Ceci’s Watson Journey

During my first few weeks in Cairo, I realized that a different approach was necesssary to appropriately conduct research on its Jewish community. The differences from the Moroccan and Tunisian communities are plenty; the Egyptian Jewish community is smaller and more secular, regular synagogue services are not available, and they are typically very wary of outsiders. I thought that some time and patience would be necessary to meet and get to know the community, which would also give me more time to explore other aspects of identity, Arab-Israeli and Mulim-Jewish co-existence (or lack thereof) and their attitudes toward one another. The outbreak of violence in Gaza in December demonstrated to me the importance of understanding how societies view and approach war and violence, and how the these approaches, exacerbated by the media, perpetuate hate and violence in all parts of the world.

As a result of the invasion of Gaza, Cairo was buzzing with pro-Palestinian and anti-Israel behavior; protests and demonstrations, bloggers and their arrests, and documentaries, exhibits and discussions on Israel-Arab issues were all of a sudden thrust into the forefront of life in Cairo. These only lasted about a month or so after the end of the incursion, but during this month I tried to engage in these activities in order to put myself in the shoes of the other side of the conflict and try to understand their perspective.

I saw a documentary at the lovely Townhouse Gallery in downtown Cairo entitled “Of Blood and Tears.” Taking advantage of the opening blown into the border crossing at Rafah, the director focused her footage on the problems of daily life in Gaza; simple things, such as filling up gas or going to visit family, were inconvenienced or impossible due to their current situation. The film directed blame at the Israeli “occupation” and seige, but dislike of Hamas and even the acknowledgment of easier lives before their ascent to power were discussed. I was most struck by the attitude of the Gazans when telling their stories: downright jovial. They spoke about the hardships of their past, present and future with a smile on their face and cracking jokes. Even though the film and the Gazans were certainly anti-Israel (or anti-Jewish, as they would call them), it concentrated more on the personal lives and attitudes of the Gazan, which I admired tremendously as an aspiring anthropologists.

In February, the big news on the Cairo ex-patriot email list serv was the disappearance of a popular Egyptian-German blogger, at a protest on the border with Gaza. He had been quite active not only during the recent Israeli campaign, but in previous years, blogging and making documentaries on Palestinians. His arrest enraged the ex-patriot community, Egyptian students and the German government, causing a wave of protests and petitions demanding his release, particularly at the American University in Cairo. He was eventually released, but not before the government looted and stole his research materials in his apartment. Because of his ordeal, he achieved celebrity-status in Cairo and organized a viewing of a documentary he had produced a year earlier to a packed AUC auditorium. The documentary tried to direct some media attention on Palestinians who do not usually receive any: rural farmers. He traveled to the West Bank and Gaza to interview Palestinian farmers, and overall, the documentary was unimpressive. He makes the obvious point that the rural farmers live in archaic ways and are harassed by the Israeli government, without any final or enlightening message. After the documentary he “answered” some questions; the packed audience was expecting a profound statement or conclusion from their new Gaza-hero, and the questions reflected that as people asked, in nicer words, “So what? What does it all mean?” And in all his arrogance he provided the same response to each question: his intention was only to address an issue that is not touched upon by the media. The crowd was disappointed, but still no one had the courage to press him on his detention, even though he hinted that he would not discuss it. Thus, the significance of this event for me was the glimpse into how the Egyptian (and maybe other Arab) governments handle dissidents, and the productive ways to engage them for concessions: international attention, foreign government involvement, and, least importantly, protests.

Aside for these two documentaries, I attended some exhibitions- Palestine and non-Palestine related. Some of them contained war-photographs and were designed to evoke sympathy. On the other hand, one exhibition was an amateur contest, advertised on Facebook, searching for the photograph that most represents Cairo. Sponsored by the European Union Commission in Cairo, the finalist and winning pictures were displayed in the Townhouse Gallery, and put into a calendar. It took place during my first week in Cairo, and when I saw the winning photo, I knew right away it was quintessential Cairo, and four month later I know I was right. These experiences confirmed one of the first lessons I learned on my trip this year: within every group of people there are good and bad people. In these cases, I discovered the insightful and artistically-minded, whose themes reflect the concerns of their generation, however one-sided they may be.

The Israeli Academic Center in Cairo (mentioned in the previous post) is a forum to display and share Israeli creators of culture and media, and home to the largest collection of Hebrew and Jewish books in Cairo. Its library mostly services the students and professors from the Hebrew programs in Cairo, but it is open to researchers, as well. According to a few contacts, during the Rabin era the Merkaz was constantly filled with students and professors, but once Netanyahu came to power, the flow of people has trickled. Now, many of the professors will not even come to the IACC to find the books they require, they send their students. I had the pleasure of attending an event at the IACC in February. They were hosting lectures in English and Hebrew by Ronit Matalon, an Israeli fiction and autobiographical writer. The mix of people in attendance was interesting: Egyptian professors, ex-patriot students and professsionals, maybe 1 or 2 Egyptian Jews, and a handful of Egyptians that are friendly with the Israeli couple that run the center. The event, and Center for that matter, are managed by Dr. Gaby and Michal Rosenbaum, and a staff of Egyptian Muslim Hebrew-speakers, who are very cordial and accomodating. It is important to emphasize, for the purpose of understanding and for the well-being of the center, that they are funded by the Israeli university system, which is not associated with any Israeli political entity. Although independent, attendance always drops and security always becomes a more pressing issue when there are incidences of violence in Israel and Palestine.

From my contacts at the IACC (Israeli Academic Cultural Center), I learned that there are 7 Egyptian universities that offer Hebrew programs, some of which have 1000 students. Shocked, I had to learn more as part of my attempt to understand how Egyptians view Israelis and Jews. Below I provide the stories of three Egyptian men and how they became Hebrew-speakers. Please note that the three are, in fact, special cases of those who excelled in their programs and forged careers from them.

Mohammed (real name not used here for anonymity purposes) originally hoped to score high enough on his university-placement examination to study English. Because he missed it by half a point and had been a long-time lover of languages, he chose to study Eastern Languages, including Aramaic, Hebrew and ancient Ethiopian. Eventually, he was required to choose one language on which to focus; he picked Hebrew, even though he did not even know at the time that it was spoken in Israel. Throughout his undergraduate career, he frequented the IACC for research and became friends with the people that worked there. In 1995, while Mohammed was preparing to enter a Masters program and simultaneously completing his compulsory military service, his father passed away and he was forced to find a job. Through his connections at the IACC, he began working as a librarian and eventually won favor with the director and other employees because of his excellent Hebrew-speaking skills. They offered to pay for him to take business classes at the American Univerity in Cairo, in order to train him to be the first Muslim/Egyptian to handle the financials of the center.

When asked what motivates other Egyptian students to study Hebrew, he said that it mostly depends on test scores because the range in which a student scores only affords the opportunity to study a few subjects. Through his academic and professional experience, he learned that Israelis are not bad people, and that there are always two sides of any story, which he now accesses by reading and watching the media in Arabic and Hebrew. It should be noted, however, that Mohammed only reveals his actual profession to those who are closest to him, and tells everyone else that he is a translator (which is true, part time).

