Hundreds attend 1st Jewish film festival in Casablanca


Nearly 500 people attended the first Jewish film festival of Casablanca, which was organized in the Moroccan city by a Sephardic Jewish woman from Atlanta.

The three-day event, which ended Wednesday at the offices of Casablanca’s SOC club, featured three films about the “consequences of the emigration of the Jews from the fabric of Moroccan society,” the organizer, Vanessa Paloma, told JTA on Thursday. Each screening drew about 150 viewers, she said.

One of the two fictional features screened was “Aida,” which was also Morocco’s submission to the Academy Awards for best foreign language film, about a Paris-based Jewish music teacher’s battle with cancer.

The other was “Midnight Orchestra,” a 2015 production about the son of a Jewish musician who left Morocco amid racial tensions spurred by the Yom Kippur war.

Reactions to the festival were overwhelmingly positive, said Paloma, a singer of Judeo-Spanish music and a researcher on identity and the arts in Moroccan Judaism. She has lived in Casablanca since 2009 with her Moroccan-Jewish husband, Maurice Elbaz, who helped her produce the festival on a shoestring budget that sufficed because the filmmakers waived their fees.

But the event also provoked negative reactions in Morocco, which despite being one of the Muslim world’s few countries where Jewish heritage is celebrated openly, nonetheless has a vociferous anti-Israel lobby that at times resorts to anti-Semitic rhetoric.

Jaouad Benaissi, an author and former member of the Socialist Union of Popular Forces party, complained on Facebook about the festival’s theme, writing that “man-made artworks have nothing to do with religion,” and therefore the Jewish theme was inappropriate – a message similar to that of Abdelilah Jouhari, a journalist who accused Paloma of “trying to make business with religion,” as reported by the news site Le 360.

“My response was that Jewish is not necessarily religious but also cultural, and that in the tradition of Jewish film festivals which exist around the world, we want to start this dialogue around Moroccan history, culture and traditions of Jews as presented on the silver screen,” Paloma told JTA.

In 2013, 200 Islamists demonstrated in Tangier against the screening of a documentary about Moroccan Jews because it mentions Israel.

How the world’s longest-running Chabad house survives in Morocco


Raizel Raskin’s office feels like a cluttered museum of Moroccan Jewish heritage. A photo from an old Jewish summer camp lays on the table. Another, of a rabbi meeting Moroccan dignitaries, hangs on the wall. Outside the door is a bookshelf filled with Hasidic tracts translated into Arabic.

But the rest of Chabad’s multistory complex here looks almost abandoned. Once a school bustling with hundreds of Jewish children, the facility today is largely an empty shell, with dust collecting on unused sports equipment and desks sitting disorganized in unused classrooms. Even the portrait of Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the movement’s late leader whose bearded face typically occupies a place of honored prominence in Chabad homes, is peeling off the wall of the foyer.

Crossing the building’s courtyard, Raskin notices a dead bird.

“Every emissary has their own problems,” said Raskin, who moved to Morocco from France with her husband, Yehuda, in 1960. Pointing at the bird, she added, “This is also part of the Morocco experience.”

At 65 years old, the Chabad in Casablanca is the Hasidic movement’s oldest outpost in the world, and one of only two in the Arab world (the other is in Tunis). Chabad’s first emissaries arrived there in 1950, the beta test for what would grow into a global movement of thousands of Chabad rabbis and their wives scattered across six continents.

Volumes of an Arabic translation of a hasidic text at the Chabad outpost in Casablanca. (Ben Sales)Volumes of an Arabic translation of a Hasidic text at the Chabad outpost in Casablanca. Photo by Ben Sales

In its early years, Morocco’s Jewish population numbered 250,000 and Chabad served 5,000 students in schools across the country. But following the establishment of Israel in 1948 and Morocco’s independence from France in 1956, the vast majority emigrated.

Today, Chabad runs classes, weekend programs and a summer camp for the 2,500 Jews who remain. The week before Rosh Hashanah, raw chickens sat on crates ready to be cooked.

Chabad has survived here by keeping a low profile and maintaining good relations with the government. Like other Jewish institutions in Morocco, Chabad’s activities take place mostly behind closed doors. Its main building in Casablanca is unmarked, and a second facility is accessible through a winding alley removed from the street, with little outward identification.

Local rabbis also avoid talking about the Jewish state. Rabbi Levi Banon, who was born in Morocco and returned to run the operation in 2009, says Casablancans are mostly indifferent — or even friendly — toward Jews, though tension does flare during Israel’s frequent military operations. Raskin said that during Israel’s earlier wars, Moroccans would throw stones at Jews.

“Moroccan people are good people,” Banon said. “To them, the most important is the human touch and the human instinct. That’s more important than politics.”

Photos of King Hassan II and Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson adorn the wall of the Chabad facility in Casablanca. (Ben Sales)Photos of King Hassan II and Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson adorn the wall of the Chabad facility in Casablanca. Photo by Ben Sales

The first Chabad rabbi in Morocco, Michael Lipsker, was dispatched by Schneerson at the behest of his predecessor, Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, who wanted Chabad to help ensure the country’s long rabbinic tradition wouldn’t be lost.

“The tradition is very strong here — everyone has his own customs, his family’s customs,” said Raskin, whose husband served as the Morocco emissary for more than four decades until his death in 2004. “The previous rebbe said that the Jews of Morocco have a lot to do.”

Chabad has persisted through the years by staying in the good graces of Morocco’s rulers. A photo of King Mohammed VI hangs next to Schneerson’s portrait near the building’s entrance, and Banon says Schneerson kept a correspondence with Mohammed’s father, Hassan II.

Hassan’s United Nations ambassador even visited Schneerson in Brooklyn in 1988.

“You have done much good for the Jews there,” Schneerson told him, before giving him two dollar bills for charity — one for himself, one for the king — a tradition Schneerson maintained with many of his visitors for years.

“There were a few problems, but not from the government,” said Rabbi Shalom Edelman, who has served as a Chabad emissary in Morocco since 1958. “The government was always good to Jews.”

In recent years, Morocco has experienced what the Chabad emissaries describe as a newfound openness to the world. The standard of living has risen and, though Morocco and Israel don’t have formal diplomatic relations, Chabad rabbis can still freely travel between the two countries, an impossibility in the 1960s.

But none of that is likely to result in a resurgence of Jewish life in the country. While Raskin and Edelman are happy so many emigres have moved to Israel, they feel like caretakers for the vestiges of what was once an illustrious community.

“I know they went to Israel, to a safe place I can’t worry about, to a good place for fearing God,” Edelman said. “But for us, it’s harder. We need to fill a space. We educated them and they left, so what we accomplished left.”

Worth a trek: Searching Moroccan mountains for etrogs


We had to cross the gorge, and the only way was to walk single file on a narrow concrete gutter, maybe a foot wide, that bridged the two cliffs. Below us was a long, perilous drop onto the rocky depths.

I was traveling deep into the rural communities of Morocco’s Atlas Mountains, and so I’d expected to get a little dusty. But no one readied me for this afternoon trek in the desert sun. I was wearing a button-down shirt, slacks and dress shoes, and I was carrying my iPad, computer, camera and passport. But I wasn’t entirely unprepared: I had 1.5 liters (about 6 cups) of water slung across my shoulder.

It was hot and sandy, and the sun shone down on us from a clear sky. Sweat was drenching my back. My translator, the only person in the group whom I could talk to, was several steps ahead of me. I was in the sandy middle of nowhere, feeling exhausted and, since I was standing on the precipice of a cliff in an unfamiliar place, a little scared. I started walking and didn’t look down.

But I was a man with a mission. In between audible whispers of “holy shit,” I had this thought: There had better be some etrogs at the end of this trail.

When I told people I was going to Morocco one week before Rosh Hashanah to write about the country’s insular, centuries-old etrog industry, they told me I was either crazy (it was hard to infiltrate), too late (etrog season was ending) or both. But Berbers who spend their summers growing fruit in a Muslim country for a Jewish holiday felt like too good a story to miss, so I eagerly booked my flight.

Today, almost no Jews live in Morocco, though a few dozen Jewish merchants still support the industry, sending etrogs — known as citrons in English — to Jews around the world to use on Sukkot. Because 5775 was a “shmita,” or sabbatical year, when Jewish law prohibits agricultural activity in Israel, demand for Moroccan etrogs has been especially high there this season, even though the countries don’t have formal relations. I was determined to find out just how Moroccan etrogs are grown and brought to the Israeli market.

Organizing the trip, however, ended up being far more complicated than making a couple of calls. My one contact in the Moroccan etrog business said the merchants feared journalists and wouldn’t talk to me. An Israeli professor looked at me like a concerned parent after I asked for help visiting Berber citrus farmers in the Atlas Mountains. He wrote me an email hours later saying he was “somewhat worried” about me. It was too short notice, he felt, to plan the trip properly.

Running out of leads, I used British phone-directory websites to track down a London rabbi who literally wrote the book on Moroccan etrogs. But he told me he’d just returned from Morocco, was worn out from the flight and couldn’t talk.

“Go to a town called Assads,” he advised me. “When you get there, ask for Jawad. Tell Jawad to take you to the place he took Yashar. Shanah tovah.”

Then he hung up on me. My flight was in two days.

Assads, it turned out, was a small mountain village hours away from the nearest city and barely accessible by car. To get there I’d need someone to take me. And to speak to etrog growers, I’d need to connect with someone from the town who could introduce me and guide me to the etrogs. This was not exactly an agricultural tourism hot spot.

By the time I reached the Tel Aviv airport for my flight, I’d managed to make some tentative plans. A Moroccan citrus expert, Mohamed El-Otmani, arranged someone to drive me to Assads, along with a fixer who would show me the area.

The next morning, I was shaking hands with a burly man named Mohammed who would be my driver. Mohammed, I discovered, did not speak English. Neither did the fixer. I didn’t risk asking whether either of them spoke Hebrew.

“Don’t you speak Arabic?” El-Otmani asked me. I do not. So he found me an off-duty English teacher to translate, and the four of us — driver, translator, fixer and me — set off.

Our beat-up Mercedes drove from paved road to gravel path as the cosmopolitan beach city of Agadir, where I was staying, gave way to smaller, drearier towns. French disappeared from shop signs, replaced by Arabic. Unlike Agadir, where many people wore jeans, almost all the women walked with their heads covered, while the men wore beards and caftans. Then the towns faded away, until we had to stop on the dusty road to let a herd of goats pass by.

An hour into the journey, my translator asked if I was “good at walking.” It seemed like a bizarre question, and honestly, the answer was no. Born with mild cerebral palsy, I’ve always limped on my right side and had trouble balancing.

But I wasn’t going to back down. Yeah, sure I was good at walking, I said. How bad could it be?

Four hours later, after my driver had asked several children on a deserted highway for directions, we finally reached Assads and the end of the road. And Jawad, the rabbi’s contact, was nowhere to be found. There were many people named Jawad in Assads, locals said. And anyway, none of them were around.

My only hope was to follow our fixer, on foot, and pray I found an etrog tree. The four of us set off.

At first, the path was flat and narrow, with a cliffside on my left. Then it got narrower and rougher. Then a concrete gutter appeared to our right, with us balancing in between  — me trying to compensate for my unwieldy bag.

I jumped in the gutter and soon there was nothing on either side. All four of us were crossing the gorge.

During the hour that followed, we climbed over boulders, along steep drops and through rocky valleys where there was no path at all. When I slipped and caught myself, watching rocks trickle down the mountainside and disappear, I kept walking. It was my only option.

Here I was in the remote reaches of Morocco, carrying valuable equipment, with four men I didn’t know who were speaking a language I didn’t understand. My safety — let alone my story — was riding on their trust.

But then, as we got to flatter terrain, my fixer stopped and grinned at me. He raised his fists in triumph and motioned at me to take a photo. Down the path, as we passed by a river, he pulled a cluster of grapes off a vine; we all shared the snack. I allowed myself to exhale. I looked back at the sandy brown mountainscape we’d just traversed, freckled with palm trees and set against a bright blue sky. Maybe this would all work out, I thought.

