Ceci’s Watson Journey

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 in America the month of Ramadan passes by with little change or notice; however and perhaps obviously, in a Muslim country, life and people’s attitudes and schedules are completely altered as they observe the holiest month of the Muslim Calendar.

The religious obligations for Muslims during Ramadan is to abstain from eating, drinking, and smoking from sun-up to sun-down every day for a month. Other habits, such as drinking alcohol, premarital sex, drug use etc., are forbidden in Islam but may or may not be observed during the year, depending on the religious devotion of the person. During Ramadan, however, they are avoided particularly during the day, and oftentimes throughout the entire month. Furthermore, it is required of Muslims to continue to work throughout the duration of the month. According to a devout Muslim friend of mine, the religious significance behind the fasting is for every Muslim to step into the shoes of a person who is less fortunate and perhaps cannot afford food regularly. Through fasting, Muslims gain sympathy for the underprivileged and hopefully increase the zakat, or charity, they give. Additionally, it is supposed to be a time for family and prayer.

The religious “rules” for Ramadan cause a very interesting shift in the every day reality in Muslim countries. First and foremost, their schedules change drastically; many Moroccans wake up at around 4 am to eat breakfast before the sun comes up. Afterwards, they sleep until about 10 am and then begin their day. As soon as the call to prayer is rung, at around 6:30 or 7 pm (sunset), all Moroccans run to have break fast. Many Moroccans also eat dinner at about midnight or 1 am, before retiring to bed. Having had break fast with some different families and friends, it was comforting to observe the relative uniformity of the traditional break fast: dates (which are unbelievably delicious in Morocco), harira (a tomato-based soup with chickpeas, barley or rice, and sometimes meat), shabbakia (a fried dough-cookie that is marinated in honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds), m’lawi (a layered, doughy, savory pancake that is grilled giving it a crunchy exterior and a stretchy, chewy interior. It is sometimes stuffed with fried onions or meat.), and always a milk based smoothie that has fruit, orange flower, and stale bread in it. It is definitely an interesting mix of sweet and savory, but delicious, nonetheless. Dinner and breakfast usually include “normal” Moroccan fare.

Life outside the home also changes drastically during the month of Ramadan. Stores, shops etc. do not open until later in the morning because the owners are sleeping. Many restaurants and cafes not in central or touristy areas are closed during the day, and it is not uncommon to find an irritable or cranky Moroccan, particularly after 4 pm. What was especially bizarre for me, particularly the first time I was aware of it in Tangier, was the nature of the cities from around 6:15 pm to about 830 pm every single night. My hotel was located on a very busy, central street in Tangier and my first night there I stepped onto the sidewalk at about 630 and found the street completely, almost eerily, deserted. As the entire country observes the fast, EVERYONE returns home for break fast at precisely the same time, leaving the country virtually lifeless during this special time. At about 9 pm, however, it is as if the country does a complete 180, and all the people that were fasting, tired and hungry all day, emerge on the streets, nourished and in good spirits. Cafes are filled to the brim with men drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, and playing cards, while women are found in groups all over the streets chatting or watching their children play around.

A few other interesting notes about Ramadan’s observance in Morocco… Unlike some other Muslim countries, all Moroccans fast, without question. And fasting is not only religiously mandated, but partially government enforced. I heard from hotel/restaurant owners that serving a Muslim during the day during Ramadan can “cause trouble” for them, and it was rumored that if a Muslim is found eating/drinking/smoking during Ramadan, they could be imprisoned or worse. While I never witnessed this firsthand, I heard the rumors.

While Ramadan may have been slightly inconvenient for me, as a tourist in Morocco, it felt like a special and different time to be in Morocco. Except for the cranky few, the Moroccans generally attempt to behave even more nicely and appropriately than usual, and the devotion not only to the religion, but also to the cultural customs and practices associated with the eid (holiday) was truly refreshing. In their attempts to recognize the difficulties of others and cleanse their spirits after a year, it seemed to me that the Moroccan Muslims were also trying to refocus their attention to the importance of family and tradition, and I believe that anyone, from any religious background, can recognize the importance and value in such a nationwide effort.

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

Tucked away at the base of the Rif Mountains in the north of Morocco is a picturesque little tourist town called Chefchaouen. After hearing my friend Marc rave about it after his Watson year and passing through it for an hour with my family, I knew that I must return during my month of exploring the cities outside of Casablanca.

