Ahoy Vey: When Jews became Pirates

“In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue…”—a rhyme etched into the minds of schoolchildren across America. It marks the dawn of European exploration in the New World, a date synonymous with adventure and empire. Our history books portray him as America’s first great hero, and he has his own holiday on our annual calendar.

But there’s another story from that same fateful year, one often left untold: the mass expulsion of Jews from Spain and the unexpected legacy it helped launch—Jewish piracy.

On March 31, 1492, the Catholic Monarchs of Spain, Isabella I of Castile and Ferdinand II of Aragon, issued the Alhambra Decree. Its goal was clear: to rid Spain of practicing Jews and cut off their influence on the conversos—Jews who had converted to Christianity, often under duress. The decree accused Jews of attempting to undermine Catholicism, converting Christians to Judaism, and “subverting the holy Catholic faith.”

The document decreed that all Jews of any age, residing in their kingdom, must depart and were forbidden to ever return, under penalty of death and confiscation of all property. Anyone assisting or sheltering Jews also faced severe penalties, including loss of possessions and titles.

After the decree was passed, Spain’s entire Jewish population was given only four months to either convert to Christianity or leave the country. They were permitted to take only their belongings with them. Those who stayed faced execution; those who left forfeited their homes, businesses, and wealth. As a result, much of the wealth of the Jewish community remained in Spain.

This is the part of history most people know-and the fact the exiled Jews were scattered across the Mediterranean basin, from Istanbul to Fez, where they managed to make new lives for themselves. But this story was far from over. The Catholic Monarchs of Spain were to receive their day of reckoning.

Many Jews fled across the Mediterranean, resettling in lands more tolerant of religious diversity, including the Ottoman Empire and North Africa. But the trauma of exile lingered—and so did their skills. Jews had long been central to Spain’s intellectual, scientific, and maritime development. They were cosmographers, cartographers, navigators, and shipbuilders—key players in the Age of Exploration.

Unfortunately for the Spanish, they did not realize the mistake they’d made with the Alhambra Decree. Among those that left were Jews who had the skills an emerging modern state would have needed the most to develop and stay ahead of their rivals.

Now cast out, these former citizens of Spain and Portugal put their talents to new use, and in some cases, revenge. They joined Muslim corsairs and privateers, sharing naval techniques and strategic knowledge once used to serve Christian kingdoms. And in doing so, they helped shape a new and surprising profession: Jewish piracy.

One of the beneficiaries of this talent transfer was the Ottoman Empire and its vassal states in North Africa, along with its ally Morocco. The Jews were welcomed in by Sultan Sulieman the Magnificent, who saw value in using the people that his enemy the Spanish expelled in a collective effort against them.

Among the most famous corsairs of this era was Hayreddin Barbarossa, a Muslim pirate who rose to become Grand Admiral of the Ottoman fleet. A lesser-known detail? His crew included Jewish exiles who contributed both tactical brilliance and seafaring expertise. One of his trusted lieutenants was Sinan Reis, known by the Spanish as “The Great Jew.” Born to a family exiled from Spain, Sinan became a decorated naval commander and helped secure Ottoman victory at the Battle of Preveza in 1538. He would eventually succeed Barbarossa as Grand Admiral.

The story doesn’t end there. Jewish pirates operated across the Atlantic, in the Caribbean and South America. Moses Cohen Henriques, a Dutch-Jewish pirate of Portuguese origin, teamed up with the legendary Piet Pieterszoon Hein to capture the Spanish treasure fleet—a feat unmatched in naval history. Their plunder, adjusted for inflation, would be worth over $1 billion today. Henriques later helped the Dutch wrest northeast Brazil from Portuguese control.

Then there’s Yaacov Kuriel, born Diego Da Coreia, a forced convert to Christianity who rose through the Spanish navy—until he was discovered, tortured by the Inquisition, and sentenced to death. Rescued by his crew (largely fellow marranos), Kuriel escaped to Jamaica, where he commanded a fleet of three ships: the Prophet Samuel, Queen Esther, and the Shield of Abraham. He raided only Spanish and Portuguese ships—his own campaign of justice. Later in life, Kuriel settled in Safed, became a disciple of the Arizal, and was buried near him. His gravestone bears a skull and crossbones.

Another colorful figure was Samuel Pallache, a Moroccan diplomat and privateer, and Abraham Blauvelt, a Dutch-Jewish explorer and pirate whose name lives on in the towns of Bluefields in both Nicaragua and Jamaica.

In time, these Jewish buccaneers helped usher in the Golden Age of Piracy. For them, attacking Spanish galleons wasn’t just profit—it was a mitzvah, a sacred duty born from exile and resistance.

Spain would come to regret the Alhambra Decree. By expelling Jews, it lost not just merchants and physicians, but visionaries and strategists who helped shape the modern world. The cultural and intellectual cost was immense. Over time, Spain has attempted to reconcile with this painful chapter. In 1924, Sephardic Jews were offered a path to citizenship. The decree was officially revoked in 1968, and in 2015, Spain extended dual citizenship to descendants of the expelled—a law that expired in 2019.

Though little known, the story of Jewish pirates is a stirring chapter in the long saga of resilience. Born from injustice, it became a legacy of resistance, ingenuity, and improbable triumph on the high seas.