Ceci’s Watson Journey

Rabat was my last research-related destination in Morocco. As the current capital of Morocco, it acts as its political center, housing all government and ministerial offices, embassies, the mausoleum for kings who have passed away and even the King’s official palace. Historically, Rabat had a thriving Jewish community, which used to reside in the mellah and was serviced by a number of synagogues. Today between 150 and 200 Jews still live in Rabat, making it the 3^rd most populous Jewish city in Morocco, behind Casablanca and Marrakesh. The community is serviced by two synagogues, one used for prayer in the new city and the ancient one in the mellah open for visitors, 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), enjoying Shabbat and the first two nights of Sukkot with them and the community in Rabat. Perhaps because the family is more traditionally than strictly religiously 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.

Stories of the Jewish population of Rabat’s migration displayed similar trends as other cities: the migrations occurred in waves marked by Arab-Israeli conflicts, poorer people left for Israel around 1948 for a better economic life, later migrations were triggered by anticipation of (after Moroccan independence) and eventually the realization of bad economic conditions, as well as fear. However, for the first time in three months, the “fear factor” was actually supported by 2 concrete examples that would warrant enough fear amongst Jews to cause their flight. These two events were particularly significant in the literature on the migration of Jewish communities from Morocco, and before I left I was expecting to hear about them a lot 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, which caused Jews to question their status as Moroccans because the support for Nasser portrayed Moroccans identifying increasingly as anti-Israeli Arabs, instead of Moroccans. The two men that mentioned these events described the increasing fear of the Jews in Rabat, as it became more dangerous to even leave the house with a kippah on, and at least part of the reason that people began to emigrate. However, they fervently denied that the Jews in Rabat experienced any sort of violence, persecution or harassment, and 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 on its own population’s exit. I can think of a few reasons to support this strange phenomenon, but it is purely speculation and not proven through firsthand accounts. The Jewish population with which I speak are those that remained in Morocco, and therefore, one would assume, the segment of the population that was relatively unfettered by news of violence against Jews at that time. This event may have seemed insignificant to them at the time, and for that reason does not even exist as part of their historical memory/narrative of the departed Jewish population. One 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 Moroccan (Jewish and Muslim) distinction between Jews and Israelis. I have mentioned in other posts the historical fortitude of this differentiation in Morocco; the Jews may not have been frightened of 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.

The last question begs to be asked: so why did I finally encounter these reasons in Rabat? Unfortunately, I do not have an answer, but rather a postulation. The man who originally mentioned it to me 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 on 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 cities now). However, it is peculiar that I only heard about Nasser’s visit one time here, as Rabat was the city that experienced it firsthand.

Both times I visited Marrakesh, I had the same, inauspicious first impression; the beautiful aesthetics of the city were overshadowed by the aggressiveness and rudeness of its inhabitants. I do not even believe that my preconceived notions on Marrakesh, ascertained from other travelers and Moroccans alike who had visited, influenced these impressions. Marrakesh is Morocco’s top vacation/holiday destination, particularly from Europe, and attracts millions of tourists a year who seem to love the antiquity, hustle and bustle of the medina and the modern and Western aspects (read: nightclubs) of the Ville Nouvelle. The Moroccans, on the other hand, resent that this sharp increase in tourism has also caused a drastic rise in the cost of everything in Marrakesh, but acknowledge that it is a fun place to go for a few good nights out.

While I did not have the chance to sample the nightlife for myself, I was able to conduct my research. I obtained much of the information from the president of the Marrakesh Jewish Community, who also organized for me to live on the second floor of the 500 year old Synagogue Alzama, located in the mellah. From there, I had Shabbat dinner with another couple living in the synagogue, and Shabbat lunch with another family who is one of the last remaining Jewish families living in the mellah.

This synagogue was built in 1492 by the megorashim, or Jews that fled Spain after the Inquisition. When the megorashim first arrived, tensions existed between them and the native Jewish community, who looked like their Arab neighbors and had different religious and cultural practices. They built this synagogue in order to preserve the Spanish methods of Jewish observation, but over the years, the tensions alleviated as the communities began to integrate. After its construction, it also became a yeshiva or Talmud Torah and recruited religious men from many rural regions all over Morocco to come and study. The community supported these scholars; each family in the mellah would “adopt” a student and sponsor them during the course of their studies. The room that I stayed in for the weekend was actually a classroom a few centuries ago.

Before Israeli independence, Jewish life in Marrakesh was normal for about 500 years (after the Inquisition from Spain).  However, as religious Jews aware of the diaspora and the Promised Land, this community was always “wishing to go home.”  Around the time of independence about 60 years ago, the Jewish population of Marrakesh reached 27,000! But that began to decline with independence because the devout community came to the realization that the time had finally come to return home.

Even before Israeli independence, the Jewish Agency was working to build the new country of Israel, and after 1948, came to Morocco to help move Jews to Israel, relatively secretly.  Many of those that moved during this time did not understand politics and made their decisions based on the following information: there was a Jewish disaster in Europe, a land for Jews in Israel was created, and there was war with Muslim Arabs.  Although King Mohammed V, who had saved the Jews from the Hitler and Vichy regimes during World War II, did not want to see his Jewish population emigrate, he did not block the migration.  The numbers of Jews from Marrakesh that emigrated from Morocco increased with every major conflict in Israel because they represented opportunities for the Jewish Agency to come to Morocco and recruit new émigrés.  One other reason for the increase in migration was that despite the good relations between Arabs and Jews, the Jews always felt that this was not their own land.

The French house that stood where the Beth El Synagogue in the Ville Nouvelle stands today was bought by a Jewish man in 1959.  Before Moroccan independence in 1956, Jews were not permitted to live in the Ville Nouvelle, but afterward, they began to buy property and moved from the mellah into the new city.  Recognizing the need for a synagogue for the new Jewish inhabitants of the Ville Nouvelle, Beth El Synagogue was built and is still in use today.

Maybe because I was embedded in the religious sector of the current community in Marrakesh, I was most exposed to the “Zionist reason” for emigration. However, this may have some merit considering not only the existence of such a religious establishment for over 500 years, but also because the majority of tzadikim, or old, wise, sanctified Rabbis, came from the areas around Marrakesh and the Marrakshis have historically glorified these tsadikim with pride and religious fervor.

