Eliany Marc – Between Lisbon and Marakesh

Between Lisbon and Marakesh:
The ‘Inhabitants’ versus ‘Expelled’ Controversy
Or the case for oral history in education

Marc Eliany ? All Rights Reserved

Abstract
A rift between Spanish-Portuguese Jewish refugees and the old Jewish ‘inhabitants’ of Morocco in relation to ritual slaughters practices has been used to suggest that the two populations did not mix. However, a massive flow of Jewish refugees from Spain and Portugal into Morocco and their assimilation into the ‘inhabitants’ population, with some exceptions, lend credence to the argument that the rift has been exaggerated and that the assimilation has been downplayed.

Historical background

It is quite well established that the origins of the Iberian Jewry was in North Africa and that people went back and forth between the Iberian Peninsula and North Africa. Most celebrated is HaRambam’s travel to Fez to further his education, after studying with Rabbis of Moroccan origin in Spain (Hirschberg, 1965).

There are also occasional references to Morocco and North Africa as centers of refuge for the Spanish-Portuguese Jewry after the 1492 expulsion from Spain and the 1497 forced and massive conversion in Portugal (Hirschberg, 1965, Chouraqui, 1985, Zafrani 1983).

Occasionally, a rift between Spanish-Portuguese Jewish refugees and the old Jewish ‘inhabitants’ of Morocco in relation to ritual slaughtering practices has been used to indicate that the two populations did not mix. This, I would say, was a research bias due to excessive reliance on rabbinic documentation that reported the rift above and the lack of other empirical observations of everyday life in Morocco.

A good review of historical facts does point to a massive on land flow of Jewish refugees from Spain into Portugal around 1492 mainly due to lack of sufficient maritime means of transportation, impoverishment (and abuse) of the Jewish population around the time of the decree of expulsion, limiting the ability to buy a way out, in addition to constraints on massive immigration to neighboring countries, including North Africa (Hirschberg, 1965, Chouraqui, 1985, Zafrani 1983).

Similar circumstances limited the ability of Jews to leave Portugal in 1497, leading to their massive conversion and the establishment of a significant New Christian population in Portugal.

But life was not easy for the New Christians in Iberia and many sought refuge elsewhere. The tales of Spanish-Portuguese Jewish centers in places such as Amsterdam, Livorno, Sarajevo and Kushta to mention only a few, are well known. But less known is the tale of the massive immigration of Spanish-Portuguese Jews to Morocco.

Many Spanish-Portuguese Jews found refuge in Morocco for the following reasons:
1. Morocco was close and relatively easy to reach by sea at a modest cost;
2. Local Jews assisted their friends and relatives to settle in Morocco;
3. Internal conditions led Arab leaders to sponsor Spanish-Portuguese Jews to settle across the land including remote Southern areas;
4. Spanish-Portuguese New Christians used Spanish and Portuguese ports on Moroccan land, i.e., Mogador, to establish contacts with the so-called Jewish ‘inhabitants’ of Morocco and settle amongst them;
5. After settling in Morocco, Spanish-Portuguese New Christians returned to
Judaism and assisted their relations to leave Iberia in order to settle in Morocco (Roth 1932, Hirschberg, 1965, Chouraqui, 1985, Zafrani 1983, Fernandes 1980).

The case for assimilation

The question that remains is what happened to all the Spanish-Portuguese New Christians who settled in Morocco. Contrary to widely held opinions, I suggest that most assimilated in the local Jewish population and only a minority kept a distinct identity. The following case study provides some evidence.

According to established oral traditions, Cohanim played an important role in the development of trade and commerce in and around Marrakech since a very ancient time. Leading Cohanim families, among others, participated in the Moors’ conquest of Spain and settled there. But family and commercial ties were maintained overtime, even during turbulent times.

Around the time of the expulsion from Spain and following the forced conversion of the Portuguese Jewry, Arab and Berber leaders sought skilled Jewish refugees to fortify Southern Morocco after a period of decline.

