A Passover story of saving a Haggadah and saving a life

An exhibition in the Sephardic Museum in Córdoba tells the story of how the ‘Sarajevo Haggadah’ was saved (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Patrick Comerford

Passaver or Pesach began last night (8 April 2020), and so this evening I thought it was worth recalling an exhibition I saw in the Sephardic Museum in Córdoba last year telling the extraordinary story of the journey of a unique Sephardic book and the people who saved it.

The Haggadah recalls the Biblical story in the Book Exodus of how the enslaved people in Egypt were led into freedom with Moses. The Sarajevo Haggadah was made in Sefarad or Jewish Spain, possibly in Barcelona, around 1350.

When the Sephardic Jews were expelled from Spain by Ferdinand and Isabella, some of them went first to Portugal, and brought with them this Haggadah. From Portugal, the book arrived in Venice in 1609, and its presence is noted at a later stage in Vienna.

The National Museum in Sarajevo, which was then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, bought this book in 1896 from a Sephardic Jew, Joseph Cohen. It soon became the museum’s finest treasure.

The Sarajevo Haggadah is illuminated in silver and gold, and its extraordinary beauty is enhanced by the use of lapis lazuli, azurite and maluquite.

The ‘Haggadah’ recalls the Passover story in the Book Exodus (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Before the Nazi occupation of Sarajevo, a young librarian and curator at the National Museum in Sarajevo, Dervis Korkut (1888-1969), was writing several essays criticising the worrying rise of antisemitism. He was a Muslim and he said antisemitism was alien to the Bosnian traditions of tolerance.

When the Nazis occupied Sarajevo on 16 April 1941, they began a systematic persecution of the city’s Jews, who were mainly of Sephardic descent, as well as Gypsies, Serbs and other ethic and minority groups of people.

They also set out to requisition the Sarajevo Haggadah as an important symbol of Jewish culture and demanded the Haggadah at the Sarajevo museum. However, the librarian Dervis Korkut had concealed the rare volume, hid it in his jacket and left the museum through a back door.

Korkut explained away the missing Sephardic Haggadah, saying a German office had already taken it. Throughout the rest of World War II, the book was kept in hiding in a small town in Bosnia until the end of the Nazi occupation.

Meanwhile, as Dervis Korkut was working at the museum in Sarajevo, he was introduced to Mira Papo, a young Sephardic girl in a desperate search for a hiding place. Her father Salomon Papo, a janitor in the Ministry of the Economy, had been arrested and had been sent with the rest of the family to an extermination camp.

Dervis Korkut took her into his home and told her to use the Muslim name of Amir. When he introduced her to neighbours and the local gossips, he told them she was babysitting his son Munib.

Through his bravado, Dervis Korkut had saved a valuable work of Sephardic Jewish culture, and the life of a young Jewish woman.

When World War II was over, Mira Papo moved to Israel. Dervis Korkut died in 1969, and after his death Mira wrote a letter explaining how she had survived thanks to his bravery. Because of this letter, Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Memorial Centre in Jerusalem, declared Dervis one of the ‘Righteous Among the Nations’ – a gentile who had saved a Jewish life during the years of the Holocaust.

Dervis Korkut’s daughter, Lamija, who was living with her husband in Pristina, the capital of Kosovo, in 1994, when Serbian militias started to bomb and occupy the region, and began a programme of ‘ethnic cleansing’ that targeted Muslim people in the former Yugoslavia. Lamija and her husband now found they were refugees, and family contacts put them in touch with the Jewish community in Skopje in the former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia – today’s North Macedonia.

On her arrival, Lamija presented a letter in Hebrew she did not understand to a member of the Jewish community in Skopje. When he read it, he was deeply moved.

Some days later, Lamija and her husband received a letter telling them they had been accepted as refugees in Israel. When they arrived at Tel Aviv Airport, Mira Papo’s son, Davor Bakovic, was waiting to welcome them.

The Talmud says, ‘Whoever destroys a single life is considered by Scripture to have destroyed the whole world, and whoever saves a single life is considered by Scripture to have saved the whole world.’

‘Whoever saves a single life is considered by Scripture to have saved the whole world’ (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Franco’s funeral and refusing to whitewash his racism and oppression

Madrid was a riot of red flags and banners, interspersed with a sprinkling of black-and-red anarchist banners and a good measure of old Spanish republican flags of red, yellow and purple on May Day ten years ago (Photograph: Patrick Comeford)

Patrick Comerford

As I watched the news reports over these two days on the reburial of Franco, memories came back of waiting up on many long nights as a young journalist in The Irish Times, waiting for Franco to die so the city editions could run his obituary.

But the dictator died on 20 November 1975, on a night that I was off work. The same happened to me three months earlier when Eamon de Valera died on 29 August 1975, once again on a night when I was off after sitting through many late shifts.

I had joined the staff of The Irish Times from the Wexford People less than 12 months earlier the previous year. Who was I to complain at the time that after two consecutive runs of long, late-night shifts I never got to shout the old hackneyed phrase: ‘Hold the Front Page’?

And over these two days, memories came back too of spending May Day in Madrid ten years ago.

I had long avoided visiting Spain. At first, my excuse was the Franco regime and the lack of human rights. Later, in my own stupid snobbery, I pretended I was being deterred by images and prejudices created by popular package holidays and high-rise beach resorts.

Eventually, Ryanair persuaded me I was wrong, and I spent the May bank holiday weekend in Madrid in 2009. I quickly realised the city is one of the architectural capitals of Europe with some of the finest art galleries and museums, including the Prado, with its collections of Goya and Velazquez, the Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, which houses Picasso’s Guernica, and the Thyssen Bornemisza, with major works by Titian, Goya, Picasso and Rubens.

I set off early one morning to see some of those magnificent sights that I had seen from the outside from the top of the red bus the previous day. But I had forgotten it was May Day, and – of course – after the decades of fascism and oppression Spain had endured under Franco, May Day is celebrated with style in Madrid, and the workers have a day off.

From Plaza de Cibeles to Sol, Calle de Alcala was a riot of red flags and banners that May Day, interspersed with a sprinkling of black-and-red anarchist banners and with a good measure of old Spanish republican flags of red, yellow and purple.

