Learning to Dream, From Casablanca to L.A.

A relationship to a city is like a love relationship—it has its ups and downs, and its share of memories.

When I think of growing up in Casablanca, I have these distinct memories that I can’t shake. And no matter how hard I try, none of them are bad!

I think of the beach at Fedala, where my father taught me how to swim, and made us wait two hours to enter the water after we ate my mother’s tomato meatball sandwiches. 

I think of Cinema L’Arc, where my older brother and I discovered the movie theater at the tender ages of 6 and 8. We saw mostly cowboy and gladiator movies, but that wasn’t the point. It was being in a dark theater and being transported to another world through a giant screen that moved us, just as it still does today.

I think of our Jewish neighborhood, with little synagogues on every corner, the community oven for the dafina (Sephardic cholent), neighbors talking to my mother from their windows, the Arab merchant making shfinz donuts across the street, the little store where we’d buy comic books, and, of course, the festive night of Mimouna at the end of Passover, when we’d sample our neighbors’ sweet tables.

I think of our idyllic summers in Ifrane, in the Atlas Mountains, where our cousins would join us as we explored the countryside and did crazy things like collect scorpions in jars. 

I think of our pilgrimages in the desert at the burial sites of Jewish holy men, where my father would pitch a tent, my mother would make blessings in Arabic and my siblings and I would make a fuss to get donkey rides.

I think of those cool cafes in downtown Casablanca, where we would eat french fries with mustard and photographers would roam the streets to take shots of grown-ups who were dressed like Cary Grant and Greta Garbo.

This was the Casablanca I dreamed about after we emigrated to the frigid winters of Montreal in the mid-1960s. As much as I adore Montreal and have fond memories of my years in La Belle Province, it was the City of Angels that stole my heart when I visited in the early 1980s. 

Much of what I saw was not very attractive: the huge expanse of a formless city, the absence of a center, long stretches of drab boulevards dotted by strip malls, gas stations and fast food joints—this was no charming little San Francisco.

But L.A. reminded me of Casablanca.

Maybe it was something in the air, a sense of possibility just within reach. Just as the ocean and desert and mountains beckoned when I was in my Casablanca neighborhood, I felt something similar in Los Angeles. No matter where I was, I always knew I could reach those magical places in the time it would take to listen to a Beatles album.

We’ve reported on L.A.’s many failures, but those failures have so dominated our conversations that they’ve virtually obliterated the good things about this town. In other words, we’ve talked so much about the bad that we’ve forgotten the good.

It wasn’t just the city I came to love, it was that sense of possibility. If Casablanca taught me how to dream, L.A. gave me back my dreams. No matter how crummy or dark things got, whether I was down or happy, I have always found in this shapeless city something to dream about, a dream within reach.

If dreams nourish love, then love nourishes dreams. A place that nourishes both is a place worthy of our love. Maybe this helps explain why we’re launching an “I Still Love LA” campaign.

I know that these past few years, we’ve been hearing the very opposite of “I love LA.” I’m well aware of the many reasons: The alarming rise in crime, the spread of homelessness, the failure of our leadership, etc. For some people, this was enough for them to take off to Texas or Florida, and I certainly won’t judge or begrudge them.

For me, though, the bad stuff makes me want to stick around and see how I can help the city I love.

As a community paper, we also have a responsibility to show the full picture. We’ve reported on L.A.’s many failures, but those failures have so dominated our conversations that they’ve virtually obliterated the good things about this town. In other words, we’ve talked so much about the bad that we’ve forgotten the good.

Please send us what you love at Jewishjournal.com/love-la. We’re hoping this will become a civic campaign. If we’re reminded of all the things we love about L.A., it will encourage us to help fix our city in its time of need.

So, look at this “Why We Still Love LA” issue of the Journal as our attempt to complete the picture. You’ll see lots of reasons to love L.A. from people across the community, but we’d like to hear from you, as well. Please send us what you love at Jewishjournal.com/love-LA. We’re hoping to publish a multitude of responses and have this become a civic campaign.

Beyond the civic pride, there’s also a useful side. If we’re reminded of all the things we love about L.A., it will encourage us to help fix our city in its time of need.

I learned how to dream in Casablanca, where beautiful memories nourished my love. Many years later, with all of life’s ups and downs, those beloved memories are still alive in my City of Dreams.