Willemstad, Curaçao

Sands of Time

Reaching the Caribbean island of Curaçao (of sticky blue liqueur fame) after a week crossing the Atlantic felt like a mirage. You’re greeted by a candy-colored row of buildings fronting the harbor, which draw you like dehydrated wanderer over the pedestrian pontoon bridge into the oasis of Willemstad.

This city — a UNESCO World Heritage Site, where gloriously restored colonial mansions sit right next to ones that look like they were gutted by a hurricane 100 years ago — is probably one of the last places you’d expect to learn about Jewish history and heritage. (It’s also probably one of the last places you’d anticipate thinking about the history of colonization and the slave trade, originally hubbed in this region of the world, which is precisely why I beelined to the Museum Kurá Hulanda.) But, every travel guide and article on Willemstad includes the Mikvé Israel-Emanuel Synagogue, affectionately called “Snoa,” as one of the top sights.

A large, cheery yellow building right in the middle of the busy tourist district, Snoa feels architecturally in context, but thematically incongruous. The courtyard is welcoming and provides a sanctuary away from the crowds, heat, and wind. And when you step inside the synagogue itself, your toes tell you you’re at the beach, while your brain recognizes it as a place of worship. The whole floor of this airy temple is covered in sand! (Pro tip: Do not drop the cap of your water bottle on the ground when you pause for some refreshment.)

Established in 1651, this congregation is the oldest in the Western Hemisphere; and dating from 1732, the building is the oldest synagogue in continuous use in the Americas. The sand, I learned, isn’t just a cute nod to Snoa’s island setting. It’s there for three reasons:

1) Like many Spanish/ Portuguese synagogues, Snoa is modeled after the Jewish forefathers’ ancient encampment established during their 40 years wandering the Sinai desert.

2) It symbolizes something God is said to have said to Abraham: “I will multiply your seed as the sands of the seashore and the stars in the heavens.”

3) The sand is in remembrance of the congregants’ persecuted ancestors who lived in Spain and Portugal during the Inquisition, and put sand on the floor in the hidden rooms where they worshiped to help muffle the sounds of services.

There’s a guest book a few feet from the entrance — by the time you get there, you’ve given up on trying to keep your shoes sand-free and are fully embracing the somewhat odd experience. I noticed that in the ‘Notes’ line, many had written things like, “In honor of _____”. It was powerful to see how visitors had stepped out of the typical beach + bar routine to pause and reflect in this space. It isn’t just an historic building to passively appreciate, but a place to actively remember. Light plagiarism felt acceptable in this case, and, sinking my feet into the sand, I wrote my own entry in the book: “In memory of my family.”