If the right-wing can be triumphal in the Catedral de la Almudena, then at least on May Day the streets of Madrid belong to the left and to the workers. In Plaza de Cibeles, even Cybele and her chariot were bedecked in red and republican colours.

It is disturbing how politicians, journalists and amateur historians have tried to rewrite and sanitise Franco’s story since he died in 1975. The ‘fake history’ stories include a claim that Franco saved more Jews from the Holocaust than any other single person.

Franco may have had some Jewish ancestry on both his father’s and his mother’s sides, but no-one knows for sure … and even he may not have known. The name Franco is particularly associated with Jewish families in Spain before the Inquisition, and rumours of Franco’s Jewish ancestry were reported by Sir Robert Hodgson, a British diplomat, and repeated by Sir Samuel Hoare, the British ambassador in Madrid during World War II. The Nazis ordered an investigation, but this was inconclusive.

However, we know that Franco generally spoke in vile terms about Jews and openly expressed his antisemitic prejudices.

But we know that Franco generally spoke in vile terms about Jews and openly expressed his antisemitic prejudices.

At his victory parade in May 1939, Franco vowed to remain alert to the ‘Jewish spirit which permitted the alliance of big capital with Marxism.’ A few months later, he severely criticised Britain and France and justified the persecution of what he referred to as those races marked by the stigma of their greed and self-interest.’

Later, the Franco regime claimed there was an international conspiracy of Jews and Freemasons against Spain, the contubernio judeo-masonico.

Franco met Hitler on 23 October 1940 in Hendaye, near the Franco-Spanish border. Franco’s demands included Gibraltar and parts of French north Africa, but Hitler is reported to have furiously declared that he ‘would rather have three or four teeth pulled out’ than spend more time with Franco.

Throughout 1940 and 1941, Spain issued strict orders against allowing refugees to enter its territory. Despite this, about 20,000 to 30,000 Jews entered Spain. But they passed on through Portugal to Britain and the US. Many other Jews were arrested by the Spanish authorities who intended to return them to France. This would have meant certain death for them.

On 5 May 1941, Franco’s Dirección General de Seguridad ordered each civil governor to compile a list of ‘all the national and foreign Jews living in the province … showing their personal and political leanings, means of living, commercial activities, degree of danger and security category.’

Provincial governors were ordered to look out especially for Sephardic Jews, descendants of those expelled from Spain in 1492, because their Ladino language and Hispanic background helped them fit into Spanish society. ‘Their adaptation to our environment and their similar temperament allow them to hide their origins more easily,’ said the order issued in May 1941.

These lists of 6,000 members of ‘this notorious race’ helped to compile the Archivos Judaicos, which Franco’s regime maintained at least until 1944. El Pais claimed in 2010 that, as Spain negotiated its possible entry into the war on the side of the Axis powers, the list was handed to Heinrich Himmler.

Among the Sephardim, the descendants of Jews expelled from Spain by the Inquisition in the late 15th century, at least 550 Sephardim in Thessaloniki in Greece had Spanish papers.

In an example of singular bravery, the Spanish consul general in Athens, Sebastian Romero Radigales, mounted an heroic effort to save them, managing to move some to the relative safety of the Italian-controlled zone, and – despite their deportation to Bergen-Belsen – ensuring another 365 were brought to Spain by train in February 1944. However, Franco insisted the Sephardim could move through Spain but not remain there.

In German-occupied Hungary in March 1944, two Spanish diplomats in Budapest, Angel Sanz Briz and Giorgio Perlasca, issued passports, letters of protection and placed Jews in rented buildings under the Spanish flag. These two men saved the lives of around 5,200 Hungarian Jews. Sanz Briz was later honoured at Yad Vashem.

I am reminded this week too of the story told by Ronnie Drew in Sez He and by many others of how Brendan Behan decided to go to Spain on holidays while it was still struggling Franco’s brutal regime.

When he arrived at Madrid Airport, Behan found the police had obviously been advised about his political views and were waiting for him at the passport checkpoint.

‘What is the purpose of your visit to Spain, Mr Behan?’

‘I have come to attend General Franco’s funeral.’

‘But the Generalissimo is not yet dead.’

‘In that case,’ says Brendan, ‘I’ll wait.’

It is said he was deported soon afterwards.

As I strolled in the atmospheric streets south of Plaza Mayor that May Day ten years ago, elderly couples proudly displayed lapel pins with the flag of Republican Spain. They had endured decades of suffering and oppression and cruelty throughout the Franco years, and now they were having their day in the sun. Those who survive must be relieved that Franco has been removed this week from his place in the sun in the Valley of the Fallen, built built by the forced labour of political prisoners.

Franco’s planned burial in Madrid’s Catedral de Almudena has not taken place (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Málaga statue remembers Solomon ibn Gabirol, a long forgotten poet and philosopher

The statue of the poet and philosopher Solomon ibn Gabirol in a small square in Málaga (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Patrick Comerford

Between the Roman amphitheatre in Málaga and the proposed Sephardic Museum in La Judería in the southern Spanish city, a statue beneath the shade of some trees in a small square commemorates the Jewish poet and philosopher Solomon ibn Gabirol, also known as Solomon ben Judah and Shlomo Ben Yehuda ibn Gabirol, is known in Arabic as Abu Ayyub Sulayman bin Yahya bin Jabirul.

He was an 11th-century Andalusian poet and Jewish philosopher who was influenced by Neo-Platonism. He published over 100 poems, as well as works of biblical exegesis, philosophy, ethics and satire. One source credits ibn Gabirol with creating a golem, possibly female, for household chores.

Researchers in the 19th century realised that mediaeval translators had Latinised ibn Gabirol’s name to Avicebron or Avencebrol and had translated his work on Jewish Neo-Platonic philosophy into a Latin form that in the intervening centuries had been highly regarded as a work of Islamic or Christian scholarship.

Because of this work, ibn Gabirol is known in the history of philosophy for the doctrine that all things, including soul and intellect, are composed of matter and form (‘Universal Hylomorphism’), and he is also known for his emphasis on divine will.

