This blog is part of a two-part series. Catch up with my journey in: Returning to Andalucía (part 1): embracing my past, present and future

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Standing on the tarmac at Seville airport, I’d burst into tears. Not tears of trauma. But tears of love.

I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to go home. I’d fallen in love with Seville, with Spain, with Andalucía.

Yes, I’d done what I’d come to do. I’d processed the past, purging it in Malaga. But instead of forgetting it, I’d accepted it.

I’d shed the pain. I’d cried tears – a sadness, and happiness too. I’d laughed, smiled and beamed with joy.

For what I’d first imagined would be a painful trip focussed on the negativity of the past and an attempt to create new memories of Spain, had become a week of immense happiness, joy and fun. Days of growth, appreciation, healing and spiritual adventure.

I’d reclaimed my self and my relationship with Andalucía, making deep new memories exploring the region, its culture and history.

And this crucially included Andalucía’s history with the three Abrahamic faiths – faiths that were part of my own spiritual journey too.

Religious history in Andalucía: three faiths, one land

Returning to Andalucía, I already knew that my experience would be very different to before.

When I was living in Malaga, I kept a very strict halal diet. Now, my reality and life choices had shifted massively.

I’d be able to have a sangria, wear a bikini to the beach and eat a wider range of food. But I also knew that people would probably see and interact with me differently (given the prejudice I’d faced before).

But this wasn’t about other people. It was about me. And I was travelling during quite a critical stage of my spiritual (and cultural) journey.

The trip highlighted the immense changes in my more recent past, present – and hopefully future – that I’ve been processing. It also reminded me of and expanded my insights, knowledge and life experience to-date.

Being a region with diverse religious and cultural heritage, Andalucía blends Jewish (Sephardi to be precise), Muslim, Christian (Catholic) and Maghrebi (Arab-Amazigh) history. And unlike when I first visited back in 2006, I now have I had an increasingly deep link/relationship with all three of these faiths .

Christianity was my childhood religion – and is still a part of my culture as a British-Italian. 

Islam is a faith that I’d given 14 years of my life to. And whilst I may no longer identify as Muslim, those years, memories, insights and experiences will always stay with me, just as my Muslim friends and family remain part of my inner world.

I continue to carry knowledge and love for the history and culture – in particular Maghrebi (Arab-Amazigh) culture (I was married to a Chaoui (Algerian Amazigh) man for seven years after all!).

And now? Judaism. The Jewish world.

I’m learning more. Growing and feeling and embracing this faith as (hopefully) my own.

For whilst I had long taken a keen interest in Jewish culture and life, I wasn’t part of that world in the same way back then. A passionate ally, yes. A friend, yes. But, it was different.

Now, I’m on my own journey to hopefully become Jewish through religious conversion. And I’ve been increasingly reflecting on the longstanding theory that I have Jewish ancestry.

Upon my return to Andalucía, things were therefore deeper, more relevant, more personal. And the history of these three faiths, their communities and their interactions together therefore also affected my reflections, emotions and sense of self. 

Re-visiting Andalucía, I learnt and felt a lot – both positive and negative. I fell in love with her, smiling, laughing and crying on an intense, meaningful, insightful trip.

It was everything I hadn’t expected. And it had been about much more than Malaga.

My return to Andalucía allowed to examine, accept and acknowledge my relationship and memories past, present and future with all three Abrahamic faiths: Judaism, Christianity and Islam.

Visiting churches, synagogues and mosques, I learnt about all three communities and ultimately, about myself.

This was of course only possible by delving into Andalucía’s history, by processing its pain and embracing its beauty: the good, the bad and the ugly, the convivencia (co-existence) and the persecution.

For when it comes to Andalucía, there are continued debates, varying narratives and diverse histories. When it comes to religion, the three Abrahamic faith communities all have different joys, pains and views on the reality of historical Andalucía. 

I’d already learnt about the history of Andalucía and the effect of the Reconquista and the Spanish Inquisition on the Muslim world, who had colonised Spain and were later forced to convert or return to North Africa.

However, what I’d not thought or understood much until now was about the effects on the Jewish world.

Death, forced conversions, hidden Jewish life as Crypto Jews and exile – this is an exile which shaped the trajectory of Jewish migration, history, culture and identity.

For Sephardi Jews (Jews previously settled in the Iberian peninsula), exile meant seeking refuge in North Africa and across the Ottoman Empire.

For many others, it also signified forced conversions, with conversos living secretly Jewish lives, or losing the link with their culture and history through assimilation.

It was a lot to think about. And it was something I have an increasing interest in given my present (quite unique) journey.