For planning/timing purposes it was my first stop and I spent about 2 days in this enchanting town admiring the beautiful views of the mountains, wandering through the narrow winding streets of the medina painted a bright refreshing blue by Jewish refugees from Spain in the 1930s and enjoying the generally relaxed and tranquil ambience and people of this town. I drank tea in the busy Place Uta-el-Hammam, visited the Kasbah (fort protecting the medina) and its museum, and walked to a small waterfall and pool whose water travels down the mountain and allows for the locals to wash their clothes and keep refreshed during the hot summer. Aside for these lovely aspects of Chefchaouen, this town also attracts large numbers of backpackers because of its proximity to the Rif Mountains and its most widespread cash crop…

For centuries the Rif Mountains have been the home of numerous plantations notorious for the growth and distribution of marijuana, or “kif” in Arabic. The historical importance of this plant for this region cannot be overstated; it was used for medical purposes, for social gatherings and for economic sustainability. As an important part of its culture, the use and distribution of kif in this area is still widespread and relatively open, despite the 2004 law that forbade its growth. In practice, however, the law is enforced only on occasion.

I would like to clarify that my fondness for Chefchaouen is not derived from this small aspect of its culture, but rather from its character, tranquility, and beauty (which these photos convey gorgeously).  Any comments insinuating the former WILL NOT BE APPROVED.

One of the must-do “cultural experiences” while in Morocco, or the Middle East in general, is to get cleansed in a hammam. Before actually going, all Mommy, Anat and I knew was that we were going to a communal shower and maybe a woman would clean us. While that is true, we were in for quite a surprise.

Before I get into the details of the hammam, I have to share some personal aspects about my mom and my upbringing, with regard to sanitation. The word “cooties” was a word we learned at a very young age; they were almost like the boogie man for me when I was young. I knew they were bad, dangerous and to be avoided at all cost, but I could never see them or actually tell you what they were. And where did we learn this? From my mother, of course. Even though I used to not exactly know what she meant by “cooties,” I avoided contact with unfamiliar toilet seats, shower/bathroom floors, spotted glasses, food touched by a stranger’s hand, bars of soap etc. LIKE THE PLAGUE, so terrified that if, g-d forbid, I fell onto a public toilet seat, I would be infected with AIDS. The trouble with being socialized that way at a young age is that it really stays with you. To this day I would rather drop dead than sit on a public toilet seat, and even my former roommate Mary Beth used to make fun of me for wearing shoes in our shower that was covered with a new shower mat that we had bought. I understand how ridiculous this might sound, but it is important to know before proceeding with the story.

Before we entered the hammam the woman at the locker check handed all three of us blue-turned-black shower shoes to wear, which we all 3 looked at and simultaneously said, “No thank you, we have our own.” You never know what kind of foot cooty the girl before you could have had, or if they wash those shoes at all! It’s perfectly reasonable. Beforehand, I was told that you must go to the hammam completely naked, to which Anat was extremely hesitant (understatement of the century). She manned up and we all walked into the hammam completely nude, only to find that the majority of the women in there were indeed wearing underwear. Great, awkward balloon number 1.

It is a large, tiled, steamy, square room, bordered by fountains and bidet-type wash stations on 3 sides, and showers on the fourth. Arranged around the room were red tables with women of all ages laying on them in all their naked or not-so naked glory, getting scrubbed by the employees whom were all wearing soaking wet khaki wrap around skirts and a pink colored tank top.

Our “host” took me by the hand, dragged me across the slippery tile floor (I guess the cooty shoes actually have traction, unlike my $6.99 Sunsations sandals) to a tub full of a black gelly/paste like substance (soap), and reached her hand in to scoop some into all three of our hands. We then proceeded to a steam room where one other woman was washing herself. Our host threw water on us, told us to start washing ourselves with the soap and left. Well, when I finished I didn’t know what to do so I thought I would test out the exfoliating glove we had bought. As soon as I began, the other lady in the steam room kindly but sternly informed me that I clearly have to wash the soap off first. At that moment, our host walks in, begins scolding me for essentially doing her job, throws water on me to rinse me off, and drags me out to the main washing room. Awkward balloon number 2.