However, little is known about ibn Gabirol’s life. However, most sources agree he was born in Málaga, in late 1021 or early 1022. They are less certain about the date his death, although he died sometime between the age 30 and age 48.

Although ibn Gabirol lived a materially comfortable life, it was a difficult and loveless life, and he suffered ill health and misfortunes, and had fickle friends and powerful enemies.

His health problems – which may have been caused by lupus vulgaris – gave him constant pain and left him embittered for the rest of his life. His poetry shows how he thought himself short and ugly. Indeed, he was dismissed by many of his contemporaries as a social misfit.

The plaque in Málaga commemorating Solomon ibn Gabirol (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

ibn Gabirol’s writings indicate his father was a prominent figure in Córdoba, but was forced to move to Málaga during a political crisis in 1013. His parents died while he was a child, leaving him an orphan with no siblings or close relatives.

He was befriended, supported and protected by a prominent political figure, Yekutiel ibn Hassan al-Mutawakkil ibn Qabrun, and moved to Zaragoza, then a centre of Jewish culture. There he immersed himself in studying the Talmud, grammar, geometry, astronomy and philosophy.

He was an accomplished poet and philosopher at an early age. By 17, he had composed five of his known poems, one an azhara (‘I am the master, and Song is my slave’) enumerating all 613 commandments of Judaism. At about this time, he also composed a 200-verse elegy for his patron Yekutiel, and four other notable elegies to mourn the death of Hai Gaon.

However, when ibn Gabirol was still 17, his patron was assassinated , and by 1045 ibn Gabirol had to leave Zaragoza.

He was then sponsored by Samuel ibn Naghrillah, the Grand Vizier of the King of Granada.

By 19, he had composed an alphabetical and acrostic poem in 400 verses teaching the rules of Hebrew grammar. By the time he was 23 or 25, he had composed, in Arabic, ‘Improvement of the Moral Qualities,’ later translated into Hebrew by Judah ben Saul ibn Tibbon.

By 25, he also composed his collection of proverbs Mivchar Pninim (‘Choice of Pearls’), although scholars are divided on his authorship.

At 28, he composed his philosophical work Fons Vitæ.

But ibn Gabriol and Samuel ibn Naghrillah eventually argued, and ibn Gabirol spent the rest of his life wandering. He may have died in either in 1069 or 1070, or around 1058 in Valencia.

One legend claims that he was trampled to death by an Arab horseman. Another says he was murdered by a Muslim poet who was jealous of ibn Gabirol’s poetic gifts, and who secretly buried him beneath the roots of a fig tree. The tree bore fruit in abundant quantity and of extraordinary sweetness. Its unique qualities attracted attention and brought about an investigation. ibn Gabirol’s body was found under the tree, and his murderer was identified and executed.

Scholars disagree about the date and circumstances of the death of Solomon ibn Gabirol (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Although ibn Gabirol’s legacy was esteemed throughout the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, it was historically minimized by errors in scholarship that misattributed his works.

He seems to have often been called ‘the Málagan’ because of the city of his birth, known in Arabic days as al-Mālaqa. The 12th-century Arab philosopher Jabir ibn Aflah ascribed 17 philosophical essays by Gabirol to the Biblical King Solomon. The 15th-century Jewish philosopher Yohanan Alemanno introduced this error into Hebrew scholarship, and added another four works to the list of false ascriptions.

In 1846, Solomon Munk identified him with the Latin work known as Fons Vitæ and ascribed to Avicebron. For centuries, Avicebron or Avencebrol had been thought of as either a Christian or Arabic Muslim philosopher. confusion was in part because Fons Vitæ is independent of Jewish dogma and does not cite Biblical verses or Rabbinic sources.

ibn Gabirol also wrote sacred and secular poems in Hebrew, and was recognised even by his critics as the greatest poet of his age. His lasting poetic legacy, however, was his sacred works, often considered to be the most powerful of their kind in the mediaeval Hebrew tradition.

His long cosmological masterpiece, Keter Malchut (‘Royal Crown’), written for recitation on Yom Kippur, is regarded as one of the greatest poems Hebrew literature. In 900 lines, it describes the cosmos as testifying to its own creation by God, based on the then scientific understanding of the cosmos.

He also wrote more than 100 piyyuṭim and selichot for the Sabbath, festivals, and fast-days, most of which have been included in the prayer books for Holy Days used by Sephardim and Ashkenazim.

The Roman amphitheatre in Málaga … the statue of ibn Gabirol is in a small square nearby (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Praying with poems by a Jewish poet recalled in a square in Córdoba

Plaza de Juda Levi in Córdoba recalls the Spanish Jewish doctor, poet and philosopher, Judah Halevi (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Patrick Comerford

Plaza de Juda Levi in Judería, a tiny square that I noticed in the old Jewish Quarter of Córdoba last week, is named in honour of the Spanish Jewish doctor, poet and philosopher, Judah Halevi (1075/1086-1141), also known as Yehuda Halevi or ha-Levi, or Judah ben Shmuel Halevi.

The 10th to 12th century in Muslim Spain is regarded as the ‘Hebrew Golden Age.’ Like many Jewish intellectuals in Muslim Spain at the time, Halevi wrote prose in Arabic and poetry in Hebrew. Many regard him as the greatest of all the mediaeval Hebrew poets and he has been described as the ‘most important poet in Judaism of all times.’

He is celebrated both for his religious and secular poems, many of which appear in present-day Jewish liturgy. His greatest philosophical work was The Kuzari. His work includes panegyric odes, funeral odes, poems on the pleasures of life, gnomic epigrams, and riddles. He was also a prolific author of religious verse.

Judah Halevi was born in Spain, probably in Toledo, in 1075 or 1086. In his youth, it appears, he moved to Granada, then the main centre of Jewish literary and intellectual life at the time, where he found a mentor in Moses Ibn Ezra. He was educated in traditional Jewish scholarship, in Arabic literature, and in the Greek sciences and philosophy, and as an adult he was a medical doctor and was active in Jewish communal affairs in Toledo.

