Spain’s War of Reconquest had been devastatingly expensive, and the common man bore the brunt of the cost through heavy taxes. Outside of the Royal Court and the castles of the wealthiest nobles, poverty and despair raged unchecked.
The streets and alleyways of Cordoba seethed with violence, crime, and hopelessness. Brutal gangs of thugs competed for control of each neighborhood.
In one district, known simply as the Barrio, even the city militia was afraid to enter. As a result, no law was enforced other than the will of the strong.
On the west end of the Barrio, on the rooftop of a crumbling abandoned storefront, there lived a young street urchin named Miguel. Orphaned at a very young age, Miguel had quickly learned to survive by avoiding attention and staying out of trouble.
Too small and weak to join a gang, and too fearful of rejection to seek help from the church, Miguel lived mostly on discarded scraps found in the alleys behind taverns and inns.
He grew a small amount of fruit in clay pots on his rooftop, and could occasionally trade some for a bite of meat or cheese. He would steal food if starvation came too close, but he hated to do so.
Late at night, Miguel would recline on his bedroll, watching the moon and stars, and dream about a childhood he could barely remember. A real home with parents, a soft bed, hot food on the table, and even a few toys; for blessings like these he had long since lost any real hope.
Miguel’s daily struggle to survive was complicated by the fact that he was Jewish. Without the guidance of parents or a faith community, he had little knowledge of what this meant. But he did have a sense of God’s existence, as well as a persistent belief that God cared about him in a special way.
This belief was all that carried him through those long, dark and lonely nights in the Barrio.
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