At this point, I was separated from my mom and sister and mentally prepared myself to sit on one of those red tables completely nude. She does me the “courtesy” of lightly hosing down the table before I got on, which made the climb onto the table a bit more comfortable. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Mommy and Anat and their probable mortification at having to put their bare bodies on this table where hundreds have women have sat before.

As for me, I got used to it and actually began to enjoy the scrub down I was receiving from this Moroccan woman. We spoke a little bit of Arabic together as she scrubbed away layers and weeks of my dead skin, when all of a sudden, as a result of the vigor with which she scrubbed, her breast slipped out from under her shirt and was bouncing around with every stroke. Shocked and embarrassed, I diverted my eyes and realized that my hostess was the only woman working at the hammam wearing a tube top pink shirt; just my luck. Awkward balloon number 3. Anyways, she finished my scrub-down half-exposed and I eventually got used to her large, old, saggy breast bouncing around in front of my face because I figured that the two of us had definitely already passed the point of “appropriate.”

After the ordeal was over, Mommy, Anat and I exchanged stories, and overall I was very proud of how the “cootie crew” handled the hammam. We all agreed that yes, it was a little uncomfortable in the beginning, but the place itself seemed very sanitary and when it was over we all felt very clean and refreshed. I think the hammam was a baby step away from our cootie-phobia, but I don’t see either of the 3 of us showering without shoes in the near future.

First, I have to apologize for not posting for about 3 weeks. I hope I didn’t lose my captive audience! It is terrible and I am sorry, but in my defense, my family was here for a 10-day visit so I was pretty occupied. Also, I posted pictures on my facebook page for anyone who wants to match these stories to some photos. At some point I will figure out how to get pictures on the site, but for now facebook is the only program that seems to be compatible with Moroccan internet haha. This post will pretty much cover the Sibony-family-whirlwind-tour of Morocco, from a traveler’s point of view.

Yes, we went on vacation in the sense that the Sibony’s went somewhere not home for 10 days. But if you associate “vacation” with relaxation, then my quotes are well-placed and appropriate; we managed to visit about 13 cities in 10 days! On August 19^th, Mommy, Aba, Anat, Zev, Safta (“grandma” in Hebrew) and I set out from the airport in Casablanca to Essouira, Marrakesh, Casablanca, Meknes, Fez, Chefchaouen, Tetuan, Tangier, Rabat, Safi, Azemmour, Volubilis, and Ourika. It was definitely a nice change to get out of the hustle and bustle of Casablanca and see more of the “real” or authentic Morocco. Many of the cities had something notable or special about them, which is why I am planning on returning to them during this month.

Essouira is a gorgeous little city on the beach in the south of Morocco. Notorious for its “killer waves” and relaxed atmosphere, surfers and backpackers from all over the world congregate in this enchanting Moroccan city. The medina was cute and I probably felt the most comfortable in it than almost any other city. We stayed in a Riad, which is a traditional Moroccan home; the front door opens into a court yard, usually adorned by some plants and greenery, and the rooms are located around and on the floors above the courtyard. Historically, all of the members of an extended family would live together in a Riad, perhaps because of or, as a result preserving the importance of family in Moroccan culture. Our Riad was called the Riad Medina, was beautifully decorated and had a true Moroccan feel and ambiance. While in Essouira, we saw the old Jewish synagogue, a memorial of many Jewish tzadikim, and wandered around the medina and the port during our less-than-24-hour stay.

Marrakesh is one of Morocco’s premier tourist destinations. The Medina was fairly large, but relatively standard (busy, full of food and goods vendors). That is, except for the HUGE plaza called Djema el-Fna, located near the Ketoubia, or the city’s tallest mosque (with a minaret of 70 meters high) and most famous icon. The plaza is enormous and during sunset transforms into a circus, literally and figuratively- storytellers attract big crowds telling ancient folklore in Arabic, acrobats perform right in the square and you can even pay to take a picture with a snake or monkey! When we walked to the back of the square we were bombarded (read: harassed) by men with menus trying to lure us to their “restaurants” (stalls in the square with tables arranged around them). In the Ville Nouvelle outside of the Medina, the city transforms into a modern and gorgeous oasis, complete with wide boulevards lined with palm trees and large beautiful hotels. One morning we decided to rent 4×4s for a 2-hour ride through the pseudo-desert villages outside of Marrakesh. It was really fun, but we all were completely tan-colored and parched from all the sand we ate haha. We even were able to eat tajine and couscous at a Kosher restaurant in the Ville Nouvelle!