He seems to have lived at times in Christian Toledo, at other times in Islamic Spain. Eventually, his religious convictions compelled him to leave Spain and to move to the Holy Land. His personal piety intensified as he aged, leading him to want to devote himself entirely to religious life.

When Halevi arrived in Alexandria on 8 September 1140, he was greeted enthusiastically by friends and admirers. From there, he went to Cairo, where he visited several dignitaries, including the Nagid of Egypt, Samuel ben Hanania, and his friend Halfon ben Nathaniel Halevi.

He left Alexandria again on 14 May 1141. Legend says that as he arrived in Jerusalem Halevi was killed when he was run over by an Arab horseman.

In Egypt, he wrote his ‘swan-song’:

Wondrous is this land to see,
With perfume its meadows laden,
But more fair than all to me
Is yon slender, gentle maiden.
Ah, Time’s swift flight I fain would stay,
Forgetting that my locks are gray.

Judah Halevi is also noted for composing riddles that often have religious themes. One example is:

What is it that’s blind with an eye in its head,
But the race of mankind its use can not spare;
Spends all its life in clothing the dead,
But always itself is naked and bare?

After living a life devoted to worldly pleasures, Judah Halevi experienced a kind of awakening or conversion that changed his outlook on the world. Like the authors of the Psalms, he gladly sinks his own identity in the wider one of his people, so that it is not always easy to distinguish the personality of the speaker.

Often his poetic fancy finds joy in the thought of the return of his people to the Promised Land, and he believed that perfect Jewish life was possible only in the Holy Land.

This vision of the night, however, remained but a dream. Yet he never lost faith in the eventual deliverance of Israel, and in the eternity of his people. On this subject, he has expressed himself in poetry:

Lo! Sun and moon, these minister for aye;
The laws of day and night cease nevermore:
Given for signs to Jacob’s seed that they
Shall ever be a nation – till these be o’er.
If with His left hand He should thrust away,
Lo! with His right hand He shall draw them nigh.

His longest, and most comprehensive liturgical poem is a Kedushah, calling all the universe to praise God with rejoicing, and its ends in Psalm 103. It is said there is scarcely a synagogue in which his songs are not sung in the course of the service.

Judah Halevi also wrote several Sabbath hymns. One of the most beautiful of them ends with the words:

On Friday doth my cup o’erflow
What blissful rest the night shall know
When, in thine arms, my toil and woe
Are all forgot, Sabbath my love!
’Tis dusk, with sudden light, distilled
From one sweet face, the world is filled;
The tumult of my heart is stilled
For thou art come, Sabbath my love!
Bring fruits and wine and sing a gladsome lay,
Cry, ‘Come in peace, O restful Seventh day!’

The songs that accompany his pilgrimage are known as Zionides. The most celebrated of these is commonly heard in synagogues on Tisha B’Av:

Zion, wilt thou not ask if peace’s wing
Shadows the captives that ensue thy peace
Left lonely from thine ancient shepherding?
Lo! west and east and north and south – worldwide
All those from far and near, without surcease
Salute thee: Peace and Peace from every side.

Judah Halevi’s vision of a God that is accessed through tradition and devotion, and not philosophical speculation, dominates his later work. He tried to liberate religion from various philosophical systems and he defended Judaism against attacks by non-Jewish philosophers, Aristotelean Greek philosophers and against those he viewed as heretics.

Judah was recognised by his contemporaries as ‘the great Jewish national poet.’ The union of religion, nationalism, and patriotism that was characteristic of post-exilic Judaism, reached its acme in Judah Halevi and his poetry.

Three of his poems are included in Service of the Heart, the prayer book edited by Rabbi John D Rayner and Rabbi Chaim Stern. I have been using this prayer book in my night prayers for some weeks now.

‘To You the stars of morning upward sing’ was translated by Olga Marx and was included in The Language of Living Faith, edited by Nahum H Glatzer:

To You the stars of morning upward sing,
From You the sources of their radiance spring.
And steadfast in their vigils, day and night,
The sons of God, flooded with fervour, ring
Your praise; they teach the holy ones to bring
Into Your house the breath of early light.

‘Lord, where shall I find you’ was translated by Chaim Stern:

Lord, where shall I find You? Your place is hidden and high;
Yet where shall I not find You? Your glory fills all space.

For space is Your dominion, yet You dwell in the soul of man;
You are the Refuge of the near, the Haven of those far-off.

You are enthroned in Your house, though unconfined by the heights;
Your hosts will praise You, but You are beyond their ken;
No space contains You, still less an earthly house!

Yet though exalted above us in high and lonely majesty,
You are closer than the flesh of our frames and the spirit within us.

‘Let me run to meet the spring’ was also translated by Chaim Stern:

Let me run to meet the spring of true life,
For I loathe a life that is vain and empty.

I long only to see the face of my King;
Him alone will I fear, none other will I worship.

If I could but see him in a dream –
I would sleep for ever, never stirring!

If I could but see his face within my heart –
My eyes would never ask to gaze beyond!

A Menorah seen in a shop window in Judería, the old Jewish quarter of Córdoba (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

One of the oldest, and one of the newest churches in Málaga

The Church Sacred Heart is in a small corner near the Carmen Thyssen Museum in Málaga (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Patrick Comerford

As I moved between Málaga and Córdoba last week, I visited two churches in Málaga – one that is one of the newest churches in the city, and one that is among the oldest churches in Málaga.

The Iglesia del Sagrado Corazón or Church Sacred Heart is tucked into a small corner of San Ignacio de Loyola Square, just behind the Carmen Thyssen Museum in the Old Town of Málaga.

This Neo-Gothic church was built for the Jesuits in 1920, and was designed by the architect Fernando Guerrero Strachán.

Between them, two members of the Strachan family were responsible for some of the most emblematic buildings in Malaga built at the end of the 19th century and beginning of the 20th century.

Fernando Guerrero Strachan (1879-1930) was the nephew of another prominent architect Eduardo Strachan Viana-Cardenas. He was known as ‘the Gaudí of Málaga’ and was a pioneering architect. He left Málaga a wonderful legacy of beautiful buildings, with a long list of 72 catalogued buildings.