After receiving his PhD in Hebrew and teaching at Cairo University, Mahmoud (not his real name) is currently a Hebrew professor at Helwan University in Cairo. He originally studied Hebrew because he wanted to be a tourguide and the competition for English and French tourguides was too high. After his studies, Cairo University offered him a job as a professor because of his excellent Hebrew skills, which he accepted because the pay was even better and more consistent than that of a tourguide. He and his students use the library at IACC regulalry and he used to go to synagogue (when it was open more regularly) for his PhD research; he said he used to know some members of the Egyptian Jewish community, but they have since passed away. When asked about the difference between a Jew and an Israeli, he said that he understands the difference, but the simple and uneducated Egyptians do not and cannot because of the information they do have available.

I met Ahmed (psuedonym) through a mutual Israeli friend, who travels to Cairo sporadically for research on his Masters thesis. Ahmed is not only an informative source on contemporary Jewish life in Cairo, but also a caring friend. He was born and raised, until the age of 16, in Harat al Yahud, or the old Jewish quarter, located adjacent to the Coptic Quarter in Old Cairo. His family moved from there some years ago, but when he began his Masters work and career, he rented an apartment in the Hara.

He took me on a personal, guided tour of Harat al Yahud, which is now home to Muslims exclusively, after the last Jews residing there passed away within the last few years. We visited his uncle’s house, which is down the street from Maimonides’ temple; from the apartment’s balcony, when kneeling at a certain angle, I was able to see the construction inside the synagogue, and the Aron Hakodesh covered with a sheet. We also passed by many old buildings whose iron gates or windows were adorned with large Jewish stars. We even passed by the house in which Gamal Abdel Nasser was born; surprisingly, the father of the secular Arab nationalist movement and eventual expelor of the Egyptian Jewish community, was born in the Jewish quarter in a house decorated with the largest Jewish stars of all. Ahmed and his uncle and family have witnessed many heartfelt reunions of old friends and neighbors, filled with joyous tears, when Jewish families return to visit their former homes and lives in Harat al Yahud.

During Ahmed’s childhood in the 1980s, only two Jewish women remained in the Hara. One woman was named Mary, famous for her lovely singing voice, which she showered on the local Egyptians outside cafes in the Hara. Ahmed, intrigued both by a Jew and by her magnificent voice, always came to watch her, and eventually, developed a relationship with her. He discovered that she refused to make aliya to Israel as did her family and friends because she considered herself “an Egyptain, a Jewish Egyptian.” He used to pummel her with questions about anything related to Judaism, and she was always happy to oblige with stories about her specifically Jewish identity as an Egyptian. And, according to Ahmed, even after the majority migrated, she was friends with everyone in Harat al Yahud, particularly those who had been acquaintances of her family. Mary had an apartment in the Old Age Home in the Hara, but after the Jewish migration, it was sold to Muslims while she maintained it; it was only when she fell ill that the Jewish community moved her from Harat al Yahud to a more appropriate facility. Apparently the move occurred without anyone’s knowledge, and just overnight the Hara lost their beloved Jew, Mary.

Ahmed originally wanted to study engineering in college, and like many students, did not score enough points on the placement exam to enter the engineering school. Due to his history in the Jewish Quarter and his genuine interest in Judaism and Hebrew, he chose to study Hebrew at Ain Shems University in 1995, which maintains a 1000-person Hebrew concentration. He argued that the reasons students study Hebrew vary: based on their score on the test, ambitions to work in the government, journalism, tourism or translation, and lastly and leastly, to “prepare for war.” As soon as his studies began it was clear he was an excellent student and had a knack for the language; he was speaking and buying newspapers by the 2nd year, was asked to be a Teaching Assistant by his fourth year, and began his Master’s degree (on Peace Now) in 2001. After he obtained his Masters degree, he was hired by Masr Al-Yom, a daily Egyptian newspaper, to cover Israeli news. He also still works at Ain Shems on occasion, and appears on TV as an expert on Israel and Judaism.

Ahmed, while interested in Judaism, is a skeptic of religion in general and attributes many of the world’s problems to the misinterpretations, misundertandings and misusages of religion by individuals throughout history. Considering my (fairly liberal) research on coexistence and Muslim Arabs (as a Jew) he was surprised to hear that I am an observant Jew. I hope that I succeeded in showing him that the desires for mutual understanding and peace, and the devotion to and observation of religion and traditiions are not mutually exclusive.

Through all of these varied and meaningful experiences I have been able to synthesize all of the lessons into one fundamental issue: the perception of Jews and Israelis as separate entities. This question had enourmous consequences for the Jewish populations in every country I have visited, and it also may help contemporary seekers of peace to pinpoint specific hurdles to achieving peace. It was argued to me countless times in Egypt that before all of the Jews migrated, Egyptians understood that the Jews living on their streerts and buying goods from their market are fundamentally different then those causing political unrest in Palestine. However, as that turmoil escalated into direct conflicts with Egypt, with Egyptian interests, men and dignity at stake, the links between Jew and Israeli began to be formed; the Lavon Affiar confirmed that linkage as sons of Egypt were caught committing treason for Israel. As this linking and the political and colonial tensions inide Egypt increased, Jews began migrating, exacerbating the problem further. If, according to many sources, the differentiation was made because every Egyptian knew a Jew personally, then, as the population of Jews dwindled, less Egyptians could fill the blurred image of a Jew or Israeli with the actual face of a friend. Egyptians began forming their opinions on them based on the media, which, as a government-operated service, projects images of Jews and Israelis, without distinction, as the “other” and “enemy.” Thus, the cycle perpetuated and today the younger, simple and especially uneducated Egyptians are not aware of the differences between the two. If this argument is correct, than a crucial step toward reversing this trend of misunderstanding-turned-hatred is the humanization of Jews and Israelis through personal interaction and engagement among the adversaries; it is crucial for Egyptians to begin putting faces and personalities and human qualities to the people they now conider inhuman and the enemy. I would like to also add that in my experience, this is the case on the Israeli side, and the same remedy would help.

On April 8^th, 2009, the Jews of Cairo gathered for a Passover Seder, just as Jews were doing all across the globe. However, only at this seder was the story being told set in the same place as our seats- a somewhat surreal feeling. I was both nervous and excited for the seder because it was my first Jewish event with the Cairo community and a very important holiday to me.

The seder was held in a back room of the Adley Synagogue, organized by Mrs. Weinstein and her staff. In addition to about 100 Jews of Egyptian and American backgrounds, the American Ambassador to Egypt was in attendance, and the seder was led by a Rabbi from Israel. The seder was conducted mostly in English because most of the Egyptian (and probably American) Jews do not read or understand Hebrew. It proceeded normally, even with the search for the afikoman, but without the singing and merriness/intoxication that I normally associate with Passover seders.

The most interesting thing I noted at the seder was the presense of a few women, with their children, muhagabaat, or wearing the Muslim head covering. I was sitting next to an American woman who has been living in Cairo for four years and is very familiar with the members of the Jewish community; she explained to me that these women, or their mothers, were Jewish, but they converted to Islam for their marraiges. They still attend the seder every year out of honor and respect for their mothers. Another reason, more cynical but perhaps just as true, was provided; apparently, Mrs. Weinstein calls all of the people on her “list” of Jews in Cairo, no matter their current religion, and implores them to attend the seder because if she can maintain high attendance at events, she can continue to petition money for the community from donors and the Joint Distribution Committee.

