When I decided to study abroad in Morocco, I knew I would begin a journey of discovering a foreign country and culture but also discovering, in some sense, my own story. My Jewish father, born in Tunis, Tunisia in 1960, has not returned to North Africa since his family was forced to flee the country in 1962. I thought that studying in Morocco would provide an opportunity to engage with my religion and hopefully find answers to the story of Judaism in the Maghreb. In some ways, my thinking was flawed. The Moroccan history of Judaism differs from that of Tunisia. If anything, attempting to understand that history has led to more questions than answers. Nevertheless, my appreciation for Morocco, the intricacies of its diverse religious and cultural identities, as well as my desire to understand the country’s history, has only increased.
On one of my first days studying in Morocco, I learned of the country’s other name: the land of contradictions. At first, I did not fully understand this title. However, I am developing a deeper appreciation for this name’s accuracy as I continue asking questions about the history of Judaism here.
On Rosh Hashanah, four other students and I went to a synagogue to celebrate the New Year. Afterwards, members of the congregation generously brought us to their home to celebrate. While sitting around the table, I asked the family about the Jewish experience in Morocco. The family responded, saying Morocco is the best country for any Jewish individual and the reason so many people emigrated was purely economic. Everyone I previously spoke to said almost the same thing and emphasized Morocco’s positive treatment of the Jewish community. After dinner, my friends and I felt so lucky that a Jewish family confirmed that Morocco appreciates and accepts its Jewish community.
Fast forward to Yom Kippur services. A different Jewish family at the synagogue offered to bring other students and me to their home for break-fast. While at dinner, I explained to the father my own family’s story. The man even phoned my father and began calling me his other daughter! Feeling comfortable, I asked about his thoughts on anti-Semitism in Morocco. He explained that, in his view, the Jews were not and are not welcome; as dhimmi, they were forbidden from riding horses, forced to take off their shoes walking past a mosque, and had to accept being tapped on the head by Muslims in certain villages. He further stated that he has never felt at home in Morocco—and that no Jew ever has. For this reason, he added, he has sent each of his daughters to school and to work in France.
The next weekend, on the train back from Asilah, I noticed a young Moroccan man reading a book with an image of Hitler on the front cover. After looking up a translation of the book’s title, I realized that the man was reading Mein Kampf. Shaken, I told myself: “Don’t worry; no one can tell you are Jewish.” The following Monday, sitting in class, our professor told us that Morocco increasingly liberalized its press in the early 2000s, but that in 2003 that progressive moment slowed following the terrorist attack in Casablanca. This terrorist attack in Casablanca attempted to destroy a Jewish cemetery and community center. This new information challenged what I’d previously heard before about the situation of Jews in Morocco.
I was, and I am, confused. Prior to coming to Morocco, I assumed the story of the Jewish community and the Jewish migration in Morocco was the same as in Tunisia. But nearly everyone I speak to has only positive things to say about Moroccan Jews. For example, some Moroccans have told me about the impact that the Jewish community has on Moroccan cuisine, architecture, and art. I’ve also heard stories of Jews and Muslims sharing Shabbat meals together. Almost everyone in Morocco who knows of my Judaism has responded with affection and pride for the beautiful, interwoven relationship between Jews and Muslims. In every conversation I’ve had, the Jews are recognized as part of the Moroccan identity—the constitution even states so.
However, that raises questions and leaves others standing: Why was the man on the train reading Mein Kampf? Why did the 2003 terrorist attack in Casablanca target the Jewish community? Why did the one Jewish father speak so passionately of the Jewish situation in Morocco? Why am I told not to wear my Jewish star in Morocco?
Sarah Baron (SFS'20) majored in regional and comparative studies with a focus on Africa and the Middle East. She previously worked at the Berkley Center as a student assistant and aided with front desk clerical duties. During the fall 2018 semester Baron studied in Rabat, Morocco through a program with the Institute for the International Education of Students; during spring 2019 she studied in Amman, Jordan, and blogged for the Junior Year Abroad Network.