A couple hundred feet later, a man stood in front of us wearing a caftan and snow hat with what looked like a bush to our left. The fixer shook his hand. My translator pointed at the bush.

There it was, hanging just inches above the ground: a bright green etrog.

I soon saw others camouflaged among wide green leaves and weeds. The bush was, in fact, part of a grove. It looked less like the orchard I expected and more like a bramble — as if the fruit just happened to naturally grow there. I followed the branches down a rocky, uneven slope, dodging errant etrog vines and trying, once again, not to lose my balance.

The man in the caftan was Mohammed Douch, whose family had been growing etrogs here for at least three generations. He wasn’t much for description — when I asked him, three times, what his favorite part of the work was, he just said it was his tradition. But he was dedicated. He’s 67 and a retired restaurant worker, his face worn by deep wrinkles, but he treks out here for a couple of months every year to grow etrogs, he said, because the town “is a part of our body.”

Behind him, across a narrow path, was a two-story structure made of bricks and dirt with a canopy of branches for a roof. Usually, Douch explained, he lives in the city. But each summer he comes here to reside in nature.

He repeated most of what he said to compensate for the language gulf that separated us, even with a translator. It’s an experience I had throughout my trip to Morocco. Usually the failure to communicate made me feel helpless, like I was missing a large part of a country I wanted to learn about.

But in the middle of the Moroccan mountains, amid a group of people I could barely talk to, I felt a sense of belonging. Moving to a hut with a roof of branches to tend to etrogs and connect to tradition? That’s something I could understand.

Muslims and Jews gather to combat anti-Semitism


This story originally appeared on The Media Line.

When Abderrahim Chaibi was seven years old, his teacher in a Muslim school in Morocco told him that Jews were bad people who murdered the Prophet Mohammed. Now decades later, Chaibi is in Jerusalem for the fifth Global Forum for Combatting Anti-Semitism, sponsored by the Israeli government.

“Our fathers and our teachers told us that Israel is a monster that murders Palestinians,” Chaibi, a professor of educational psychology told The Media Line. “But now I see that there is true multi-culturalism here, and that people from different religions and different cultures can co-exist. This is something we need to learn in Morocco.”

Morocco, he said, protected its Jews during World War II, and before the creation of the state of Israel in 1948, there were more than 260,000 Jews in the country. Today there are about 2500, he said, and many of the young people have immigrated to Israel.

“My mission is the change this image of Jews,” he said. “We don’t know anything about Jews or their heritage. That is the first step towards changing people’s attitudes.”

His compatriot, Mounir Kejji, a Berber activist, said there have long been ties between the Berbers, a minority group in Morocco and the Jews.

“Anti-semitism in Morocco is sponsored politically by some religious political parties and some organizations that believe in pan-Arabism,” he said. “At the same time, Morocco is the only Muslim country where you can find a Jewish museum.”

Several imams, or Muslim prayer leaders, also spoke at the conference. Imam Yahya Pallavicini is the preacher of the Al-Wahid mosque in Milan, and an advisor to the Minister of Education in Italy. He said anti-Semitism is on the rise in Europe.

“We had hoped as European citizens and as Muslim leaders that diseases such as anti-Semitism would decrease,” he told The Media Line. “But unfortunately the misleading interpretations and mentality and narrative of the anti-Semitic approach is increasing and influencing the young generation in Europe.”

He said that many Muslim leaders are concerned about the growing appeal of Islamic State, especially among young, poor Muslims.

“They are trying to influence and recruit the youth with an idea of an adventure, saying it’s like playing war games in the Middle East,” he said. “We have to make them understand that there is adventure in murder or in violence.”

In France, conference organizers say, more than 1000 youth have returned from fighting with Islamic State in Syria. Many of them are armed, and could carry out attacks against Jews or other targets. The Charlie Hebdo attacks in January, followed by the attack at the Jewish supermarket in Paris, left 17 people dead.

European delegates said they saw an increase in anti-Semitism after last summer’s fighting between the Islamist Hamas movement in Gaza and Israeli soldiers that left more than 2200 Palestinians and 73 Israelis dead. Many Europeans have more sympathy for the Palestinians, who they see as the underdog, and some cross the line from political support for Palestinians to anti-Semitism.

It is important for Jews worldwide to enlist allies in the fight against anti-Semitism, delegates here say, and for Jews to help in the fight against bigotry and racism.

 

“We’re not going to defeat anti-Semitism alone—we’re the victim but we need allies to help,” Rabbi Abraham Cooper of the Simon Wiesenthal Center told The Media Line. “What’s happening to the Yazidis (in Iraq), to the Christians in the Middle East, to endangered Muslims, has to be part of our collective consciousness. This is a whole new war of which anti-Semitism is just a piece.”

A taste of Morocco without leaving town


I remember six years ago being in Tarifa — on the southernmost coast of Spain, a 30-minute ferry ride to Tangier, Morocco — and being tempted to cross continents. The port was so close to Africa, I could nearly taste it. The cloth was brighter, the spices more aromatic, the sea greener. 

“I’m taking the ferry,” I told my parents, who were comfortably ensconced at home in Los Angeles, during a conversation over a throw-away mobile phone. 

“Like hell you are!” they responded. 

I still flirted with the possibility, but as a 20-year-old female trekking solo into that foreign port, without any real plan or sense of direction — not to mention a tired, old backpack filled to the brim with odds and ends — Morocco seemed too mystic, too far-fetched, too risky. I never went.

But I fulfilled that urge years later, with no backpack, no throw-away cellphone, no ferry crossing. With just a glass of Cabernet in hand, I sat at the Levantine Cultural Center on Pico Boulevard, transported to that faraway land with the help of an array of art and an impressive sound system. It was all part of an April 11 celebration of Mimouna, a Moroccan commemoration of the end of Passover.

Custom has it that Mimouna was an opportunity for Jews and Muslims to convene and break bread. Because Moroccan Jews at this time of year maintained Passover kitchens, their Muslim neighbors would offer them post-holiday ingredients from their own kitchens (flour, milk and honey) and, in turn, together they would celebrate with platefuls of mufleta, a flaky North African crepe. 

Jordan Elgrably, co-founder of Levantine Cultural Center, described Mimouna as a “chance for the non-Jewish Moroccans to hang out with their Jewish neighbors.” 

When I arrived at the event, I was immediately enveloped in a collage of colorful fabrics, scents of powdered sugar, baked dough and hot tea, and the sounds of traditional Moroccan tunes wafting from the stereo. 

“So, you are Moroccan tonight,” a busy Elgrably said before rushing away to the back. 

People continued to arrive — about 75 total. As seats were being arranged, visitors wearing traditional scarves, linens and ankle-length dresses in astonishing colors kept drifting through the Levantine’s front doors. Once no more seats were available, they sat cross-legged on the floor in typical Bedouin fashion.

“Happy Mimouna!” Elgrably said, welcoming the crowd. 

A patchwork of heritages, Elgrably is Moroccan, first and foremost, and a fusion of religious affiliations, including Jewish and Muslim. His father, of mixed ethnicity, was born in a town that Elgrably roughly calculated as “one day’s mule ride from Marrakesh,” and his mother came from Casablanca.

Inspired by his blended heritage, Elgrably told the Journal he wants to expand the potential of the Levantine Cultural Center in the coming year as a cultural co-op. In fact, a name change is underway and the center, which opened in 2001, soon will be rebranded as The Merkaz, which in Arabic and Hebrew means “The Center.” The idea, he said, is so “more people will relate to the concept that this is a hub.” 

“I’m the bridge from Old World to New World,” Elgrably, sporting a mop of curly hair, striped white-and-gold Moroccan garb and slick, black leather dress shoes, told the crowd. 

Soon after, the festivities commenced as performers Rose Rojas and her Guedra group took the stage. Guedra is a tribal dance traditional to the “blue people” of the Tuareg Berbers, a North African matriarchal tribe in which men, not women, wear veils. Their nickname comes from the indigo dyes used to color their linen, which in the Saharan heat, bleeds onto their skin. Adorned in rich indigo robes, the women sat on their knees, chanting, as Rojas went through the movements, twirling her hands and swaying her braided black locks.

Next was Youssef Iferd on a sinter (three-stringed lute), who played an improvised set with local band Bedouin X. Iferd’s voice wavered like an imam’s call to prayer as he sang the ancient hymns of Essaouira, the walled city from which he comes.

This was my first Mimouna and my first real taste of Morocco. And although, over the years, Mimouna has been adopted by other cultures and traditions have been revised, Elgrably made it a point to revert to its origins. For me, it rekindled something else — that feeling of sitting in a Spanish port, exhilarating and wondrous, not knowing what to expect. 

Morocco lifts ban on ‘Exodus: Gods and Kings’ after edits


Morocco lifted its ban on the movie “Exodus: Gods and Kings” after Fox Studios and director Ridley Scott deleted what was considered offensive dialogue.

“They went ahead and made the desired change, removing two audio passages that alluded to the personification of the Divine,” a statement issued Tuesday night by the Moroccan Cinematography Center, according to The Associated Press.

The dialogue in question implied that one of the characters was God. In Islam, it is forbidden to give God a corporeal form.

The movie was banned Dec. 27 as it was about to be screened in theaters across the country.

Several Arab countries banned the screening of the movie, including Egypt, which called it a “Zionist film,” and the United Arab Emirates, which said the movie was historically inaccurate

Arab countries ban release of ‘Exodus: Gods and Kings’


Several Arab countries banned the release of the film “Exodus: Gods and Kings.”

Egypt on Friday barred what its culture minister called a “Zionist film.”

“It gives a Zionist view of history and contains historical inaccuracies, and that’s why we have decided to ban it,” Gaber Asfour told the French news agency AFP.

A day earlier, Morocco banned the Ridley Scott movie as it was about to be screened in theaters throughout the country, The New York Times reported. Morocco banned the film because of scenes that showed God in a corporeal form.

The United Arab Emirates over the weekend also reportedly decided to bar the release of the film, claiming inaccuracies in the account of the biblical story.

“This movie is under our review and we found that there are many mistakes not only about Islam but other religions, too,” Juma Obeid Al Leem, the director of Media Content Tracking at the National Media Council in the UAE, told Gulf News. “So we will not release it in the UAE.”

 

Sfenj: Tough to pronounce, easy to eat


This recipe is my little Chanukah gift to all my Ashkenazi friends, who never got to wake up on Sunday mornings in Casablanca to the smell of the world’s greatest doughnuts — my mother’s sfenj. You won’t find these hot, doughy marvels at Krispy Kreme or any of those trendy new doughnut joints. For one thing, how would they market a doughnut pronounced “shfinz”? 

Sfenj are a ubiquitous fried pastry in North Africa. The name is based on the Arabic word for “sponge,” not because they soak up oil, but because a perfect sfenj — my mother’s — is light and springy.  

The doughnuts really make their star appearance in Jewish homes around Chanukah, when foods fried in oil take center stage. They are the perfect complement to Ashkenazi latkes — a culinary model of Jewish unity.

Thanks to some help from my cousin Sydney Suissa, who did grow up with me in Morocco, the recipe below includes a few “tricks” gathered by my mother over 50 years of making the same item. If you follow the instructions, your sfenj will be so delicious, you can tell your kids it’s their Chanukah gift.

SFENJ (Moroccan Chanukah doughnuts)

  • 3 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1 envelope active dry yeast
  • 1 tablespoon salt
  • 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
  • 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
  • 1 egg
  • 1 1/2 cups water (105 to 110 F)
  • Vegetable oil for frying
  • Powdered sugar for sprinkling 
  • Honey for dipping

 

Mix together flour, yeast, salt and granulated sugar. Add oil and egg, mixing lightly. Add the water slowly, using your hands to work it into the mixture.

Knead the dough gently; shape it into a ball. Place in a lightly oiled bowl, cover, and let rise in a warm place for about 1 1/2 hours.

Wet hands slightly, then roll dough into small balls. Flatten, then create a hole using your finger, and stretch the dough gently. 

In a deep pot, heat oil to 350 F. Drop sfenj carefully into hot oil. When lightly browned and crusty, turn and finish frying.