I spent my seder sitting amongst the lovely remaining Egyptian Jewish women of the community, and I enjoyed their spunk, liveliness and stories. I bonded with one woman because she also strictly observed the laws of Kashrut, and we took turns “stealing” the few items of Kosher-for-Passover food for one another.

All in all, it was a surreal, interesting and moving Passover seder, but I missed many of the traditions of home.

Jewish life in Egypt, while in decline, still exists. Currently, the Adley Synagogue downtown and the Maadi Synagogue are opened alternately for Jewish holidays; while I was in Cairo, a Hannukah service and Passover Seder were held at Adley, and the Purim Megilah reading was held at Maadi. The Ben-Ezra Synagogue, in Coptic Cairo, as well as the Adley Synagogue are open to tourists. The Adley Synagogue houses a library of Jewish books, but it is not open to the public. Maimonides’ synagogue and former house of medicine was destroyed in an earthquake in the 2000s because the maintenance of it had been poor. The Egyptian government is currently in the process of restoring it and a few others. There is no kosher meat available in Egypt, unless brought in from Israel. The Jewish community of Egypt is serviced by a Jewish organization, headed by Carmen Weinstein, and supported by donations from Egyptian Jews living abroad, the Joint Distribution Committee and the Egyptian government.

The current Egyptian Jewish population of Cairo is about 25, only one of whom is a man, and Alexandria’s population is about the same. Most of these people are elder women, but two of their daughters (I am not sure if they are counted amongst the 25 because they have non-Jewish fathers) are now living in Cairo and in their 20s. I heard from one mother that when her daughter was enrolled in the French school, the children found out that her mother is a Jew, and they began to taunt her, “Your mom is a Jew-bitch.” According to her mother, this was a very traumatic time for this little girl. At the Passover seder I met the daughter of an Egyptian Jew and Christian. She is just now beginning to discover her Jewish roots, and she told me that she was planning a trip to Israel. Later, her mother explained to me that after a fight with her father and a few years rejecting Egyptian life and Arabs in general, she is trying to search for her real identity.

The ex-patriot and Israeli Jews in Egypt are also invited to share the holidays with the community, and in turn, give a boost to the vibrancy and attendance of these events. The Israeli population in Cairo is small, and consists of the Embassy and El-Al staff; heavily guarded and overly cautious, this population lives in Maadi (a smaller, wealthier expat town to the south of Cairo) and do not mix with the locals often.

The Israeli Academic Center in Cairo is the result of the Egyptian-Israeli peace treaty that stipulated each side was to set up a cultural center in the other’s country. While Egypt never managed to create one in Israel, the IACC, an outgrowth of the independent, non-political Israeli university system, brings “creators of Israeli culture” to Egypt, in order to share Israeli culture with Egyptians, according to the Center’s director Dr. Gaby Rosenbaum.

I must first apologize for the inactivity on my blog for the last few months; I hope it serves as a sign that I have kept myself very busy. Currently, on the 8^th day of Passover, I am on the beach at a Bedouin camp in Sinai, preparing for my own Exodus from Egypt. There is an interesting similarity to be drawn. Before the Hebrews fled from slavery to the Promised Land, they prepared to leave their home of the previous 400 years by quickly gathering their belongings and preparing bread. I came to Sinai for a few days of isolation to collect all of my thoughts and notes about Cairo, my home for the last 4 months, and draw conclusions and lessons to be learned from for the rest of my voyage.

A reference to the Jews of Egypt usually conjures up images of the Exodus to which I just referred; however, my intention, while in Egypt, was to learn more about the last 60 years of its Judaic history. The years prior to 1948, and even into the 50s, were considered by many a Golden Age in Egypt; Cairo and Alexandria were brimming with British, French, Italian, Greek and Jewish colonialists, and British and French troops. According to some accounts, it was an era of high civilization and culture that was uniquely Egyptian. So often I heard the phrase “the good old days,” in reference to a time “when nobody cared nor could tell the difference between a Jew, Christian or Muslim.” It was also reported that only wealthy and well-connected Egyprians, and few “real” ones, actually lived in the cities at this time. The Jewish community came from varied origins (Egyptians, Ashkenazi, and Sephardic), and lived at various levels of the rigid Egyptian class structure. The Jews who came with the colonialists from the mother country enjoyed colonial-related privelege, while many Jews still (as had their ancestors) lived in Harat al-Yahud, the Jewish quarter in old, Islamic Cairo- a more “popular” area. However, all Jews, no matter their class or wealth, were cared for by the Jewish community and its services (synagoguess, hospitals, old-age homes).

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The capital of Tunisia and its surrounding suburbs of La Goulette, Sidi Bou Said, Carthage and La Marsa comprise the second largest Jewish population in Tunisia, numbering about four to five hundred. Evidently, this number is difficult to verify; many Jews in this region are highly assimilated, intermarriage occurs, and therefore, many are not religious and not practicing, rendering an official number elusive. The community’s facilities consist of three synagogues used for services on Shabbat and the holidays, a Lubavitch Jewish school in Tunis, an Old Age Home and (delicious) kosher restaurant in La Goulette, a large Jewish cemetery and two kosher butchers in Tunis, as well as some restored synagogues for visiting. There is no formal rabbi at each functioning synagogue, but the community provides and supports a chazzan for at least two of the three.

The dominant culture and language amongst the Jews in Greater Tunis is French, as explained to me by many members and the President of the community, and further proven by the presentation of the dvar torah and announcements during Shabbat services at the La Goulette synagogue in French. This is the result of the establishment of L’Alliance (the French Jewish school system) in Tunis during their occupation, and after its closing, the continuance of Jewish attendance in French or Jewish schools that teaches French at a young age. Furthermore, many emigrants to France still have their homes in Tunis, further strengthening the Jewish community’s ties to France and its culture. However, this is not the case for all Jews living in Tunis; many Djerban Jews have moved to Tunis and their families’ first language and culture remains predominantly the brand of Judeo-Arabic that prevails in Djerba, with Judeo-Arabic as the first language.

According to the chazzan of the “big synagogue” in Tunis and principal of the Jewish school, the Jews of Tunis enjoy nice lives in the city; they have solid professional and friendly relations with their Arab neighbors, even though the religious Jews will not invite them to their house. After reading about the anti-Jewish riots in Tunis in 1967, in response to the Six Day War, this account of contemporary life in Tunis is both fortunate and refreshing. However, I was still compelled to inquire about these past events and the apparent change in attitude of the people of Tunis; the chazzan explained to me that those were isolated cases of crazy people, and most Tunisians have no problem with Jewish people. When I raised this sensitive subject to the President of the community, he argued that the accounts found in most histories are exaggerated, and that while there was some demonstrating, no one was hurt. He continued to argue that as long as the Jews treated the Tunisians with respect, only the same treatment was returned.

