by S.E. Trammell
 
We begin another early morning tour today in the city of Toledo. Our guide, Fernando (Nando) for short, seems to know everyone in the town, smiling and chatting with most of the people in the street. He takes us to the location of the city's original gate, long since been destroyed. The buildings on either side stretch up to the sky like post basketball players defending the hoop. My eyes find only a single rectangle of blue. It's on purpose, Nando explains.  The narrow streets create a labyrinth out of the city to confuse the enemy. Nando leads us down what looks to be a dead end alley, but at the very end, there are two more narrow streets.  Only a native could have known that they were there.   The city itself nestles safely between two rivers, like a baby sleeping in the cradle of its mother's arms.  With this natural fortification, Toledo at one time witnessed harmony between the Muslims and the Jews, a feat thought impossible.

Nando takes us into a room about the size of the Great Hall in Hearst.  On the far right awaits a long bench covered in shiny blue tiles, a Jewish decoration that once covered the blank walls before me.   Nando sits us down like kindergartners and tells us a story (in Spanish, of course): 

Once upon a time, there was a man with three daughters.  He wished to give each one a ring.   He made two copies of the ring intended for the oldest girl.  However, the old man could not distinguish between the 3 rings.   So, he just benevolently passed them out to each daughter.  But the daughters argued over how had the father's original ring.  They went about town calling each other liars.   The story, short and sweet, shows the pettiness of the Crusades, the Inquisition and other violent events between Muslims, Jews and Christians.  They try to destroy each other out of pride.  Each religion has the same god but refuses to tolerate each other.

Nando takes us from fairytale to history by pointing out the Muslim writings on the ceiling, the Hebrew writing on one of the walls, and the Latin on the other.   These three religious languages, resting all in this synagogue communicate the idea that the 3 religious groups could coexist.
 
"I am going to speak in a funny language," Nando warns.  He addresses each one of us individually.   On my turn, he takes my hand, looks theatrically into my eyes and says something that reminds me of the Spanish words for I love you (Te quiero).  Later, I learn it is the language of the Jews of medieval Spain.
 
Nando also proves another contradiction by speaking the language of the Sephardic Jews.  It is a mix of Hebrew and Spanish.  So, the Jews in Spain were not foreigners; they melded with Spain's identity by melding the country's language to their own.   The diaspora of the Jews was not the kicking out of strangers, but was the removal of a people from their home.