The Best of Both Worlds

I grew up in Cuba until I was 11 years old. Although the Castro regime has oppressed my people for over five decades, Cuba is still a beautiful island. Havana is one of those cities, like Paris, that you fall in love with and can never get out of your head.

When I left Cuba, I lived in Miami, Florida. South Florida is very different from most parts of the United States. Over half of the population is Hispanic, with Cubans making the majority of it. With that said, I never lost my first language. I speak and write Spanish as well as I speak and write English.

I can speak to my wife in English and then seamlessly speak to my mother in Spanish. I like living in these two worlds. I am fully Cuban, but I am also fully American. I love and hate things from both cultures. I can eat rice and beans one day and chicken pot pie the next. And I wouldn't have it any othe way.

The Embargo

The embargo of the United States against Cuba has been in place since 1960. There are many and very vocal opponents of the embargo who claim that it should be lifted. They support their claim with the fallacy that by lifting the embargo, the people of Cuba would know what they are missing out on. In other words, if the United States allows an influx of cash to flow to Cuba, then the people would want democracy.

This is ridiculous because the real embargo is that of Castro's regime against the people of Cuba. For over 50 years, top government officials have lived lives of kings and movie stars, while the population has starved. The people don't need the embargo lifted to know the things they already know. The lifting of the embargo would only serve to support and strengthen the Cuban economy, which would only prolong the length of the regime.

The embargo should only be lifted the day Cuba holds open and pluralistic elections. Until then, there's nothing else to talk about.

Waters of Grace (Podcast)

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Here's the script, to read along if you wish. Thanks!

"Welcome to the Israel Sanchez Podcast. My name is Israel Sanchez. Today I'll be reading from my autobiography, Waters of Grace.

Chapter 1 - Beginnings


"Growing up in Cuba, you either belonged to the Communist Party or the Catholic Church. The entire island seemed to be divided in those two camps. Both institutions have their saints and rituals and both have their fervent believers. Before I could even remember or form my first words, my mother decided that I was going to be part of the Roman Catholic clan. My father objected, since he didn’t believe in God, but mainly because he was part of the Union of Young Communists and a baptized son could mean trouble for him. Despite his protests and absence from the ceremony, my mother persevered and a priest sprinkled water made holy over my head.

My parents didn’t stay together long after that, due to my father’s wondering eye, and hands and body I suppose. I don’t have a single memory of them together, no strolls in the park, no holding hands, and no Hallmark or Kodak moments. Probably because of this, the idea of God as Father was foreign to me. God seemed to be someone who visited on weekends and bought you nice things whenever he could, but stayed away during the week. This was fine with me, especially since serving God had become a chore. When I was around 9-years-old, I started attending catechism every Sunday and all I remember learning was what not to do. There were rules at home, rules at school and rules at church. Of course, at this young age I had no idea that when God gave us His commandments it was meant to warn us of sin and alert us to the fact that we were all guilty in need of a Savior. Back then, however, these commandments seemed obscure and confusing. What was a graven image? If we are not supposed to bow down to them, why was everyone at church praying to statutes of saints? I would think about those things at times and ask questions, but no one ever gave me a satisfying answer. Of course, the most horrifying commandment was honoring your father and mother. I had no idea what 'honoring' meant exactly, but I knew I was guilty and it felt like the sting of a bee on my soul.

My Sunday school teacher was a handsome young priest still in seminary school and a lot of the church ladies had a crush on him. One of my mother’s friends was completely in love with the young priest. He seemed to be taken with her too and would openly flirt with her. I imagine that would have been an awkward and tense confession time between those two. Years later, I found out that the priest left seminary school because he fell in love with a woman. My mother’s friend was saddened that she had not been the one to “turn him.”

Once, I asked my aunt, "how can I talk to God? How do I ask Him for prayer?"

“You need to pray,” she said.

“Well, how do I do that?”

“Our father who art in heaven…”

And she would continue with the Apostles Creed and a prayer to the Virgin Mary. I did this every night, hoping that God would hear me, but somehow I thought he would be bored of hearing my repetitions. I don’t know if God was bored or not, but I certainly was. By the time I finished my ritual prayers and was allowed to finally speak to God using my own words, I was sleepy or had forgotten my petitions. There was a chasm between God and me and religion was the cause of it. I didn’t think of Him as Father. God was a distant being who wanted me to not lie or use cuss words and that was all. He lived up in heaven above, way up high, far away from me, far from the misery surrounding my country. He probably lived closer to the United States where kids my age had brand new toys and expensive shoes, and they could eat whatever they wanted for lunch.

Overall, I did enjoy going to church. There was a peace and an otherness that I couldn’t put into words. Perhaps it was the silence. I lived in a tiny house with over seven people, so silence was a rare thing. But there was something else drawing me to church and that was reading.

That's all the time we have today. Thank you for listening and don't forget to checkout Amazon.com for Waters of Grace. "

Cuban National Symbols

These are some of the national symbols of Cuba. The pictures are courtesy of Wikipedia.

The Coat of arms:

The Trogon, national bird:

The Royal Palm:



A look at Havana

These photos are property of Nathan Laurell and I'm using them with full attribution to the photographer and for educational purposes. Please, enjoy!

Announcement!

Hello, all! Later this week I will be posting my latest Podcast. I will read part of Chapter 1 of my autobiography, so please, stay tuned!

Waters of Grace (An Autobiography)

I just self-published a brief spiritual autobiography. It's brief, well, basically because I'm still young. However, in my 28 years, I have experienced events and things that most people my age can't even imagine. From being born in Cuba under a totalitarian government, to fleeing Cuba without either of my parents, to learning a new language, to nearly losing my life in a car crash at 16, to leaving the Roman Catholic Church and becoming an Evangelical Christian.

All these events and more, are viewed through the lens of the Christian faith. As C.S. Lewis once said, "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the Sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else."

You can preview and buy the Kindle version below!

Waters of Grace: Thoughts on Christianity, Communism and Cuba