Special Chapter: The Lioness of the Jewry (1371)

FROM CALATAYUD - VOICES OF SEPHARAD Special Chapter: The Lioness of the Jewry (1371) Narrator: Rabbi Yehudá ben Shlomó Albilbilí (NARRATION BEGINS) Shalom. I am Rabbi Yehudá ben Shlomó Albilbilí, and my voice reaches you from the depths of time, from this city that was my home, Bilbilis, and that you know as Calatayud. Today I will not speak of hidden legacies or mystical keys, but of a roar that echoed within the walls of our Jewry. A roar that was not of man or of war, but of a creature as exotic as it was feared: a lioness. It was the year 1371, on a cold December 26th, in the city of Caspe. The king, Peter the Ceremonious, fourth of his name, a monarch known for his love of the exotic and his firm hand, issued an order that would change the routine of our aljama forever. An order that, like so many others, fell on our shoulders and our pockets. The king had a lioness. A gift, an acquisition, a royal whim. The beast had been in Huesca, but our Huescan brothers, overwhelmed by the burdens and without a safe place to house it, were... reluctant. And the king, in his infinite wisdom, decided that Calatayud was the ideal place. Our Jewry, with its imposing castle, the Castle of Constant, also called "Costa" by us, was the perfect place to guard the beast. The royal order, preserved in the Archive of the Crown of Aragon, is clear. Peter IV, the Ceremonious, orders the leaders of our aljama to take charge of the lioness that the officials of Huesca would send. We were to "take care of housing it in the castle of the Jewry and provide it with what is necessary". Imagine the scene. A cart, pulled by oxen, climbing the steep slope of the Puerta de San Andrés, crossing the Puxada del Rey. Inside, a sturdy wooden cage, and within it, the amber eyes of the lioness, observing a world that was not hers. The murmur of the people, the mixture of fear and fascination. It was not every day that such a creature was seen in the lands of Aragon. The lioness's destination was our castle, the Castle of Constant, the oldest in the city, donated to our aljama by Alfonso I the Battler back in 1120. A refuge in times of riots, a symbol of our presence and our strength. And now, also, the king's private zoo, in our charge, of course. The royal order left no room for doubt: we had to provide it with "what is necessary". And "what is necessary" for a lioness is not a small thing. Goats, sheep, fresh meat... all at the expense of the aljama. One more tax, a reminder of our position, of our dependence on royal favor. We were the custodians of the king's treasures, and sometimes, those treasures had claws and teeth. The lioness became a legend in the Jewry. The children spoke of her in their games, the elders saw her as a symbol. For some, she was an omen, a lion of Judah caged in the heart of Sepharad. For others, more pragmatic, she was simply another burden, an expense that depleted our already tight budgets. We do not know how long the lioness lived in our castle. The documents are capricious, they tell us the beginning of the stories, but they often forget the end. Did she die of old age? Was she moved to another royal whim in Valencia or Perpignan, where there were also lions? Her story is lost in the silence of the archives. But her memory endures. An echo of a roar in the memory of Calatayud. The story of the lioness of the Jewry is a small window into our life in the 14th century. A life of contrasts, where we could be the king's doctors, his translators, his financiers... and also, the keepers of his beasts. A real, documented story, located by the researcher Ana Escario, which reminds us that life in Sepharad was much more than synagogues and books. It was also the day-to-day, the king's orders, the taxes, the fears... and sometimes, the roar of a lioness in the castle that protected us. From Calatayud, from the heart of Sepharad, Rabbi Yehudá ben Shlomó Albilbilí has spoken to you. May memory, like the lioness, never be completely tamed. Direction and Production: Ignacio Javier Bona López Shalom.