His works include Málaga City Hall, the Calle Larios, Hotel Miramar, the Banco Hispanoamericano building on the Alameda Principal and the Neo-Baroque Ayuntamiento Building. He was also the Mayor of Málaga between 1928 and 1930.

His son, Fernando Guerrero Strachan Rosado (1907-1941), was the architect behind the City Hall, the original Rosaleda stadium and the restoration work on the Gibralfaro Castle and the Alcazaba Fortress.

Between them, the father and son designed countless other stunning façades either created from scratch or refurbished for their clients.

An ornate rose window sits above the arches of the main doors (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The elder Strachan’s design for the Jesuit Church of the Sacred Heart was inspired by the cathedrals in Ávila and Burgos in northern Spain. This elegant church was built in the neo-Gothic style.

The eye-catching façade in soft biscuit stone, topped with two spires and covered in Gothic-style tracery. An ornate rose window sits above the arches of the main doors. This cream and yellow façade is a long way from the dark stone used previously for churches.

Inside, the interior of the church is just as impressive as the exterior, is refreshingly bright and airy. It is built on a basilica plan, divided in three naves and covered by a rib vault. The crossing on an octagonal plan has a star-shaped vault. The choir is at the end of the central nave, which is higher and wider than the side aisles.

Oranges growing in the courtyard of the Sacred Heart Church (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The Neo-Gothic High Altar is the work of the the artist Adrian Risueño. A sculpture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus is the work of the artist Antonio Maumon and dates from 1940.

Paintings on either side of the High Altar depict the Jesuits Saint Ignatius de Loyola and Saint Francisco de Borja.
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The narrow stained-glass windows are by the renowned French firm of Mauméjean in Pau, and feature scenes from the lives of the saints.

The tower of Santiago Church on Calle Granada (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

On the other hand, the Santiago Church or Church of Saint James the Apostle on Calle Granada is the oldest church in Málaga. The church was founded in 1490, it became a parish in 1505 and was built in 1509 on the site of a former mosque.

The central entrance in the Mudéjar style is all that remains of the original façade, but the building retains Islamic, gothic and baroque elements. The square tower in the same style was conceived as a separate minaret and was attached to the church in the 16th century.

The central entrance in the Mudéjar style is all that remains of the original façade of Santiago Church (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Inside, the church has three naves and valuable works by Alonso Cano and Niño de Guevara, as well as significant items that include a 16th century chalice with a star-shaped foot and a six-sided body. The main altarpiece dates from the 18th century, and came from the church of a Dominican convent.

A sign outside reminds passers-by that the artist Pablo Picasso was baptised in this church on 10 November 1881.

Symbols of Saint James and the Camino to Santiago at the door of the Santiago Church (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

How Málaga Cathedral became known as ‘The One-Armed Lady’

Málaga Cathedral at night … it is known as ‘La Manquita’ or ‘The One-Armed Lady’ (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Patrick Comerford

My visit to Spain last week began and ended in Málaga, where I visited the cathedral once again, having first visited it five years ago, during Holy Week 2014.

The cathedral stands within the line of former walls of the mediaeval Moorish city, close to Málaga’s Moorish Alcazaba or citadel.

Málaga was re-conquered by the Christians on 18 August 1487. Initially, the Aljama mosque was converted into a cathedral and consecrated with a dedication to Santa Maria de la Encarnación (Saint Mary of the Incarnation).

The minaret of the mosque became the bell tower of the cathedral, and the site of this first cathedral is more or less where the present-day sacristy, museum and gardens are located.

But the chapter or canons of the cathedral soon proposed building a new cathedral. Because of the restrictions of the site, the new cathedral was built on a north-south axis. The door of the main façade was built in Gothic style about 1510 and this is the sacristy door that today leads into the gardens.

The fountain in the Plaza del Obispo, the square in front of the cathedral (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The cathedral was built on or near the site of an early Almohad mosque in the Renaissance style between 1528 and 1782, following plans by Diego Siloe (ca 1495-1563), the Burgos-born architect who also designed the cathedrals in Gaudix and Almería.

The cathedral is built on a rectangular plan, with a nave and two aisles. The nave is wider than the two side aisles, but they are of the same height.

The façade, unlike the rest of the building, is in Baroque style and is divided into two levels. On the lower level are three arches, and inside these arches are portals separated by marble columns. Above the doors are medallions carved in stone. Those on the side doors represent the patron saints of Málaga, Saint Ciriaco and Saint Paula, while the medallion over the centre depicts the Annunciation.

The north tower is 84 metres high, but the south tower remains unfinished (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The original plans envisaged two towers. The north tower is 84 metres high, making this the second-highest cathedral in Andalusia, after the Giralda of Seville.

The south tower remains unfinished. A plaque at the base of the tower says the funds raised by the parish to finish the south tower were used instead to help the former British colonies that became the United States to gain independence.

However, church records show the money may have been used to renovate the roadway called the Way of Antequera, which began in the present street Calle Martinez Maldonado.

Because only one tower was ever completed, the cathedral is known as La Manquita, or ‘The One-Armed Lady.’

Inside the Cathedral of Málaga (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Inside, the interior of Málaga Cathedral shows influences of the Renaissance and baroque styles.

Only the cathedrals of Granada and Seville, which have similar proportions, and the immense Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba can rival the architectural splendour of the interior of Málaga Cathedral.

The Gothic altarpiece in the Chapel of Santa Barbara is the oldest altar in the cathedral (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The Gothic altarpiece in the Chapel of Santa Barbara is the oldest altar in the cathedral and is the only altar to survive from the time the mosque was converted into Málaga’s first cathedral.

There are 16th century tombs in the Chapel of San Francisco.

The High Altar in Málaga Cathedral (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The Chapel of the Incarnation has a neoclassic altarpiece (1785) designed by the sculptor Juan de Villanueva and carved by Antonio Ramos and Aldehuela. A group of figures representing the Annunciation and sculptures of Málaga’s two patron saints, Saint Ciriaco and Saint Paula, were carved by Juan Salazar Palomino in the 18th century.