According to the same oral sources (1), several families of Cohanim adopted distinct New Christians names such as DeJesus and DeDieu. The Khesus (read Jesus) family, for example, had expertise in silver and gold embroidery and worked for the Glaoui family (governor of Marrakech and Southern Morocco around the independence of Morocco) from generation to generation and could trace their background to one of the New Christian families who were Cohanim before the conversion.

According to the same sources (1), the families could not re-adopt the Cohen status and name because of the ‘conversion sin.’ Some families maintained the ‘Khesus’ and ‘Dadia’ (3) names (Arabic distortions of Jesus and DeDieu) to remember the conversion disaster. Other families adopted Hebrew names such as ‘Ben Zikhri’ or ‘Ben Shoshan’ to denote their Cohanim ancestry.

It is interesting to note that most of the families above, with the exception of one (Ben Shoshan) (3) did no longer speak Spanish or Portuguese and one could not distinguish them from local Jewish ‘inhabitants.’ Among their elders, vestiges of memories were held that relatives lived ‘across the sea’ (read in Portugal, Spain, Cape Verde and Manchester) but their mention was taboo, probably because the foreign branches lived as Christians (i.e., Corcos and BenSaud as Protestants in Manchester and elsewhere in England as well as DeJesus as Catholics in Lisbon and Cape Verde) (4).

Members of some of the families above were known to live as Jews in Morocco but maintained a Christian lifestyle elsewhere until recent years. In one case, a relative of the Khesus of Marrakech, who lived as a Jew and Cohen in Mogador and who maintained commercial ties with the DeJesus of Lisbon, married in the early 1900’s a woman of DeJesus family. This Cohen-Dejesus family settled later in Cape Verde and some of its descendents live in Lisbon, Portugal as well as Ottawa, Canada. Most members of these families remember their origins but live a secular lifestyle, wearing Jewish symbols such as the Star of David discreetly.

Empirical observations and fiction

My play ‘Rezadeira’ is a fictional creation based on historical readings as well as first hand anthropological research (Da Silva and Benaim-Ouaknine 1996), including interviews with some of the family members mentioned above. In the citation below, taken from the play ‘Rezadeira,’ a young man arrives to Belmont?, in Northern Portugal in search of the DeJesus family and asks a passer-by: where are the Jews? An old woman, who denies she was Jewish, retired into her basement, lights a candle and begins a monologue/confession. The reply of the choir is an adaptation of a New Christians prayer chanted during secret ritual (Eliany 1992):

“Adonay,
“Where are the Jews?”
asks this stranger.

And still some reply
” I am a Jew,”
as if nothing had happened,
as if all had been forgotten.

Forgive me, Lord, if I have said:
“No, we are not Jews!”

Forgive me
if I recited “Our Father in Heaven”
if I ate impure beasts
if I attended mass
if I crossed myself.

Forgive me
For telling my brother
to reject everything.

You know
that he is a nobody, and
that he value not his life
since You have forsaken us and abandoned us
to the Princes that only cherish earthly belongings.

Choral

Those that seek
only earthly belongings
know not
that what they own
does not belong to them.

Those that seek
only earthly belongings
forgot their duty
to widows and orphans.

Those that seek
only earthly belongings
sold us as slaves
throughout four corners of the world.

Those that seek
only earthly belongings
are nothing
without good deeds.

Rezadeira continues her monologue

Adonay, G-d of the universe,
knower of all things

You know
that we follow Your path
even if we are lost;
You know
that in our heart we remain still Jews,
even if some of us
have forgotten it,
the others remind us daily.

(For The full version of the play, Please see Rezadeira, Eliany 1992).
Conclusion

In depth research and systematic documentation of Jewish life in Morocco improved in recent years but there is little doubt that the area remains a virgin land, full of blind spots and unknowns. This paper is an illustration how the rift between Spanish-Portuguese Jewish refugees and the old Jewish ‘inhabitants’ of Morocco in relation to ritual slaughtering practices has been used to convey that the two populations did not mix.

