arrive. Whether we approve of her decision or not, we must at least acknowledge that she has made it with her eyes open.

Betsy Ross chooses differently

In Kindle the Light of Liberty, readers meet Elizabeth—though this Elizabeth is no Bennet. She is the historical figure Elizabeth Ross, née Griscom. During this tumultuous period in American history, Rose Wachsman befriends her neighbor and discovers that Betsy faces a dilemma of her own. Betsy and John Ross are young, industrious, and determined to build a life together. Their marriage, however, comes at a considerable cost. Because John is not a Quaker, Betsy’s decision to marry outside her faith results in her expulsion from the Quaker community. She loses more than a place of worship. She loses the familiar structures of belonging: the people who have known her all her life, the customs that have shaped her, and the community that once offered her a place within its boundaries.

When Betsy tells Rose Wachsman that she has been publicly read out of the meeting, her words carry a weight Rose understands.

Exile, Rose knows, does not always require an ocean.

Her own mother has surrendered family and consequence for a marriage considered unsuitable and beneath her station. Rose recognizes that a community can enforce its judgments without walls, guards, or even a formal sentence. Sometimes all it takes is a closed door, an averted glance, or the sudden discovery that those who once welcomed you no longer wish to be seen with you. Betsy has chosen love, but her choice has not come without consequences. She does not pretend otherwise. Nor does she speak with bitterness. She works, laughs, builds a life with her husband, and finds her place in a world beyond the one she left behind. Her words to Rose seem particularly important:

“But what is familiar is not always what is best, however much we may miss it.”

I suspect Charlotte Lucas might understand the sentiment, even if she arrived at a different conclusion.

The choices women are given

Austen reminds us that not every woman can afford to wait for love, and not every woman believes she can make her way independently. A decision that looks incomprehensible from one woman’s circumstances may look entirely sensible from another’s. That is the fascinating thing about choice: we tend to discuss it as though everyone begins from the same position, with the same opportunities and the same freedom to accept or reject what is offered.

“Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.” Charlotte Lucas~ Pride and Prejudice

Charlotte’s circumstances constrain her. She chooses the security of marriage because she understands how precarious her future might otherwise be. Betsy, as I imagine her, makes a different calculation. She accepts the loss of communal belonging rather than relinquish the marriage she has chosen. Neither woman escapes the consequences of her decision. Neither has unlimited freedom. Yet each exercises what autonomy she possesses.

Betsy offers another reminder, too: security purchased at the cost of one’s deepest convictions may not always be the security one truly needs. This is where I find myself returning to Charlotte. It would be easy to cast her as the woman who settled, while celebrating Betsy as the woman who dared to choose love. But that would be too simple, and rather unfair to both of them. Charlotte’s choice is not necessarily a failure of courage. Betsy’s is not necessarily a guarantee of happiness. Betsy chooses John for love, only to lose him while she is still a young woman. Widowhood brings its own uncertainties, and she must eventually consider marriage again. The future she imagined when she married John is not the future that unfolds.

The characters we almost overlook

When I began writing Kindle the Light of Liberty, I was quite conscious of the ways in which Austen had influenced my characters. I knew I was borrowing from the architecture of Pride and Prejudice: its misunderstandings, its social judgments, its flawed first impressions, and its insistence that love requires more than attraction. What I had not considered quite so carefully was how Austen’s questions might emerge in a character whose story belonged to another time and another place.

Perhaps this is one of the pleasures of writing historical fiction. A character begins as one thing, and in the process of telling her story, she becomes something more. A historical figure whose role initially seems straightforward begins to illuminate a question that has occupied readers for more than two centuries.

I did not set out to make Betsy Ross my Charlotte Lucas. In fact, I was so focused on Rose and Nathan, so determined to complete their story in time to celebrate America’s Independence Day, that I may not have been as attuned to my minor players as I ought to have been. Having set out to emulate Austen, perhaps I should have been more circumspect. I now wonder whether I missed an opportunity for a rather interesting conversation between Rose and Betsy—two women who, on the surface, have very little in common.

Charlotte and Betsy, in many respects, are also women who have little in common. But perhaps they are connected by something more enduring than the circumstances of their marriages. Both women know that the life they choose will demand something of them. Both must reckon with the expectations of the communities to which they belong. And both remind us that it is one thing to judge another woman’s decision from a comfortable distance and quite another to live with the alternatives she was given.

Perhaps I didn’t overlook Charlotte Lucas so much as overlook the question she might have prompted me to ask of Betsy Ross. It is a question worth carrying into any story about women, love, and the societies that seek to shape them. The interesting matter, as Austen knew so well, is not merely what a woman chooses. It is what she has been permitted to choose in the first place.

I look forward to reading your thoughts on the matter.

With love,

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Jewish Patriots, Genealogy, and the DAR: An Interview with Ellen Kowitt

August 6, 2026August 7, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

Several months ago, I did something a little bold—I had the chutzpah to send a blind email to someone who had never heard of me. That someone was professional genealogist and D.A.R. member, Ellen Shindelman Kowitt.

At the time, I was preparing to release a new book—a Jewish Colonial Love Story of the American Revolution. Connecting with a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR) seemed the right course of action! By the way, the organization is a non-profit, non-political volunteer women’s service organization founded in 1890. Headquartered in Washington, D.C., it is dedicated to historic preservation, education, and patriotism.

I had no introduction to offer, no mutual acquaintances, and no reason to expect a response. I simply hoped she might be willing to read Kindle the Light of Liberty, my novel about Jewish patriots during the American Revolution.

