There are villages in Spain and Portugal where travellers are invited to enjoy the food and marvel at the countryside. But tourists and researchers be warned: don't attempt to probe too deeply into local history. Behind the doors of some homes, villagers are guarding centuries-old secrets.

    Spain's crypto-Jews do not suffer inquiring historians lightly. They are descendants of forcibly converted Jews who have covertly maintained their religion for hundreds of years. Yet somehow, York ethnomusicologist Judith Cohen gained their trust and penetrated the veil of secrecy.

    Cohen, an adjunct graduate faculty member at York, is now embarking on her second research paper focusing on the musical ethnography of crypto-Jewish regions in Spain and Portugal. She wants to uncover the songs and folklore that are uniquely theirs.

    The small Portuguese town of Belmonte has the largest Jewish community with approximately 150 Marrano (a term the crypto-Jews use for themselves). Only a few people permitted her to tape their prayers and religious music, although many allowed her to record secular songs.

    "When we first arrived we had the feeling we were always being spied upon. When we'd go to a cafe, a little plate of ham would magically appear and someone would be watching us to see whether or not we touched it," she says.

    The Inquisition did not end village prejudices against Jews, and the necessary secrecy eventually became a ritualized part of the religion. Even recently, some of those who chose to come forward have regretted the decision. Two documentaries made by foreign film crews left bad feelings in the community.

    Ultimately, it was Cohen's finesse with a vegetable peeler that may have helped her research the most. She had returned to Belmonte for Passover, and spent three hours at her hostess' house preparing potatoes. "The next day, word went around that the professor from Canada peels potatoes and doors flew open," she says.