Hello

​When I moved from Spain to Los Angeles at 23 in 2007, a Spanish girlfriend introduced me to the first Israeli I had ever met. To my surprise, I grappled with negative feelings I couldn't quite understand. The terms "Jewish" and "Israeli" were inexplicably tied to something unfavorable within me.

As someone who has always questioned the status quo—my first words being "why" and rejecting the idea that "because I say so" is a valid answer—these feelings prompted deep introspection. Soon, I encountered a diverse array of Jewish individuals in the vibrant Los Angeles diaspora, including Sephardic and Ashkenazi Jews from around the globe. The first Israelis I met were Sephardic, making my internal conflict feel even more absurd. The deep-seated otherness and fear instilled in me by a culture steeped in antisemitism felt nonsensical, especially since Sephardic heritage is woven into the very fabric of Spanish culture. It was as if I had just met a long-lost cousin.

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Fast forward to 2017, when I married an Israeli whose grandparents fled Morocco in the 1950s. It's clear that I've overcome my prejudices; however, I still face them when acquaintances, old classmates, or family members ask questions, revealing that they harbor the same feelings I once did.

After the 7th, I found myself engaged in endless debates, and one thing became increasingly clear: centuries of antisemitism and blood libels create significant challenges, especially when many people around the world may never meet a Jew. When I see fear arising as if "Jews" were mythological figures from fantasy books, I wonder how those who will never encounter a Jewish person can reject this notion when the existence of Jewish people feels like a legend to them. With only about 16 million Jews worldwide—half in Israel and half in the USA, with notable populations in Florida, California, and New York, along with incredibly small communities elsewhere—this reality can feel distant to many.

Reflecting on my journey as I began dating and later married a Sephardic Jew, I discovered that our shared values were the true bridge between our families. I introduced my family to the delicious Chamin my father-in-law makes and shared stories about Cocido madrileño with my husband's relatives. By highlighting the beauty of Shabbat traditions to my family, I drew connections to our own Sunday practices.

While it might seem like small gestures, these shared experiences gradually built a heartfelt connection between our two families.

Today, my family wholeheartedly embraces shared values to foster connection and understanding, especially when they recognize the negative biases rooted in a long-standing yet often overlooked anti-Semitism in Spain and in a world where Jewish people and Israelis frequently experience alienation.

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Belén Ricoy