To my delight, she not only responded—she read the book. Her generous words meant more than I can adequately express:

“Often invisible to history, this imaginative tribute depicts the complexities of one young Jewish woman’s life in Philadelphia during the Revolutionary War. I enjoyed this engaging story transporting readers back in time.“

Receiving that endorsement from someone whose life’s work is devoted to Jewish genealogy and early American history was an honor.

As I explored Ellen’s work, I also became fascinated by another story entirely—her family’s remarkable journey, which inspired the creation of her company, Sole Searching. The story of Yosef Shindelman and the shoes he crafted immediately reminded me of Benjamin Wachsman and the candles he lovingly produced in my fictional novel. There is something profoundly moving about ordinary craftsmen whose work quietly illuminates extraordinary family histories.

But that is a conversation for another day!

Today, we’re turning our attention to the American Revolution—to the Daughters of the American Revolution, the organization’s Jewish Specialty Research Committee, and the often-overlooked Jewish patriots whose contributions helped shape the birth of our nation.

HOST: Ellen, you are very much welcome. It is an honor to have you on the blog.

GUEST: Thanks for having me, Mirta. Nice to be here. I appreciate you profiling Jewish patriots of the American Revolution. Before we get started, it is important to note that while most Jews supported the Revolution, there were notable examples of Jewish Tory and Hessian involvement during the same period.

HOST: That’s an important reminder. History is rarely as simple as Patriots versus Loyalists, and the Jewish experience during the Revolution was no exception. In light of that complexity, what inspired the creation of the DAR Jewish Specialty Research Committee, and what need did it fill?

GUEST: The Jewish area of specialty research began within DAR six years ago when I happened to know the Lineage Committee National Chair. When she learned that I was a professional genealogist specializing in Jewish research, she brought my name and idea for a Jewish Task Force to the National Board of Management headed by former DAR President General Denise Doring VanBuren.

The idea was immediately accepted. Other areas of specialty research have been around DAR for over twenty years to recognize under-represented patriots, and Jewish research may require unique evidence, naming patterns, and language other than English. Today, there are ten areas of specialty research: African American, Native American, Spanish, French, French-Canadian, Dutch, Melungeon, Creole, Female Patriots, and Jewish.

HOST: I have to admit, the existence of a Jewish specialty committee surprised me. I would have assumed that identifying Jewish patriots would be as simple as searching membership records. That’s apparently a misconception on my part. What are some other misconceptions people have about Jewish participation in the American Revolution?

GUEST: That religion is recorded by DAR. Religion of any kind has never been recorded by DAR. This makes it difficult to grasp how many “Jews” participated. Scholars estimate there were 2000 to 2500 Jews living in the colonies at the time of the Revolution, but defining who was a Jew is a gray area with intermarriage, baptism, and name profiling, which can be misleading.

HOST: So if religion isn’t recorded, how does DAR determine who qualifies as a patriot in the first place? Have recent genealogical discoveries changed our understanding of who qualifies as a Revolutionary patriot?

GUEST: It is important to understand that DAR qualifies “patriot” as more than simply military service. DAR “patriots” also qualify if they signed an oath of allegiance, served in a patriotic government role, provided goods and services, delivered a sermon, or paid taxes to the cause. Some examples even switched sides during the War, and if they ended up on the patriotic side by the end of the War, they qualify. If on the other side, they don’t. All lineage and service of any kind requires evidence submitted as part of a DAR application, though—so hearsay within a family is not proof.

HOST: I found this especially enlightening—and satisfying. It validates my storyline, doesn’t it? The Revolution depended on countless civilians whose contributions were every bit as vital—very much like my lead heroine, Rose Wachsman. I often think of Rose as sharing Elizabeth Bennet’s wit and determination as she charts her own course in Revolutionary Philadelphia. That broader understanding of who qualifies also helps explain DAR’s guidelines. Tell us how this approach of documenting overlooked patriots strengthened the organization, while remaining true to its mission as a lineage society.

GUEST: DAR has tried very hard over the last 30 years or so to be more inclusive. Earlier organizational activity and stereotypes continue to create misperceptions. By spotlighting and supporting efforts to recognize under-represented patriots and welcome more membership diversity, the organization continues to grow. Currently, there are around 197,000 DAR members.

HOST: It’s becoming clear to me that the DAR organization ought to be congratulated. It seems that its efforts have been focused on uncovering more complete history rather than changing its membership standards. I applaud the intention and the integrity behind that approach. But it also makes me wonder about stories still waiting to be discovered. What Jewish Revolutionary story would you like every American to know?

GUEST: Scholars say that 22 Jews were military officers, and while no women have been registered yet as patriots with DAR, at least two have been identified as eligible if a female descendant comes forward to register them. They are Abigail Minnes and Frances Sheftall.

HOST: Yes! I mention both women in my story. As historical figures, they played important roles in Rose’s life. But—you’ll pardon me, I hope—I’m curious about your story. As both a genealogist and a DAR member, you’ve spent years helping others discover their Revolutionary roots. Could you tell us about the patriot who made your own DAR membership possible and why that story is meaningful to you?

GUEST: DAR members who are descendants of Jewish patriots range; some are Jewish, some are not, as there was a lot of intermarriage in early American Jewish families. Another category is that some members who identify as Jewish came in through a non-Jewish patriot. That is my story. Samuel Tracy of Connecticut made me eligible.