Sprinkle with powdered sugar. Serve warm with honey for dipping. 

Makes about 20 sfenj.

Jewish burial site restored off African coast


A Jewish burial plot in the island state of Cape Verde was rededicated with help from the king of Morocco.

About 100 people attended the rededication ceremony Thursday.

“The support of King Mohammed VI to this project is representative of Morocco’s attachment to the preservation of its patrimony — Arab, Jewish or Berber,” Andre Azoulay, the king’s Jewish advisor, said in a statement read during the ceremony by Abdellah Boutadghart, a Moroccan diplomat.

Several hundred Moroccan Jews settled in Cape Verde off the Senegalese coast in the 19th century, when it was still a Portuguese colony. The community has since disappeared, but the Moroccan government has been a “major benefactor” of heritage preservation efforts, according to Carol Castiel of the Cape Verde Jewish Heritage Project.

“Just imagine, a Muslim king contributing to a Jewish project in a Christian country. I think it says it all,” Castiel said.

Situated in the heart of the Cape Verde’s largest cemetery, the Jewish burial plot is set apart by a low-hanging chain that encircles its ten restored headstones, the oldest dating back to 1864. The rededication ceremony was concluded with a prayer by Eliezer Di Martino, the rabbi of the Jewish Community of Lisbon.

“It was a very moving and surreal event,” one of the project’s Jewish supporters, the Casablanca-born American businessman Marc Avissar, told JTA.

The project has so far cost about $125,000 but may end up costing three times that amount as efforts continue to restore additional Jewish heritage sites in other parts of Cape Verde, a republic made up of 10 islands.

Moroccan PM celebrates restoration of 17th century synagogue


About 200 people reportedly celebrated the completion of the restoration of a synagogue in the city of Fes in Morocco.

The ceremony on Feb. 13 marked the conclusion of a two-year project undertaken by Mohammed VI, the king of Morocco, the website of the magazine Jeune Afrique reported.

Among those attending the rededication ceremony of the Slat Alfassiyine synagogue in Fes were many Moroccan Jews but also the president of the Bundestag, the German parliament, Norbert Lammert. Germany contributed much of the funding for restoring the building, which dates back to the 17th century.

Representing the king was Prime Minister Abdelilah Benkirane of the Islamist Justice and Development Party, who said the event was a celebration of “the richness and diversity of the spiritual elements” that make up Morocco. He reportedly pledged to restore all of the kingdom’s synagogues.

Situated in the center of the city in the El Mellah quarter, the synagogue was “the epicenter of Jewish life” in the city, according to Jeune Afrique. The small synagogue now boasts cream-colored walls with traditional Moroccan decoration.

Spurred on by a succession of pogroms, including in Oujada and Jerada, some 250,000 Moroccan Jews left the North African country between 1948 and 1967. Many settled in Israel, although Zionism was outlawed in Morocco in 1959 and defined a “serious crime.”

Morocco ended that official animosity in the late 1980s and has maintained ties with Israel since then. Today, only some 3,000 Jews live in Morocco, according to the European Jewish Congress.

Is there life after Bashar Assad?


“It might take two weeks or it might take a year, but either way President Bashar Assad is on his way out,” Moshe Maoz, Israel’s pre-eminent expert on Syria told The Media Line. “It’s certainly closer than it was a few months ago.”

His comments came as Qatar, the small oil-rich Gulf state, called for international support of the Syrian rebels at a “Friends of Syria” meeting in Morocco.

“This meeting has exceptional significance. It is taking place at a time when the Syrian people are about to complete their victory and achieve their legitimate aspirations,” Foreign Minister Sheikh Hamad bin Jassim al-Thani said. “The opposition forces are expanding their control and the authority of the regime is eroding,”

The rebel fighters have been buoyed by growing international recognition — including from the United States. At the same meeting, Saudi Arabia’s Foreign Minister Prince Saud al- Feisal said his country was donating $100 million in humanitarian aid to the Assad’s opponents.

After 20 months of a civil war that has left more than 42,000 people dead; and with at least half a million Syrians having fled the country, the world is beginning to envision a Syria without Assad. For some countries, especially Israel, that is a mixed blessing.

“Many Israelis, especially in the intelligence, believe that Bashar Assad is pragmatic and corrupt, but we can work with him,” Maoz said. “Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.”

Israeli officials are also concerned that if Assad is overthrown, his large stocks of chemical weapons could end up in the hands of Hizbullah, Iran’s Shiite proxy based in Lebanon. Israel and Hizbullah fought a war in 2006 that ended in a draw. Since then, Hizbullah has rearmed and threatens new attacks on Israel.

Assad has also kept the Israeli-Syrian border quiet since 1973, despite the lack of a peace treaty between the two countries.

One scenario for Syria is that the country could divide into areas controlled by Syria’s different ethnic groups.

“You could have the Alawites around the area of Latakiya; the Kurds, who are more or less autonomous anyway; the Druze and the Sunnis, each taking one area,” Maoz says. “But most of the Sunnis — who represent more than 60 percent of the country — want Syria to stay united.”

It is also not clear whether the rebel groups are prepared to govern Syria. The Syrian National Coalition, an umbrella for opposition groups that was formed last month in Qatar, hopes to be able to form a government. The former imam of the Umayyad mosque in Damascus, Moaz al-Khatib, was elected president of the coalition. But not all rebel groups are part of the Coalition and analysts fear internal power struggles.

There are also fears that some of the rebel groups are affiliated with Al-Qa’ida. The Obama Administration recently designated the Islamist Jabhat Al-Nusra a terrorist organization, a decision the leader of the National Coalition has asked Washington to re-think.

Middle East analysts also say that events in other countries in the region offer a cautionary warning to those looking at post-Assad Syria.

“When (Iraqi dictator) Saddam Hussein fell (in 2003), Iraq fell apart,” Nadim Shehadi, an expert on Syria at Chatham House in London told The Media Line. “Some are concerned that the fall of Assad could mean the same thing for Syria.”

But Shehadi says the Arab world is a very different place today than it was then.

“The whole region then was against the American invasion of Iraq and nobody wanted Iraq to succeed,” he said. “All of those countries contributed to the mess in Iraq.”

Syria, he says, could be a different situation. Egypt, Tunisia and Libya are cautiously seen as moving toward democracy. The Gulf States, led by Saudi Arabia, want stability in the region. And Israel, preoccupied by Iran’s continued attempts to develop a nuclear bomb, wants a stable regime in Syria.

“The lesson from Iraq doesn’t apply,” Shehadi says. “The longer you keep Assad in power, the more of a mess it will be after he falls.”

Rabbi Uziel’s overture to Muslim leaders


During our Sephardic Film Festival this past week, we screened a film telling the intriguing and inspirational life story of Rabbi Ben-Zion Meir Hai Uziel, the first Sephardic Chief Rabbi of the State of Israel. Rabbi Uziel’s motto was “Loving Truth and Peace.” We also screened a film about Muslims saving Jews during the Holocaust, and another film reflecting co-existence and friendship between Jews and Muslims in Morocco. In the very spirit of these films, a delegation of 19 Muslim leaders from France visited Israel this week, for the specific purpose of improving relations between Jews and Muslims in France. During their visit to Yad Vashem, delegation leader Imam Hassen Chalgoumi said this trip reinforced the importance of combatting Islamic fundamentalism and Holocaust denial. “Life is more important than holy books,” Chalgoumi said in a speech outside Yad Vashem.

All of this, while the Hamas terrorist organization and other Islamic extremists launch deadly rockets on civilian populations in Israel, and the IDF enters a potentially protracted military operation in yet another attempt to destroy the terrorist cells in Gaza.

In the spirit of the films we screened this week, and with the visit of the French Imams to Israel – I offer you my translation of of a letter co-authored by Sephardic Chief Rabbi Uziel and Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi Herzog. It was written in 1948, during the Hebrew month of Kislev – the same month we started today.

Here is the text of their letter:

21 Kislev, 5708

“A Call to the Leaders of Islam for Peace and Brotherhood.”

To the Heads of The Islamic Religion in the Land of Israel and throughout the Arab lands near and far, Shalom U’Vracha:

Brothers, at this hour, as the Jewish people have returned to its land and state, per the word of God and the prophets in the Holy Scriptures, and in accordance with the decision of the United Nations, we approach you in peace and brotherhood, in the name of God’s Torah and the Holy Scriptures, and we say to you:

Please remember the peaceful and friendly relations that existed between us when we lived together in Arab lands and under Islamic Rulers during the Golden Age, when together we developed brilliant intellectual insights of wisdom and science for all of humanity’s benefit. Please remember the sacred words of the prophet Malachi, who said: “Have we not all one Father? Did not one God create us? Why do we break faith with one another, profaning the covenant of our ancestors?” (Malachi 2:10).

We were brothers, and we shall once again be brothers, working together in cordial and neighborly relations in this Holy Land, so that we will build it and make it flourish, for the benefit of all of its inhabitants, without discrimination against anyone. We shall do so in faithful and calm collaboration, so that we may all merit God’s blessing on His land, from which there shall radiate the light of peace to the entire world.

Signed,

Ben-Zion Meir Hai Uziel
Yitschak Isaac Ha-Levi Herzog

64 years later, as we begin this year’s Month of Kislev with Israelis under siege from the rockets of Muslim extremists, it is very sad that the Muslim leaders in 1948 never responded to the beautiful overture to peace from the Chief Rabbis. Just imagine what Israel, the Middle East, the Arab World, and the entire world would have looked like this past 64 years had they answered in kind to the above letter.

In the meanwhile, all we can do is defend ourselves, all the while praying and continuing to hope that some day – for the sake of Israeli children, Arab children, and all children – that Muslim leaders might wake up and respond to this letter, or to the many other peaceful overtures of Israeli governments and leaders.

If that would happen, then relations between Jews and Muslims would no longer be characterized as “cool topics” for feature and documentary films, and Imams would not need to visit Yad Vashem to shock themselves into cordial relations with Jews. Rabbi Uziel and Rabbi Herzog’s grand vision would not feel so prophetic, but would be – as they said – the way we lived once upon a time.

Until then, we pray for peace and God’s protection.

Jewish man hammered to death in Morocco


Police are investigating whether the murder of a Jewish man in Morocco was nationalistic or criminally motivated.

The victim, identified as Benjamin, was struck in the head repeatedly by a hammer on Monday in the northern city of Fez, according to reports citing Moroccan media. The attacker fled the scene and has not been captured, according to reports.

Benjamin was a rent collector from Jewish-owned properties, according to Ynet. Police reportedly have ordered an autopsy

The murder comes a day after the forced evacuation of an Israeli diplomat from the country.

David Saranga, Israel’s senior liaison to the European Parliament, was evacuated under guard when tens of thousands of protesters participating in a mass pro-Palestinian rally organized by Islamists opposed to Morocco’s monarchy converged on the parliament building in Rabat. There was concern that Saranga could be targeted for attack.

Morocco evacuates Israeli diplomat


Pro-Palestinian protests forced the evacuation of an Israeli diplomat from Morocco.

David Saranga, Israel’s senior liaison to the European Parliament, traveled from Brussels to Rabat over the weekend for an international conference of lawmakers. But the event was overshadowed by a mass pro-Palestinian rally organized by Islamists opposed to Morocco’s monarchy, which has fostered low-key ties established with the Jewish state in 1994.

As tens of thousands of protesters converged on the parliament building in Rabat, Saranga was evacuated under guard Sunday out of concern he could be targeted for attack.

“There was a never-ending stream of people, with Palestinian flags in one hand and, in the other, Israeli flags with swastikas instead of Stars of David,” Saranga told Israel’s Army Radio in a telephone interview Monday.

Islamist leader Hassan Bennajeh said Sunday’s march came ahead of the annual Land Day demonstrations by Israeli Arabs against Jerusalem’s policies.

“Everybody knows that the Moroccan regime supports normalization with Israel and has helped thousands of Moroccan Jews to migrate to and populate Israel,” Bennajeh said, according to Reuters.

Belgian Jewish teen beaten by Moroccan classmates


The beating of a 13-year-old Jewish girl in Brussels has Belgium’s Jewish umbrella group contemplating civil action.