‘The Beheading of Saint Paul’ by Enrique Simonet Lombardo (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

‘The Beheading of Saint Paul,’ a painting in the Chapel of La Virgen de Los Reyes, was painted by Enrique Simonet Lombardo (1866-1927) during his visit to Rome in 1887.

‘El Convite del fariseo’ or ‘The Banquet of the Pharisee’ by the Flemish painter Miguel Manrique (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

‘El Convite del fariseo’ or ‘The Banquet of the Pharisee’ (ca 1635), a large painting in the Chapel of San Julián, is the work of the Flemish painter Miguel Manrique, a disciple of Rubens.

The choir with its carved choir stalls has been described as the ‘eighth wonder of the world’ (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The 17th century choir stalls, carved in mahogany and cedarwood, were designed by Luis Ortiz de Vargas. After his death, 42 finely carved statues of the saints were completed for each stall by Pedro de Mena y Medrano (1628-1688), one of the most celebrated sculptors and woodcarvers in Spain at the time and a pupil of Alonzo Cano (1601-1667).

The 18th century painter and essayist Antonio Palomino described the choir with its stalls as the ‘eighth wonder of the world.’

Some of the chapels leading off the side aisles also exhibit works by Pedro de Mena and his tutor, Alonzo Cano, the architect who designed the façade of Granada Cathedral.

The two cathedral organs are considered to be among the best of Spanish baroque organs. They were built in the 1770s by Julián de Orden, the organ-maker from Cuenca.

The Chapel of the Sagrado Corazón or the Sacred Heart (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Despite the standing of the architects who initially designed the cathedral, building work continued at a slow pace throughout the 17th and 18th centuries. In the late 1700s, the Bishop of Málaga, José Molina Larios – who gives his name to Málaga’s main shopping street – commissioned José Martín de Aldehuela (1729-1802), an architect from Aragon, to rebuild and repair the cathedral. He had designed other buildings in Málaga province, including Ronda’s New Bridge.

The Portal of the Patio de los Naranjos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The Portal of the Patio de los Naranjos joins the doorway also known as the Puerta de las Cadenas. The Holy Week and Easter processions in Málaga enter the cathedral through this doorway.

Until the mid-20th century, the cathedral was attached to surrounding houses. They have since been demolished, and the cathedral stands on its own in the centre of the old town, one of Spain’s most impressive unfinished buildings.

The small Cathedral Museum is reached by a wooden staircase in the cathedral shop.

The 16th century Gothic doorway is all that survives from the original church (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Beside the cathedral, the Iglesia del Sagrario was founded in the 15th century on the site of a mosque. The church has an unusual rectangular shape, and the 16th century Gothic doorway is all that remains of the original church, which was rebuilt in 1714.

The gardens include a number of interesting items in the so-called Museo al Aire libre de la Cathedral de Malaga.

The oft-photographed cathedral gardens on Calle del Cistner also include a strange monument of unmarked crosses to victims of the Spanish civil war.

Leaving Málaga Cathedral in the bright June sunshine (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

In the square in front of the cathedral, the Bishop’s Palace is a series of buildings, some dating from the 16th century, that were joined together to form one large block in the 18th century, with a Baroque façade facing the Plaza del Obispo.

The façade in red white, pink and grey marble was designed in the 18th century in the late Baroque style by the architect Antonio Ramos, master builder of the cathedral.

The Bishop’s Palace has an 18th century Baroque façade that faces the Plaza del Obispo (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

When Córdoba became a city of philosophers, poets and theologians

A modern statue of Seneca in Córdoba (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Patrick Comerford

Twice during walking tours of Córboda last week, I was part of groups that met at the statue of the Stoic philosopher Seneca, by the Puerta de Almodóvar, one of the main city gates.

Córdoba is a city of philosophers, poets and theologians, and I was interested to particular how the city celebrates the Jewish theologian, philosopher and physician, Maimonides. But there are other philosophers, poets and writers too from Roman times and from the centuries when Córdoba was a centre of intellectual life in the Islamic world.

Seneca, or Seneca the Younger (ca 4 BC to AD 65), was born in Córdoba and became a leading Roman Stoic philosopher, statesman and dramatist. His full name was Lucius Annaeus Seneca.

Seneca was was brought as a child to Rome, where he was trained in rhetoric and philosophy. His father was Seneca the Elder, his elder brother was Lucius Junius Gallio Annaeanus, and his nephew was the poet Lucan. Seneca was exiled to Corsica by the Emperor Claudius in the year AD 41, but was allowed to return in 49 as a tutor to Nero.

When Nero became emperor in 54, Seneca became his advisor and with Sextus Afranius Burrus he provided competent government for the first five years of Nero’s reign. But, over time, Seneca’s influence with Nero declined, and in 64 Seneca was forced to end his own life for his alleged role in a plot to assassinate Nero, although it is likely he was innocent.

Seneca is known for his philosophical works and for his plays, which are tragedies. His prose works include a dozen essays and 124 letters dealing with moral issues. These writings constitute one of the most important bodies of primary material for ancient Stoicism.

The early Church was favourably disposed towards Seneca and his writings. Tertullian refers to him as ‘our Seneca,’ Jerome includes him in a list of Christian writers, and he is also mentioned by Augustine.

Dante places Seneca and Cicero among the ‘great spirits’ in the First Circle of Hell, or Limbo. Boccaccio wrote an account of Seneca’s suicide, hinting that it was a kind of disguised baptism or a baptism in spirit. Other writers, such as Albertino Mussato and Giovanni Colonna argued that Seneca has been a Christian convert. He appears also in the writings of Chaucer, Petrarch, Erasmus and Calvin.

As a writer of tragic plays, he is best known for his versions of Medea, Thyestes, and Phaedra. Thyestes is considered Seneca’s masterpiece and has been described as one of the most influential plays ever written. His Medea is also highly regarded, and was praised along with Phaedra by TS Eliot.

A statue of Aben Hazam (994-1063), poet, historian and Islamic scholar, in Cordoba (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Aben Hazam (994-1063), whose full name was Abū Muḥammad ʿAlī ibn Aḥmad ibn Saʿīd ibn Ḥazm, was a poet, polymath, historian, jurist, philosopher, and theologian. He was born in Córdoba, and became a leading proponent and codifier of the Zahiri school of Islamic thought. In all, he produced 400 works, although only 40 survive.