I met one man from Djerba who has been living in Tunis since 1963. He told me that during these riots he was not scared even though some people tried to burn his car, which he hid in a garage to avoid such a fate. I met this same man in his jewelry shop in the medina in Tunis, and during the course of our interview, countless Tunisians stopped in to say hello. One person in particular caught my attention; he came to the shop because two of his sons were just in a car accident, and unfortunately, one was killed and the other was in jail for his and another driver’s death. He came to this man to help him get his son out of jail; a true sign of trust and friendship. When we walked around afterward, he seemed to know and greet every person in his souq (market) in the medina, testifying to his assimilation and acceptance by all Tunisians, regardless of his Jewish background.

The causes of the migration of the numerous Jews living in Tunis are varied, but most have a similar common denominator: economic factors. Few Jews from Tunis and its suburbs left before or immediately after Israeli independence for Zionistic reasons. The migration began in earnest around Tunisian independence because of the anticipated uncertainty following the change of government and the expulsion of the French. The feared instability was more related to economic skepticism rather than political or security concerns; many Jews left at this time either because they were of French origin living and working in Tunis (often for a long time), they found job opportunities in France, or they feared the collapse of the Tunisian economy upon the exit of the French. Those who remained in Tunis experienced the manifestation of these economic fears when in 1958 all businesses were nationalized and many Jewish families lost their livelihoods. This, combined with the French offer of citizenship to Tunisian Jews, expedited the migration of much of the Jewish community of Greater Tunis. According to some accounts, the Jews that remained were discriminated against because of their religion when looking for other jobs after the nationalization, giving them motivation to leave as well.

As in many other cities I have visited, all of the wars between Israel and Arab countries led to spikes in migratory trends; in Tunis, 1967 was the greatest example, particularly because of the rioting that occurred. The people I spoke to in Tunis conveyed a lack of threat, fear or danger caused by these riots, but one must consider that this is from the point of view of those who remained and not those that felt compelled to migrate. One last reason for the migration, which I only heard from the owner of the only kosher restaurant in the area, was very interesting. He spoke to me about Tunisia under Ottoman rule; the Jewish community, while free to practice their religion and afforded relatively equal economic opportunities, were also given the status of dhimmi, or protected people, under Islam. All dhimmis in the Ottoman Empire were granted freedom of religion, but paid an extra tax. This man explained to me that Jews were considered, and considered themselves, a second or subordinate class, due to this distinction as dhimmi. He argued that many Tunisian Jews took advantage of the French citizenship-offer as a form of revenge for their former status as a lower class, as being French was always considered a higher social standing.

The Old Age Home in La Goulette is home to 31 elderly Tunisian Jews and is in the building of a former Jewish school. Twenty people work in the home and tend to the daily needs of the elderly, and the services are paid for and the building maintained by both the Jewish Community of Tunisia and the Joint American Distribution Committee. Only three of the residents pay for their stay and it is mostly symbolic. According to the director of the home, living there is a much better option for the elderly of Tunis not only because their health is closely monitored by the staff, but also because it provides them with entertainment and companionship that is much more difficult for the immobile elderly.

There is one Jewish school remaining in the Greater Tunis region. Currently, 55 students are enrolled and the 4 classes are divided by age, excluding a kindergarten. After kindergarten, the students are taught French, Hebrew, math, history and computers (once a week). At age 10 they begin to study Arabic and at age 12 English. The boys are separated from the girls to take classes in preparation for their bnai mitzvoth (Jewish right of passage ceremony.) All students graduate from high school and receive a Baccalaureate at around age 18, after which, most move to France, either for work or to continue their studies, depending on their families’ financial situation. According to the principal of the school, the students live in a modern city and witness modern phenomena (as opposed to Djerba) such as pre-marital dating. As their curiosity of this lifestyle increases, so does their desire to experience it in France, where there is a more liberal and numerous Jewish community. The families of the students pay a small fee for their children to attend the school, and the rest of its funding comes from private donors, Lubavitch (as it is a Lubavitch-affiliated school), and the Joint Committee (whose money goes to the physical maintenance of the school).

Zarzis is a small town, not even mentioned in my trusty Lonely Planet, 50 kilometers south of Djerba on mainland Tunisia. It is currently home to the third largest Jewish community in Tunisia, after Djerba and Tunis, and is comprised of 20 families, or about 100 to 110 people.

I had the pleasure of being escorted around Zarzis and through its Jewish section by the President of the community. I am greatly indebted to him because with his guidance and company I was able to meet some Jews from Zarzis and understand their history and lives today.

The Jewish section of Zarzis is actually a single street located behind the central souk or market, where most of the Jews also work in jewelry. There are two entrances to this street, both of which are barricaded and heavily guarded by at least 4 policemen 24 hours a day. Located on this street is everything the community needs for their Jewish existence: a synagogue, a boy’s and girl’s school, a kindergarten, a recently built “wedding hall” (actually just a large room with no roof), and a room for the shochet, who comes from Djerba weekly to slaughter animals and provide kosher meat. A reflection of the small size of the community, each family is given a locked box in the synagogue to store their sidurim, tallit, tfillin etc. In 1948, the Jewish street was filled with about 300 Jews, but now Muslims also live among them because of their diminished numbers.

The migration of Jews from Zarzis began in 1958 and the migrants were largely Zionists who wished to populate Israel. At that time, both Djerba and Zarzis had not experienced violence or abhorrent anti-Semitism first hand, so, according to the President, those who decided to migrate then were not motivated by fear, but rather a desire to live in the Holy Land. Some, but not many, Jews migrated in 1967 after reports of violence in Tunis. However, in 1982 the Jews in Zarzis received their first taste of anti-Semitism when Jewish cars and shops were set ablaze and destroyed in reaction to the Sabra and Shatila massacres in Lebanon. During this outbreak of violence, the President’s family temporarily moved to Tunis until order was restored. Afterwards, the migration picked up in earnest. Now aware of the possible influence of outside political events on their lives, the President’s family again temporarily relocated to Marseilles during the Gulf War. While they expected the worst due to the violent reactions in 1982, their fear turned out to be unwarranted because, fortunately, no violence occurred. According to the school teacher, the migration is currently at a halt, except for those few who leave for special circumstances, ie. medical treatment.

The relations between Muslims and Jews were described as amicable, and seemed so from my perspective. The President seemed to know everyone in Zarzis, Jew and Muslim, and he explained that he was “friendly with the Muslims, but not friends.” He attributed the respectful and problem-free nature of their relations to the strong government and police protection of the Jewish community in Zarzis. Because the Tunisian President Ben Ali “loves and protects the Jews,” 15 uniformed and plain-clothed policemen monitor the Jewish “hara” or section at all times, including the policemen guarding the entrances. I experienced this firsthand as the police called the President about every 30 minutes throughout the day to check up on my activitiew and location. He told me that they were on extra alert and were extra protective not only because I was another Jew in Zarzis, but also because I am an American, whom they rarely see in this town.

During my day in Zarzis I spoke to the kindergarten teacher and the teacher at the boy’s school and learned about their system of education. The kindergarten currently has 10 children ages 2 to 5 who learn Hebrew basics along with other typical kindergarten activities. The teacher is a sweet, young, 25-year-old woman who recently took the position after the former teacher married. She finished high school in Zarzis, but did not receive any special training to teach at the kindergarten. After kindergarten the boys attend the boy’s school and have classes on the Torah and Gmorah from 8:30 to 12:30, and then Hebrew classes in the evening. The morning teacher lives in Djerba and commutes every day to teach one class of 15 boys ranging in age from 6 and 17. He offers lessons at 1:30 for the older Jewish men of the town. The girl’s school is similar but they learn Jewish history, Hebrew and the holidays only during the morning. Both boys’ and girls’ educations are supplemented by attendance at the public school during the hours they are not at the Jewish school. There they learn Arabic, French, history, math etc. Most Jews from Zarzis complete high school, but higher education is rare.