Oceane Sluijzer, 13, was beaten by five Moroccan female classmates after a confrontation at a sports center last week, the European Jewish Press reported.

The attackers also shouted, “Shut up, you dirty Jew, and return to your country” at Sluijzer, who has filed a formal complaint with the Brussels police.

Belgium has about 40,000 Jews.

In response, the Coordinating Committee of Jewish Organizations of Belgium, the umbrella organization for Belgian Jewry, issued a statement expressing its hope that the investigation would proceed quickly while also hinting that it might file a civil action.

The committee expressed its “exasperation” over repeated anti-Semitic and anti-Israel attacks and asked Belgium’s education minister “to introduce appropriate educational programs in schools to prevent unjustified tensions between communities.”

Holocaust truth is told on Muslim soil


While Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was spewing hatred and denying the Holocaust from the floor of the United Nations, and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas were trading charges as to who is responsible for the nonexistent peace process, I was attending a small but significant event taking place at Al Akhawayn University, an elite English-language college in the picturesque ski resort town of Ifrane, Morocco. It was the first Holocaust Conference — nondenial Holocaust Conference — on Arab soil.

A word about the Moroccan initiative: The conference is the product of the University’s Moadon Mimouna (as their logo says in Hebrew). The Mimouna Club is a student organization dedicated to the study and experience of Moroccan Jewish culture and history … and the study of Hebrew. It was founded and headed by a young student, Elmehdi Boudra, who has a special interest in Morocco’s Jewish heritage and in intercultural dialogue. This was the third “Moroccan Jewish Days,” exploring Jewish life in Morocco sponsored by Boudra and his colleagues, and the first to tackle the difficult subject of the Holocaust. The club’s name, Mimouna, was chosen deliberately. When more than a quarter of a million Jews lived in Morocco, it was the custom of Muslims to bake bread and pastries and bring them to their Jewish neighbors as darkness fell at the end of the eighth day of Passover, the first moment when chametz was permissible. This evening is known in Morocco as Mimouna.

Boudra partnered with Peter Geffen, the dynamic founder and executive director of Kivunim, a gap-year program that brings American high-school graduates to Israel for a year of study and international travel. They study Hebrew and Arabic, Jewish history and Arab culture, and they visit Central and Eastern Europe, Portugal, Spain, Greece, Turkey, India and Morocco. A veteran of the civil-rights movement and the scion of a distinguished rabbinic family – Geffen’s Atlanta-based grandfather gave the hechsher to Coca-Cola almost a century ago — Geffen, the son of a rabbi and father of two rabbinical students, broke with his family tradition. Among his other accomplishments, he founded the Abraham Joshua Heschel School in Manhattan. Geffen had previously negotiated the inner labyrinth of Moroccan society and politics, organizing the United Nations tribute to Morocco on International Holocaust Commemoration Day on Jan. 27, 2010. He brought his organizational skill and significant contacts in the Moroccan community to the conference planning committee. He invited me to participate.

Jews in Morocco, under the colonial rule of Vichy France, fared far better than the Jews in Vichy France, who faced a collaborationist regime that hunted its Jews. Throughout last week’s conference, stories were shared by the now-aging sons of prominent Jewish leaders, who related conversations between their fathers and the wartime King Mohammed V, who expressed concern for all his subjects, without excluding Jews, a stance so rare during the Holocaust that as I listened to these stories, images of Denmark came to mind. Danish leaders had famously said: “We have no Jewish problem in our country.” Their heroism was to treat Jews as fellow citizens under attack from a hostile occupying force — nothing more and nothing less. Thus, rescue was natural, not the stuff of righteousness but of ordinary decency.

The Jewish leaders of Morocco today, the sons of World War II communal leaders, related stories of regional governors who gave Jewish leaders matches and told them to burn the list of the names, addresses and assets of local Jews. Without lists, it was more difficult to deport the Jews and confiscate their assets.

Like Robert Satloff, who wrote “Among the Righteous: Lost Stories From the Holocaust’s Long Reach Into Arab Lands” on Moslems who saved Jews, Geffen believes the best counterweight to Holocaust denial in the Arab world is to celebrate those in Arab lands who helped Jews and thus provide a positive role model to contemporary Muslims. Let them deny the decency of their people.  He described King Mohammed V as a Righteous Among the Nations. Yet because of the specificity of Yad Vashem’s criteria — a non-Jew who saved without monetary reward or its expectation, or at risk to his own life — the king is unlikely to be so designated by Yad Vashem, as it would be difficult to document that his life was at risk.

Unbeknownst to many, including me, King Mohammed VI, the young and reformist-minded king of Morocco, has issued a proclamation on the Holocaust, a specific and deliberate refutation of Holocaust denial. He said: “Amnesia has no effect on my understanding of the Holocaust or that of my people.”

He proclaimed in 2009: “We must together endeavor to reassert reason and the values which underpin the legitimacy of a space of coexistence where the words of dignity, justice and freedom will express themselves in the same way and will coexist with the same requirements, regardless of our origins, cultures or spirituality. This is our interpretation in Morocco, of the duty of remembrance dictated by the Shoah.”

Notice the word “Shoah”; notice also the word “amnesia.”

After an opening ceremony and greetings, the first presentations began in the presence of faculty and, more important, students.  Simon Levy, director of the Museum of Moroccan Jewry in Casablanca, spoke on the situation of Jews in Vichy France and in Morocco. Simon Levy, director of the Museum of Moroccan Jewry in Casablanca, spoke on the situation of Jews in Vichy France and in Morocco. 

Although this was an academic conference, my own presentation was anything but academic. Whereas presenters at scholarly conferences normally are expected to bring new research to the fore, my assignment here was perhaps more difficult. In the allotted 45 minutes, I was to present an overview of the Holocaust to students who had no background in the Holocaust, none in the study of European history, and none in films and books newspapers and television, which have given the average American and European student considerable knowledge even before they enter the classroom. I was also to speak of the uniqueness of the Holocaust to an audience more aware of Holocaust denial than of history, and who have a natural reluctance to confront the Holocaust because of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict so dominant in the news, particularly on the days we met. Let others judge my success, suffice it to say that I had complete academic freedom — no one asked to see a copy of my remarks in advance, no one pressured me on what I could and could not say. I spoke exactly as I would speak elsewhere of Zionism and Israel as a haven and a refuge, and I tried to present an overview of the Holocaust that was respectful of a scholarly faculty while informative to the students in the audience.

After my presentation, Elisabeth Citron, a Hungarian survivor of Auschwitz, spoke. We are the last generation to live in the presence of survivors, and while the engagement with those who were at Auschwitz is quite familiar to American, Israeli and European audiences, this was the first time most in the room heard from someone who was there.  Citron was a 12-year-old girl when she was deported to Auschwitz, where she survived the selektion; her mother was not so fortunate. An elegant and eloquent Swedish woman, who only began to speak of the Holocaust when Holocaust deniers gained attention in her adopted homeland, her testimony was riveting. She described hiding in a latrine, suspended by her arms in human waste, to avoid detection as the Nazis searched for young inmates. One could feel the air being sucked out of the room. Her testimony was treated with the respect it merited. The conclusion of her remarks left the room in stunned silence.

After the break, two of the most prominent Jews in Morocco spoke, Ambassador Serge Berdugo, an ambassador-at-large for the King of Morocco and president of the Moroccan Jewish Communities, and Andre Azoulay, the king’s senior adviser. More important, for the purposes of this conference, Berdugo spoke as the son of his father, who was the wartime president of the Jewish community of Mekness and involved with secret meetings with King Mohammed V. Azoulay plays the same role in the king’s court that Larry Summers played in President Barack Obama’s White House, but with greater success, as Morocco has an enviable growth rate of 4.5 percent. Both Berdugo and Azoulay are deeply involved in interfaith relations, both committed Moroccans and committed Jews who see multiculturalism and mutual respect as essential to Morocco’s well-being and indispensible to Jewish survival in Morocco. Morocco is oriented to the West. The elite speak French. They have major economic ties to Europe, and businesses are open on Friday so that they can trade with their European counterparts.

The question-and-answer session was polite but intense. I was asked about the extent of Jewish power during World War II and to address the charge that Jews had collaborated with the Nazis in their own destruction — frank and important questions essential for this audience to confront. To the former, I responded that Jews have never been as powerful as our enemies have imagined us to be and with a few exceptions — the Holocaust being the most important — never as powerless as we imagined ourselves to be. I went through the choiceless choices that Jewish leaders confronted during the Holocaust and the difference between collaboration and coercion.

The students also confronted the Jewish political leaders on a basic question: Why did Moroccan Jews leave? Once a community of 280,000 strong, 99 percent of the Jews have left Morocco for Diasporas in France and Canada and, of course, in Israel. Every immigration movement is defined by a push-pull phenomenon, by the perceived necessity to leave one’s native land and an attraction, political, economic, ideological or religious, to go elsewhere — and if the push is strong enough, to go anywhere. The political leaders were “diplomatic” in their answers, not untruthful but overtly cautious. The truth is that Moroccan Jews left with the establishment of the State of Israel and after political turmoil in the Arab world following Israel’s wars in 1956, 1967, 1973 and during Intifada I and II. But some remained, along with strong communal institutions — schools and synagogues, kosher butchers and bakeries, Jewish clubs and multiple kosher restaurants. Their presence, even as a small remnant of a community, is noticeable even today. More important, Moroccan Jews living elsewhere return home for visits, and Moroccan Jews are free to visit Israel and Israelis to visit Morocco. The situation is radically different than in some other Arab countries, where a Jewish presence is unwelcome and where the land is Judenrein — without Jews.

A clear illustration of the respect shown to the Jews and to the conference was that a kosher meal was served and Jewish leaders from throughout Morocco came to the festive dinner. And that evening, the university auditorium offered a concert by a Moroccan Jewish performer. Students danced and celebrated Jewish culture and Moroccan culture. Most women were dressed in secular and rather attractive garb, but Muslim head coverings and scarves were also noticeable among the attendees.

The Conference resumed in Casablanca with a visit to the Museum of Moroccan Jewry and a series of presentations on the issue of multiculturalism as a progressive, Europe-oriented Muslim nation grapples with how to deal with its Jews and Christians in a world where polarization seemingly overshadows cooperation and mutual respect. The Muslim curator of the museum, Zhor Rhihel, whose salary is paid by the Ministry of Culture, spoke on how to preserve Jewish culture and the Jewish presence as part of Moroccan national history. Forsan Hussein, CEO of the Jerusalem YMCA, was invited to make a presentation. A handsome and articulate thirty-something Israeli Arab, he described himself, as a “Moslem CEO of a Christian Institution in a Jewish state married to a women whose father was the first ArabIsraeli to serve as an Israeli Ambassador – it doesn’t get better than that.” A graduate of Brandeis, where, when he began his undergraduate studies during Intifada II, he was the full extent of the Palestinian community, Hussein also has advanced degrees from Harvard and Johns Hopkins Center for Strategic and International Studies. He is the embodiment of the multicultural possibilities and sensibilities, a veritable case study in bridging divides.

We also learned of the efforts of the High Atlas Foundation to address poverty by empowering the Mountain people in rural Morocco and of their reverence for their unique rural Jewish heritage. That evening we listened to a concert by Vanessa Paloma,  who came from Los Angeles to Morocco as a Fulbright Scholar to study its Jewish Musical heritage, married a Moroccan Jewish man and stayed, now becoming not only a talented student of the past, but an integral part of the Moroccan Jewish Musical future.

There was something eerily familiar about Morocco. Like Poland and other countries that once had thriving Jewish communities, Morocco must deal with the paradox of “the presence of absence and the absence of presence.” Jews were an integral part of Morocco’s past. Each city has a mellah — a walled ghetto — adjacent to the King’s Palace, where the Jewish community was centered and where Jews sold salt and sugar as part of the richness of the country. Jewish homes are still there. One notices the indentations of mezuzot in many buildings in the Jewish quarter, the place where they once marked the doorpost of a Jewish home. Jews have lived in Morocco since the destruction of the First Temple; many trace their roots to the megurashim, those who were expelled from Spain in 1492 and found a haven in Morocco. Yet, unlike Poland, there is not the same sadness, not the same guilt. Jews migrated, but they were saved, not murdered.