It’s not every day that a person shares a direct history with three faiths – three faiths of the same (Abrahamic) family, with many similarities, and also some key differences in theology, history and culture.

I already knew that for some – Muslims and non-Muslims alike – Andalucía signified the Golden Age of Al-Andalus, where Spain became a religious, scientific, cultural hub on par with the Middle East with Andalucía as the capital. Here, Jews were safe and welcomed and then kicked out with the Muslims as part of the Reconquista and Spanish Inquisition.

For members of the Jewish community (Sephardi Jews in particular), things are often more painful. Life in Al-Andalus is viewed as both  “golden and grim”.

The renowned rabbi and scholar Moses Maimonides grew up in Cordoba in the Middle Ages, yet there are less favourable accounts too. 

The transgenerational historical experience of the Sephardi community is often laden with pain: displacement, exile, religious persecution at the hands of the Catholic Church. And being “tolerated” rather than welcomed by their Muslim rulers.

Then there’s the experience of the Spanish (of Christian heritage) or those who take a broad view against colonialism (in all its forms). They may sit with the reality of a nation being conquered and ruled for 800 years by foreign powers.

Many centuries later, some individuals still mark taken part in “Moros y Cristianos” (“Moors and Christians”) – a festival celebrating the Reconquista when the Spanish claimed back their land.

Dressing up in black face to depict “Los Moros”, they perpetuate a pejorative Medieval term that my former husband was abused with himself as a North African (Amazigh-Algerian) living in Spain. They also highlight a period of history in which the Catholic-led government expelled, murdered and forcibly converted its Jewish and Muslim populations. 

On the other side of the coin are those who might take pride in a cultural heritage which has heavily shaped Spanish language, foodand music.

Today, 4,000 words in modern day Spanish have Arabic roots, with crossovers from Arabic expressions forming the common phrases such as “Ojalá” (hopefully) – derived from “in sha’ Allah” (إن شاء الله) (God willing) – and “¡Olé!” (an expression of approval/ encouragement) – derived from “weAllah!” (واللّٰه ) (I swear / by Allah).

Likewise, many fundamental ingredients used within Spanish dishes lend their origin to Al-Andalus, such as rice, saffron, almonds and cumin. And infamous musical traditions such as the Zambra – a form of flamenco belonging to the Romani community – blend traditions from Jewish and Muslims who, upon fleeing persecution in the city, took refuge in caves on the edge of society, where the Romani lived.

As we see, it’s a complex history. And like most things in life: it’s not “black and white”. 

Understanding the reality of this period and the effect on these communities therefore requires honesty, dialogue and true will to learn from different lived experiences, sources and perspectives.

To be willing to hear the beauty and the pain.

Holding pain and beauty: learning from the past

Andalucía is a beautiful region. It’s also as a region that’s been shaped, celebrated for and plagued by the memories, legacy and trauma of how it navigated and held (well or poorly) it’s ethnic, cultural and religious diversity regarding Judaism, Christianity and Islam.

The world can learn a lot from the successes, struggles and complexities of this period of history, just as I’ve been reflecting on what my own experiences have taught me.

These three faiths have shaped my life – and continued to hold space in the tapestry of my present, past and future.

Returning back to Andalucía allowed me to remember, reflect and remind myself of how to process the past, embrace the present and encourage the future. And it’s brought me to two key points.

Firstly, as someone recently said to me: two things can be true at once.

History is complex, personal and can often be subjective. Historians themselves disagree on the reality of life in Spain before, during and after the era of Al-Andalus and the Reconquista-Inquisition.

Narratives abound, different people have different agendas and different views. There is no one answer. We don’t have to pick between simplistic binaries (e.g. all or nothing / all good or all bad).

In the case of Andalucía, I see both pain and beauty.

In its history lies a lot of painful memories and negatives (expulsion, prejudice and persecution).

There also lies some incredible beauty, including the architecture, cultural exchange and the fact that communities of different faiths did live together (not to be underestimated for the time).

This is something that also summarises my own journey – both within and outside Spain.

I have some incredibly painful memories of my time in Spain from religious trauma around wearing a hijab, being a conservative Muslim and cultural and religious approaches to Islam. Yet I also have some wonderful, beautiful and spiritual memories too.

The beauty of my experience of a Muslim doesn’t negate the trauma, just as the trauma doesn’t speak for my whole experience. Neither cancels out or denies the other.

I haven’t forgotten the past but I’ve also remembered the positive. I cherish, maintain and continue to treasure the friendships, cultural and theological knowledge, insights and life experience I gained.