HOST: Ellen, I am fascinated! Your lineage reminds us that every DAR member has a unique family story. Yet, your work extends far beyond your own ancestry, reaching thousands of researchers across the country. I know you have been busy; can you tell us about your projects or upcoming events?

GUEST: Wearing my other significant volunteer hat, I serve as Director of JewishGen’s USA Research Division. I have worked very hard over the same six-year period to add new collections indexing the names of colonial and Early American Jews. A list of the current collections that are searchable is available and several more EA collections will be added in the coming year.

HOST: I knew this interview would be jam-packed with interesting information and you, Ellen, did not disappoint! I can’t thank you enough for your generosity and kind spirit. But—before I let you go—let’s do a Lightning Round! Just for fun. Ready?

Austen or the Brontës?

Brontës

Who played Mr Darcy best: Firth or Macfadyen?

Firth

Fiddler on the Roof or Yentl?

Fiddler

HOST: And there you have it, everyone! From a woman in the know. Since you declared yourself a Brontë admirer, I’ll let Charlotte have the last word:

“And how do people perform that ceremony of parting, Jane? Teach me; I’m not quite up to it.”

“They say, Farewell, or any other form they prefer.”

So, farewell, dear reader and thanks, again, Ellen, for sharing your time, your scholarship, and your passion for preserving the stories of Jewish patriots of the American Revolution.

With love,

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Author’s Interview with Dr. Leah Grisham~ Jane Austen, Jewish Storytelling, and the Courage to Resist

July 28, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

When I first connected with Dr. Leah Grisham, it was through a shared affection for Jane Austen and a passion for Jewish storytelling. That led to a conversation on her blog about my latest book, Kindle the Light of Liberty: A Jewish Colonial Love Story of the American Revolution. It came as no surprise when that conversation quickly broadened into something much larger: the enduring question of what it means to resist unjust systems while remaining faithful to one’s conscience.

Dr. Grisham is a Cleveland, Ohio–based writer whose work explores literature, feminism, and Jewish life. Her first book, Heroic Disobedience: The Forced Marriage Plot in British Novels, 1747–1880 (Vernon Press, 2023), grew out of her doctoral dissertation and examines how the rise of capitalism in Britain depended upon the oppression of women—and how novelists such as Jane Austen and Charles Dickens used fiction to celebrate heroines who refused to surrender their moral agency. Dr. Grisham—Leah, as I now have the pleasure of calling her—is also a regular contributor to Kveller, the Jewish Book Council, Lilith Magazine, and Publishers Weekly, where she writes about literature, Jewish history, and contemporary Jewish life.

I have found that her work reinforces my belief that both traditions—Austen’s novels and Jewish storytelling—grapple with questions of societal expectations and confront difficult moral questions. I was struck by how many of the themes Leah explores—inequality, limited choices, conscience, and quiet acts of resistance—extend far beyond the English novel, echoing enduring concerns found throughout Jewish literature and history.

I am thrilled to have Dr. Leah Grisham on the blog today! Our conversation ranges from Jane Austen’s heroines and Victorian literature to Gothic fiction, antisemitism in the literary canon, and the ways modern readers understand courage and resistance. It concludes with Leah’s forthcoming work on Holocaust-era Poland, where the questions she first explored through fiction become matters of historical survival.

I hope you’ll enjoy our conversation as much as I did.

HOST: Leah, you and I connected as “Jewish Janeites,” a phrase I absolutely love. Has your Jewish background shaped the way you read Jane Austen, and if so, in what ways?

GUEST: Hi Mirta! Thanks so much for this conversation – it is always fun to connect with other Jewish writers – and Jewish Janeites!

I’ve loved Jane Austen for decades, and even spent a lot of time reading and writing about her novels in my PhD program. I’ve always been interested in the ways that authors portray minority groups (an oversimplified term, but you know what I mean), especially when these groups are portrayed in ways that challenge the stigmas that their cultures placed on them. So, while there may not be a wealth of Jewish characters in Austen’s ouvre, she had a lot to say about the treatment of women (especially poor women) and enslaved people that I think invites similar types of discussion.

HOST: And that’s why, I suppose, the themes in Heroic Disobedience reach beyond the English novel. They reminded me of Jewish writers—from Amy Levy to Sholem Aleichem—who also explored women resisting the constraints of family, economics, and society. Whether those parallels are direct or simply part of a larger literary conversation, they led me to wonder about another shared characteristic of both Jewish and Austen’s storytelling: the willingness to question and wrestle with difficult moral questions. Do you see a similar impulse in Austen’s novels, where heroines respectfully—but firmly—challenge the expectations placed upon them?

GUEST: 100% — and I think that is a big part of what has led to her enduring popularity for so many centuries. Obviously, her prose is so engaging, as is the world she creates, but what really sticks out to me are the characters who defy the expectations that have been hoisted upon them without their consent. The obvious example that most people will identify is Lizzy Bennet and Mr. Collins. He is such an obnoxious bore, and her refusal to marry him is such a highlight of that novel. However, I also love that in Pride and Prejudice, Austen doesn’t just leave it at that. Charlotte Lucas does agree to marry him, and her conversations with Lizzy really lay out the lack of options that women had in the early nineteenth century – especially those who were not wealthy. Austen’s novels constantly challenge readers to question their world while pointing out injustices.

HOST: And speaking of injustices, I know I’m not the only one who struggles with the casual antisemitism found in some Victorian fiction. Anthony Trollope, for example, critiques the marriage market in The Way We Live Now while also relying on harmful Jewish stereotypes. George Eliot’s Daniel Deronda offers both a critique of marriage and a remarkably sympathetic portrayal of Jewish identity. How do you think readers should navigate this tension—acknowledging an author’s literary merit while honestly confronting the prejudices embedded in the work?