He is seen as one of the leading thinkers of the Muslim world, and has been called the father of comparative religious studies.

Aben Hazam’s grandfather Sa’id and his father Ahmad both held senior positions in the court of the Umayyad Caliph Hisham II. They probably were Christians who had converted to Islam, and they became a politically and economically important family.

As a philosopher and theologian, Aben Hazam was known for his cynicism regarding humanity and his strong respect for the principles of language and sincerity in communication.

After the collapse of the Umayyad Caliphate, Aben Hazam was frequently jailed as a suspected supporter of the Umayyads. He found asylum on the island of Majorca in the 1040s, but later returned to Andalusia.

Initially, he was a follower of the Maliki school of law in Sunni Islam, but switched to the Shafi'i school later and, around the age of 30, finally settled with the Zahiri school.

Many of his works were was burned publicly in Seville by his opponents, but about 40 of his books have survived.

In addition to works on law and theology, Aben Hazm also wrote more than 10 books on medicine, and discussed integrating the sciences into a standard curriculum for education. His wrote about the links between science and theology, jurisprudence, logic, ethics, language, philosophy. He also wrote poetry, but only a fragment of one of his poems survives.

Averroes or Ibn Rushd (1126-1198) is known for his commentaries on Aristotle (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Averroes or Ibn Rushd (1126-1198), whose full name was Abū l-Walīd Muḥammad Ibn ʾAḥmad Ibn Rušd, was a philosopher and thinker who wrote about philosophy, theology, medicine, astronomy, physics, Islamic jurisprudence and law, and linguistics.

His philosophical works include numerous commentaries on Aristotle, for which he was known in the west as the ‘Commentator.’ He was also a judge and a court physician for the Almohad caliphate.

Averroes was born in Córdoba into a family of prominent judges. His grandfather, Abu al-Walid Muhammad, was the chief judge of Córdoba and the imam of the Great Mosque of Córdoba.

The Caliph Abu Yaqub Yusuf was so impressed with his knowledge that he became the patron of Averroes and commissioned many of his commentaries. Averroes later became a judge in both Seville and Córdoba, and in 1182, he was appointed court physician and the chief judge of Córdoba.

He fell into disgrace in 1195, was charged with political offences, and was exiled to nearby Lucena. He had returned to royal favour shortly before he died in Marrakesh in 1198. At first, he was buried in Morocco, but his body was later moved to Córdoba for another funeral, attended by the Sufi mystic and philosopher Ibn Arabi (1165-1240).

Averroes sought to restore what he considered the original teachings of Aristotle and opposed the Neoplatonist tendencies of earlier Muslim thinkers. He argued that philosophy was permissible in Islam and even compulsory among certain elites. He also argued that Quranic texts should be interpreted allegorically if the appeared to contradict conclusions reached by reason and philosophy.

Maimonides was one of the early Jewish scholars who received the works of Averroes enthusiastically, saying he ‘received lately everything Averroes had written on the works of Aristotle’ and that Averroes ‘was extremely right.’

In the West, Averroes was known for his extensive commentaries on Aristotle, many of which were translated into Latin and Hebrew. The translations of his work reawakened Western European interest in Aristotle and Greek philosophers, an area that had been widely abandoned after the fall of the Roman Empire.

He controversially proposed that all humans share the same intellect. His works were condemned by the Church in 1270 and 1277. Thomas Aquinas relied extensively on Averroes’ interpretation of Aristotle, but disagreed with him on many points. Averroes continued to attract followers up to the 16th century, when European thought began to diverge from Aristotelianism.

Averroes wrote at least 67 original works, including 28 works on philosophy, 20 on medicine, eight on law, five on theology, and four on grammar, in addition to his commentaries on most of Aristotle’s works and his commentary on Plato’s Republic. Many of his works in Arabic did not survive, but their translations into Hebrew or Latin did.

Mohamed al-Gafequi was a pioneering oculist or eye specialist in 12th century Córdoba (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Other great scholars from Córdoba during this period include Muhammad ibn Aslam Al-Ghafiqi or Mohamed al-Gafequi, who was born in Córdoba and died in 1165. He was a 12th century oculist and author of The Right Guide to Ophthalmology. This book shows that physicians in Córdoba at that time had a complex understanding of the conditions of the eye and eyelids, which they treated with many different surgical procedures, ointments and chemical medicine.

He was a highly experienced eye-specialist and connoisseur of Arabic literature who had his practice in Cordoba. He studied and treated diseases of the pupil and the iris, and he discovered that cataracts were caused by the segregation of a liquid that produces cloudiness, like water falling in front of the eye.

The inscription on his monument reads, ‘Cordoba honours the famous eye specialist, Mohamed al-Gafequi, on his eighth centenary – 1965.’

Although the poet, philosopher, mystic and Sufi saint Ibn ʿArabi (1165-1240) was born in Murcia and died in Damascus, he too spent some years in Córdoba. His full name was Abū ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad ibn ʿAlī ibn Muḥammad ibnʿArabī al-Ḥātimī aṭ-Ṭāʾī and his works have been beyond the Muslim world. Over 800 works are attributed to him, and 100 survive in the original manuscript.

One of his poems is ‘My religion is love’:

A pasture for gazelles, a convent for Christians.
A temple for idols, a Kaba for the pilgrim.
A table for the Torah, a book of the Koran.
Whichever the route love’s caravan shall take,
that path shall be the path of my faith.

The Roman Bridge and Tower in Córdoba (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Visiting a convent church in a quiet corner of Córdoba

The Convent of the Capuchins is in a small square in the north-east corner of the centre of Córdoba (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Patrick Comerford

On Friday morning [7 June 2019], with a few hours left in Córdoba before catching a train to Malaga in time for a flight to Dublin, I visited a few smaller churches in city.

I had already visited the he Mezquita-Catedral, or Great Mosque and Cathedral of the city, and the Royal Church of Saint Paul, once part of a larger Dominican complex.

