By Michael L. Weiss | Besorah From the Journey
July 8, 2025
While traveling through Spain these past weeks—walking its storied boulevards, absorbing its artistic brilliance, and tracing the remnants of once-vibrant Jewish life—I received a message from a dear friend. He sent me an article highlighting the alarming rise of antisemitism across Europe, with Spain featured prominently. The timing was uncanny. What began for us as a journey of discovery, history, and reflection has also, perhaps inevitably, turned into a direct encounter with the shifting winds of politics and prejudice—especially in the long shadow of the October 7 war in Israel.
Spain, with its rich yet tragic tapestry of Christian, Jewish, and Muslim coexistence, seemed the perfect stage to contemplate both the past and the present. But what we have experienced on this journey reveals far more than just echoes of old conflict. It reveals a present moment charged with confusion, grievance, and—in certain places—open hostility toward Israel, and by extension, Jews.
Madrid: Conflicted Gravitas in the Capital
Madrid wears its role as the capital with institutional pride. Spanish flags fly with dignity alongside the blue-gold of the EU. The streets are clean, the galleries world-class, and the people educated, courteous, and thoughtful. But even here, beneath the polished veneer, the mood surrounding Israel is unmistakably tense.
Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez has made his position clear—publicly condemning Israel’s military response in Gaza while fast-tracking recognition of a Palestinian state. While there was brief condemnation of Hamas’s October 7 atrocities, the narrative in Spain quickly shifted toward criticism of Israel, often stripped of essential context.
In quiet conversations over espresso in art-filled cafés or along the corridors of the Prado Museum, the sentiment repeated itself: sorrow over Israeli civilian deaths, followed by accusations of Israeli “overreach.” A docent even remarked, “Spain knows occupation when it sees it,”—a subtle, pointed comment, but reflective of how many view the conflict here: not as one of survival, but of colonialism and imbalance.
Still, Madrid displayed a level of restraint missing in other cities. Protests were minimal, and the city’s Jewish community, while subdued, appears to operate with a degree of cautious security. The capital, for all its flaws, still aspires to seriousness.
Granada: Beauty, Amnesia, and a March Through History
Granada seduces the soul. Its Alhambra palaces, with whispering calligraphy and gardens that seem to weep with time, remain one of the most breathtaking testaments to Islamic architecture and intellectual life in Europe. But in the corners where Jewish life once thrived, a haunting silence remains.
Although a preserved synagogue and marked “Jewish quarter” remain, the legacy of the Sephardim here has largely been relegated to plaques and tour scripts. The Jewish presence, wiped out by the 1492 expulsion, has never fully returned—not in culture, memory, or public conscience.
On our second evening in Granada, we sat under the open sky in a sun-cooled plaza, sharing a meal. As the shadows lengthened, a pro-Palestinian demonstration surged past. Flags waved. Slogans—some equating Zionism with fascism—echoed off ancient stone. And again, no voices for balance. No counterpoints. Only one narrative allowed.
Strikingly, many of the young demonstrators appeared energized not by compassion for Palestinian civilians, but by a deeper, less examined hostility. Their chants, their imagery, and their rhetoric borrowed from old antisemitic tropes now rebranded for a new generation. And yet, in the same breath, we noticed something else: an undercurrent of Spanish anxiety about mass Muslim immigration.
Granada, like much of Andalusia, is experiencing significant demographic change. Locals, especially older generations, expressed growing concern about the lack of cultural assimilation among new arrivals. And while public discourse conveniently targets Jews and Israel, the deeper societal tension lies elsewhere—between a historically Catholic nation and a rising Muslim population that increasingly views Spain as a land to reclaim. Antisemitism, in this light, becomes not only a dangerous prejudice, but a training ground for broader civic destabilization to come.
Barcelona: Beauty in Transition—And a Warning
Nowhere on our journey did we encounter more overt hostility than in Barcelona. This Catalan capital, long proud of its independence and rebellious streak, now seems to have embraced a performative and sometimes vicious anti-Israel posture.
Here, the rallies are louder, the graffiti more vulgar, and the political messaging more aggressive. Banners reading “Free Palestine” and “Boycott Israel” are common sights. The Star of David is defaced with swastikas and dollar signs. And local authorities? They’ve doubled down. The city council has severed ties with Israeli companies. Catalonia has formally recognized a Palestinian state and refuses diplomatic engagement with Israeli representatives. This is no longer fringe rhetoric—it is institutionalized bias.
While we never felt physically unsafe, I would not send my family here without me. Not right now. Not in this climate. The danger is not in a singular act of violence—but in the slow drip of dehumanization and the normalization of hate.
Yet, somehow, amidst all this, we found flickers of light. In a small theater in the Gothic Quarter, we witnessed a one-woman show blending Sephardic prayer with Palestinian poetry. It was honest, conflicted, beautiful. There is still art here. There is still truth—if not always in the mainstream.
As we strolled through Barcelona’s upscale neighborhoods—now teeming with Russian and Chinese tourists—it became unmistakably clear: this city no longer seems concerned with truth or justice, only with Euros. As long as luxury shops thrive and high-spending tourists keep coming, the dominant narrative will follow the money—not fairness, not history, and certainly not Israel. On any given day, you’ll see far more Russian and Chinese shoppers than Israelis or Jews.
But that’s only the surface.
Venture into the city’s less affluent quarters—now shaped by waves of immigration from the Middle East, South Asia, and North Africa—and you’ll find a very different story, one where the politics of resentment and blame gain easy traction. The divide between rich and poor, native and immigrant, is deepening rapidly. And all the while, Barcelona seems to be selling off pieces of its soul—trading integrity for influence, heritage for headlines, and justice for cold, hard currency.
In turning its back on Israel and its Jewish legacy, Barcelona risks far more than diplomatic fallout. It risks losing its moral compass—and with it, the very identity that once made it a proud part of the Western democratic world.
A Fragile Europe—and the Global Implications
What’s happening in Spain is not isolated. It is a warning. As the United States hesitates in its global leadership and leans toward isolationism, other powers—China, Iran, Russia—are eagerly stepping into the vacuum. They are not only arming the enemies of Israel; they are shaping the conversation on university campuses, in city councils, and on the streets of Barcelona if not in all of western Europe and America. The battlefield is no longer just Gaza—it is global perception, manipulated narratives, and identity politics.
And in Spain still scarred by its history with the Jewish people, this manipulation finds fertile ground.
Final Reflections
My family and I came here to learn, to see, and to appreciate Spain’s immense cultural gifts. And we have. But we also leave with a sobering understanding of just how fragile tolerance can be.
Madrid left us thoughtful. Granada left us with a sense of loss—but also a glimmer of hope. And Barcelona? Barcelona left us alert. Alarmed. Aware.
A friend once told me, “History doesn’t repeat—but it rhymes in bitter verses.” That verse is echoing now across Spain—loud, clear, and ripe for civil discourse… or something far worse.
We return to Ocean Reef thankful for our community, our freedoms, and our shared commitment to truth. And I return with renewed purpose: to continue speaking out—for Israel, for our people, and for the values that must not be forgotten.
Michael L. Weiss
Besorah from the Journey
One reply on “Spain’s Shadowed Mirror: A Journey Through Beauty, Memory, and Antisemitism”
Horrible; sad; scary; I have no other words.