GUEST: This is such a hard question, and one that I’ve wrestled with a lot. It makes me think of Dara Horn’s amazing book People Love Dead Jews (which, by the way, I think everyone should read)! In one of the chapters, she writes about listening to Shakespeare’s plays in the car with her son, and how she wanted to skip The Merchant of Venice because of the deep anti-Jewish stereotypes that are so important to the play. Her son challenges this, and encourages her to change her mind and listen to it. What follows is a really excellent reading of the play, and also some really insightful discussion about the questions you’ve posed here.

As someone who loves Dickens, Trollope, and Eliot, there is a big part of me that wants to say, “WAIT! We have to take these examples one at a time!” I want to argue against treating these characters and authors with broad strokes, and say that their treatment of Jewish characters is more complicated than meets the eye. I don’t think this is wrong at all (and, in fact, can help us understand the ways that these cultures understood Jewishness/treated Jews), but – as Horn comes to conclude – sometimes you just have to call a spade a spade. Many canonical authors engaged in antisemitic portrayals of Jews, and it is still these authors who are studied in literature classes instead of actual Jewish counterparts. Calling it out is the first step, I guess.

The American/British literary canon has such a problem with reading historically marginalized groups through the lens of white authors. The last decade or so has seen an influx of work that challenges that, but – for a lot of reasons – it’s still very much a work in progress.

HOST: The Tanakh is filled with figures who disobey human authority because they are obeying a higher moral law: Shifrah and Puah, the midwives in Exodus, Esther standing before King Ahasuerus, Michal defying her father, King Saul, and many others. Their heroism lies not in rejecting obligation, but in discerning which obligation is paramount. Our conversation, Leah, keeps returning to the tension between obedience and resistance, doesn’t it? Austen’s heroines are often celebrated for defying convention, yet as a Jewish reader, I’m less interested in the act of resistance itself than in how they discern the moral course of action. What obligations do they owe their families? Their own consciences?

Your research suggests that novelists of the 18^th and 19^th centuries gave these same ethical struggles a more dramatic form, embodying coercion and systemic oppression in the figure of the Gothic monster. Authors used these creatures to illustrate the horrors of systemic dependence and forced marriages. Historical fiction readers continue to be fascinated by these tropes. Why do you think modern readers are still so captivated by these dark, high-stakes relationship dynamics?

GUEST: Oy vey – such a good question! I think that these evil, patriarchal gothic figures endure because, frankly, the systems of power that they represent are still in place, actively harming women today. They are at once so simple – easy to identify as evil – yet authors can also map very specific power dynamics onto them that speak to their current historical moment.

HOST: Throughout our conversation, I found myself thinking about how each generation redefines heroism. Modern adaptations like The Other Bennet Sister often ask whether fulfillment comes from personal freedom or from discovering one’s deeper moral purpose. At the same time, recent events have reminded many Jewish readers what it means to live as a minority culture negotiating questions of belonging, conscience, and resistance. Those ideas made me especially curious about your transition from literary heroines to documenting the lived experiences of Holocaust survivors.

Your upcoming book, The World Has Caught Fire: Life and Death in Holocaust-Era Poland, shifts focus from the systemic constraints of 19th-century British women to the existential horrors faced by Polish Jews under Nazi rule. In Heroic Disobedience, you explore characters whose resistance is quiet, internal, and guided by personal conscience. How did analyzing those literary forms of defiance shape how you approached the factual stories of Jewish resistance, agency, and survival during the Holocaust?

GUEST: Like I mentioned above, I spent many years of my graduate studies analyzing literature that up-ends dominant power structures. I find there to be something so rebellious and triumphant about these types of stories – I truly just love them. Throughout my dissertation work and writing Heroic Disobedience, I had the words of Mary Wollstonecraft ringing in my ears: “If the degeneracy of the higher orders of society be such, that no remedy less fraught with horrour [sic] can effect a radical cure; and if enjoying the fruits of usurpation, they domineer over the weak, and check by all the means in their power every humane effort, to draw man out of the state of degradation, into which the inequality of fortune has sunk him; the people are justified in having recourse to coercion, to repel coercion.” Here and elsewhere in her work, she is defending the right of oppressed people to use violence to overthrow corruption when they have been left no other choice. In this instance, she is talking about the French Revolution, but it’s a principle that is threaded throughout her work.

When it came to my new book, though, I had to unlearn a little bit of that kind of thinking. Or, at least, re-frame how I thought about resistance, rebellion, and armed violence. (And, again, People Love Dead Jews was integral to this process for me). For instance, there were a million ways big and small that Jews tried to resist the Nazis, but this resistance looked different than the type of resistance that Wollstonecraft was writing about: in many instances, sadly, the Nazi military was just too powerful. When researching my book, I spent countless hours with firsthand testimony, both recorded and written (and many of the written accounts, like journals, were written by Jews who did not survive). A few things that come up over and over again is the desperation of the doomed to be remembered, and their anger – desire for revenge – toward the Nazis and their collaborators. These feelings don’t always make it into the holocaust narratives that become popular, but, to me, they are crucial for historical accuracy. The average European Jew might not have participated in a violent uprising, like the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, but remembering them in a historically accurate manner is, I think, its own kind of resistance.