Islam was a big part of my life and the Muslim world forever will be. And, I am grateful for that.

We don’t need to erase the past: we need to process it and move forward. And the same is true for my holiday.

My return to Andalucía was about much more than pain. It was about exploration, learning and friendship. Of spirituality, art and culture.

Thanks to my trip, I’ve gained a deeper understanding, experience and appreciation of Jewish, Muslim and Christian culture and history. Just as my spiritual journey to date has allowed myself too.

I visited Catholic churches such as Seville Cathedral, with its minaret from its time as a mosque.

Here, I sat and cried in a place of childhood nostalgia, a part of my culture – in particular the culture of my deceased Italian mother. I was also reminded that this is a place that’s also a remnant of the Reconquista/Inquisition.

In Seville, I saw the Church of Santa Maria la Blanca – a synagogue that, in 1391, was made into a church after the Jewish population was massacred.

I sighed at the loss of another synagogue, saddened by the replacement of another lost segment of Jewish life in Spain.

In Cordoba, I visited a synagogue belonging to a historic Jewish population – a building that was barely able to live its life as a Jewish institution, inside which a single menorah now stands as a reminder of a once settled community.

Gazing at the beauty of the walls, I grimaced at the enforced crucifix painted upon them, and pondered at the emptiness.

In the same city, I entered a mosque that had been turned into a cathedral and is now known as the “Mosque-Cathedral of Cordoba”, where both faiths are memorialised.

I saw Andalusian Islamic architecture standing alongside Catholic design – including both very traditional figures of Jesus and more local Maghrebi/Andalusian style tiling.

I felt saddened at the replacement of a place of worship. I felt at peace at where I was on my journey in relation to both faiths. And I marvelled at the building’s beauty. 

I then visited the Casa de Sefarad – a Sephardi museum in Cordoba – where I learnt further about a community I’m hoping to join and believe I have ancestral ties to.

I listened to music in Ladino (a mix of Spanish and Hebrew), I read about historic persecution and I admired religious and cultural artefacts, from Maghrebi clothes and shoes to items of prayer and portraits of Sephardi women.

I listened excitedly, I read with disgust and I cried streams of tears.

Finally, many years after my first visit as a teenager, I re-visited the renowned Alhambra  in Granada.

I smiled at its beauty, enjoying the gardens for hours and this time understanding and appreciating the Arabic calligraphy inscribed: “la ilaha ilAllah” (there is no god except God (Allah – The One God)” in a way that 18-year-old Liz could never have.

I felt gratitude, appreciation and hope for my future.

My trip to Andalucía was intense, meaningful and timely. I’d seen the beautiful and the painful.

And that’s Andalucía – a historical mirror of both beauty and pain. A place where we’re reminded of the need to learn, not dwell; to embrace, not forget; and to remember, not blame.

This was the lesson of Andalucía. And it’s rather like my own journey – a journey that I’ve been free to walk on without exile, without force and with freedom.

And so, this brings me to my second point: freedom of religion, expression and belief.

As an individual, I’ve been free and able to walk my own path; to make my own choices to practice a faith of choice and to change that faith.

This is a right but not a reality for many people – including those in historical Andalucía.

Looking at the converted sacred buildings and hearing about the displaced communities within Andalucía’s history, we’re reminded of the need to live and let live. To respect the rights and freedoms of others, and to recognise and hold space for different truths, experiences and realities.

Ultimately, what Andalucía urges us to do is to move beyond concrete binaries of (all) good – (all) bad, of us (majority) vs. them (minority) and either forgetting the past or remembering with blame.

Andalucía calls on us to think about the past, the present and the now, in context. To think of others and their experiences. And to remember what’s truly important: life, freedom, justice.

It also calls on us to remember that faith is something that many of us share – as different branches of the same tree – and most importantly: as one humanity, with or without (a) faith.

Differences in faiths, cultures and lived experience should be something to unite us in learning, sharing and embracing commonality. Not to divide, discriminate or persecute.

We mustn’t seek to erase difference, but to embrace it through pluralism (not mere “tolerance”).

We mustn’t seek to cancel the past, but to understand its reality, context and nuances.

And we mustn’t seek to deny varying views and experiences, but instead to acknowledge what we do share to help build common ground and mutual trust – and to allow us hold space to listen to, and understand, those we don’t.

Hasta la próxima, Andalucía mía.

Images:

Featured image: At the Mosque-Cathedral of Cordoba (August 2025)

Photos from my trip can be viewed in my Flickr album (Elizabeth Arif-Fear ©)

This post was originally published on Voice of Salam.