Their marriage customs reflect their proximity and close relations with their Jewish neighbors to the north in Djerba. Women usually get married from the age of 18 to 22, a bit later than Djerba because the majority finishes high school in Zarzis. However, the custom of the man’s parents asking the girl’s parents for her hand is the same, and marriage between the two communities is common, given their small size. Men in Zarzis also marry at an older age than women, as soon as they can support a family financially. The kindergarten teacher explained to me that she is not yet married because the only eligible men in Zarzis are her brothers, demonstrating the difficulties of living in a town with such a small Jewish population.

While the similarities between Zarzis and Djerba are apparent, I felt one major difference; the Jews of Zarzis seemed to be much less wary, less resistant and more open to an outsider in their midst. Indeed, I was welcomed warmly, felt at home and really enjoyed the kind people I met in Zarzis, a stark contrast to the general behavior I observed in Djerba. I speculate that this may be due to the small size of the Zarzis Jewish community.  They have evidently assimilated into the town in which they live due to their small numbers, so they are more accustomed to dealing with “others.”

Sousse is a highly developed seaside city that is one of Tunisia’s largest tourist destinations. In 1956, it was home to 6,000 Jews and three synagogues, while today only around 30 Jews still live in the city, serviced by one remaining, functional synagogue. This number fluctuates because many of the residents live part-time in Sousse and part-time in France. The community is sustained by the aforementioned 150 year-old synagogue, usually receiving a minyan for Saturday morning services, but not Friday night (only two people participated in the Friday services), and a shochet that comes to Sousse once a month from Djerba to provide kosher chicken and meat. I was lucky during my visit to Sousse; a Sousse-born resident of France had returned for the week and was sponsoring a kiddish on Saturday afternoon, after the prayer service. About 25 people were in attendance, so I was able to become familiar with the community and collect some information.

Although I was able to speak to a number of people, many of the reports were mixed. When I asked if there was a Jewish school in the past, some answered that there was but it has been closed for some time, and others denied its existence. Furthermore, when I inquired about the Jewish migration from Sousse, one man told me that most of the Jews from Sousse migrated to Israel, even though all of the Jews from Sousse visiting at that time lived in France. The woman that takes care of the synagogue told me that Jews began leaving in the late 1950s because of wars and a fear of danger, even though there were never incidences of violence in Sousse. On the other hand, a couple that had migrated to France in 1989 claimed that many Jews moved after 1967 because of anxiety over the violence elsewhere in Tunisia. One last person told me that many Jews were scared in 1967, but not enough to leave Sousse; he argued that they were only compelled to leave after 1969, when the government socialized businesses and Jews were losing a lot of money under the new system. According to these conflicting reports, it is difficult to draw any solid conclusions on the migration from Sousse, except for the safe assumption that a wide array of reasons and circumstances led each family to react and decide their own fate personally.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of my trip to Sousse was the presence of a non-Jew at synagogue on Saturday afternoon. This particular person described himself to me as an agnostic, but he was born Muslim in Sousse. He seemed to be very friendly with many of the Jews at the kiddish and there seemed to be only a little opposition to his attendance. Only one man disapproved enough to express it to me when he told me that he believes “some of the Jews in Sousse are too close to Muslims.” This man does not live in Sousse anymore (he returned for a visit from France at the time), and his sentiments seemed to reflect a minority opinion amongst the current full-time residents of Sousse. According to conversations with them and my own observations, this community is extremely assimilated into Sousse’s society, demonstrated by the following: their knowledge of only Arabic and French (not Hebrew), my encounter with at least one Jewish man that speaks Classical Arabic, the social and non-religious behavior during the Saturday prayer service, the amount and closeness of real friendships with Muslims, and the fact that most of them do not keep Shabbat.

Djerba: The Basics

As I entered Hara Kebira, the Jewish village on the island of Djerba, I waved “hello” to the policemen guarding the entrance and made my way to the center of the town. On this, my first visit to “Hara,” I felt as if I had stepped into a time machine; this is the story of the remaining Jewish communities in the south of Tunisia.

Djerba itself is a small island off the southern coast of Tunisia, notorious as the “Land of the Lotus-Eaters” in Homer’s epic The Odyssey. As the story goes, after stopping his ship on the island, Ulysses encountered much difficulty in returning them to the ship to continue their journey. For a little while in Djerba, I understood how they feel; long, flat plains dotted with palm trees comprise the interior of the island, beautiful beaches line the coast of the Mediterranean, and the capital Houmt Souk is quaint yet bustling with tourists- it is easy to lose track of time and fall in love with the relaxed atmosphere of Djerba.

The Djerban Jewish Migration

This is not a topic on which many Djerban Jews will divulge, but after building a relationship with one relatively open and liberal member of the community, I was able to ascertain some information. The population of Jews on Djerba in 1948 was anywhere from five to seven thousand. Their migration began in 1948, with Israeli independence, as many Djerbans were Zionists and wanted to “return home” for the coming of the Messiah. The migration picked up again after Tunisian independence and the Suez Crisis in 1956 out of a combination of fear of governmental instability and anti-Semitism. In 1967, the migration increased less because of the fear of violence on Djerba, and more because the strong Zionists that remained on Djerba saw Israel’s victory in the Six Day War as confirmation of the coming of the Messiah. Most of the aforementioned migration was directed toward Israel, but during this time, many Jews also migrated to France, usually for economic and financial reasons or to join their children who moved to pursue higher education. According to this source, small incidences of violence against Jews in the form of rock-throwing have persisted, but no major violence occurred. Currently, the migration has slowed with anywhere from 1 to 5 families per year leaving Djerba.

Hara Seghira

The Jewish population on Djerba lives in two towns: the aforementioned Hara Kebira (“big town” in Arabic) and Hara Seghira (“small town”), home to the famous La Ghriba Synagogue. According to the information on the interior, the original synagogue was built in 586 BC, when, according to one of the many legends associated with this synagogue, a holy stone fell from heaven and a mysterious woman appeared to direct its construction. Maintaining the continued existence of a synagogue on this spot, the currently temple was built in the early 20^th century. During Lag B’omer Jews from around the world make the pilgrimage to La Ghriba to venerate Rabbi Shimon Bar Yishai, a Talmdic scholar who lived over 400 years ago. In recent years from three to five thousand Jews attended, and during the celebration the synagogue’s Torahs, some over 200 years old, are paraded through the streets of the town.

Hara Seghira is presently home to about 50 Jews, and two other functioning synagogues. These should more appropriately be called “prayer rooms” as the one I visited was a small, austere, cave-like room painted blue, with benches lining the perimeter. They are equipped with some sidurim, but the community uses La Ghriba for Torah reading. I heard mixed reports about the schools in Hara Seghira, allegedly there is a yeshiva there, but other reports indicate otherwise, and I never found it. As in much of the rest of the country, women were not in attendance for Shabbat services, and there is not even a designated place for women in the “prayer rooms;” I sat amongst the men, but closest to the door, during Friday evening services. The town does not have its own shochet (kosher slaughterer) or kosher restaurants, so its Jewish residents travel the 7 kilometers to Hara Kebira for kosher food.