In The World Has Caught Fire, for instance, in addition to telling Dora’s survival story, I also trace the fates of her family members who didn’t survive. Ninety percent of Polish Jews perished in the Shoah, and telling their stories in addition to the glorious survival stories makes the Nazi’s mission – eradicating all of Europe’s Jews – impossible.

HOST: And maybe that’s the point. We must keep our stories alive by sharing Jewish experiences, accolades, hardships overcome, and most importantly, Jewish joy! Because, in my opinion, that is what we should be focusing on—not the tragedy, not the horrors that befell us. Like Austen wrote in Pride and Prejudice, “Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.” I don’t think she meant that we should forget about our sorrows or disregard our pain. I think she meant that we should focus on our purpose. We should remember the good things, our achievements and success. We should recall those memories that propel us forward. And so I thank you for joining me today and for sharing a bit of your work.

Look for Leah’s book on Amazon and check out her blog for articles, book reviews and more!

With love,

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Publishing Day: A Revolutionary Jewish Fiction I Couldn’t Find on the Shelf~

July 4, 2026July 4, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

So I Wrote it Myself.

As America commemorates the 250th anniversary of its independence, I’m delighted to announce that Kindle the Light of Liberty is now available on Amazon.

Like many readers who love early American novels, I grew up surrounded by familiar stories. We know the Pilgrims. We know the Puritans and the Quakers. We know Washington, Franklin, Adams, and Jefferson. Historical fiction has given us countless perspectives on the birth of our nation. But one question kept nagging at me:

Where were the Jews?

Not because we weren’t here—but because we so rarely appear in the founding narrative.

Historians have long documented the lives of America’s colonial Jewish communities. Adam Jortner’s A Promised Land: Jewish Patriots, the American Revolution, and the Birth of Religious Freedom, Oscar Reiss’s The Jew in Colonial America, and Laurens Schwartz’s Jews and the American Revolution: Haym Salomon and Others all remind us that Jewish families were very much part of the American story. They built businesses, raised children, prayed in their houses of worship, argued over politics, supported different sides of the conflict, and helped shaped an emerging nation. Yet when I looked for novels that placed Jewish families at the center of Revolutionary America, I found surprisingly few.

That absence became the beginning of Kindle the Light of Liberty.

Set in Philadelphia, the novel follows Jewish colonists wrestling with questions of identity, faith, and loyalty as their city transforms into the cradle of Revolution. The story unfolds not only in the streets and meeting houses, but around kitchen tables, inside shops, through letters, and clandestine conversations. Rose Wachsman and her family live alongside neighbors whose lives are equally shaped by uncertainty—including Betsy Ross—because history wasn’t experienced in isolated communities. It was shared.

And just as Jane Austen used drawing rooms and assemblies to critique a changing world, her sharp social commentary inspired me to view the American Revolution through the intimate, high-stakes lens of one Jewish household.

Yes, I said Jane Austen.

People often are surprised by my literary influences; Austen doesn’t seem to be a logical choice when contemplating a novel set in this era. At first glance, I understand that it does seem an unlikely pairing! But Austen understood something timeless about human nature: history provides the backdrop, yet stories endure because of the people who live through it. That’s her genius and the secret to her longevity. She mastered the art of the domestic canvas—showing how massive societal shifts echo through family dinner tables and neighborhood gossip.

Elizabeth Bennet taught generations of readers that first impressions can be wonderfully, painfully wrong. Her wit, compassion, and willingness to reexamine her assumptions helped inspire my own heroine, Rose Wachsman. And if readers catch a glimpse of Fitzwilliam Darcy in Mr. Hirsch—reserved, honorable, occasionally misunderstood—I will happily plead guilty! They may also recognize faint echoes of Caroline Bingley, Mr. Wickham, or even Lady Catherine de Bourgh. After all, every story needs its social climbers, charmers, and people whose polished exteriors conceal far less admirable motives.

That’s why Austen still captivates us more than two centuries after her birth. She reminds us that beneath every great historical event are ordinary people navigating pride, prejudice, family expectations, misunderstandings, and deeply human connections.

That’s the novel I wanted to read. And that’s the novel I wrote.

A Revolutionary story where the Jewish experience isn’t a footnote.

A love story grounded in history.

And a reminder that America’s founding was always more diverse, more interconnected, and more human than we sometimes imagine.

Sneak Peek: Read an Excerpt from Chapter Four:

Rose tallied the chandlery’s goods with a restless precision. She found her thoughts snagging on the great gamble taking place blocks away. Had the divided loyalties finally snapped the cord of their resolve?

For weeks, men dawdled at her father’s counter, stripped of their coats and their patience in equal measure. Women lingered after completing their purchases, feigning an interest in a particular scent or the quality of soap, but their voices were lowered and their eyes watchful as they spoke of those grave matters which now threatened the balance of their world. Her father maintained a most rigorous display of neutrality, attending to every wick and ledger with a public diligence intended to keep his doors unbarred—not merely for the sake of the coin, but for the quiet, folded messages that were expected to pass through his hands in the shadows of the shop.

The burden of such secrets required a mask of perfect indifference, a performance that was put to an immediate test by a most unexpected visitor. One afternoon, while the bells of Christ Church tolled noon, Mr. Hirsch entered the candle shop and found Rose and Hannah Ellicott passing the time of day.

He stood tall in the doorway, his dark coat impeccably cut, appearing remarkably untouched by the stifling heat that had caused the rest of the city to wilt. His hair, tied simply at the nape, lent him an austerity that suited his grave expression. Rose noted a sharp, discerning flare of his features—a movement so fleeting she might have imagined it had her own pulse not quickened in response. She had hoped the clean fragrance of the honeycomb and citrus peel would mask the heavy, acrid scent of the rendering kettles, but the sudden, rigid set of his jaw suggested her efforts had been in vain.

