Ceci’s Watson Journey

<!– /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:”"; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:”Times New Roman”; mso-fareast-font-family:”Times New Roman”;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} –>

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 a French school or the Jewish school 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 its burning. 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 say hello to every person in his souq 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 had to pay an extra tax. This man explained to me that this distinction led to the Jewish community being considered a second or subordinate class. He argued that many Tunisian Jews took advantage of France’s offer of citizenship as a form of revenge for their former status as 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 there are 4 classes divided by age plus 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. 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, prompting their curiosity of experiencing that way of life 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).

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.

I would like to wish all my family and friends a Shana Tova U’metuka and a Happy and Healthy New Year!