Hara Kebira

Hara Kebira is truly the “Jewish neighborhood” of Djerba, as one local resident phrased it. I first arrived on a Thursday morning, right after Shacharit, or the morning prayer, and saw men wearing kippot, holding their tallit and sidur, and rushing off to work. I was in utter shock; this was the first time I saw Jews sporting their kippot in a public place since my trip began, and it wasn’t just a handful of people. It seemed that every man in the street was in the middle of their daily morning routine of prayer then work. Simultaneously, I saw traditionally clad women (long skirts, long-sleeve shirts, head coverings tied in a Jewish, rather than Muslim, style) scurrying around, dropping their young children off at school. I walked down the street and saw a storefront whose small awning said “Brik Itshak,” the name of a Jewish forefather, and a “Kosher” sign in Hebrew on another awning. Furthermore, most of the houses surrounding me were painted white and blue, and many of them had menorot, or Jewish candlestick, painted next to the door. While Hara Kebira is most certainly a Jewish enclave, some non-Jews live in the town, but they are in the minority.

Once the shock settled in, curiosity took over and I began finding people to chat with on the street; at this point I realized that essentially the old-world atmosphere, later confirmed by descriptions of the way of life, caused my initial surprise. One discovery after another revealed to me a Jewish society that has preserved its way of life for centuries, resisting foreign influences and change. Naturally, I was fascinated.

Education

While Tunisia provides public schools for its children and has laws regarding attendance, they are laxly followed and rarely applied. The Jewish community of Djerba provides a Jewish education system to educate its youngsters in a time-honored fashion. The town boasts one or two yeshivot (religious schools; and again, conflicting reports), two kindergartens each with 75 children enrolled, and one boy’s and one girl’s school. All of these schools teach primarily in Hebrew; the children learn the Hebrew alphabet in the kindergarten until age 6, then boys enroll in the yeshiva and the boy’s school, and the girls attend the girl’s school. The girl and boy’s schools teach Hebrew, grammar, Jewish history and the Tanach, while the yeshiva focuses on the Talmud and the Gmorah. However, the girl’s school only meets for a few hours in the morning before lunch, and holds optional classes in the evening, after the boys finish their lessons in the afternoon. Around 70 or 80% of students attend the government’s school when they are not at the Jewish school and learn history, math, Arabic, and later French etc. The decision to attend the public school is made by the parents; the usual reason for a parent to refrain from sending their children to the public school is the fear of Muslim-Jewish interaction. The teachers in the kindergartens and schools are not required to be qualified in any manner, and in the kindergartens, are usually young girls who have only just completed the Jewish education system themselves.

All of the Jewish schools only provide education until Kitah Tet, which translates to 9^th grade or about 15 years of age, after which the (male) student chooses to either go to the government school full time or work, and the (female) student can choose to continue her education in public school or remain in the house. Most Jewish teenage boys begin working after their studies with literacy in Hebrew and maybe Arabic, even though Arabic is their first spoken language and they may speak some French. Most Jewish teenage girls choose to return to the home and remain there until they are married (more on that later). A few girls, more than boys, decide to attend the public school full time after the Jewish school; in classes of about 40, the 12^th grade had 2 Jewish girls in it and the 10^th grade had 4. Quite evidently, the number of Jewish students who not only achieve their Baccalaureate (US equivalent to graduating from high school), but also who attend university, are very few and far between.

I met one girl who is the exception; just from speaking to her for an hour, in the English she had learned in only a few years at the “Muslim” school (as they call it), I could tell she is bright. She spoke to me about her studies- at age 15 she began learning French and Arabic, and a year later English lessons began and she chose her major of Commerce. She expressed to me how much she enjoyed school, how good her marks were, her desire to continue her education and her desire to marry out of love. However, she has a problem; she does not know if or where she will be able to attend university. Her Hebrew is not up-to-par so she does not want to go to Israel, she has family in France so could go there but does not like the French way of life, America is out of the question because she has no family there, and she does not want to go to a university in Tunisia as the only Jew.

This brave girl is defying the norms of her Djerban Jewish society, and as a result, is facing many inherent difficulties. However, this is not the first such story I heard. I met one woman named Dolly who is the former school teacher at the Jewish girl’s school. She believes strongly in the importance of education, and considers the teachers’ lack of qualifications and the young age of students leaving school particularly dangerous and inauspicious. Additionally, she has a generally cynical view of the town’s adherence to traditional gender roles; she told me that she thinks that the girls leave school too early, get married too young and that she does not believe in covering her head, like the other married women in town. Therefore, she ensured that all three of her children (two daughters and one son) went to university in France, and as a result, her daughters are successful and married (of their own choosing) in Israel. She explained to me that when she first sent them to university, the women in the town expressed their concern and disapproval in her attitude and decisions. She dealt with this problem similarly to how she dealt with the problem of covering her head; she “yes’d” them so they would leave her alone while continuing to insist on her children’s education, just as she wears a head scarf in public and removes it when she enters her house.

Marriage and Women’s Issues

Perhaps the aspect of Djerban Jewish society that most reflects traditionally archaic Jewish lifestyle is the life of the average Djerban Jewish woman. As previously explained, girls do attend a Jewish school in Hara Kebira, but for less hours a day then their male counterparts. Furthermore, their curriculum only prepares them for a life of religious and national devotion, even though women in Djerba only attend synagogue once a year for Yom Kippur, and most of the synagogues do not have a place for women to sit. While a handful of young girls work as teachers in the kindergartens after they finish school at age 15, most return to their house where they help their mothers until they are married.

While marriages are not arranged, per se, in Djerba, they certainly do not reflect usual American or Western trends leading up to marriage. When a man, usually from age 23 to 35, depending on when he finally becomes financially capable of supporting a family, decides who he wants to marry, his parents visit the parents of the potential bride. The groom’s parents discuss the groom’s intention and if the families get along and the bride’s parents are happy with the suitor, the girl is then consulted for approval. I say girl because the average age for a bride in Djerba is 16 to 22, and she usually does not turn down the offer. I should probably mention here that not only has the girl never truly met her groom before, but he will be the first man, outside of family members, with whom she has ever conversed or associated. The strict separation of girls and boys from school is carried into the social sphere as they do not engage with one another in any capacity, until marriage. I asked a group of young girls if they know any of the boys their age in Hara Kebira, and they replied that they know everyone’s name and “story,” but have never spoken to any of them and certainly do not have any male friends.

Once the marriage is decided upon and the arrangements made, the wedding itself takes place over the course of one to two weeks. It is customary to paint blue menorot and fish (sign of good luck for protection) on the sides of the houses of the bride and groom. The wedding almost always occurs during the summer because while there is a “wedding hall” in Hara Kebira, it is not that nice and they prefer to have the ceremonies and events outside. There are smaller events and occasions during the course of these two weeks, with the most notable being the “henna.” An extremely traditional custom is North Africa, not only for Jews but also for Muslims, the families and friends gather for the ritual painting of the hands to celebrate the upcoming nuptial. The wedding takes place during the week and the following day the families go to La Ghriba, dressed in traditional Tunisian garb- brightly colored dresses, accessories, headdresses adorned with gold sequence and beads- to take photographs.