Currently, there are about 240 Jews living in Marrakesh, serviced by 3 synagogues (one in the Medina, one in the Mellah and one in the Ville Nouvelle), a kosher restaurant, a Rabbi, and a shochet.  Most of the Jews in Marrakesh are older, with only about 12 children under the age of 18 years old remaining.  In present-day Morocco, about 3000 Jews reside, 2000 of which in Casablanca and the other 1000 spread out amongst the other larger Moroccan cities.  The President of the community argued that it is good for Morocco to maintain its Jewish population because it shows the rest of the world that Jews can and do live well here.

Fes is probably my favorite Moroccan city, and I regret that I was only able to spend about 12 days there total. It is considered the religious and cultural center of Morocco, and is the home of the largest and oldest medina in North Africa, the oldest university in the world, and a beautifully modern, developed, and European Ville Nouvelle.

While in Fes I met many Jewish and Muslim people who were willing to talk about the Jewish history in Fes, and the relations amongst the two communities, historically and into the present day. In 1947, the official Jewish population of Fes numbered 14,140, while some people claim that at its peak, the population reached 25,000. Today, the Jewish population consists of about 70 or 80 Jews, most over the age of 60 years old. Despite this, the community still maintains all of the historical Jewish sites including a few old synagogues, the vast Jewish cemetery and the accompanying museum (under construction when I visited), a synagogue for regular use, a community center that houses not only a butcher shop, but also a kosher restaurant, and a mikveh. Much of the information I will provide in this post actually comes from many meetings with one man, who is the city’s Rabbi, Chazan, Shochet, and Sopher and who also has an extensive private collection of Jewish artifacts from all over Morocco.

The Jewish narrative in Fes reflects many of the other cities on which I have researched, but there are a few particularities worth mentioning. Like Jews in other cities, and other Jews in Fes, the Rabbi argued that the Jewish migration from Fes increased after every war between Arabs and Israelis. These decisions were partly based on a fear of instability in Morocco, which he claimed was unfounded because the Moroccans not only were good to the Jews, but also let them decide whether they wanted to stay or leave. Interestingly, in conversations with some elderly women still residing in Fes, I learned that many couples with children decided to move with their children when they left for university because they did not want to constantly travel back and forth. While I had heard this reason for migration in the past, I heard it many more times and more pronouncedly in Fes, leading me to believe that perhaps an attachment to family and a fear of a dwindling Jewish community played a more significant role than of fear of threats from Muslims. This was further reinforced by each interviewee consistently claiming that in the past the relations between the communities were more than just safe, but friendly and fluid; one woman reported that when she would play as a young child in her neighborhood she never even knew the difference between the Jews and Muslims.

As in the case of the other cities, the destination of the earlier waves of migration (in the 50s and early 60s) was Israel, whereas beginning in the mid 1960s, the Jews began emigrating more to France and Canada. However, the role of money and financial stability seems to have played a less clear role in Fes than in other cities. It was often a factor not mentioned or less discussed (than in interviews in other cities) in interviews with Jewish Fassis. What I did lear was that after 1973 some rich Jews left for Canada and France, but many stayed because they had established lives here. Overall, it seems that the connection to a Jewish community and families was the driving force behind the Jewish Fassi migration, and as more Jews began to leave, more followed because they desired and required the type of vibrant Jewish life that Fes used to provide its Jewish population.

I want to tell one last story, told to me by a Muslim woman, in order to highlight some important issues facing this community in the present day.  About 7 years ago, a poor, Muslim man saw a rich man and decided to steal his belongings and kill him afterward.  After the investigation, it was discovered that the rich man was Jewish, and many people in Fes construed the crime as a religious hate crime.  However, this woman contends that this man was just poor, looking for anyone who had money, and probably did not even know that the man was Jewish.  She argued that in his state of desperation, he would have stolen from and murdered a Muslim, that religion did not play a factor, and that sometimes, people look to blame problems on the issues highlighted in the media.  However, she argued, violence against Jews, for being Jewish, has never existed in Fes, ad there was no reason to believe that his motives were anything but monetary.

Hey everyone!  As part of my few requirements for the Watson Fellowship, I must submit 3 quarterly reports on my progress and the triumphs and challenges I am facing as the year continues.  Copied below is the report, which provides a good idea of the things I have learned since I have been in Morocco, outside of the research-related posts from before.  Enjoy!

I began my “Watson Journey,” as it is entitled on my blog, in Morocco, the homeland of my paternal grandparents. I was immediately struck by the metropolitan nature of my first destination, Casablanca, and was further awed by the beauty and variety of landscapes and cities that this country has to offer. I was additionally comforted by the familiarity of many Moroccan cultural characteristics; I found not only the food reminiscent of home, but also the warm, open and hospitable nature of most Moroccans, regardless of religion, which constantly reminds me of home and particularly, my grandparents’ house. However, I quickly learned, and continue to observe that, in any grouping of people, whether it be by locality, country, religion, or nation, both good and bad people exist. I believe that one of the intended or unintended outcomes of the Watson year is to develop the judgment necessary to navigate amongst the good and the bad, to learn when to trust others and when to be careful, and in my experience, there is no better place to innocuously do so than in Morocco.

Moroccan aesthetics were not the only thing to catch my attention within my first few weeks; as I began to explore my research topic of the Jewish migration from the country, I was bombarded with other aspects of the Jewish existence in this Muslim country. Originally, I intended to become acquainted with and assimilate into the Jewish community in Morocco, in order to learn about their stories and experiences during the times when other Jews were emigrating, and to gain access to trustworthy Muslims in which to interview on the same topic. Within the first week I noticed that while oftentimes this topic was not a preferred one for conversation amongst the Jews I had met, someone was always equipped with an equally interesting and relevant issue, usually pertaining to contemporary Jewish life. Continuously finding myself intrigued by the realities of their life in a Muslim context, its triumphs and facilities, as well as its challenges and failures, I decided to expand the scope of my research to include the present day. Currently, I am studying the causes of the Jewish migration, from both the remaining Jewish and Muslim Moroccan perspectives, as well as this phenomenon’s effect on the remnant Jewish and Muslim populations, in terms of the resulting realities of a minority Jewish community living a Jewish life in a Muslim context.