However, our case studies do indicate that Jewish refugees from Spain and Portugal in Morocco assimilated into the ‘inhabitants’ population to a point that only vague recollections of the distant past in Iberia remained alive, with few exceptions, lending credence to the argument that the rift has been exaggerated and that the assimilation has been downplayed.

Finally, the play Rezadeira, is a fictional testimony conveying a reality, which however distant, does provide an indication that most Spanish/Portuguese refugees who settled in Morocco assimilated into the ‘inhabitant’ Jewish population and hardly remembered their passage through Iberia, with some noted exception.
Sources and notes:
Chouraki, Andre 1985 Histoire des Juifs en Afrique du Nord, Hachette
Da Silva A. and Benaim-Ouaknine E. 1996 La Memoire au Feminin, Editions Images, Montreal
Eliany, M. 1992 Rezadeira, www.virtualpublications.ca and www.artengine.ca/eliany/
Fernandez, L. S. 1980 Judios Espanles en la Edad Media, Ediciones Rialp, Madrid. (Gallimard, 1983 in French)
Hirschberg, H.Z. 1965 A history of the Jews in North Africa From Antiquity to our Time, Bialik Institute, Jerusalem (Hebrew)
Roth C. 1932 A History of the Marranos, Irene Roth (Liana Levi 1992, 2nd Edition)
Zafrani Haim, 1983 Mille Ans de Vie Juive au Maroc, Histoire et Culture, Religion et Magie, G.P. Maisonneuve et Larose, Paris

Interviews
1. Esther Eliany, formely Khesus, interviews in Kiriat Shemona, Israel, recalling oral traditions in Marakesh.
2. Yehuda Dadia (Gu Arieh), interviews in Beth Shean, Israel, recalling oral traditions in Marakesh.
3. David Shoshan, interviews in Casablanca, recalling family relations and oral traditions in Beni Melal, Morocco.
4. Daniel and Theresa DeJesus, interviews in Ottawa, Canada, recalling family relations in Portugal and Cape Verde.

Notes
Translation to Spanish and Portuguese, performances and lectures will be most welcome.
Please communicate with Marc Eliany at: virtualpublications@hotmail.com

Eliany Marc – Soleil Soleil

Soleil, soleil

 

Marc Eliany ?

 

Soleil, soleil,

Ou est-tu?

Ferme les yeux.

Compte jusqu?? trois.

Sens-moi.

Je suis l?

Pr?s de toi.

 

Soleil, soleil,

Ou te cache-tu?

Ouvre les yeux.

Un, deux, trois.

Regarde-moi.

Me voil?,

Parmi les nuages.

 

Soleil, soleil,

Joueras-tu avec moi?

Tourne-toi,

Compte jusqu?a trois,

Ne me regarde pas.

Je serai l?,

Crois-moi.

 

Petite fille,

? ton tour,

Cache-toi.

Je te trouverai.

Un, deux, trois.

Te voil?

Dans mes bras.

Eliany Marc – Genevieve et le petite oiseau des bois

 Genevieve et le petite oiseau des bois

Marc Eliany

Table de matiere

Le nid des quatres saisons

Le grand secret

Les arbres qui pleurent

 

L? espoir des petits arbres

 

La nature des choses

 

Le mal des grands secrets

 

 

Le nid des quatres saisons

Dans la for?t des petits doigts

Genevi?ve a rencontr? un tout petit oiseau.

 

Coucou, coucou, disait le petit oiseau ? Genevi?ve

tout en restant cach?

derri?re les feuilles vertes d?un grand ?rable majestueux.

 

Coucou r?pondit Genevi?ve au petit oiseau timide.

 

Genevi?ve regarda ? gauche et tout autour,

mais elle ne pouvait pas voir le petit oiseau.