Steadying her breathing and smoothing her apron, Rose masked any flicker of concern. She cared little if a stray smudge of soot marked her cheek. Boiling berries and rendering raw comb was a messy business; it followed that it was an odorous one. The result, however—the sweet-smelling soaps and tapers born of that labor—softened the edges of their world.

Given his apparent state, Nathan Hirsch was plainly not a man given to softened edges.

Rose felt rather than saw the shift in Hannah beside her as her friend’s missive slipped swiftly into the folds of her apron. She curtailed any emotion that would give her away, although she noticed Mr. Hirsch’s eyes registered the exchange. The gentleman had not yet approached the pair. In fact, he had not greeted Rose in his usual way. The simple nod she was afforded possessed nothing of his accustomed formality. And it gave her pause.

“The mail has come early today?” he asked.

His tone was mild. Too mild for her liking. What game was he playing? Rose felt the ridge of the wax seal from within her apron’s pocket. Wax was meant to protect. It could just as easily betray. She could not trust him. The letter was bound for Savannah. If it failed to reach its destination, a family might be ruined—or worse.

“Just the butcher’s bill,” she said lightly. “Mistress Ellicott was good enough to drop it off, seeing that she had to collect her weekly order of tapers. It is a small kindness we extend to one another.”

“Yes,” Hannah quickly added. “It helps when one must tend one’s shop. Sometimes Mrs. Riley or even little Tommy comes to our aid—such a good boy, that one. Always willing to help carry our little packages or knick-knacks.”

Rose resisted the urge to reproach her friend. Mr. Hirsch’s mouth, she noticed, curved ever so faintly—not in amusement, but in something like…recognition.

“Ah,” he said softly. “How clever you are.”

His gaze lingered on Rose’s face with cool intensity, as if attempting to reconcile the woman before him with some private conclusion.

“I would encourage you,” he continued, “to be selective in choosing couriers for your… knick-knacks. You would not wish anything to fall into the wrong hands.”

Rose met his eyes steadily, though her pulse hammered against her ribs. It was a moment that required a most calculated diversion; she must lead his thoughts away from the missive he had observed—away from the dangerous reality of their schemes and into the safer, if more painful, territory of society’s parlors.

“I thank you, sir, for your concern. Pray tell me—how may I be of service?” she asked with the civil indifference of a tradesman’s daughter.

“Was there something amiss with your mother’s order,” Rose continued with practiced calm, “or perhaps you seek a gift for a young lady? For Miss Franks, perchance? I believe my cousin has a particular partiality for our lavender soaps.”

He hesitated. It was a silence of a most distressing duration, and one which frightened her more than a direct accusation would have.

“Be at ease, Miss Wachsman,” he said at last. “I have been commissioned to acquire an additional dozen of the bleached tapers, if you please.”

Though she found the request odd—she had, after all, filled his mother’s order only two days prior—Rose turned to retrieve the items at once, willing her hands not to tremble beneath his keen observation. Mr. Hirsch had not shifted from his place; his dark eyes, however, took in every detail. Every shelf and display was scrutinized. Nothing, it would appear, was too small for the gentleman’s attention. Rose set the wrapped candles upon the counter between them—a small barricade of paper and twine.

“You keep busy,” he said. “I suppose you have felt the effects of the recent blockade.

“Indeed, sir. We have felt it exceedingly,” replied Rose. “We pray that the strain does not prove too hard to bear—for ourselves and for our families.”

Mr. Hirsch nodded his understanding as he placed his payment beside the parcel Rose had presented.

Sterling! He paid in sterling.

The silver coins caught the light with a cold, indisputable authority which the paper Continental notes could never hope to mimic. Rose found her gaze anchored to them a second longer than propriety allowed, her mind racing to reconcile the gleam of the King’s metal with the man who stood so unruffled before her.

Something unreadable flickered across his face. “Is there anything… amiss?” he asked, repeating her words.

She searched his expression for accusation—or mockery—but found neither. “No, not at all, sir. I thank you for your custom.”

He inclined his head. “Then I wish you a good day, Miss Wachsman; Mistress Ellicott.”

Rose watched him make his way toward the door. The question of where his loyalties truly lay rose to her lips with such force she very nearly put it to him directly.

“Mr. Hirsch.”

He paused, his hand upon the latch. “Yes, Miss Wachsman?”

“If you would authorize me to do so, sir,” she said instead, “I shall adjust your mother’s weekly order. I would not wish to incommode your schedule.”

“I have every faith in your judgment, madam,” he replied.

The bell above the door gave a soft, indifferent chime as he departed. Rose could not help but roll her eyes at the formality of his parting salutation. Madam, indeed!

Beside her, Hannah exhaled. “He knows.”

Rose turned the letter slowly between her fingers, the parchment feeling suddenly like lead. “He suspects,” she corrected, though the distinction brought her little comfort. She could not know if she had truly diverted his scrutiny or merely confirmed it; she was not sure which might prove worse.

Nathan Hirsch moved easily between worlds that distrusted one another. He frequented the Franks’ salons—seemingly paying court to the daughter of the house—yet he stood in prayer beside her own father each Sabbath.

He spoke carefully—and watched everything.

She could not know which allegiance governed him. Rose suspected that his neutrality was not a choice of conscience, but a masterwork of convenience.

