A Tale Of A Solitary Stroll

I took a walk on a mild winter’s day through the winding streets of an old, old town.

I stopped several times on my solitary stroll next to houses that were built when the town was young.

And as I touched their weathered stones I wondered, as I always do, about all the lives that these walls must have sheltered.

I had so many questions that I wanted to ask:

If I opened this door, where would it lead?

Who lived in this house?

Who drank from this trough?

There are such pretty colours here – was it always like this?

Did people pray at the foot of this cross?

What children played played in this small alley-way? And where are they now?

But these buildings hold on to their secrets too well. I am left to stroll the streets with my questions as companions. Maybe next time, I whisper, you will give me a glimpse of the answers I seek. Perhaps I imagined it, but it seemed to me that the faintest of chuckles accompanied me for the rest of my walk.

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Believe me, I try, I  really do try not to get carried away but if I had to just recite historical  facts this blog would be too boring, don’t you think? I believe that we all need small doses of fantasy every now and then.

Tradition has it that the area I strolled through used to be a Jewish ghetto prior to their expulsion in 1492. According to an article entitled Jews of Malta on the website Beit Hatfutsot, there is no evidence to support this as the Jews here were free to mingle with the rest of the  population. Some Jewish remains have however been found in the  nearby burial site known as St  Paul’s catacombs, which makes them unique since they are Jewish catacombs within a Christian complex. So there definitely used to be a few families living in  this area in the distant past.

Photographed in the Hal-Bajjada area of Rabat.

A Glimpse of the Past

  

I was walking up this narrow, winding street one bright April afternoon. There was nothing unusual about that. I must have walked this road at least a hundred times. Then suddenly I heard what sounded like a sob and a heart-broken cry. I looked up but all I could see was a tiny red window. No one else was in sight – and yet I felt that someone was very close.

I reached out and touched the limestone wall, etched deeply by rain that had long since dried up and caressed by winds that have blown themselves out, and I felt a connection to another time. An echo from the past whispered it tale. In the deepening silence I closed my eyes and let the walls pour out their story – a story of prejudice and misguided zeal, of families forced to abandoned their homes and livelihoods, of hasty conversions to avoid persecution and death.

I continued to touch the wall gently with the tips of my fingers, feeling the sad vibes of this family that has long since moved on and wondering … wondering who these ghosts were, what made them so sad … then a sign above the door brought the past hurtling back and I remembered …

The Jewish Silk Market

 

The above narrative is, of course, just something I made up but the event I am hinting at took place. The first Jews had settled in the Maltese islands at least 3500 years ago. Archeological proof from many areas of the island confirm that there was a fairly large Jewish community living here. Most of these Jews were shopkeepers, merchants or import-export agents. This mostly peaceful co-existence with the native population changed suddenly in 1492 when the Inquisition gave all Jews three months to leave the island or else convert to Christianity and forfeit 45% of their possessions. This was certainly not one of the most glorious moments of our chequered history. In the centuries that followed mutual distrust grew between the two nations. These hard feelings may have been laid to rest when, during WW2, Malta was the only European country that did not require Jews fleeing Nazism to have a visa. Consequently thousands of Jews were able to escape to freedom. For more information about Malta and the Jews, go here.