Before I talk about the family visit to Casablanca, I want to mention a few things about my Safta. She was born and raised in Casablanca and moved to Israel in 1956. Her first return to the country of her childhood was 7 years ago, but she wanted to come with my family this time to visit me. It was really nice having her around not only because she actually speaks both French and Arabic, but also because she was so eager to show us the memorable places of her childhood and to share many stories from those days as well. I feel that I really got to know my grandmother during this trip and I learned a lot from her. Spending Shabbat in Casa, the adults and I went to the synagogue I have been attending all month; it was nice to show my parents this beautiful synagogue, which ironically also happens to be located in my Safta’s old high school. My dad got invited to Shabbat dinner at someone’s house (haha) and I told him that this is normal. While in Casa we saw the Hassan II Mosque, which was incredible. It is the 3^rd biggest mosque in the world, bigger than St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican and ultra modern, equipped with a huge retractable roof. It is also absolutely gorgeous on the inside, with marble floors (that are covered with mats when the mosque is used for prayer), all hand crafted walls and ceilings, and Murano chandeliers from Venice. We also spent a morning in the Medina, where Safta ran around, with us dragging behind, pointing out her old house in the Mellah (Jewish quarter), her father’s old barber shop, her aunt’s old café etc. We even had time to go to a hammam (which will be the subject of a future post) after spending the day at one of Casablanca’s expensive and exclusive beach clubs. “Tahiti Beach” is full of swimming pools, football (not American) courts, chairs and sofas to lounge on, restaurants, and even private rooms that you can rent for the summer. We also ate at this amazing Kosher restaurant historically called “Americano” but now officially called “Café Aknoul,” twice during the 10-day trip.

We visited Meknes on our way to Fez. Once home to 20,000 Jews, only less than 10 Jewish families still live there, and we met a few of them when we visited their synagogue. Fez’s Jewish community is larger and more organized, and as such, has a synagogue, community center and kosher restaurant, which we visited. But for a regular tourist, these 2 cities are famous for being former imperial cities in Moroccan history. Furthermore, Fez is considered the religious and cultural capital of Morocco, which is made evident when visiting the oldest university in the world, University Al Karaouinem tucked away inside the Medina walls. Its ancient Medina is large, busy and full of the famous Fez tiling, leather and hats. Fez Al-Jdid (“new Fez”) was given its name because it was built after the Medina and outside of its walls in the 13^th century. It became a refuge for Jews in the 14^th century creating a Mellah, which is evidenced by the architecture in this part of the city. Jews built homes with balconies that open above the street, which Muslims would not build because of the respect for the privacy (or concealing) of women. We walked down one avenue in this part of town and the tour guide told us that the Jews used to live on 1 side, where the balconies were, and the Muslims would live on the other, and the everyday-life of business and shopping and mingling would occur in the middle of the two.

To be honest, Tangier and Rabat get confused in my head. They seemed, at least aesthetically, fairly similar, with smaller medinas and more developed, more European Villes Nouvelles. Rabat, the political capital of Morocco, is home to the King’s main palace, the mausoleum for former kings, and the Tour Hassan (the “sister” building of the Ketoubia). Tangier is interesting because of the heavy Spanish influence on it; Spanish is spoken more than French and it is a popular Spanish tourist destination.

We quickly stopped in Safi and Azemmour to view some Jewish sites, Chefchaouen to check out a Rif Mountain city, and Tetuan to just pass through. We hit Volubilis, the ancient Roman ruins at the edge of the Middle Atlas, on our way from Ourika Valley, which lies in between Marrakesh and the High Atlas Mountains. In the Ourika Valley we visited a very interesting typical Berber village and saw how they grow and produce almost everything they need with very little means or resources.

So that’s pretty much a summary of the Sibony family visit to Morocco. I think the most important lesson I learned from this trip was the real value of moderation in one’s life. Before my family came I was beginning to feel lonely and really longed for familiar people that speak my language, but of course, the 10 days were not perfectly amicable. There was the usual bickering and arguments that comes with the territory of spending 24 hours/10 days with a group of people in the close quarters of a van or hotel room. And by the end, I was looking forward to having some alone time, a feeling which has of course fled by this time of writing, when loneliness sinks in again. It seems that balance and moderation is one key to that abstract term “happiness,” but I guess that is something to be explored after July 2009.

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…