Slipping the provocative letter into the hidden compartment beneath the counter, Rose felt her pulse steady as wood and wax and ordinary commerce enfolded the message until it could be revealed. He might keep his elegant decorums and his careful speech! She cared not for them. Here, amidst the scent of rendered fat and cooling wax, there was no room for duplicity—only the hard, honest work of survival.

I hope you’ll join Rose, Mr. Hirsch, and the families of Colonial Philadelphia as they discover that liberty is kindled not only by famous speeches and battlefield victories, but by the quiet courage of ordinary people whose stories deserve to be remembered. Click here to be directed to Amazon.

Happy Birthday, America! Kol hakavod—well done—for the first 250 years! May God’s presence continue to abide among us, and may our country remain a beacon of freedom and justice for the world.

With love,

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Jewish Historical Romance: A Jewish Colonial Love Story of the American Revolution

June 15, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

I can’t think of any author who wouldn’t appreciate the chance to talk about their new book—the research, the premise, the inspiration…well, you get my meaning. I had such an opportunity when I was asked to participate in an Author’s Q & A with Writergurlny. Click on the highlighted link to read the interview, or read a few snippets here:

Getting the full scope of history goes well beyond a generic textbook. For every well-known person, there are many others whose names and histories are lost to time. Mirta Ines Trupp’s new historical novel, Kindle the Light of Liberty, is set in Philadelphia during the American Revolution.

AB: What was the inspiration for the book?

MIT: First of all, thanks for the opportunity! I appreciate your interest in my latest book.

The inspiration for Kindle the Light of Liberty grew from three longtime passions. As a grateful naturalized citizen of this country, I wanted to contribute to the celebration of America’s 250th anniversary by exploring a lesser-known aspect of the nation’s founding—the experiences and contributions of Jewish Americans during the Revolutionary era. I am also passionate about writing Jewish protagonists in wholesome, accessible fiction. Too often, Jewish characters are absent from historical novels or appear only in stories centered on persecution. I wanted to create a compelling, “clean” read that allows Jewish characters to take their place at the heart of an engaging historical story—one filled with courage, hope, and the pursuit of liberty. Finally, as a devoted Jane Austen reader, I have long admired her ability to illuminate universal truths through the lives of ordinary people. Austen showed that questions of family, duty, love, and social belonging can be every bit as compelling as grand historical events. In Kindle the Light of Liberty, I sought to emulate that vision by placing personal relationships and moral choices against the backdrop of a transformative moment in history, allowing readers to experience the American Revolution through the hearts and minds of the people living it.

AB: Did the idea of Rose come from anyone specific?

MIT: Rose wasn’t based on any one specific person, but she was certainly influenced by a few different sources. As I mentioned, I am a longtime Austen fan. I would be hard-pressed to deny the influence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Pride and Prejudice fame. I’ve always admired Lizzy’s intelligence, wit, and willingness to speak her mind, even when doing so is not the easiest path. Those qualities definitely found their way into Rose’s character. At the same time, I often joke that all of my heroines are, in some sense, a blend of myself and the women who came before me. Rose reflects some of my own interests, values, and perspectives, but she is also inspired by the resilience, strength, and determination I imagine in my female ancestors.

As a historical novelist, I spend a great deal of time thinking about the lives of the women who preceded us—the challenges they faced, the choices they made, and the dreams they carried. In many ways, Rose became a way for me to honor both my own heritage and the remarkable women whose stories were never written down but whose lives helped shape the generations that followed.

AB: What made you choose the American Revolution as opposed to another time?

MIT: That’s a great question. As I mentioned earlier, one of the original inspirations for the novel was the upcoming commemoration of America’s 250th anniversary. I wanted to explore the colonial era, but through a lens that readers don’t often encounter. When most people think about Jewish involvement in the American Revolution, if they think about it at all, they tend to recall a handful of financiers and wealthy merchants. I was struck by how history reduced Jewish colonials to a single dimension. Ancient tropes and European stereotypes shouldn’t dictate how historical novel readers—Jewish or not—understand the past.

The Revolutionary period offered a fascinating opportunity to challenge those assumptions and expand the narrative. I wanted to portray Jewish characters as fully realized people—patriots, neighbors, friends, daughters, sons, and, when called upon, individuals capable of courage and sacrifice. The American Revolution was not only a struggle for independence; it was also a moment when many different groups were asking what it meant to belong in a new nation. That question felt as relevant to me as ever, and it made the Revolutionary era the perfect setting for Rose’s story.

AB: What kind of research did you do? Was it more internet-based, or did you rely on physical texts?

MIT: My research was actually conducted mostly online. One of the great advantages of not living in colonial times is that so much history is literally at our fingertips. Newspapers, letters, diaries, maps, genealogy records, academic articles, and digitized books that once required travel to specialized archives can now be accessed from home. The challenge is no longer finding information—it’s finding the time and patience to follow the trail of sources wherever they lead, and remembering to come up for air once you’ve disappeared down a research rabbit hole!

That said, online research doesn’t mean superficial research. Many of the sources I consulted were digital versions of primary documents and scholarly works. In fact, even my beloved Jane Austen was part of my online research process. Her novels are available free of charge through Project Gutenberg, which makes it easy to search passages and revisit particular scenes. Of course, I also keep a well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice on my desk. Whether I’m reading a digitized eighteenth-century newspaper or a printed history book, the goal is always the same: reliable information. It needs to help me understand the period as accurately and vividly as possible so that readers can feel as though they have stepped back in time.