The following report will highlight the successes and failures I have experienced over the last three months in realizing these, albeit broader in scope than originally intended, research goals. However, I will also discuss the progress of my personal goal(s) for this year, which most importantly include a search for my personal identity. This question is probably most prescient in Morocco because of my Moroccan heritage, so I really spent the last 3 months discovering whether or not I can identify with Moroccans, perhaps not in language, but in the intangible aspects of identity that are transmitted in terms of character, values, and mentality.

Due to the extremely open, warm and welcoming nature of Jewish Moroccans (and Muslims as well, for that matter), I am very happy to report that I have been able to familiarize myself with the Jewish community here. About 2000 Jews reside in Casablanca and about 1000 throughout seven to ten other Moroccan cities. I have spent around 4 to 6 weeks in and out of Casablanca, particularly observing and engaging in their religious and cultural celebrations, attending synagogue, holiday parties, many dinners/meals at people’s homes and making friends and contacts throughout the community. I spent the remainder of my 3 months here travelling to 7 other cities that still have Jewish populations ranging from 30 to 250 people (Tangier, Meknes, Fes, Essaouira, Agadir, Marrakesh, Rabat). While I only was able to spend from 2 to 8 days in each city, the small size of its population facilitated meeting Jews and discussing with them their personal lives and stories, the specific history of the city, and how life is for them today. Generally, many of these cities display similar migratory trends: some of these cities’ populations are often the result of internal migrations from small mountain/desert villages into the city, Jews left Morocco in significant numbers after each Arab-Israeli war or conflict, each wave of migration displayed similar trends of causes and destinations, and ultimately, money, comfort and well-being played the most prominent factor in determining the Jewish decisions to either remain in Morocco or leave. Unfortunately, outside of Casablanca and Marrakesh, it becomes clear that Jewish life in these cities is in the process of becoming extinct, as none or very few Jews under the age of 40 now reside there. However, those that live in these cities are able to find most of what they need to live a appropriate and devout religious life (access to a synagogue, Rabbi, kosher food, etc.) Within Casablanca, on the other hand, the Jewish community, while smaller than earlier in history, is still vibrant; over 30 synagogues are still in use just within the city, kosher food, stores and restaurants abound, and a rich cultural life maintains the unity of the community.

From discussions with both Jews and Muslims, the historical and contemporary relations among Muslims and Jews in Morocco are 95% of the time characterized as “good, no problems, we are all Moroccans.” Many Muslims that I have spoken with express their appreciation for their Jewish counterparts, and many even convey regret that they do not have the same close relationships with Jews as their fathers did because the community is so small now. However amicable these relations may appear on the surface, after 3 months I observed that a mutual respect exists between the communities, but also a racism on both sides that generally keeps the two communities separated on a cultural and friendly level. The biggest problem is reiterated time after time to me by both Muslims and Jews: because Muslim-Jewish interaction has decreased as the Jewish population has diminished, young Muslim Moroccans only know about Jewish people from what they see on TV on Israel, which fuels not only misunderstanding and perhaps even hate, but dangerously blurs the identity-distinction historically distinguished amongst Moroccans since 1948 between Israelis and Jewish Moroccans.

On a personal level, I have been able to make progress on certain goals. First, both my Arabic and my French (an unexpected goal/accomplishment) has improved greatly in the past 3 months. I still use the Classical Arabic when I have a chance, but I have also become conversational in the Moroccan dialect! Furthermore, upon arrival I knew absolutely no French, and now I can understand main ideas of a conversation, and hold a simple conversation myself. Both of these languages will prove helpful when I reach my next destination, Tunisia.

As part of my search for identity, it was important for me to pinpoint or classify a generally Moroccan mentality or state of mind. I understand that this is a nearly impossible task because no 2 Moroccans (or any people in the same “group”) think alike, but I believe that a general sketch of the important values in Moroccan society, and how those translate into a particular mentality, has finally begun to emerge. The first, most noticeable value observed by someone travelling alone is what is called “Arab hospitality,” or what seems to be for Moroccans almost a cultural obligation- for example, it would be completely possible to live in Morocco for 3 months and never pay for a single meal. I have been invited to dine with everyone from a taxi driver, to men working in shops in the medina, to Jews at synagogue and more. Even while many Moroccans do not speak English, they almost universally know how to say the translation of the traditional Moroccan welcome “Marhababik,” or “you are welcome.” The second most prevalent component of the Moroccan mentality is based in the long-established and well-ingrained value of a gender gap, which manifests itself in very structured and rigid, although evolving slowly, gender roles. While women are awarded all of the freedoms and civil liberties as men according to the law, the customary practices and every day lives of women vary significantly from their male counterparts, and as a single women travelling alone, I am frequently made to feel uncomfortable or inappropriate and am often judged for my free and independent mind and research. I hear the following question often, from both Jews and non-Jews: “You are alone? What does your father think of this?” Unknowingly, these people are reflecting the aforementioned values and mentality because for them a woman proceeds from the protection of her father to that of her husband, and it is difficult for them to imagine a woman living and travelling alone not only without protection, but also without permission. Many more examples of the gender gap affecting my every day life exist, but essentially reflect the same lesson: Moroccans are caught between traditional values and morals defined over thousands of years of history and a desire to develop the country and lift it out of poverty and towards development. While in the United States these two are mutually exclusive, for a large portion of the Moroccan population, both are desired and pursued simultaneously.

As in the case of all other Watson fellows and all researchers conducting fieldwork, my triumphs are accompanied by plenty of challenges. The first and most pressing research-related challenge is in the logistics associated with obtaining the Muslim point of view on Jewish history and contemporary life. While I have met and interviewed Muslims in Morocco, the majority of my information comes from the Jewish point of view. I have met most of the Moroccan Jews I know here through synagogue or the community’s office, which in my experience constitutes the more religiously observant segment of the Jewish population in Morocco. This segment, for reasons I have not yet been able to decipher, tends to be more close-minded and racist and therefore, do not associate with non-Jews outside of the work environment. This has made it difficult for me to find Muslims to interview through that avenue. Another logistical issue lies with safety- I have found this topic to be relatively sensitive, and therefore I must be careful with whom I choose to discuss it.

