Walk through any town in Antioquia, Medellín, Jericó, Santa Fe de Antioquia, Jardín, and look at the surnames. Ángel. Salazar. Trujillo. Múnera. Jaramillo. Some of these names have a history that most Colombians either don't know or don't talk about: they are, in many cases, the surnames of Sephardic Jews who fled the Iberian Peninsula in the fifteenth century following the Spanish Inquisition.
This is not a fringe theory. It is increasingly well-documented, through genealogical records, DNA studies, and historical analysis, and it is one of the most fascinating threads running through the cultural fabric of the Paisa region. It is also almost entirely absent from the standard tourism experience of Medellín and Antioquia.
1492 and the Anusim
The Spanish Inquisition's expulsion decree of 1492 gave Jews in Spain a choice: convert to Christianity, leave, or die. Many left for North Africa, the Ottoman Empire, and the Netherlands. But many others converted, outwardly, at least. These conversos, also called "New Christians," or pejoratively, marranos, often continued practicing Judaism secretly while presenting a Catholic face to the world. They were called anusim in Hebrew, meaning "those who were forced."
Some of these families, trying to escape the watchful eye of the Inquisition even after conversion, emigrated to the New World. The colonies were seen as places where a family might rebuild, away from the Church's immediate scrutiny. A significant number made it to what is now Colombia, particularly to the region of Antioquia, then a remote, mountainous area of little interest to the colonial authorities.
The Paisa culture's famous emphasis on commerce, family networks, and tight-knit community structures has parallels that some researchers trace directly to these crypto-Jewish roots.
What Survived
What happened next is what makes this story remarkable. Over generations, the explicit Jewish identity was lost. The families became Catholic, often devoutly so. But certain practices and customs persisted, sometimes without the families themselves understanding their origins.
Researchers have documented practices in Antioquia that are strikingly similar to Jewish traditions: the lighting of candles on Friday evenings, the avoidance of pork in some older families, the practice of circumcision beyond what Catholic tradition required, and certain burial customs. Oral histories passed down through Paisa families sometimes include references to "our old religion" or "the way grandfather did things", fragmentary memory of something once known, now only half-remembered.
Surnames are perhaps the most visible trace. Many Paisa surnames have direct Sephardic origins: Ángel (from the Hebrew Malach), Bernal, Carvajal, Mora, Zapata. A 2019 genetic study of the Paisa population found a statistically significant Sephardic Jewish genetic signature, consistent with a population that mixed with converso immigrants in the colonial period.
Jericó and the Sephardic Connection
The town of Jericó, in Antioquia's southwest, is named after the ancient city in Israel. This is not coincidence according to local historians, several Antioquian towns were named with Old Testament references by settlers who maintained a connection to that heritage, even if they couldn't say openly why.
Jericó is also the birthplace of Saint Laura Montoya, Colombia's first canonized saint. The intersection of deep Catholic devotion and possible Sephardic heritage is not a contradiction here but a layering, the way identity actually works when it's been compressed and transformed over centuries.
Walking through Jericó today, you're walking through a town of extraordinary physical beauty, colonial architecture, cobblestone streets, the Andes rising around it, and a history that most visitors never think to ask about. If you're doing the coffee region circuit and skipping Jericó, reconsider. The town itself is the point.
Why This Matters
I'm Korean. I came to Antioquia with no particular background in Latin American history and certainly no reason to expect to find this thread running through it. I found it by accident, following a conversation with a coffee farmer in Jardín who mentioned his grandfather's "unusual" customs, and then started reading.
What strikes me is how this history illuminates the Paisa character in ways that the standard tourism narrative doesn't. The famous Paisa entrepreneurialism, the merchant networks, the emphasis on family loyalty and tight community ties, the particular combination of religious devotion and commercial savvy, these traits have a context that goes deeper than "hardworking mountain people," which is the usual explanation.
It also matters because it complicates the simple story of Colombia as a purely Catholic, Spanish-colonial country. The country's actual roots are far more layered: Indigenous, African, European, and within European, not just Spanish Catholic but also Sephardic Jewish, Basque, Asturian, and more. That complexity is part of what makes it interesting.
How to Engage With This History
The Jewish community in Medellín today is small but active, and there are synagogues that welcome visitors. The Museo Casa de la Memoria in Medellín deals with the city's painful recent history but touches on the deeper roots of Paisa identity. The Museo de Antioquia has permanent collections on regional culture that, if you look for it, contains traces of this story.
The most direct engagement, though, is probably through the pueblo circuit: Jericó, Jardín, Santa Fe de Antioquia. Walk these towns slowly. Look at the architecture. Ask local guides about the surnames. The history isn't labeled or marked, but it's there, if you're looking for it.
Some things worth finding don't announce themselves. That's what makes finding them matter.