After the wedding period is over, the couple usually begins a family, and the wife stays home to take care of the house and children, while the husband works. When I went one night for dinner at a kosher eatery, I noticed that I did not see any women eating or socializing. Furthermore, even though the women are capable of reading the prayers, they do not attend synagogue on Shabbat, but rather only on Yom Kippur. On my first day in Hara Kebira I was speaking to one man that explained this to me, to which I responded that I was surprised because in Morocco women are always in attendance for Shabbat services and there certainly is a women’s section in each synagogue. He told me that in Morocco they are not as religious as in Djerba. I was and remain confused by his statement; how and why is attending synagogue and praying directly to G-d considered less religious than only preparing for the meals surrounding the prayer? I postulate that in their society “religiosity” is either synonymous or closely identifiable with “tradition” and any deviance from their ancestor’s way of life is automatically considered “not as religious” and therefore, unacceptable. These are just examples of the restrictive lifestyle for Djerban Jewish women, which, interestingly enough, is more extreme than the roles and way of life of their Tunisian Muslim counterparts.

In my conversations with Jewish women in Hara Kebira, I tried my best not to pass judgment on their way of life, but I could not help but notice that at least some of the women that I met seemed unhappy or unsatisfied with the status quo. Perhaps it was because I happened to meet the women that are more visible, and therefore less traditional, but at least some of the young girls expressed their remorse at the lack of opportunities and option available to them. However, these girls and women like Dolly are in the minority; most of the women in Hara Kebira are weary of outsiders (as I felt from experience- not only by the strange and suspicious looks I received from women, but also by being pelted with stones by some mischievous young kids that did not know what this outsider was doing in their town) probably because they resist change and want to maintain the only way of life they have ever known. Another indicator of these attributes of Djerban society is the lack of migration from Djerba; many young people express interest in moving away, but usually do not because of their respect for their parents and tradition, and the difficulty in breaking from conformity in such a close-knit, closed society.

Muslim-Jewish Relations

As in other places I have studied, it is difficult to generalize the characteristics of Muslim-Jewish relations in a particular place. I met people who were not only tolerant of Muslims, but even had Muslim friends, as well as others who did not particularly care to interact with them. It is safe to say that Jews in Djerba maintain normal functioning relationships with Muslims particularly where work is concerned. Relationships beyond practical ones really depend on the person, but I must admit that I met more Djerban Jews that have close friendships with Muslims than not.

When having Shabbat lunch with one family, I asked about the incidences of violence that took place on Djerba in 1985 and 2002 and I was advised “not to talk about politics in Djerba.” Despite this warning I learned that the people of Djerba never felt particularly threatened by these events. As it was explained, they were certainly afraid after each incident, but not enough to leave (even though some people did) because they considered them isolated events carried out by one person who hates Jews, and who is not indicative of general Djerban sentiments toward their Jewish population.

Furthermore, Ben Ali, the long-term President of Tunisia, has a close relationship with the Jewish population and protects them. The entrances to Hara Kebira are guarded 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, by at least 2 policemen each, who do not allow anyone to enter that they do not recognize as residents of Hara Kebira. In Hara Seghira, policemen are stationed around the small town and La Ghriba has as much security as the Tunisian International Airport.

One last interesting point should be made to indicate the level of comfort in being Jewish in Djerba. One night I went to the internet café in Houmt Souk (the capital), and because I am nosy, I noticed that two boys sharing a computer were typing in Hebrew and talking to Israelis through MSN. However, they were not wearing the kippot they normally wear in the confines of Hara Kebira. This indicates to me that they feel safe living their Jewish life in their village, but when they venture outside they must assimilate. Perhaps this provides some insight into why the Djerban Jews are weary of outsiders that penetrate the metaphorical walls of their village.

Shabbat

I have briefly mentioned Djerban Shabbat customs, but I wanted to elaborate on what I consider one of the most obvious indicators of the traditional, old-world nature of this island. After morning services are over the Djerban Jews hit the streets dressed in their “Saturday’s best.” Groups of Jews of all ages and both sexes flood the streets of Hara Kebira every Shabbat and either walk around the small village, stopping to say hello to same-sexed other groups (male and female groups do not interact on the street), or sit on door steps, porch stoops, or anywhere there is a seat to socialize. It seems that truly everyone in the town is outside for the few hours between services and lunch (about 11 or 12 to 2 or 3 pm), socializing, gossiping or catching up. As the entire community is shomer Shabbat, this comprises their entertainment for the Sabbath day, and this tradition has existed for centuries. As I walked around with a group of 16 year old girls, they informed me that everyone we were passing would be asking questions amongst themselves about who the “new girl” (me) is. I told them I would love for them to come to me and ask, but they said that would not happen, that they would only do it secretly, but by the end of the day, everyone would know who I am. C’est la vie in a small town.

Food

Hara Kebria is also home to the region’s supply of kosher food as almost all Tunisian Jews keep kosher. There are over 5 shochtim that work in the town, slaughtering chickens two times a week. Some of these shochtim are sent to various other Tunisian cities to perform the same duties. There are about half a dozen small kosher eateries in Hara Kebira, which serve everything from brik (fried crepe with tuna and egg filing), to grilled meat in pitas and other Tunisian specialties. One night I visited a few of these for dinner and they were frequented by both Jewish and Arab men (no women). Interestingly, one of the owners of these eateries told me that the place is kosher, but they do not have and are not required to have certification signifying it is kosher; the people in Hara trust them. There is also one store in Hara that sells kosher products from Israel.

Before I start, I want to thank everyone for checking up on me through my website.  My mom was home recently and told me that EVERYONE is still reading it and thinks it is great and that makes me incredibly happy.  I encourage everyone to comment or post as they please, and not to be embarassed!  I read and appreciate every single comment I get, and it helps me feel connected to home.  So; again, thanks for your support!

Before I embark on the second leg of my Watson journey, I wanted to reflect on the previous research I have done on Tunisia and what I hope to accomplish during one month there.

The Jewish presence in Tunisia dates back 2,300 years when, according to the Talmud, 30,000 Jews were transferred there from the Land of Israel by the Roman Emperor Titus. Their long history in Tunisia has had its ups and downs, and by World War II the Jewish population in Tunisia numbered between 90,000 and 100,000. In November of 1942 Tunisia became the first (and only) Arab country to come under direct Nazi control, during which anti-Semitic practices were instituted; Jews were forced to wear Star of David badges, property was confiscated, a fine was levied on the community, and more than 5,000 Jews were sent to a forced-labor camp. Fortunately, the Germans were forced to leave Tunisia in March 1943.  After the Nazi departure, the rights of Jews were restored and the community flourished again; in 1948 the community grew to 105,000 Jews, the most numerous in its long history.