Once I have ascertained a suitable interviewee (Jew or Muslim), I have encountered the issue of blatant “sugar-coating.” As a good judge of character and situations, I am aware when people either do not always tell me the truth or make the truth sound better or “sweeter” than reality. For Jews, the reasons are one or a combination of the following: 1. they do not trust me, 2. they do not want to seem racist, and/or 3. they fear that if they say something negative against Muslims or the government someone will find out and it will hurt/negatively affect them. For non-Jews the reasons are essentially the same, but are heightened because sometimes they know that I am Jewish so they choose what they say carefully, and also because they know that the government protects the Jews and speaking badly about them can lead to dire consequences from the government. Based on the research I did before the trip, I was expecting this lack of sincerity and feelings of distrust, and for these reasons have worked hard to develop relationships with people before conducting interviews, in order to gain their trust and be able to differentiate the truth from the sugar-coated stories I hear.

The personal challenges I have faced also came as little surprise to me. Loneliness, while at times cherished, can at others be debilitating- particularly as I spent the Jewish holiday season without my family and seeing others together and enjoying each other’s company, usually after some time apart. Compounding this loneliness were cultural misunderstandings on my part from the first two months here, which hindered my attempts to make real friends. More specifically, it took me a while to realize that the gender gap I observed, for example, in street cafes occupied only by men, reaches into the inner crevices of the Moroccan mind and mentality, and prevent the type of male-female platonic relationships that I am accustomed to at home. The greatest personal challenge I have faced since entering this part of the world is truly grasping the every day consequences and realities of such an ingrained cultural value, and figuring out how to deal with such notions that are so contrary to everything for which I stand. As a guest in this country, I have learned that I must compromise some of what I consider my personal freedoms, for the sake of assimilation and safety, but I am still searching for a way to balance these accommodations and my independent and free personality and spirit.

With all of this being said, I think that my original personal goal of a search for identity is becoming evident. Both the values of hospitality and gender roles in Moroccan society are reminiscent of my grandparents, my parents, and my home, which is something I have always known. What I have learned in these three months is where exactly these ideals originated. Now I see that my grandparents have, in fact, transmitted them to their offspring, and I am thankful to them for instilling in me the importance, for community and human connection, of an open-door policy for one’s home. I have always, and now even more so, truly identified and agreed with this aspect of my upbringing, and through my time in Morocco, I have experienced first-hand and appreciate the benefits this particular value can offer. However, I am also very much a product of the free, equal and liberal environment where I was raised and a maternal feminist grandmother that taught me from a young age that girls can do anything boys can. And I do not think that this is something I can compromise in the long run, even though I will make such accommodations this year, out of both respect and fear. So I suppose after Morocco I consider myself a Jewish American, highlighted by streaks of the Moroccan mentality.

Agadir is a lovely beach resort city located on the Atlantic Ocean in the south of Morocco. After many years of reconstruction after an earthquake in 1960 completely devastated the city, Agadir is now one of Morocco’s top beach resort destinations. Wealthy Moroccans, as well as Europeans from the United Kingdom to Russia, frequent the cty year round because of its gorgeous weather and beaches. I intended to take a quick, 2-day trip there after a hectic hiloulah-weekend in Essaouira, in order to unwind, get a tan and take a break from work before heading to Marrakesh. However, as I seem to always manage, I found some Jews and stayed a few extra days to learn about their community in Agadir.

I met the first Jews sort of by accident- I read in my trusty Lonely Planet that there is a great restaurant on the beach called Chez Mimi, who’s cuisine reflects Mimi’s origins- French, Spanish and Jewish. I went figuring maybe I could chat with Mimi a little over dinner, and that would be that. Well, it turned out that Mimi wasn’t there when I sat down for dinner, but I was thrilled anyway because they had kosher meat available on the menu AND served alcohol. This is my kind of place. About halfway through the meal, Mimi’s husband, Alan, approached my table asking if I had asked for Mimi. After explaining to him that I had, a little about myself and why I wanted to meet her, he returned to my table with his and my dinner and we dined together while talking about Jewish things. He informed me that I should return the next afternoon when Mimi was working, as she would be happy to meet me and talk to me. I couldn’t believe my luck when he reported that in 2 days a Yizkor was being held at the synagogue; it was a rare occasion for most of the community to gather because they rarely even receive a minyan on Shabbat. The following is a summary of what I learned at the Yizkor about the Jewish community in Agadir.

The Jewish community in Agadir was very numerous when the earthquake struck in 1960; it did not discriminate between Muslims and Jews and many from both communities were lost during this tragedy. The city decided not to try to sift through the wreckage nor to rebuild the old medina that was the site of ruin and destruction, but instead, built a cemetery right on top of the former medina. Both a Muslim and a Jewish cemetery can be visited today, eerily on top of the exact spot where the city used to stand. In the years following the earthquake, the new city of Agadir was built further down the hill from the old medina. Many of the Jews that survived the earthquake moved to Marrakesh (a few hours away) or other cities in Morocco.

The community that currently resides in Agadir numbers about 80, approximately 20 families, and consists of mainly older people. This number fluctuates as many Jews only reside in Agadir for vacation and usually have other homes in Europe. After the earthquake, the city gave the Jewish community a piece of land on which to build a new synagogue, and this stands today. Unfortunately, they do not usually receive a minyan for Shabbat, and Jewish life is relatively limited in the city. However, the Jews here live well; many of them own thriving businesses in this bustling tourist city, get along well with their Arab neighbors and live comfortably. Mimi and Alan even explained to me that they have more difficulties with the 4000 French people living in Agadir than the Arabs. They reported that this community is racist because they consider themselves superior to the other communities in Agadir, they only associate with one another, and they even behave nastily to the couple because they close the restaurant on Friday afternoons for Shabbat. On the other hand, they argue, the Arabs respect their establishment and their decisions and the couple maintains very strong relationships and even friendships with the Moroccans residing in Agadir.

While it didn’t end up being a true “get away” because I was able to meet Jews and learn about the Jewish history of the city, I truly enjoyed my time in Agadir. Its modern and European appearance did actually make me feel like I had left Morocco for a few days, which was a nice change after about 6 weeks in the country. Think- Eilat, Israel. Furthermore, I felt completely at home with the Jewish community there; everyone was excited to meet me and talk to me and I was even able to make contacts for my travels later in the year.

Every year, Jews from all over the world travel to various Moroccan cities for hilouloth, celebrations commemorating tzadikim, or famous, wise Jewish scholars and Rabbis from the past. Dozens of these occur a year, and as part of my research on the history and culture of Jewish Moroccans, it was only natural for me to attend one. I was lucky that one such hiloulah, for Rabbi Chaim Pinto, was being held the weekend of September 18^th in Essaouira, in the south of Morocco. As his descendant, the great Rabbi David Pinto currently lives and works in France and has yeshivot and a devout following across the world. His organization Hevrat Pinto organizes the hiloulah every year.