AB: The hardest part of historical fiction is melding the real people/events with the fictional ones. How do you go about it?

MIT: That’s probably the hardest—and most rewarding—part of writing historical fiction. The events themselves are often well documented, but people are much more complicated than the brief descriptions history leaves behind. When I encounter a historical figure, I try to look beyond the labels that have been attached to them. Take Rebecca Franks, for example.

On the surface, she can be easy to categorize. She came from a prominent Jewish family, yet she was a Loyalist. She was a known flirt, witty, and resourceful (to put it kindly). She married an Englishman and ultimately lived in Britain as part of the aristocracy. Viewed from a certain angle, she might appear to have turned her back on both her countrymen and her heritage. But I found myself asking a different question: What made her the person she became? What hopes, fears, disappointments, and demands shaped her choices? The moment you start asking those questions, a historical figure stops being a name in a book and becomes a human being.

In many ways, that approach is influenced by a central idea in Judaism. At Passover, we are instructed to see ourselves as if we personally came out of Egypt. At Shavuot, we are encouraged to imagine ourselves standing at Sinai. Jewish tradition asks us to enter the story rather than merely observe it. As a novelist, I try to do something similar. I place myself in the position of my characters—both the real historical figures and the fictional ones—and ask what the world looked like through their eyes. What would I have believed? What would I have feared? What would I have hoped for? Once I can answer those questions, the boundary between history and fiction becomes much easier to navigate. The historical record provides the framework, but empathy helps fill in the spaces between the facts. That’s where the story comes alive.

AB: Philadelphia is as much of a character as the people. Did you deliberately choose the city, or was it an organic decision?

MIT: Absolutely deliberate! From the very beginning, I knew that if I was going to tell a story about Jewish life during the American Revolution, Philadelphia was the natural setting. I was drawn first to the city’s rich Jewish history. Philadelphia was home to one of the earliest and most important Jewish communities in colonial America, and many of the individuals I wanted to write about either lived there or passed through it. One figure who particularly intrigued me was Jonas Aaron, who arrived in Philadelphia in 1703 and is often considered the city’s first known Jewish resident. His presence is a reminder that Jewish history in Philadelphia stretches back long before the Revolution itself.

At the same time, Philadelphia was the political heart of the Revolution. The Continental Congress met there. Benjamin Franklin walked the streets. Betsy Ross lived and worked there. It was a city where world-changing events and ordinary daily life existed side by side. I was also fascinated by Philadelphia’s Quaker roots. William Penn’s vision created a colony that was remarkably welcoming for its time. While no eighteenth-century society was free from prejudice, Pennsylvania offered opportunities for religious minorities that were difficult to find elsewhere. Quakers, Jews, Anglicans, Presbyterians, and many others lived alongside one another, creating a vibrant and diverse community. That diversity made Philadelphia an ideal place to explore questions of identity, belonging, and citizenship during the founding of the nation.

AB: Rose and Nathan have a specific Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy energy to their relationship. Was this a deliberate choice, or did it emerge as a natural part of the writing process?

MIT: That’s a fair observation—Pride and Prejudice has been such a long-standing touchstone for me; Elizabeth and Darcy’s dynamic was always part of my creative landscape. At the same time, I didn’t want to simply recreate Austen in an American Revolutionary setting. Several of my other novels are “Austenesque” or straight-up Jane Austen fan fiction (JAFF), but I tend to introduce Jewish protagonists to the narrative, rather than portray Austen’s characters as Jews. There’s a reason for that approach.

What I’ve always found most powerful in Austen’s work is how clearly she shows the real stakes for women in her world: the very real fear of not marrying, of lacking financial security, of being labeled a spinster and therefore considered somehow “unfulfilled” or even nonessential in society. She also captures how profoundly a family’s social standing could shape the entire trajectory of a woman’s life, and how a single “wrong” choice could carry lifelong consequences. Those concerns absolutely echo through Rose and Nathan’s story, and in that sense, they do shadow Elizabeth and Darcy’s world. But as I wrote, those familiar Austen themes began to branch outward in new directions. Rose and Nathan are shaped by their Jewish identity, by a long history of displacement and persecution, and by the added weight of what it means to belong—or not belong—in a young nation trying to define itself. Their choices are not only about love, marriage, or reputation, but also about survival, continuity, and the question of whether a community that has endured centuries of exclusion can truly find a stable place in this new world. So I would say Austen gave me the emotional framework, but Rose and Nathan ultimately grew into something more layered—I hope! They are rooted in her world of social constraint and romantic tension, yet expand into broader historical and cultural realities that define their own lives.

Be sure to click on the link above if you’d like to read more, and don’t forget: both paperback and electronic versions of Kindle the Light of Liberty will be available on July 4, 2026! The pre-order link for the eBook is now live.

With love,

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In Honor of the 250th Anniversary of This Great Nation’s Independence: Let’s Discuss Jewish American Colonists

March 16, 2026April 29, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

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.

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Jews and Christmas~ A look at Chess and its Role in the life of Regency Jews

December 25, 2025December 26, 2025 Mirta Ines Trupp

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,

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Celebrating Jane Austen’s 250th birthday; A Jewish Austen Fan Fiction Author’s Review of the Year

December 17, 2025April 29, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

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!

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Celebrating Chanukah~ A Look at the Festival of Lights During the Regency Era

November 25, 2025April 29, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

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,

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Two Austenites and the Connection Between our Asurim and our Anusim…

October 12, 2025April 29, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

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 12^th 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
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 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.

Tag: Jewish Historical Fiction

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