I was staying in the Hotel Macia Alfaros, on the north-east edge of the old walled city, and another convent church close to the hotel was the convent of the Capuchin sisters or Capuchin Poor Clare and their church dedicated to Saint Raphael, the archangel often seen as the protector of Córdoba.

Inside the church of the Capuchin sisters in Córdoba (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The convent and church, popularly known as the ‘Convent of the Capuchins,’ were built in 1725 on the site of the former stately home of the Marquises of Sessa, dating from the 15th century.

Some of the original features survive in the cloisters, including the impressive Mudejar gate and Roman, Visigoth and Islamic capitals.

The convent church has a single nave with barrel vaulting above.

The high altar in the convent church (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The convent has three main courtyards. The first patio is the compass or anteroom of the convent and is surrounded by four galleries with arches over columns and coffered ceilings.

I did not get into the main cloister on Friday morning, but this gives access to the hall of the old palace, which has been converted into the refectory. The decorative ceilings and plasterwork in the refectory are also in the Mudejar style. The coat of arms of the family who donated the building is displayed on several ceilings and walls.

The convent is open from 9 a.m. to 12 noon each day and from 4:30 p.m. to 6 p.m.

The bell and an orange tree grace the first of the courtyards or patios (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

On the streets of Córdoba, I passed so many other church buildings, including the Church of Saint Nicholas, the Capilla Mudéjar de San Bartolomé and the Church of the Discalced Carmelites.

There is much to come back to Córdoba to see.

The Church of the Discalced Carmelites in central Córdoba (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

How an 800-year-old royal church in Córdoba survived plans for its demolition

The imposing entrance to the Royal Church of San Pablo on Calle Capitulares in Córdoba (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Patrick Comerford

For many visitors to Córdoba, the highlight of their visit is the Mezquita-Catedral, or Great Mosque and Cathedral of the city, combined, perhaps with a short visit to narrow, white-washed streets of the old Jewish quarter, or even one or two Roman sites, such as the Puente Romano or Roman Bridge with its tower.

But a short walk can lead to other smaller, interesting churches and Roman sites.

I was staying last week for two nights in the Hotel Macia Alfaros, on the north-east edge of the old walled city. Just a few steps away, on the corner of Calle Capitulares and San Pedro, stands the Real Iglesia de San Pablo or Royal Church of San Pablo de Córdoba, the church of a long vanished Dominican convent.

The street entrance to the church is almost opposite the site of the Roman Temple, and it seems more like a city gate, as with the Puerta de Almodovar on the west side of the walled city.

The steps leading down to the garden patio and west door of the church (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

From this gate, steps lead down to a small garden patio in front of the church. This church was first founded as the Royal Convent of Saint Paul in the neighbourhood of San Andrés by King Ferdinand III in 1241, after the Christian monarch captured the city following five centuries of Muslim rule.

The new Dominican convent was near the site of the Roman Temple, and near the wall connecting the neighbourhoods of the Ajerquía and the Villa, and close to the Vía Augusta, one of the main roads in the city. This may have been the site of the Roman Circus and later the site of the Almohad Palace during the Muslim period.

From its foundation, the church and convent of San Pablo enjoyed royal protection. Although all that remains today are the church, its courtyard, and some ancillary buildings, the convent once occupied an extensive site, and included an orchard known as Almesa.

The church and convent were founded for Dominican friars in the late 13th century (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The convent was founded as a house for the Dominican friars, and documents dating from its foundation show the convent enjoyed many privileges and received many donations and alms. The friars ran a school and also owned and rented many properties in the area, so that a new suburb grew up around their new convent.

The church was first built in the late 13th century and early 14th century, and details in the Mudéjar style on the pillars inside date from this period.

Inside the Royal Church of Saint Paul in Córdoba (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

Inside the church, the Chapel of Our Lady of the Rosary was built in the 15th century.

Later, the church was rebuilt in the 16th century by architects such as Hernán Luiz III and Juan de Ochoa, who rebuilt the main façade of the church in the Mannerist style and also built the cloisters of the convent.

A second chapel, the Chapel of the Virgin of Pilar, includes a statue of Our Lady of Sorrows by Juan de Mesa that dates from 1627. This is one of the important statues in the Holy Week processions and parade in Córdoba.

The High Altar in the Royal Church of Saint Paul in Córdoba (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The church has three naves divided by pillars covered with Mudéjar ornamentation. There are three apses that are circular on the inside and rectangular on the outside, with a quarter-sphere dome, and a central five-sided vault.

In the north aisle of the church, there is a pointed flaring arch, with caliphate-era capitals, leading into San Pablo Street. In the south aisle, an old door is in the Gothic-Mudejar style.

The marble Baroque façade facing Calle Capitulares dates from 1706-1708 and is the work of Bartolomé de Rojas and Andrés de Pino Ascanio.

A side chapel in the north aisle of the church (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The 15th century Chapel of Our Lady of the Rosary was renovated in 1758 and is an interesting example of the Cordoban Baroque style.

The chapter house was designed by Hernán Ruiz II, but may have been left unfinished because of a shortage of funds.

The pulpit in the Church of Saint Paul (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

During the French occupation of Spain, the convent was converted into a barracks in 1810 and the church alone was allowed to retain its original function.

The convent was in a ruinous state by 1848 and there were proposals for its demolition. Instead, however, the church and its annexes were saved and the building was restored in the early 20th century by the architects Adolfo Castiñeira, Matteo Inurria and P Pueyo.

The Congregation of Missionaries Claretian Fathers took charge of the church in 1904, and they continue to run it as a parish church today.

Mudéjar ornamentation inside the west wall of the church (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)

The stone tower at the foot of the church is of stone and has a wooden bell tower at the top. One of the peculiarities of San Pablo is its carillon, installed in the tower at the beginning of the 20th century. It was restored and reopened on 29 June 1998.

The church was restored and refurbished in 2008 as part of a cultural project in the city. Some remains of the early convent cloisters can still be seen in a passage that leads to the neighbouring Ministry of Culture on Capitulares Street.

The Roman Temple across the street from the Royal Church of Saint Paul (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2019)