Rabbi Pinto lived during the turn of the 18^th century, at a time when roughly half of Essaouira’s population was Jewish. He is famous as a “great rabbi and tzadik,” although the only additional details I attained about his life and his work was only through the internet (http://www.judaicaplus.com/Tzadikim/pinto.htm), rather than at the hiloulah itself. Some Jews (less than 50) still live in Essaouira; however, because I was busy with the weekend’s events, I did not have time to delve into the details of the community’s recent history or present situation. I did find out, though, that there is a synagogue open in the city now, but it rarely receives a minyan, even on Shabbat.

The weekend itself is held at a very nice hotel set aback from the medina and the main strip of hotels lining the beautiful beach in Essaouira. A gigantic tent is constructed in the parking lot, housing the dining area for the weekend for approximately 800-1000 people (my guess). Although it comes with a hefty price tag, all of the meals from Thursday evening through Sunday afternoon are catered by a kosher catering company based in Casablanca. Aside for meals, the schedule includes all of the daily prayers (conducted in a makeshift synagogue in one of the hotel’s banquet rooms), visits to Rabbi Pinto’s house and grave, study sessions with Rabbi David Pinto, and the actual hiloulah after Shabbat on Saturday night at his grave. The majority of the people in attendance are Jewish Moroccans that currently live in France, while Jewish Moroccans from Israel and Canada, and non-Moroccans from the US, Argentina, and Mexico (usually followers of Rabbi David) all make the journey to Morocco for the event.

As an outsider, never having experienced a hiloulah before, I certainly had no idea what I was getting myself into, and regrettably, I cannot say that now, after it is over, I really understand the hiloulah, with regards to its purpose, significance and meaning for the Jews that attended. The reasons are many: 1. all of the events, speeches, study sessions etc. were in French and were rarely translated for me by a nice woman who spoke some Hebrew, 2. everybody spoke French, making asking questions and receiving thoughtful answers difficult, and 3. never experiencing what seemed to me as saint worship in the past, I was in awe for much of the weekend. The latter became the subject that intrigued me most and caused me to be extremely skeptical, if not cynical, toward the entire cultural experience (side note- many will refer to this as a religious event; however, from my perspective religion was solely the background or the least-common-denominator for those in attendance, not the main attraction).

A description of the customs will elucidate my aforementioned attitude. The main events of the weekend seem to focus around the meals; Rabbi David made grand entrances during the dinners, complete with his Jewish “posse,” Moroccan government officials, and police serving as escorts. The governor of Essaouira was in attendance for 2 of the dinners, and during the first, gave a speech on behalf of the King, saying “This is the way it should always be between Muslims and Jews.” The many courses during each meal were punctuated by bouts of men chanting and singing praise toward Rabbi Chaim, Rabbi David and sometimes, toward G-d.

There were organized excursions during the day to Rabbi Pinto’s home and his gravesite, but it was the actual hiloulah celebration after dinner on Saturday night that was the main event. The hundreds of people in attendance piled into buses at about midnight and gathered outside the gate to the cemetery. Once Rabbi David arrived, we began to file in through the double doors to the cemetery; men entered first and remained on one side of the entrance-walkway of the cemetery and the women followed in afterward to their own side. Once everyone was inside, Rabbi David, followed by a mob of Jewish men screaming and singing the same chants as in the dinner tent, walked through the cemetery and into the “house” built to protect and commemorate his ancestor’s great tomb. As many men as could fit in this small building crammed inside and continued the jumping, screaming, and chanting for about an hour. The windows to the structure began to fog as the men jumped and shouted endlessly, without seeming to tire. Some men were even trying to jump inside or to simply catch a glimpse of the action through open windows. After two rounds of men filtered in and out of the building (about 2 am), the women were finally allowed to enter the building, and pay their respects to the man they revere so intensely.

The entire experience was definitely an interesting for me, in Jewish, cultural and academic respects. The singing and chanting during the weekend represents for me the lasting impression of the hiloulah itself; it was the physical demonstration of prayer and praise for the Rabbi, which seemed to be familiar to all of the people that attended. Therefore, one postulates that this particular type of worship was the means by which they transmit this cultural importance of the festival. One chant that rang through the tent and graveyard incessantly throughout the weekend was “Howaja,” which means in Arabic “He is coming.” After inquiring who the “he” is, most people answered “he” is Rabbi David, who represents his ancestor Rabbi Chaim, while some acknowledged “he” is the messiah, or G-d himself. The fact that this popular chant is in Arabic portrays the particularly Moroccan, more so than Jewish, nature of the festival. Other songs and chants were in either French or Hebrew and only one referenced G-d specifically: “The Holy Blessed One, we love you” (translated from Hebrew).

I, even as the descendant of Jewish Moroccans, felt like an outsider and that the traditions for the hiloulah were completely foreign to me. It was specifically the chanting that made me the most uncomfortable because I could not fight the feeling that it felt contrary to the Judaism I am accustomed to, and borderline un-Jewish The first Jewish story I remember learning in Hebrew school, after “G-d created the Earth in 6 days,” was about the founder of Judaism, Abraham. His father was a pagan and owned a shop that sold idols. As the story goes, G-d spoke to Abraham and told him that there is only one G-d so idol worship is a sin, and that he will begin the first monotheistic religion. In response, Abraham destroyed all of the idols in his father’s shop and Judaism was born. But an idol is not just a statue; the most observant Jews refuse to even hang up photographs of loved ones because they consider it a type of worship to something that is not G-d. With this Jewish teaching as one of the foundations of my faith, I was completely taken aback at how much the customs of the hiloulah resembled saint worship. Here were Jews, not merely paying their respects to an important tzadik, but actually praying to him and his descendant as if they were divine themselves. While I stood at the graveyard with all of the chanting in the background and the crying and praying men and women all around me, I could not conjure up any sort of spiritual emotion, as hard as I tried. At that moment I decided that the cultural boundaries were just too great for me to really share the spiritual emotions that the Moroccan Jews very clearly felt during the festival. And maybe, while it seems “un-Jewish” to me, for them this is just one more way to practice their Judaism. One Argentinean Ashkenazi Jew explained it best: “I am here because of Rabbi David, who showed me the great tzzadik Rabbi Chaim Pinto. And we pray to him because when we do, it brings us closer to G-d.”