 

Coucou, coucou, repeta Genevi?ve.

Je veux te voir, beau petit oiseau.

Descends de ton nid

et nous serons amis pour toujours, toujours,

jusqu?? la fin des jours.

 

Coucou, reprit le petit oiseau, tout joyeux.

Je m?appelle le petit oiseau des bois.

Je suis de passage ici tout les pringtemps;

pendant les autres saisons, je suis le soleil.

Mais contre ton amiti?

Je batirai un nid pour les quatres saisons,

tout pres de toi, petite Genevi?ve,

juste derri?re ta maison.

 

 

Le grand secret

 

La for?t des petits doigts est tellement grande,

disait Genevi?ve au petit oiseau des bois,

comment trouves-tu ton chemin?

 

Ah! Petite Genevi?ve,

c?est un secret que tu apprendras,

au jour le jour,

en faisant des petits pas,

les uns apr?s les autres.

 

Mais comment saurai-je

que j?ai choisi le bon chemin,

petit oiseau des bois?

 

Dans ton coeur tu le sauras,

petite Genevi?ve;

ton coeur te le dira.

 

Guide-moi,

petit oiseau des bois;

j?ai peur de me perdre dans cette for?t immense.

 

Suis mon vol,

petite Genevi?ve,

et puis un jour,

tu trouveras ton chemin,

? travers toutes les routes

qui passent dans la for?t.

 

 

Les arbres qui pleurent

 

Le petit oiseau des bois s?envola,

l?air plein de joie.

Il savait que son amie Genevi?ve

le suivait ? petites pas.

 

Sur son chemin, Genevi?ve d?couvrit

des arbres qui voient,

leurs feuilles comme des yeux en formes d?amandes;

des arbres qui entendent,

leurs feuilles boucl?es? comme des oreilles;

des arbres qui entendent,

leurs feuilles boucl?es comme des oreilles;

des arbres qui pointent,

comme du bout des doigts, leurs feuilles effil?es;

et des arbres qui parlent

avec leurs feuilles en langue aiguis?es.

 

Les arbres aux yeux d?amandes

voyaient tout ce qui passait dans la for?t.

Les arbres aux feuilles boucl?es

entendaient toutes ses voix;

ensemble, ils connaissaient

tout les secrets de la grande for?t.

 

Petit oiseau des bois,

penses-tu que les arbres qui voient

et les arbres qui entendent

partageraient leurs secrets avec nous?

 

C?est bien possible,

petite Genevi?ve,

c?est bien possible.

Mais sans bouche ni doigts,

ils ne pourront pas.

 

Et les arbres qui parlent

et les arbres qui pointent du doigt,

pourront-ils nous aider?

 

Oh non! Petite Genevi?ve,

ce qu?ils diront ne vaudra pas grand choses.

Les arbres qui parlent

n?entendent pas ce qu?on leur dit

et les arbres qui pointent du doigts

ne voient pas ou l?on s?en va.

 

Genevi?ve et le petit oiseau des bois

?taient tellement tristes

qu?ils se sont mis ? pleurer.

Puis toute las for?t pleura aussi.

Ils ont tellement pleur?

que tous les arbres en furent noy?s.

 

Peu apr?s, d?autres arbres pouss?rent dans la for?t,

mais aucun ne pouvait voir,

ni entendre, ni parler,

ni pointer du petit doigt.

 

A petits pas,

la tete basse,

Genevi?ve reprit son chemin dans la for?t.

Son Coeur plein de courage,

elle savait qu?un jour

elle trouverait le grand secret.

 

L? espoir des petits arbres

 

Genevi?ve continua son chemin dans la for?t.

De temps en temps,

celui-ci lui paraissait tr?s long.

Mais chaque fois

quelle levait les yeux,

elle apercevait le petit oiseau des bois

qui poursuivait son vol,

infatigable.