The conference was counter-testimony to our world of hatred and polarization. The Israeli-Palestinian confrontation is the shadow that does not allow the un-ambivalent embrace of this Jewish history, this essential part of Moroccan history. Asked how the Holocaust should be taught to Moroccan students, Rhihel, the curator of the Moroccan Jewish Museum, immediately replied: “It cannot be taught in our schools until the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is resolved.” The Moroccan students who were in dialogue with alumni of Kivunim who attended the conference were far more flexible.

Still, I had a sense of purpose being there to help kindle a ray of light, however fragile, away from the venom that, even as we studied together, marked Jewish-Muslim relations at the United Nations.

Michael Berenbaum is professor of Jewish studies and director of the Sigi Ziering Center for the Study of the Holocaust and Ethics at American Jewish University.

Moroccan constitutional referendum recognizes Jewish community


A national referendum in Morocco approved a new constitution that incorporates democratic reforms and recognizes the nationalities that make up the population, including the Jewish community.

The constitution calls Morocco “A sovereign Moslem State, committed to the ideals of openness, moderation, tolerance and dialogue to foster mutual understanding among all civilizations; A Nation whose unity is based on the fully endorsed diversity of its constituents: Arabic, Amazigh, Hassani, Sub-Saharan, African, Andalusian, Jewish and Mediterranean components.”

The Conference of Presidents of Major American Jewish Organizations praised King Mohammed VI of Morocco on the results of the July 1 referendum approving the new constitution.

In a letter to Serge Berdugo, president of the Moroccan Jewish community, Presidents Conference Chairman Richard Stone and Executive Vice Chairman Malcolm Hoenlein said the Presidents Conference has enjoyed a close working relationship with the king, as it did with the late King Hassan II, and noted that the group visited Morocco in 2004 and the leadership continues to exchange visits regularly.

“In a tumultuous region,” the letter said, “Morocco remains an island of stability.”

Jewish couple among the dead in Marrakesh cafe explosion


A Jewish couple were among more than a dozen people killed in an explosion Thursday in Marrakesh, Morocco.

Massoud Weizman, 32, and his wife Michal, 30, lived in Shanghai, China, but were visiting Massoud’s parents in Casablanca for Passover. They apparently dropped by the cafe overlooking Marrakesh’s Jamaa el-Fnaa square just before the bomb exploded. The spot is popular with tourists; 10 of those killed were foreigners. Authorities are treating the incident as a terrorist attack.

Michal, who is an Israeli citizen, was pregnant.

Morrocco’s King Mohammed VI has ordered an investigation into the bombing. The country’s last major terrorist attack was in 2003. The king reportedly has arranged for a charter flight to fly family members from Morocco to Israel, where the young couple will be laid to rest on Monday.

The Weizmans were actively involved in Shanghai’s ex-pat Jewish community, Rabbi Sholom Greenberg, head of Chabad of Shanghai, told lubavitch.com. Michal was on the parents’ committee at the Jewish preschool attended by the couple’s three-year-old son David Yosef, and Massoud was a regular at the center’s Torah study classes.

“We lost very precious people. The entire community is in shock. Messod and Michal were very special and beautiful people with the kindest of hearts and purest of souls. They were a sincere young couple with an open home,” Greenberg told reporters.

David Yosef was with his grandparents when his parents were killed.

Witnesses told Reuters they saw a man carrying a bag entering the cafe right before the explosion. Other witnesses told reporters the man was a suicide bomber. The explosion ripped through the first and second floors of the building, and body parts were found scattered throughout the wreckage.

Jewish couple among the dead in Marrakesh cafe explosion


A Jewish couple were among more than a dozen people killed in an explosion Thursday in Marrakesh, Morocco.

Massoud Weizman, 32, and his wife Michal, 30, lived in Shanghai, China, but were visiting Massoud’s parents in Casablanca for Passover. They apparently dropped by the cafe overlooking Marrakesh’s Jamaa el-Fnaa square just before the bomb exploded. The spot is popular with tourists; 10 of those killed were foreigners. Authorities are treating the incident as a terrorist attack.

Michal, who is an Israeli citizen, was pregnant.

Morrocco’s King Mohammed VI has ordered an investigation into the bombing. The country’s last major terrorist attack was in 2003. The king reportedly has arranged for a charter flight to fly family members from Morocco to Israel, where the young couple will be laid to rest on Monday.

The Weizmans were actively involved in Shanghai’s ex-pat Jewish community, Rabbi Sholom Greenberg, head of Chabad of Shanghai, told lubavitch.com. Michal was on the parents’ committee at the Jewish preschool attended by the couple’s three-year-old son David Yosef, and Massoud was a regular at the center’s Torah study classes.

“We lost very precious people. The entire community is in shock. Messod and Michal were very special and beautiful people with the kindest of hearts and purest of souls. They were a sincere young couple with an open home,” Greenberg told reporters.

David Yosef was with his grandparents when his parents were killed.

Witnesses told Reuters they saw a man carrying a bag entering the cafe right before the explosion. Other witnesses told reporters the man was a suicide bomber. The explosion ripped through the first and second floors of the building, and body parts were found scattered throughout the wreckage.

Lebhar’s Dream


If you wanted to start a worldwide revival of Moroccan Jewish customs, where would you base your operations? Probably where there’s already a high concentration of Moroccan Jews, like, say, Israel, Montreal or France. But right in the heart of trendy Westwood?

Maybe there’s a disconnect there, but don’t say that to Rabbi Mordechai Lebhar. He’s very happy in Westwood.

For one thing, he’s happy wherever his books are. On a recent Sunday afternoon in his cozy Westwood apartment, he showed me some of these books, arranged in high piles on his dining room table. He picked up each one like a watchmaker with a fragile watch. The books contain teachings of the great Moroccan sages going back several centuries.

They are rare books seen by few people, fragile and precious.

But there’s one book in those piles that is not so rare. This is a book the rabbi himself wrote three years ago, “Magen Avot” (“Shield of our Fathers”). The book distilled many of the Moroccan customs discussed by the sages, and it has caused a mini-stir in Moroccan circles around the world because it challenges Moroccan Jews everywhere to reclaim their long-forgotten traditions.

Lebhar’s got this mad love affair with tradition. At one point, he choked up as he spoke of a certain Moroccan custom which I also recall from childhood: Before the final evening prayers of Shabbat, and in front of the congregation, the best voices of the shul would sing these beautiful Tehilim melodies. Why did they do that?

Our Moroccan ancestors, the rabbi explained, were Torah romantics. They were so in love with Shabbat that they didn’t want it to end. So they sang these soulful melodies at the twilight of the holy day, as a way of soaking up and deepening the Shabbat experience, longing against all odds that it would never end.

The rabbi thinks that if Moroccan Jews would become more aware of the reasons behind their traditions, they would be more likely to honor them.

And those reasons are not always romantic. For example, at Shabbat meals, Moroccans have a tradition of saying certain brachas over food, between the Kiddush and the blessing on the bread. Why? Not because our salads are so amazing that we can’t stand to wait another minute, but because Torah-observant Jews have an obligation to recite 100 brachas a day. Since Shabbat prayers have fewer brachas than weekday prayers, our ancestors used the Shabbat meal to help them fulfill that obligation.

Lebhar’s got hundreds of those customs. He can go on for hours on even silly customs, like, say, why Moroccan Jews kiss each other in shul. A few years ago, the great Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef, who hails from Iraq and often makes rulings that differ from Moroccan customs, ruled that kissing was not allowed in synagogue. He interpreted a talmudic teaching differently than the Moroccan sages, who allowed this traditional greeting between men, based on their own talmudic interpretation.

The point that Lebhar keeps making is that all those Moroccan traditions, silly or not, have good reasons behind them, many of them talmudic reasons driven by a deep respect for Jewish law.

“A lot of Moroccans treat these customs like grandmothers’ folktales,” he told me. “They don’t take them seriously. But you can’t just throw 500 years out the window.”

Since he published his book, he says he’s been getting calls from Moroccan Jews around the world who are gaining a new appreciation for their own customs. That’s why he’s planning to write three more volumes.

Still, for someone so obsessed with reviving his ancestors’ customs, Lebhar has some explaining to do.

Like, for starters, why did he leave his Moroccan community in Montreal when he was in his early 20s to study for more than 10 years in some of the world’s most hard-core Lithuanian yeshivas? And then become fluent in Yiddish?

And why did he become a key player in a whole other Torah revival, one run by Ashkenazi Jews out of Westwood Kehilla, where Lebhar heads a busy outreach kollel?

He doesn’t get defensive when I confront him with these contradictions. He wanted to learn in the best yeshivas, he says, and immerse himself in Talmud. As far as his role with Westwood Kehilla and their program LINK (Los Angeles Intercommunity Kollel), he loves that they’re creating another “Torah hood” on the Westside.

The person who brought him out here a few years ago, Rabbi Asher Brander, who runs Westwood Kehilla and LINK, has built a portable center of Torah outreach where, Lebhar says, “there’s always serious learning going on.”

That’s the word, I think, that might explain Lebhar’s seeming contradictions: Serious. He takes his Torah seriously, and so do the rabbis and students at Westwood Kehilla and LINK. Lebhar’s a funny guy, but get him going on a piece of Talmud, and he’s in another world.

Seriousness might also explain the bond he feels with his Moroccan ancestors those holy men of Fez, Meknes, Marakkesh and Casablanca who took their traditions very seriously, and whose words live on in the books on Lebhar’s dining room table.

When I asked him what compels him to continue working on this dream of a Sephardi Moroccan revival while immersed in an Ashkenazi community he told me that when he lived in Jerusalem, and studied at the Litvish Yeshiva, he would visit this holy man every week.

The man was the former chief rabbi of Morocco, Rabbi Chalom Essas. After a few years, Lebhar was so impressed with the chief rabbi’s knowledge of Moroccan tradition that he suggested to Rabbi Essas that he should write a book on the subject.

In true Jewish fashion, the chief rabbi, probably having no clue that Lebhar would soon be living in trendy Westwood, replied: “That’s a great idea. Why don’t you do it?”

David Suissa, an advertising executive, is founder of OLAM magazine and Ads4Israel.com. He can be reached at dsuissa@olam.org.

Paris with a Jewish accent


I’m sitting in a Paris courtroom, and I might as well be in an art museum. There are huge windows, high ceilings, old chandeliers, and a very nervous group ofpeople awaiting a decision.

We’re in the Cour d’appel, the French Appellate Court, on the day the court is to render its decision in the case of Philippe Karsenty against the government-funded Channel 2 television station. For the past six years, Karsenty has devoted his life to proving that the station’s report claiming that the IDF was responsible for the death of young Mohammed Al Durrah at the beginning of the second intifada was part of a staged hoax. The station was so taken aback by Karsenty’s public attacks that it sued him for defamation, and won. That was two years ago.

Karsenty appealed the decision and has made a serious comeback, introducing additional evidence and garnering more public support. Six years of his long fight against one of France’s most distinguished reporters, Charles Enderlin, came down to this moment.

Once the panel of judges took their seats, it took less than 60 seconds for the head judge to announce the decision: The case against Karsenty had no merit. Evidently, he had introduced more than enough doubt regarding the credibility of the report. Little David had prevailed against the Goliath of French media. In the controlled chaos that ensued, opposing lawyers wore a look of shock, while everybody else just sort of looked at each other, as if to say: “What just happened?” There was enough legalese in the judge’s verdict that many people on Karsenty’s side, myself included, were asking questions more than actually celebrating — wondering whether there were any legal strings attached.

But there weren’t. It was a clean victory. Outside, on the courthouse steps, cameramen and reporters were clinging to Karsenty’s every word, including his demand that the station make a public apology in reparation to the worldwide Jewish community, which had been slandered by the original report.