One last story really drives the point of saint worship home. I met an Ashkenazi American Jew from New York City that established a relationship with Rabbi David a few years ago and has been attending the hiloulah for the last few years. A few years ago, a friend of his took a photograph of Rabbi David as he was lighting a candle for Rabbi Chaim’s memorial, and he was eager to show it to me. After seeking his friend out and showing it to me, the two men were beside themselves due to the eeriness of the photo; taken before the candle was actually lit, a glowing light surrounds the wick of the candle. They zoomed into the illuminated spot and pointed out what they thought was an image of Rabbi Chaim. Sure, it was pretty strange, but it probably was the result of the camera settings. However, they were convinced of the spiritual significance of this photo; that Rabbi David elicited the image of his ancestor without even lighting his own remembrance candle.

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Three other issues are worth mentioning. I inquired with skepticism on why people attended and celebrated the hiloulah, why they respected the rabbi, and what they actually knew about him. The reasons seemed to be twofold: 1. many of the attendees are followers or supporters of Rabbi David and were invited by him, or 2. it is something they have been doing with their families for years. Interestingly, while everyone I spoke to was quick to say that Rabbi Chaim was a “great rabbi,” no one seemed to really know what it is that he did during his life that made him so great. Therefore, I argue that this observance is more cultural and traditional than religious, partly because the real Jewish meaning or significance of Rabbi Chaim’s Jewish life has been lost or is unknown to the present generation. The other evidence for this argument is the aforementioned lack of prayer and focus on G-d.

Secondly, I was unhappy with the level of segregation between men and women throughout the weekend, with women always taking a backseat to the men. Even in the dinner tent, which resembled more a bar mitzvah party than a synagogue, men and women sat separately. This further reflects the specifically Moroccan cultural nature of the hiloulah, as such “seating segregation” is even common at Shabbat dinner tables.

The last feeling I could not fight over the course of the weekend was how commercial the venture seemed. Maybe it was the colorful and catchy flyer I saw online before the weekend, advertising a fixed discounted price, including airfare from France, transportation for the weekend, and food. But it got worse- I spent $200 on food for the weekend, which works out to over $20 a meal. I understand that kosher food is expensive, but I could not help but feel that someone was making money along the way. Furthermore, “special priveleges,” such as opening the door to Rabbi Pinto’s grave’s building, were auctioned off during the dinner on Saturday night, whle Jewish vendors also brought their goods to sell throughout the weekend. These examples only added to my suspicions of the commercial nature of the event.

At least the food was good.

When visiting Meknes with my family a few weeks ago, we befriended one Jewish man who works at the ancient synagogue in the mellah, granting access to tourists, answering their questions and maintaining the building. He invited me to stay at his house when I returned to Meknes, and acted as my guide and Jewish liason for 2 days while I conducted research. I interviewed about 10 Jews in the city, met many others and the following is a compilation of their stories:

Accounts of life pre-migration were generally positive. One man who was born in 1932 quoted the population at 20,00 at its peak, all of whom used to live in the old and new mellah. The official number according to the brochure I received from the Moroccan Jewish community is 13,000. Reports of the mellah at those times were glowing; its narrow streets were filled to the brim with Jews, synagogues, kosher butchers etc. and the Jews of that time were strictly observant. The Jews of Meknes were of course protected from the effects of World War II by King Hassan II, like the rest of the Moroccan Jews, and after the war and independence, were permitted to stay or leave the country if they wished. On the other hand, however, I did hear reports of small-scale problems with Arabs around the 70s and 80s, corresponding to wars with Israel: young boys stealing kippahs and badgering some Jews. Those who told this story did confirm that it was indeed a trivial issue, and did not reflect the vibrancy of Jewish life or the amicable relations between Muslims and Jews in Meknes. Meknesian Jews described these relations as peaceful, but not completely friendly because they were able to work together, but probably would not, for example, frequent the other’s house for dinner.

According to varying sources, the migration of Jews from Meknes began in the 1950s or the 1970s, but probably began in the former and continued through the latter and until present day. The reasons for leaving varied from family to family, but reflected the reasons I learned in other cities. Many of the early migrants left because of their Zionist ideology and desire to live in the Jewish homeland, while those who were less fortunate in Meknes left hoping to start a new, better and more viable life in Israel. It seemed that migrating for Zionist reasons was more prevalent in Meknes than, for example, Casablanca and Tangier, which resulted in Israel being the destination for most of Meknesian Jews, while less emigrated to France and Canada. Furthermore, those that left in more recent years were the young generation of Jews that finished school in Meknes at the age of 18 and migrated in order to continue their education in universities outside of Morocco. One woman told me numerous times that “only the rich and the retired remained in Meknes,” which I found to be true for the most part.

All of the Jews I spoke to continue to enjoy their Jewish lives in Meknes; they maintain that they have less problems now than even in the past, everything they could want to lead a Jewish life (a shochet, or the Jewish person that slaughters animals in a kosher manner, comes to Meknes from Fes to provide meat for the community, and a new synagogue in the new city usually receives a minyan for Shabbat services). The only complaint is about the diminishing size of the community, which now numbers around 50 or 60. Additionally, only 3 families still actually reside inside the mellah. Interestingly, the current peaceful state of the Jewish community was not solely attributed to the protection offered to the community by the King, as in many other cities. A few of the interviewees argued that when there was a large Jewish population in Meknes it threatened their Arab counterparts and led to the “problems” mentioned previousoly. Now, however, the perceived threat diminished as the community did as well, and the Muslims are more accepting and amicable to the Jewish community today.

