In the heart of Amsterdam’s Jewish quarter stands the serene and majestic Portuguese Synagogue (Esnoga), built in 1675 as a symbol of faith, hope, and freedom. It is not just a building: it is a living testimony to exile, resilience, and the deep spirituality of a people.
To understand its history, we must go back to the year 1492, when the Catholic Monarchs ordered the expulsion of the Jews from Spain. Those who refused to convert to Christianity were forced to leave their homes, lands, language, and public identity. Many fled to Portugal, only to face persecution and forced conversions there as well. Over time, some of these Sephardic Jews found refuge in the Netherlands, where the political and religious climate offered a chance for a new beginning.
Amsterdam became a place where they could practice their faith freely. Here they built their synagogue, inspired by Solomon’s Temple, lit by hundreds of bronze chandeliers and still without electricity to this day — as a symbol of ancestral light.
But exile was not the first chapter of their persecution. For millennia, Jews have been unjustly blamed for the death of Jesus. This narrative, extended through centuries, omits a key historical fact: Jesus was executed under Roman rule, by order of Pontius Pilate. Yet blaming the Romans —the prevailing power of the time— was politically inconvenient. It was easier to blame a marginalized minority.
This distortion planted the seeds of antisemitism that have persisted for centuries.
And yet, here the story becomes deeply paradoxical —and deeply human.
Because the Jewish people are the root of the major monotheistic religions. Judaism gave rise to both Christianity and Islam. Jesus, Muhammad, and Abraham belong to the same spiritual family tree —and according to tradition, to the same bloodline.
It is the same God, named through different languages.
And if the prophets come from the same lineage, don’t we, as humanity, also come from the same source? If we trace our genealogy to the origins of humankind, we discover that we are all siblings, beyond our faiths, languages, or borders.
Perhaps one day we’ll realize that our wars are between brothers and sisters, and that it's time to heal that wound. Maybe we can stop projecting salvation outward and begin to live as if each of us could be our own Messiah: someone who walks with love, dares to forgive, and sows peace where there is conflict.
To learn to see one another —and ourselves— through the eyes of love.
To recognize that divinity lives within each of us.
And to treat one another with the dignity, respect, and tenderness —yes, the love— that we all deserve.
Would you like to learn more about Jewish history in Amsterdam?
I invite you to walk through the Jewish Quarter with me, visit sites that survived the Nazi occupation, and hear stories that will move and inspire you.
💫 Book my private Jewish Heritage Tour here.
Note: This text is written with deep respect for all religions, cultures, and historical interpretations. It is not meant to impose a single perspective, but rather to open a space for reflection on our shared roots and the power of love as a bridge between beliefs. Any error or inaccuracy is entirely unintentional and always open to dialogue. May this message inspire unity, not division.