That night, after celebrating the victory in a kosher restaurant in a Jewish neighborhood of Paris, I reflected on the difference between perception and reality. It’s true that there’s plenty of anti-Jewish and anti-Israel sentiment in France, and in fact, the opposition that Karsenty faced during his long trial showed some of that sentiment.

But it’s also true that justice prevailed for a little Jew against an icon of French media and culture. Considering all we hear about the precarious situation for Jews living in France, that kind of result shouldn’t be taken lightly.

Beyond the high drama of this Jewish victory for truth and justice, however, there is another, quieter drama unfolding for the Jewish community of Paris. This is the silent drama of neighborhoods, the kind I often write about in Los Angeles.

During my week there, I visited two of these neighborhoods, each one going in a very different direction.

The first was the oldest Jewish neighborhood in Paris, known as Le Marais, home to the renowned Jewish Museum, a yeshiva, kosher markets, Judaica stores and anything else you’d expect to find on Fairfax or Pico.

But with one big difference: this neighborhood is disappearing.

The manager of the Mi-Va-Ni kosher grill, Benny Maman, lamented the decline. Five years ago, he told me, there were about 20 small kosher restaurants in the area; today there are only three. Same thing with synagogues, kosher butchers, Jewish bookstores, etc. There is only a handful left, mostly on one street, Rue des Rosiers.

Where Jewish merchants once stood are now trendy boutiques with names like Koo Kai and Custo Barcelona. A storefront with the faded name of a Jewish bakery is now a gay bar. Of the remaining Jewish shops, several have “for lease” signs on them.

Where did the Jewish life go? Did Jews scramble out because of the anti-Semitism we hear so much about? Actually, according to Maman, it’s mainly about the parking. When they turned Rue des Rosiers into a pedestrian walkway, it made a bad parking situation even worse. As a result, significantly fewer Jews have patronized the area, and businesses and residents have wandered off to other neighborhoods.

Like, for example, the neighborhood where I spent Shabbat, the 17th “arrondissement.” This is becoming the Pico-Robertson of Paris. There’s practically a Shilo’s Restaurant or Delice Bistro on every corner. I spent Shabbat with my all-time favorite chazzan, Ouriel Elbilia (you must hear his Shabbat CD), who runs a synagogue called Beth Rambam in an ornate old building. The community here is on the upswing, but are residents afraid of anti-Semitism? I asked a few people, and they all told me the same thing: The fear is mostly in the racially charged suburbs. But they still watch their backs around here, and several of them complained about the difficulty of making a living in modern-day France.

So those were my Jewish encounters in Paris. I met a Jew in an old neighborhood who lamented the passing of the good old days and complained about parking. I heard a Sephardic chazzan singing beautiful melodies in a thriving Jewish neighborhood, where Jews aren’t afraid to be Jews, but where they still find plenty to kvetch about.

And I hung out with an outspoken and articulate Jew who annoys the establishment with his relentless pursuit of truth and justice, and who wouldn’t mind, by the way, turning his story into a Hollywood motion picture.

Really, if it hadn’t been for the gorgeous architecture, I might have felt right at home.

David Suissa, an advertising executive, is founder of OLAM magazine and Meals4Israel.com. He can be reached at dsuissa@olam.org.



MUSIC VIDEO: French rapper Francky Perez and Broadway: ‘Hatikvah’

The transformation of Israeli food — from falafel to fennel


The 60th anniversary of the State of Israel is a good time to reflect on how this young country has progressed during its mere six decades of existence. Its economic growth, its leading role in technological advances and its presence in world affairs are all impressive, but most notable to me is the transformation of Israeli food from mundane and unknown to cutting edge and creative. Modern-day Israeli cuisine reflects ethnic, cultural, and religious diversity.

I have always thought of Israel as a microcosm of the world, blending three major world religions and countless nationalities, each with their own palates and flavors. What has resulted is an amalgamation of the best of all culinary worlds. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

When I lived in Jerusalem in the early 1970s, only tourists, diplomats or foreign journalists ate in restaurants. Grabbing hummus and falafel at a fast food stand or dropping into a cafe for coffee and cake was the Israeli idea of “dining out.” Food was scarce and wasting time on such a bourgeois matter seemed contrary to the pioneering spirit of the country. In fact, the restaurants were so bad in those days that Henry Kissinger, engaging in his Middle East “shuttle diplomacy,” once moaned, “Why can’t a country with 2 1/2 million Jewish mothers have better food?”

Recently, Henry Kissinger told me that that lament is a thing of the past.

Whenever I go to Israel, I am constantly transporting myself, like a child playing make believe, back to my ancestry. The first time this happened was during a wonderful week spent in the sand dunes of the Sinai many years ago, where Bedouins continue to live much as the nomadic Israelites did when they were wandering the desert. I couldn’t help imagining myself as part of that ancient culture, sharing the stew — perhaps with lamb and chickpeas — that Sarah prepared for Abraham or the pottage of lentils that Jacob gave to his brother Esau.

As I returned to Jerusalem after that week, layers of civilization and thousands of years unwound before me like a newsreel at each fork in the road.

Through culinary haunts one can uncover the enormously exciting story of how these pioneers transformed a harsh, arid land to one bursting with new produce and culture. Some of the dishes that we find in Israel today are as old as the land; others are quite modern; and still others mix the old and the new.

Since I left Israel, I have been back every year or so, and the transformation from the 1970s to now is enormous. Israelis, like Americans, are taking food more seriously. It is no longer shameful in Israel to enjoy the luxury of eating well. Since Israel is at the crossroads of so many cultures, both the ones that surround it as well as the ones that have immigrated to it, cooking there today reflects the fresh globalism that we are encountering everywhere. Just look at the fruits and vegetables coming out of Israel: various kinds of kiwis and avocadoes, persimmons, pomelos, pomegranates. Some of these fruits and vegetables are biblical. Some are brand new, brought to the country with immigrants or agronomists who have gone all over the world.

But what is Israeli cuisine? A cuisine is usually defined as cooking which derives from a particular culture. Since the Jewish population has essentially been dispersed throughout the world, Jewish food, and by extension that of Israel, while centered in the Jewish dietary laws, subsumes the cuisines of countries throughout most of the globe. Unlike in France and Italy, for example, where cooking has been grounded in the same soil for thousands of years, in Israel the “new food” is a hybrid, inspired by every corner of the world, but with an increasing emphasis on native ingredients.

The original ingredients used by cooks in the land of Israel included the seven biblical foods mentioned in Deuteronomy: barley , wheat, figs, dates, pomegranates, olives and grapes. Mizrachi or “Oriental” Jews — those who left Palestine for Babylonia at the time of the destruction of the First Temple, or those who stayed in the Middle Eastâ?? have always maintained a cuisine more rooted in the original biblical ingredients. After the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 C.E., the Jews who migrated to Spain and Portugal adapted the new local foods to their dietary laws. These people became known as “Sephardic” Jews following the Inquisition, and their cuisine took on the tone of their new homelands like Greece, Morocco, and Turkey. So, too, “Ashkenazic” cooking developed, as other Jews made their journeys to Central and Eastern Europe. Today, all these foods are being embraced by many of the Jews returning from afar to the “land of milk and honey.” Christian and Muslim cultures of the region have also contributed their own customs to Israeli cooking, so that today Israel’s emerging cuisine is global in scope.

The food of modern Israel began, really, with the first aliyah, the immigration that came in the late 19th century mainly composed of Eastern European Jews. It also included 5,000 Jews from Yemen, who made up 6 percent of the new Jewish population. Unlike the Eastern European immigrants of this period, the Yemenites were motivated by the biblical commandment to return to Jerusalem. The men often found work in kitchens and as waiters, and were most likely the first Jews to make falafel in the country. The women, mostly illiterate, hired out as domestics, which provided a meager subsistence.

Although they were not educated or sophisticated by European standards, they set an example of meticulousness in all aspects of housework, including the religious obligations taught by word of mouth: dietary laws, separation of challah, salting and koshering meat, the ritual immersion of utensils, blessings for meals and candlelighting. They would rise before dawn to fetch water and to prepare the gisher (Yemenite coffee), grind flour, bake and have breakfast ready when the men returned at sunrise from the prayer service in the synagogue.

Little by little, Yemenites and other Middle Eastern Jews started influencing the eating habits of the immigrants from Eastern Europe, and different tastes and traditions began to coexist. For some, like those from Eastern Europe, the idea of raw vegetables fresh from the soil seemed unhealthy. But their sense of curiosity prevailed: Yemenite soup with spicy sauces and the buttery layered bread called malouach may very well have been one of the exotic meals eaten by a group of well-heeled British Jews, organized by the Jewish industrialist Herbert Bentwich, who came to visit Palestine in 1897.

VIDEO: Moroccan Jewish sacred singing


Leon Azancot, a wonderful 80 year old Tangerine Jew (he should live to 120), sang some piyyutim in Hebrew and explained them in Spanish at his insurance office over the Socco Grande (entrance to the souk) in Tangier, Morocco.

Video by Vanessa Paloma.

Vanessa wrote about her visit for The Journal.

 

The other refugees



Is there a more loaded word in the Arab-Israeli conflict than “refugee”? Is there anything more visceral or emotional than the sight of millions of Palestinians living in miserable refugee camps for three generations?

If any one thing has symbolized the Palestinian cause and put Israel on the defensive, it is this image — this powerful and constant reminder to the world that Israel’s creation 60 years ago came with an “original sin,” and that Palestinians deserve the “right of return.”

You can debate the fairness of this claim, but in our world of easy sound bites, the image of Palestinian suffering has become an albatross around Israel’s neck. The fact that few Jews would ever agree to this right of return — which would erode Israel’s Jewish character — has made this an enormous obstacle to any reconciliation between the two people.

But here’s the question: Will Israel ever be able to claim the high ground when it comes to justice for refugees?

This week in Montreal, where I am spending Passover with my family, I met a man who thinks the answer is yes. He is one of the leaders of the Jewish community here, and he is actively fighting for justice for Middle Eastern refugees.

Jewish refugees, that is.

As Sylvain Abitbol explains it, the expulsion and exodus of more than 850,000 Jews from Arab countries is among the most significant yet little-known injustices against humanity of the past century. For hundreds of years, and in many cases for millennia, Jews lived in countries such as Algeria, Egypt, Lebanon, Lybia, Morocco, Syria, Tunisia, Iran, Iraq and Yemen. In several of these countries, the Jewish population was established more than 1,000 years before the advent of Islam. From the seventh century on, special laws of the Dhimmi (“the protected”) subjected the Jews of the Middle East and North Africa to prohibitions, restrictions and discrimination — not to mention harsh conditions of inferiority. Still, many Jews managed to prosper despite these circumstances.

Things took a turn for the worse after the birth of Israel in 1948. Between the 1940s and 1980s, the Jews of Arab countries endured humiliation, human rights abuses, organized persecution and expulsion by the local governments; Jewish property was seized without compensation; Jewish quarters were sacked and looted and cemeteries desecrated; synagogues, Jewish shops, schools and houses were ransacked, burned and destroyed; and hundreds of Jews were murdered in anti-Semitic riots and pogroms.

To this day, Arab countries and the world community have refused to acknowledge these human rights violations or provide compensation to the hundreds of thousands of Jews forced to abandon their homes, businesses and possessions as they fled those countries.

But activists like Abitbol are fighting back, all the way to the White House and the U.S. Congress. Abitbol, the first Sephardic Jew to lead the local Jewish Federation in Montreal and now co-president of the Canadian Jewish Congress, connected with this movement a year ago when he joined the board of Justice for Jews from Arab Countries (JJAC). Together with other organizations like the American Sephardi Federation (ASF) and the World Organization of Jews from Arab Countries (WOJAC), the movement, which is officially called the International Rights and Redress Campaign, toiled for years in obscurity.

A few weeks ago, they hit the jackpot.

That’s when the U.S. Congress overwhelmingly passed the first-ever resolution to grant recognition as refugees to Jews from Arab and Muslim countries. House Resolution 185 affirms that all victims of the Arab-Israeli conflict must be treated equally, which means it will now be official U.S. policy to mention “Jewish refugees” whenever there is mention of Palestinian refugees in any official document.