Here are a few other interesting stories I heard while in Meknes:

• I met a woman in her 40s that was born in Meknes, but has lived in France since she was 19 years old. She was only in Meknes to sell her father’s shop and overall had a mixed review of Arab-Jewish relations in Meknes. However, she did make it a point to tell me the following story: When our forefather Joshua arrived to the land of Canaan promised to the Jews by G-d in the covenant, he sent messages to the many tribes/nations living on the land to put down their arms and leave because they were coming to conquer it. According to the legend, only one nation actually did so, and in return, G-d promised them a land of their own, similar to Israel. These people settled in Morocco and during the Jewish peak in Meknes the city was referred to as “Little Jerusalem.”
• I spent a few hours one day with a couple that has lived in the mellah since they were married in 1951, and the man told me that he remained in Meknes because he had a business and money here and there were never problems with the Arabs. However, all of his eight children moved to either Israel or France, where he subsequently bought apartments and now divides his time among the three countries. When I asked him why they moved, he replied that it was because of the lack of “bitachon” (Hebrew word for security) in Meknes. I was confused because he had just told me that there were no problems among the communities and also because the answer I am accustomed to is “they went for university.” When I pushed him on this issue he explained that security can only exist in Israel; he reminded me that the Jews in Germany were well-off and believed they were safe before Hitler came to power, and that I should not believe that the same could not happen anywhere else, especially in America.

While Meknes’ recent Jewish history seems to possess a character quite its own, with a strong sense of pride in its past vibrancy, it still faces the same grim future as that of Tangier and many of the other Moroccan cities I will visit. With only 2 members of the community under the age of 50, the persistence of Jewish life in Meknes is seriously threatened.

I ventured to Tangier with few expectations; I had one contact there, my trusty brochure of the Moroccan Jewish Community and a reservation at a hotel across the street from the only functioning synagogue, in a city that used to be home to 27,000 Jews and 25 synagogues (many of which were located in the medina on “Rue des Synagogues”). However, I managed to knock on the right doors, meet the right people, have informative and fun conversations/interviews and ultimately, form relationships for the future.

The first door I “knocked on” was the office of the Jewish community in Tangier, which led to interviews with a few members of the community, a tour of the old synagogues on Rue de Synagogues, a kosher restaurant and a trip to the old age home in Tangier. The following is a summary of the information I obtained from some members of the Jewish community of Tangier. This city is a special case in Morocco because of its status as an international city until 1957. Prior to that year it was governed on a rotating basis by the US, France, Spain and Morocco, and as such, was truly an international city in its inhabitants, architecture and ambience. As the gateway to Europe from Africa, and the gateway to the Mediterranean from the Atlantic, Tangier has always been a diverse and bustling city of businessmen, merchants, traders etc. Like other cities, the Jewish community of Tangier consisted of both rich and poor Jews, but the wealthy ones held very important positions and status in the city for many years.

The first Jewish migration from Tangier began in 1955 because the wealthy Jews anticipated the 1957 status change in Tangier, particularly after Moroccan independence was finally achieved in 1956. Fearing mainly the economic instability that accompanies regime change, many of these Jews sold their businesses and/or property and moved to Spain, South America and Israel (signaling the prevalence of Spanish in Tangier and the Jewish desire to move to a place where assimilation would be most convenient and economic viability easily re-attained). The second migration from Tangier began with the end of the Six Day War in Israel in 1967. According to one source, mostly poorer Jews constituted this migration, which was triggered by both the fear of an anti-Jewish backlash resulting from the war and a surge of Zionistic feelings with the Israeli victory and occupation of Jerusalem.

Other accounts of the period contend that this anticipated fear was either unfounded or never actually came to fruition. One man told me a story that he said he would never forget: after listening to the radio all day on June 7, 1967, the day before Jerusalem was reoccupied, he took a walk near his home in the medina. He was attempting to not smile over the news of Israel’s pending success, as to not anger anyone in the street, when a Muslim man stopped him, and reading the emotion on his face, told him not to worry about smiling and to relax. In this scenario, it seems that the outcome of an Arab-Israeli conflict had little impact on the every day lives of the Muslims and Jews that have lived together in the same city for centuries. This story is corroborated by many others that reported that there were never any problems between Muslims and Jews historically and that there existed a “good, marvelous life for the Jews…especially during [the reign of] Mohammed V.” One other Jew from Tangier argues that it was after this point that life became harder for the Jews because of the erosion of the Moroccan education system. The diminishing number of Jews in the city led to a decrease in interpersonal relations among Jews and Muslims, which historically were so prevalent and integral to their amicable coexistence. This only further compounded the educational issues of that period because the Moroccan Muslims began formulating their opinions on Jews based on reports of the Arab-Israeli conflict, causing increasing misunderstanding and gaps between them and the degradation of the previously warm and even social relationships that existed historically in Tangier among the two communities.

This contention was separately confirmed to me by a Moroccan Muslim that was born and raised in Tangier, and currently works closely with the Jewish community (he was even my tour guide on Rue des Synagogues and accompanied me to the old age home!) He relayed to me that there were/are three “cultures” in Tangier that give it its character: Muslims, Jews and Catholics. He claimed that the historical relations between these communities were always amicable; particularly in his father’s time, the three groups lived and worked together, socialized together and there were never any problems. He argued that the problem now is that the younger generations of these communities do not personally know each other as well his father’s generation, which is the result of the diminishing level of interactions (both work-related and social) among the communities. On the other hand, he continued, a mutual respect still exists and the Jews living in Tangier today do not face any threats or problems. It seems that cultural differentiation resulted from the migration, rather than cultural differentiation or feelings of “not fitting in” or discomfort causing the migration.

Today, the community numbers less than 100, and with most of this population over the age of 60, faces disappearance in the near future. The major problems reported to me by members of the community were the small size of the community and what seemed to be personal or work-related disagreements within the community. Some people told me of the unwillingness of wealthier or more-connected members of the community to help others that are less fortunate and in need of help, while others told me of cattiness and infighting amongst members of the community. On the other hand, the 14 or 15 elderly Jews that live in the old age home are extremely grateful for the great care and comfortable accommodations they receive at the old age home in Tangier, courtesy of the community at large. My personal experience as an outsider entering a synagogue with barely a minyan on a Friday night was mixed; some members of the community embraced me while others were skeptical and uninterested in even welcoming me to their place of worship. As an outside observer with some knowledge of other Moroccan Jewish communities, it seems that aside for the pending disappearance of Jews in Tangier, the disunity of the community itself is perhaps its greatest obstacle.

This past Sunday Jewish communities around the world observed the “holiday” of the 9th of Av with a fast, in order to commemorate the destruction of both the First and Second Temples (about 656 years apart from eachother, but on the same day).  This religious observance is considered one of the saddest and unluckiest days of the Jewish year, as many other unfortunate events have occurred on this date as well.