The Jews in Tunisia assumed that normalcy would return to their lives after the German occupation, but those hopes were short-lived as the Tunisians achieved independence in 1956. In 1958, in an attempt to treat all citizens equally, the various Tunisian Jewish organizations were consolidated into the Jewish Religious Council, which was regulated by President Bourghuiba. As part of urban renewal projects, the ancient Jewish quarter of Tunis was demolished, along with an ancient synagogue. Accounts of violence against Jews began to increase, especially after conflicts involving Israel, and as a result, by the end of 1967, only around 20,000 Jews remained in Tunisia. On June 5, 1967, the day that Israel attacked its Arab neighbors and began the Six Day War, mob violence broke out, and Jewish shops, cars and synagogues were looted, burned, desecrated and destroyed. Although President Bourghuiba appeared on TV and the radio to reassure the Jews and beg for a halt to the violence, his efforts were in vein as 7,000 Jews immigrated to France afterward.

Other examples of violence punctuated the Tunisian Jewish community’s contemporary history. In 1985, a Tunisian guard opened fire on worshippers in a synagogue in Djerba and five people (four Jewish) were killed. On April 11, 2002 the 2,000 year-old El Ghriba Synagogue was targeted by an Al Qaeda truck bomb, which managed to detonate close to the synagogue and kill 21 people, 16 of whom were German and French (non-Jewish) tourists. As a result of these relatively isolated attacks, the Tunisian government guards the community closely, and increases protection after topical events in the Middle East, such as the Israeli bombing of the PLO headquarters in Tunis in 1985 and the Temple Mount “incident” in 1990. The population, which had begun the post-war era at a peak of 105,000, diminished over the next few decades; the total number of Tunisian Jews making aliya to Israel reached 45,000 and those fleeing to France about 60,000. By 1990, only about 1,500 Jews remain in the country today, most of whom reside in Tunis and Djerba.

While in Morocco I learned a few other things about Tunisia. Namely, that it is considered one of the most liberal and progressive Muslim Arab country in the Middle East. The examples provided were the following: many Tunisians do not fast on Ramadan and it is not enforced by the government (as it is de facto in Morocco), most women do not wear head coverings and it is very developed, with a strong tourist industry.

All of this information was compiled from outside research and secondary sources. I hope to use this as a basis for conversations with Jews still living in Tunisia, in order to ascertain their affirmation or rejection of these recognized facts. I particularly wish to discover the personal stories of this population, with regards to life during the German occupation and the struggle for independence, the incidences of violence, the migration of the remainder of the population and the characteristics of contemporary Jewish life in this Arab-Muslim state with a seemingly less-than-amicable record of relations with their Jewish community.

Sources:

• Wikipedia
• “The Jews of Tunisia” by Mitchell Bard
• “The History of the Jews of Tunisia” by Alexander Rosenzweig
• Refer to the bibliography of my original paper for more sources

Rabat was my final research-related destination in Morocco. As the current capital of Morocco, it acts as the political center and home to government and ministerial offices, embassies, the mausoleum for kings who have passed away, and the King’s official palace. Historically, Rabat had a thriving Jewish community, residing in the mellah and serviced by a number of synagogues. Today between 150 and 200 Jews still live in Rabat, the 3^rd most populous Jewish city in Morocco, after Casablanca and Marrakesh. Two synagogues are open in Rabat (an operational one in the new city and the ancient one in the mellah open for visitors.)  The community also supports a Rabbi, a shochet, and a kosher restaurant.

I arrived in Rabat on the Friday after Yom Kippur and spent five days at the house of a very nice, Jewish couple (below); I enjoyed Shabbat and the first two nights of Sukkot with them and the community in Rabat. Perhaps because the family is more traditional and less strictly observant of Judaism, I noticed that there were some relatively secular and well-assimilated families living in Rabat. However, I also met, interviewed and dined with some of the more religious components of the community, so I believe I have a well-rounded idea of the history of Rabat and its contemporary realities.

The migration of Rabat’s Jewish population displays similar trends as other cities: the migrations occurred in waves marked by Arab-Israeli conflicts; poorer people emigrated to Israel around 1948 in search of a better economic life; later migrations were triggered by anticipation and eventual realization of bad economic conditions after Moroccan independence; as well as fear.

However, for the first time in three months, the “fear factor” was supported by 2 events that warranted enough fear amongst some Jews to cause their flight. Because these examples were particularly significant in the literature on the migration of Jewish communities from Morocco, I was expecting to hear about them more frequently. These events include a Jewish massacre in Oujda in 1948 (a city close to the eastern border with Algeria) and the visit of Gamal Abdel Nasser (the former Egyptian president and “father” of the Arab Nationalism movement) to Morocco. The former is one of only two official accounts of organized violence against Jews in Morocco’s recent history (the other in nearby Djereda during the same year), but would understandably instill fear in a population that was increasingly on edge after the creation of Israel. The latter event would have been frightening for the Jews of Morocco because at the time, Nasser was the symbol of Arab unification and cooperation, particularly against the Arab world’s “common enemy” of Israel. Moroccans came out in hordes to support this hero and the cause of Arab solidarity, causing Jews to question their status in Morocco as anti-Israel sentiment soared.

The two men that mentioned these events described an increase of fear in the Jews of Rabat, as it became more dangerous to leave the house wearing a kippah. However, they fervently denied that the Jews in Rabat experienced any sort of violence, persecution or harassment, and argued that they still maintained cordial relations with their Muslim neighbors.

What I find most interesting about these events is not so much their effect on and role in the migration, which would vary from person to person and family to family, but rather its lack of prevalence in the current Jewish Moroccan discourse. I can think of a few reasons to support this strange phenomenon, but they are purely speculatory. The Jewish population with whom I speak are those that remained in Morocco, and therefore, the segment of the population that would have been relatively unfettered by news of violence against Jews at that time. These events may have even seemed insignificant and/or far-removed from them, and for that reason, these occurences are not in the forefront of the historical memory/narrative of the remaining Jewish population, whlle they may be more prominent in the departed one. A possible reason for the insignificance assigned to the massacres is proximity; Oujda and Djereda are located hundreds of miles from most Moroccan cities, and is commonly associated with or considered closer to Algeria in many aspects of life.

I believe that the current Jewish Moroccan population does not associate Nasser’s visit to Morocco with the reasons for the Jewish migration because of the (Jewish and Muslim) Moroccan distinction between Jews and Israelis. In other posts I have mentioned historical fortitude of this differentiation in Morocco; the Jews may not have been frightened by Nasser’s visit because they were confident not only in their position in Moroccan society, but also in the Moroccan Muslim conviction/mentality that separates their Jews from others, ie. Israelis.

The last question begs to be asked: why did I finally encounter these events as causes for the migration, in Rabat? Unfortunately, I do not have an answer, but rather a postulation. The man who cited these reasons is originally from a small village in the mountains not far from Oujda, and perhaps it is a more salient event in his mind because at one time, it touched particularly close to home. Furthermore, he is very well-educated, has been a teacher in Morocco since 1960, and lives in the city that Nasser visited, all of which may attribute to his knowledge of these events. Therefore, I conclude that this man was the exception, rather than the rule, and it was by chance that I heard about the massacre here (I may have heard of it from others originally from nearby villages, currently living in other countries). However, it is peculiar that I only heard about Nasser’s visit one time here, as Rabat was the city that experienced it firsthand.