It’s a huge victory, but only a beginning. The United Nations and the world media are the next fronts in this battle for Jewish justice. Abitbol, a sophisticated man in his mid-50s who’s fluent in French, English, Arabic, Hebrew and Spanish, has no illusions about Israel’s precarious image in the world. But he’s far from being a cynic. He’s passionate about fighting for the rights of Jewish victims, and he is also a Jewish refugee (from Morocco). Yet he hardly acts like either a refugee or a victim.

Over tea at my mother’s house, he reflected on the major influences of his life. One of the things that stuck with me was something Abitbol said he learned early in his career, when he was in sales. Abitbol, who has two engineering degrees and is chairman of an innovative software company called uMind, calls the technique “listen and adapt:” You adapt your strategy and your communication to the values of your audience.

He gave me a fascinating example. While in Dubai recently on business, an Arab businessman confronted him on the situation in Israel. Abitbol, seeing that the man was a devout Muslim who believed that everything comes from God, gently explained — in Arabic — that if Israel has survived so many wars over 60 years, maybe it’s because it is “Inshallah” (God’s will). Abitbol got the other man’s attention.

Same thing when he spoke recently at a United Nations conference in Geneva on the subject of Jewish refugees. Directly facing representatives of Arab countries, he used the language of indignation and human rights that Arabs have used so successfully against Israel for so many decades, only this time it was on behalf of Jews.

Of course, he added that there is one major difference: Jews didn’t put their 850,000 refugees in squalid camps so they could have a powerful image on the evening news. They helped them resettle, so that one day, one of them would learn five languages and fly to Geneva to speak up on their behalf.

David Suissa, an advertising executive, is founder of OLAM magazine and Meals4Israel.com. He can be reached at dsuissa@olam.org.

Henna party adds colorful touch to the happy couple


Sareet Rimon grew up knowing she wanted to have a henna party when she got married. For the local singer it meant carrying on a Moroccan tradition that had been honored by her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother.

“This is such a beautiful and spiritual ceremony and has such a deep meaning,” she said. “The henna ceremony is supposed to bring good luck to the new couple. Every one in my family has done it, and one day I hope to do it for my children as well.”

Since Sareet and her husband-to-be, Adam, planned to marry in Israel, they wanted to celebrate beforehand in Los Angeles with friends who would not be able to attend the wedding. The bride-to-be hired a henna party planner and sent out invitations to 300 people for an opulent event at the Biltmore Hotel.

Sareet and Adam each chose three different outfits made of silk and velvet, some featuring gold embroidery, which they would change into at different points during the course of the evening. The bride even entered the ballroom in a hand-carried silver carriage.

Sareet admits she felt like royalty that night. “I felt like a queen,” she said.

The henna ceremony, once celebrated primarily by Jews from Morocco and Yemen, has grown in popularity in Israel. And now increasing numbers of young Sephardi and Ashkenazi brides in the United States are honoring this colorful practice.

The ceremony is performed about a week before the wedding and symbolizes the bittersweet separation of the young bride from her family.

Leaves of the henna plant are crushed into a powder, which, when mixed with water, becomes a dough that will stain a person’s skin orange for about two to three weeks if left on for two hours or more (other colors are achieved by mixing in leaves or fruits from other plants).

Known as mehndi in India, the practice dates back to at least 2000 B.C.E., and its use in ceremonies can be found from South Asia to North Africa. In India and other countries, henna is arranged in intricate lacey or floral patterns on the hands or feet, which can mean good health, fertility, wisdom, protection or spiritual enlightenment.

The henna ceremony is a purely cultural celebration and has no religious significance for Jews, said Yona Sabar, a UCLA Hebrew professor.

“Its purpose was to drive away the demons by disguising the bride and groom with the henna,” he said.

Moroccan Israeli singer Claude Afota, who performs at local henna ceremonies, said that the Jews in Arab countries adopted this ceremony from their Muslim neighbors.

“Back home in Morocco, everybody used to do a henna before a wedding or even a bar mitzvah,” he said. “When I immigrated to Israel, it was not as popular as it is today. Only Moroccan families used to have this ceremony as well as Yemen Jews. Nowadays, it seems that everybody is celebrating it.”

After Judith Bloomental was invited to several henna parties, she was inspired to start her own business,

Letter from Tangier: Preserving the music of the Jews of Morocco


At 6:30 a.m., I was walking toward Sha’ar Rafael, the synagogue on Boulevard Pasteur, the central drag in downtown Tangier.

It is the last synagogue in this
community of fewer than 100 Jews, the last one left in this Northern Moroccan port city that at its zenith housed 22 synagogues, had 100 cantors and 50 kosher butchers.

The city was still sleeping; few people were out. The cafés were open, men were sitting at sidewalk tables looking toward the street; veiled women were wearing jalabiyas and hurrying on their errands and a few older Jews were going to Selihot services. As I crossed the street, I met Rabbi Avraham Azancot, president of the Tangier community hurrying up the synagogue steps.

I am in Morocco for five months on a Senior Fulbright award from the State Department and the Moroccan government, researching Judeo-Spanish songs from Northern Morocco for their connection to liturgical poetry and kabbalistic practices. I arrived just two weeks ago and have installed myself in Tangier. Selihot, led by Rabbi Azancot, was very moving, with a piercing shofar that brought tears to my eyes. Later, over breakfast of homemade bread, argan oil and biscuits with coffee, Rabbi Azancot described for me the particulars of the Tangerine community’s prayers for the High Holy Days, especially Rosh Hashanah. The Achot Ketana, a piyyut (liturgical poem) welcoming the new year and sending off the old, follows a different order in Tangier than in the traditional prayer book: They sing Achot Ketana first, then the psalm for Rosh Hashanah and finally the Kaddish, to maintain the integrity of saying Kaddish over the holier text, which is the Psalm.

Some of the siddurim, published in Livorno, have both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur prayers together; full of piyyutim sung with Andalusian melodies. Listening with Western ears, the music sounds Arabic, but this music was brought to the communities of Tangier and Tetouan by the Jews exiled from Spain — with lilting melodies, counter rhythms and many flourishes.

The first wave of Spanish Jews came to Morocco after the riots of 1391, and the larger group came during and after 1492. The expulsion brought scores of people, and later others followed who had thought a nominal conversion to Catholicism could be an easy solution to the persecution but then learned otherwise. Many of them moved to these communities in the North of Morocco, returning to Judaism. The community that predates the Spanish Jews has been here since the time of the First Temple.

” target=”_blank”>Vanessa Paloma sings and plays harp with the Los Angeles-based Sephardic/Ladino (Judeo-Spanish) Folk Music group, Flor de Serena (Siren’s Flower).

Briefs: Separation fence must be moved, court says; Olmert expands Fatah amnesty; Jewish woman eyes


Bil’in Fence to be Rerouted

Israel’s High Court of Justice ordered a controversial section of the West Bank security fence rerouted. A three-justice panel under High Court President Dorit Beinisch on Tuesday ordered the Defense Ministry to come up with a new plan for Bil’in, a Palestinian village currently slated to lose swaths of farmland to the fence.

Finding in favor of a petition filed by Palestinian activists two years ago, Beinisch wrote that the fence threatens to cause “significant hardship” to Bil’in’s residents and should therefore circumvent the village. Bil’in has seen almost weekly clashes between pro-Palestinian protestors and Israeli security forces, becoming a focus of international opposition to the West Bank fence.

Israel Plans New Fatah Amnesty

Israel may free more imprisoned Fatah members as a goodwill gesture toward the Palestinian Authority. Jerusalem officials said Tuesday that there is a plan to release 100 members of Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas’ faction who are serving prison sentences for low-level security offenses. If approved by Prime Minister Ehud Olmert, the releases will take place during the Muslim fast month of Ramadan, which begins next week.

Israel freed 250 jailed Palestinians, most of them from Fatah, in July after Olmert revived rapprochement with Abbas. Israel wants to bolster Fatah in face of Hamas after the Islamist group overran the Gaza Strip in June, prompting Abbas to dismiss it from the Palestinian Authority government.

Sderot Mayor Suspends Himself Amid Probe

Sderot Mayor Eli Moyal is suspending himself from his position indefinitely as his office is investigated for corruption. Moyal made the announcement Tuesday, a day after fraud investigators raided his office for evidence of corruption at City Hall extending to the mayor himself. Rabbi Oran Malka will serve as interim mayor, according to the Jerusalem Post, which reported the self-imposed suspension.

“I’m glad there is an investigation,” Moyal said, explaining that the probe would prove he has “nothing to hide,” the Post reported.

Moyal has been under investigation for several months following complaints that he and cronies have been bilking the city of money sent to help Sderot and its residents cope with the constant Palestinian rocket fire from the nearby Gaza Strip.

Israel Lifts Visa Requirement For FSU Citizens

Russian citizens will be able to visit Israel without obtaining a visa. A special Israeli governmental commission announced the visa waiver decision after Internal Security Minister Avi Dichter, who initially warned the visa waiver would “flood Israel with thousands of prostitutes and illegal immigrants,” withdrew his objections last week.

The commission voted unanimously for the draft bill to be forwarded to the government. Tourism Minister Isaak Aranovich, who proposed the initiative in July, predicted that the influx of Russian tourists would create up to 10,000 jobs in Israel. He said he expects 250,000 Russian tourists per year to visit Israel.

Ernst & Young analysts say the number of Russian visitors to Israel in the first half of 2007 shot up 54 percent over last year. In the first half of the year, more than 11,000 Israelis visited Russia. Fourteen scheduled flights per week now connect Moscow and Tel Aviv. That number may increase to 21 flights a week by the end of 2007, officials said.

The Israeli commission expects Moscow to issue a similar visa waiver for Israeli citizens.

A bilateral agreement on the issue may be signed as early as October when Russian Prime Minister Mikhail Fradkov will be in Israel. However, some experts in Moscow are warning against overly optimistic expectations.

Sergei Shpilko, the president of Russia’s tourism union, told Expert magazine that Russia’s Interior and Defense ministries likely will object to waiving the visa requirement for Israelis.

Wiesenthal Center Slams Croatia

The Simon Wiesenthal Center condemned Croatia for failing to prosecute a World War II official suspected of deporting thousands to concentration camps.

“Croatia’s failure to prosecute Ivo Rojnica, the Ustashe governor of Dubrovnik, currently residing in Buenos Aires, Argentina, is one of the most disappointing results of the period under review,” Efraim Zuroff, Israel director of the Wiesenthal Center, said in a statement.

Croatia’s fascist Ustashe government was allied with Hitler during the war and was responsible for the deaths of thousands of Jews, Serbs and gypsies.

“Despite the explicit promise of attorney general [Mladen] Bajic that the Rojnica case would be decided in early 2007 at the latest, there still has been no decision in the case, which only brings Rojnica closer to eluding justice,” the Wiesenthal Center said in a statement.

Jewish Woman Eyes Moroccan Parliament

Maggie Cacoun, a centrist politician known for her work on women’s rights, is considered among the front-runners in an election for the Moroccan Rabat assembly to be held later this week. Since details on her ethnic background emerged, Cacoun, 54, has been at pains to stress her patriotism as a Moroccan.

“I do not want to be treated as a Jew,” Cacoun said in one interview. “I did not seek permission to run from the Jewish community. The only person I consulted with was my husband, and he gave me his blessing.”

Most of Morocco’s Jews left decades ago, mainly for Israel or Europe, but the 5,000 or so who remained tend to voice satisfaction about living in the moderate Muslim Arab country.

Ancient Honey Farm Found in Israel

The Hebrew University of Jerusalem announced this week that its archeologists had uncovered an apiary, or man-made beehive colony, dating from the 10th to early ninth century B.C.E.

The discovery was made during a summer dig at the site of the ancient Israelite community of Tel Rehov in the Beit She’an valley. It is believed to be the earliest evidence of honey being harvested by humans in the Middle East.

The find consisted of three ties of hives with access points for bees and for removing honey. Experts who visited the site estimated that the apiary might have produced as much as half a ton of honey a year.

