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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.
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April 15, 2015

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. 

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