I never really knew the history of this day until Rabbi Dave’s “Living Judasim” class this year, but I never felt the gravity and importance of it until its observance in Casablanca.  My friend, Ben, is one of my most religious friends (he works on the Hill and wears a kippah everday, for crying out loud lol) and he recently commented on a post of mine:

“What’s Tisha B’Av like there? Your jaw wiring analogy is interesting in that over here, I forgot that it was today, but in Morocco, where perhaps people are more aware of the pain of exile, is it more noticed?”

He hit the nail on the head, and actually highlighted the exact questions I was asking myself throughout the week leading up to the 9th of Av.  First, a little on the Jewish Moroccan observation of the “holiday:”

In Morocco, the week preceeding the day is marked by general sadness, gravity and mourning; for instance, I was driving around with some of my friends pne night and mentioned not having been to a bar or nightclub in Casablanca yet.  They told me they would love to take me, but after 9 of Av because they try to respect the period of mourning for the Temples in the week leading up to the 9th.  I, obviously, was surprised because I had never experienced a group of 21-year-olds giving up a week of “summer fun” to respect the customs (not laws, it is just customary in their culture) of the holiday.  Furthermore, the Jews in Morocco stop eating meat throughout the entire week, and even do not kiss eachother hello on the actual day in synagogue (a 2-cheek kiss is the customary greeting not only amongst friends, but for almost anyone they see as entering synagogue).  In temple, many of the men were sitting on the floor, I am assuming for the same reasons we sit on low chairs during a shiva.  And, the service ended with havdallah.

Granted, I have never before been to synagogue on 9 of Av, but this day in temple was much different than the Shabbat services I have attended the last two weeks.  I was really taken aback by the generally and genuinely solemn and mournful behavior of the Jews in Casablanca.  So, as the anthropologist that I am trying to be,  I wondered “why does this holiday seem to have such an important resonance in this culture, yet in America, even my religious Ben friend let it slip his mind?” (I don’t think you are a bad person, I’m just making a point).  Is it because the Jewish Moroccans are just generally more religious, and all of the holidays here are observed more intensely than in America (Shabbat included)?  Or, do they have some sort of special connection to the holiday that has been “lost in translation” to American Jews?

The truth is, I did not find an answer.  Sorry to be anticlimactic, but because I have not been here during any other holidays yet and no one here can give me a “correct” answer to that question, I cannot pinpoint a reason.  However, I hypothesize that it is a combination of factors; yes, the community here is more religious and for that reason almost everyone fasts and observes the day.  But, I think there is a deeper historical significance to it.  Ben surmised that the Jews here are “more aware of the pain of exile,” but I would revise that to say they are “more aware of the pain of THEIR exile.”

All Jewish communities, aside for the very few that remained continuously in Eretz Israel, somehow ended up in their respective homelands as a result of the exile after the destruction of either Temple, so why the differences in observation of this holiday among the Diaspora?  I believe it has to do with the history and characteristic of the community.  Jewish communities have lived in very close quarters (mellah in Arabic) for centuries in Morocco and the rest of the Arab world and therefore generally preserved not only the religious but the customary practices of their ancestors.  You may say, “Yea, so did all of the Ashkenazi Jews;” however, I believe that the differences we observe today are a result of the Holocaust.  For American Jews, the Holocaust is the “pain of THEIR exile” not only because it occurred in recent history, but also because many American Jews descended from Ashkenazim whose religious practices, culture, and customs were upended by the Holocaust.  Perhaps, that is where and how the 9th of Av lost its importance for American Jews, particularly in the shadows of the greatest destruction of Jews in our long and tumultuous history.

Let me drive the point home even further: Moroccan Jews were protected from the Nazi and Vichy wrath by their beloved king; therefore, the exile, pain and destruction they know is the one they have been observing for centuries: the 9th of Av.

Let the argument-break down begin…   

A friend of mine posted a great question in response to my post “A Little Background on Jewish Moroccans,” and I wanted to reprint it here because it is an important issue to which I have given a lot of thought recently:

“One thing that’s bugging me since reading your statements is what your professor said about “Oh so you’re an Arab, too.” Do the Moroccan Jews and Muslims see that perspective? Is your professor right or wrong? Just curious and something to ask around when you do your interviews… good luck, stick it out with your Arabic!”

Short explanation of the question: She was referring to a formative moment in my life, which I referenced in my Watson application; after explaining my background as a Moroccan Jew to one of my favorite professors, she replied, “So, you’re an Arab.”  Essentially, this moment turned everything I had believed about myself, my family and my identity on its head, and prompted me to begin questioning my identity, which had thus far been constructed for me by the important people in my life.  This analysis of my identity was one of the great triggers for my Watson proposal.  Therefore, my friend was asking about the self-identification of Jewish Moroccans NOT as Arabs, just as I had been accustomed to before the exchange with my professor.   

Here is my answer to her question, which was also the topic I wanted to discuss on the blog today:

“Thats’s a great question and essentially the issue I was alluding to in the post. I almost added a paranthetical statement about it, but decided against it because I didn’t think anyone read my Watson application closely enough to point it out- haha I was wrong. Anyway, its very interesting.

I don’t know if there is a “correct” way to identify people. According to scholars and academics that study the “Arab nation,” an Arab is one defined as a person whose first language is Arabic. In my experience amongst Jews in Casablanca I have met more families whose first language is French, but some whose first language is Arabic. Many children here also only speak enough Moroccan Arabic to get by, but not at all fluently (I see this as indicative of their schools’ curriculum and Jewish families’ tendencies to socialize amongst themelves.) Regardless of what the family speaks, however, the Jewish people identify themselves as Jewish and the Muslims as Arabs.

I am still trying to figure out what exactly determines the language of preference for a family. My hypothesis is that it is related to class, and those Jews assimilated into the upper class by the French during their colonial rule here maintain this language, particularly as a marker of class distinction. Furthermore, I assume that the prevalence of French over Arabic amongst Jews remaining in Morocco could probably be attributed to the fact that the Jewish “lower classes” emigrated from Morocco beginning in the 1950s, in search of better economic opportunities. According to my interviews, the Jews who have remained here, by in large, have economic stakes in the country (probably forged from their placement in the French upper class pre-Moroccan independence) and did not want to give up their comfortable and affluent lifestyles.

I hope that answers your question. Also, please remember that it is difficult to PROVE any of this, and I answered according to my interviews, observations and knowledge on the history of the community.”

Ceci