Briefs courtesy Jewish Telegraphic Agency

Rabbi Pinto’s miracles


Growing up in Morocco, the word “miracle” was a familiar one. I remember how my parents, especially my mother, would bring up the great Moroccan mystics at alltimes of the day — either to pray for a miracle, or to thank them for one.

No miracle was too small. If a plate would break and a child was not hurt, or if a plate would break and a child did get hurt, whatever it was, mothers would immediately call out to one of the sages. Their names were our security blankets. For centuries, they provided a protective, spiritual cocoon for the Jews of Morocco.

These sages were different from the sages of the Bible or the Talmud; they were the sages of the hood. They were gone, but they were not long gone. You knew someone who had kissed their hand. Your father would tell you about a miracle that his own father had experienced with a certain sage. Somewhere in the neighborhood lived the grandson or grandnephew of another great mystic. We would sleep in tents at their burial sites during their yahrzeit. Their pictures were on our walls.

You could almost touch them.

Today, one of the great Moroccan sages, Rabbi Chaim Pinto of the city of Mogador, has a living presence right here in our own hood, on Pico Boulevard, just east of Robertson. It’s at a little shul called the Pinto Center.

It’s not uncommon for a Moroccan synagogue to be named after a well-known sage (a mile north on Fairfax Avenue is another Moroccan shul named after the great Baba Sale). What’s unusual here is that the heart and soul of the Pinto Center is a Pinto himself. He is Rabbi Yaacov Pinto, a direct descendant of the Pinto dynasty.

But I haven’t told you about the miracle yet.

Rabbi Yaacov opened the synagogue in the mid-1980s and built a thriving little community center of prayer and learning, attracting a high-intensity blend of Israeli, French and Persian Jews. Then, seemingly out of the blue, Rabbi Yaacov developed an irresistible urge to return to Israel, where he had been born and raised.

For a shul that revolved around the charisma and leadership of one man, this was a spiritual earthquake. Nevertheless, after much agonizing, Rabbi Yaacov and his family moved in the summer of 2003 to Ashdod, a coastal city north of Tel Aviv with a large Moroccan community, including the rabbi’s mother and several of his siblings.

(I knew Rabbi Yaacov well at the time, and from what I gather, the pressures of fundraising were starting to burn him out; he wanted a better education for his kids, and, like he said to me once, he simply missed the Holy Land).

It didn’t take long for the Pinto shul to unravel. Despite Rabbi Yaacov ‘s best efforts — he came back every six weeks or so and was here for all the holidays and stayed in constant contact with his people in Los Angeles — the Pinto Center was losing its soul. When the Shabbat minyan dwindled from more than 100 to fewer than 20, the end was near.

Rabbi Yaacov prayed to his ancestors, as he often does. That’s when an idea came to him: He would create an intimate “candle room” in the synagogue, where people could come meditate and light candles in the presence of the great Pinto tzadikim, and pray for anything they wished. Well, the word got out and they came from all over to light candles, and I guess somebody must have prayed for the revival of the Pinto shul, because that is precisely what happened next.

The “miracle” took about a year, but slowly the Pinto shul came back to life. It’s not a coincidence that Rabbi Yaacov chose as the ba’al habayit, or master of the house, someone whose family has been connected to the Pinto family for three generations. When this highly enthusiastic man, Maurice Perez, talks about the Pinto family, he sort of transfers the goose bumps over to the listener. His defining family story is when his mother and grandmother got an impromptu blessing on a street in Casablanca from one of the Pinto sages. This story happened 70 years ago, but when you hear him tell it, you’d think it happened yesterday.

Maurice, who joined the shul in 1997 and who currently does the chazanut, decided with Rabbi Yaacov to bring in a teacher (“Rabbi Raffi”) to give Torah classes during the week, and to speak on Friday nights and during the third meal of Shabbat. Maurice formed a small, core group of supporters to cover all expenses, which helped reduce the stress level and bring a general harmony to the shul. They upgraded the interior, with new seating built in Israel, and a new women’s section that features an ethereal, see-through crimson curtain for a mechitzah.

Rabbi Yaacov himself increased his visits to Los Angeles, but he did more than that, too. He made the shul think “bigger than itself,” and got it involved with two projects in the Holy Land.The first was a “supermarket” for the needy, which Rabbi Yaacov started in Ashdod and which has garnered attention for its unique approach: a system based on points, where the poor can keep their dignity while “shopping” for donated food. This project, called C.H.A.I., is a big source of pride for the Pinto shul, as you can see from the pictures on the wall.

The second is a recent decision to have a sister shul in Hebron, where the Patriarchs of the Bible are buried. A few months ago, the Pinto shul donated a Torah scroll, and they are planning regular activities and visits between the shuls.

And then, of course, there’s the dafina.

Morocco Bombings Shock Emigres


For most Parisian Jews with roots in Casablanca, the news that their home community had been targeted by Islamic terrorists came like a bolt from the blue.

"Sure, it’s happened in every other Arab country, in Egypt, even Tunisia, but we never thought it would happen in Morocco," Valerie Ben-Chimon exclaimed as she brought her children to school. "People there said they thought it was a gas explosion or an earthquake. Nobody ever imagined it was a bomb."

Ben-Chimon left Morocco for France in 1987, but her parents still live in Casablanca. They recently visited her in France for Passover.

Her father returned to Morocco just after the holiday, but Ben-Chimon’s mother returned May 18, two days after five suicide bombings in Casablanca — four of them aimed at Jewish targets — killed 29 people.

"Of course it’s worrying," she said, "but you know, there’s no security anywhere — not in France, not in Israel either."

Ben-Chimon and other Jews born in Casablanca felt more shock than anger after the attacks.

"People there have always had enormous faith in the king to protect the Jews," she said.

The head of Morocco’s 4,000-strong Jewish community, Serge Berdugo, was minister of tourism under Hassan II, father of the present monarch, Mohammed VI. One of Mohammed’s most trusted advisers, Andre Azoulay, is a Jewish banker.

"We are deeply shocked, but we are not afraid," Berdugo said. "People here know it is a global fight against the terrorists, the same for Muslims as for Jews. There were no victims from our own community, but this has come like a bolt from the blue."

Even in Paris, there was a sense of disbelief. One man, who described himself as "50-50" — half-Moroccan, half-Tunisian — said "they can’t have been Moroccans, they must have been Islamists from outside the country."

But Ben-Chimon corrected him, saying sadly, "They were Moroccans."

According to Simon Attias, president of the Society of Former Moroccan Jews, the king’s visit to the scene of the attacks was important "to send the right message" to the Moroccan people.

"But why didn’t he do anything before the attacks?" Attias asked.

Morocco is "a tolerant country," he said, and the terrorists were "as much against Moroccan Muslims as Jews."

Asked about the community’s future, Attias said things had been going downhill steadily since Morocco ceased to be a French protectorate in the 1950s.

"There’s no future for the Jews there," he said. "Virtually everyone has left for Israel, France or Canada."

Nevertheless, for many of those who left Casablanca — the site of Morocco’s largest Jewish community — the feelings toward Morocco remain strong.

"The king sent soldiers to protect us in Casablanca during the" 1991 Persian Gulf War, "and I remember how he spoke on television during the Six-Day War" in 1967, said Solange Rumi, who still has family in Casablanca. "He said that the Jews were Moroccan citizens, just like everybody else, and no Jew was touched."

"My brother said they congratulated King Mohammed on the birth of his son when he visited the Cercle d’Alliance after the bombing," Rumi said.

The targeting of the Cercle d’Alliance showed that the aim was to kill as many Jews as possible, Ben-Chimon said.

"This is a community where everyone knows everyone else, and everyone goes to the cercle," she said. "It’s a miracle. If they had bombed the Cercle d’Alliance on any day other than Shabbat, many more people would have been killed."

The same is true for Casablanca’s Safir Hotel, another target.

"There are lots of Moroccan Jews living in Israel who go there for the hilula," Ben Chimon said, referring to the anniversary of the death of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, which is marked on Lag B’Omer. "But they hit the hotel too late, because they come for only about two days or so to Casablanca, then head off for Marrakech to celebrate the hilula."

Ben-Chimon said her parents would stay in Casablanca, adding, "We have always been treated well there. It’s very special, really, ‘la belle vie.’"

Tangier’s Casualty


In these past 19 months, I have sadly watched my faith in the effectiveness of liberal humanist values falter. They have not provided me an adequate framework to deal with the latest intifada, Sept. 11 and, above all, my year teaching in Morocco.

Most of my background — childhood in Santa Monica, high school at Harvard-Westlake, classics degree from Harvard University — reinforced certain principles: tolerance, the equal value of all cultures, the idea that sympathy, discussion and negotiation can solve most grievances and that force should rarely be used.

But in the fall of 2000, I began teaching junior high at the American School of Tangier, whose students were primarily Moroccans hoping to go on to U.S. colleges. I was joined by a cadre of young American college graduates, all equally dedicated to the same values and all certain that a year in this former Beat Mecca would only bolster our deep-rooted relativism.

It did not. Instead, it profoundly challenged our convictions.

Upon our arrival, a rasping secretary urged us to "start off like Hitler and end up like Patton" in the classroom. But we were reared in the tradition of giving respect in order to get it, and the admonition fell on deaf ears. So did my later calls for discipline. My students were disrespectful, and they often cheated and baldly lied when caught red-handed. My threats to fail them, an American disciplinary tool, met with indifference. Finally, incensed, I became Draconian. My classroom was docile for that whole week.

Such behavior may be typical of hormone-ridden adolescents anywhere, but it also revealed fundamental cultural differences. In Morocco, lying and exaggerating are far less stigmatized (no George and the cherry tree); shame in the eyes of others motivates far more than inward-directed guilt (no Abe and the library book); gentleness in an instructor is not respected (no "Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood.")

Morocco is a moderate Muslim country. Tangier itself was once a cosmopolitan international zone in North Africa. But the past 50 years have witnessed a rise in Muslim fundamentalism, increasing poverty and the departure of most Europeans and Jews. Today Tangier, separated from liberal Spain only by the eight-mile Straits of Gibraltar, has developed characteristics we found difficult to accept.

Anti-Semitism thrives. I am a Jew, by the way. I mention it so late because I did not used to think it mattered.

Several weeks into our tenure, the Palestinian intifada erupted. In solidarity, an angry mob marched around the school chanting for Jihad against Jews and Americans. They smashed windows in the town’s only remaining synagogue. In response, King Mohammed VI urged his citizenry not to hurt Jews and placed guards with machine guns at the gates of the school. I alone was in charge of the dormitory that weekend, and my fears were eased by the king’s measures. But they were also heightened by the fact that he felt such precautions were necessary.

No further violence followed, but the vilification continued. When I hitchhiked from the beach one day, several men lectured me that "everybody in all the world is good people, except the Jews. Jews are horrible." A guide summed up the Moroccans’ magnanimity: "Jews are very bad people, but we treat them well."

At the school, the rabbi’s third-grade son (one of six Jewish students) was beaten by a band of sixth-graders in the year’s only violence. Though the boys were suspended, the sixth-grade lionized the instigator, a Palestinian student. Another student announced that Hitler was his hero and heckled me for being Jewish when I substituted in his class.

I tried not to absorb the lesson that such hate could fester even among children. I tried not to be appalled by the gender inequity: respectable women are hardly able to work or leave home. I tried to overlook the absence of political discourse: opposition to the king is not tolerated.

I failed on all counts.

When we arrived, my colleagues and I would never have criticized a foreign culture. That was what we had learned in America. In endless talks, we struggled to reconcile this standard with aspects of Moroccan culture we found reprehensible. My tolerance had met intolerance, and I found myself becoming intolerant. I am disappointed to hear myself say so.

I cherish many memories of my year in Morocco. I still believe in tolerance and in the use of negotiation instead of violence. But I fear these basic principles can be self-defeating in conflicts with people who do not share them and who co-opt and pervert them.

I, and perhaps the world, have slipped through Clinton-Barak’s open arms and landed in the strong arms of Bush-Sharon. It is with alarm and great sadness that I find myself welcoming their grasp. I am often haunted by suspicions that their approach is wrong. I am even more frightened that it might not be.