 

Petit oiseau des bois,

dis-moi,

que vois-tu du haut des cieux?

 

Je vois des petits arbres,

petite Genevi?ve,

qui essaient de trouver leur place au soleil,

? l?ombre des plus grands et des plus majestueux.

 

Je vois d?autres arbres,

fr?les et agiles,

qui plient sous le souffl?s des gros nuages.

 

Petit oiseau aux yeux per?ants,

vont-ils survivre,

ces petits arbres?

 

Oh! petite Genevi?ve,

ce n?est pas l?ombre des grands arbres,

ni le souffl? des gros nuages

qui les arr?teront.

 

Petit oiseau des bois,

dis-moi,

qu?est-ce qui donne aux petits arbres

la force de survivre sans soleil

et sous le vent?

 

C?est l?espoir,

petite Genevi?ve,

l?espoir qu?un jour,

ils verront le soleil.

 

 

La nature des choses

 

Petit ? petit,

Genevi?ve apprenait ? trouver son chemin

entre les arbres.

De temps en temps,

elle suivait du coin des yeux

le vol du petit oiseau des bois

dans le ciel bleu.

De temps ? autre,

Genevi?ve lui posait des questions

car, dans la grande for?t,

il y a toujours des choses ? apprendre.

 

Petit oiseau des bois,

dis-moi,

ou se trouvent les animaux?

 

Loin d?ici,

petite Genevi?ve,

dans les clairieres de la for?t,

l? ou la course entre les arbres ralentit

et permet aux animaux de se promener.

 

Petit oiseau des bois,

sont-ils aussi gentils que toi,

ces animaux de la for?t?

 

Oh! petite Genevi?ve,

il y en a de toutes sortes.

Ceux qui sont aussi forts que les grands arbres,

ceux qui sont aussi tenaces que les petits arbres

et ceux qui sont aussi ensible

que les arbres tout fr?les.

 

N?y a-t-il pas de differences

entre les arbres et les animaux,

petit oiseau des bois?

 

Mais si,

petite Genevi?ve,

entre les arbres et les animaux,

il y a la forme qui change,

mais la nature des choses,

elle,

reste toujours la m?me.

 

 

Le mal des grands secrets

Beaucoup de jours pass?rent.

Genevi?ve avait traverse

Des lacs et des vall?es.

 

Un jour,

Genevi?ve grimpa

Aux sommet

de la plus haute montagne

qui soit.

 

Quelle belle vue,

Disait Genevi?ve au petit oiseau des bois;

Comme tout est paisible ici.

Je peux voir maintenant

Presque tout ce que tu vois,

Petit oiseau des bois,

M?me la clairi?re dans la for?t.

 

Petite Genevi?ve,

Dis-moi,

Que se passe-t-il dans cette clairi?re?

 

Je vois des chevreuils qui fuient

Et des loups qui les suivent.

Je vois un chevreuil affaibli

Qui tra?ne de la patte,

? l?agonie.

 

Que vois-tu d?autre,

Petite Genevi?ve?

Dis-moi toute la v?rit?.

 

Petit oiseau des bois,

Que c?est triste.

Le chevreuil se meurt maintenant

Entre les griffes des loups affam?s.

 

Blotis-toi sous mes ailes,

Petite Genevi?ve.

Partage avec moi

Le mal de ce grand secret

Et tu verras qu?a travers ta tristesse

Tu decouvriras d?autres verit?s.

 

 

Au sommet de la montagne

 

Au sommet de la montagne,

Au Coeur de la for?t,

Genevi?ve se trouva seul

Le petit oiseau des bois

A cot?.

 

Au sommet de la montagne,

Au coeur de la for?t,

Genevi?ve et le petit oiseau des bois

Se sentaient loin

De tout ce qu?ils aimaient.

 

Au sommet de la montagne,

Au coeur de la for?t,

Les deux petits amis savaient

Que le temps est arrive

De retracer,

Chacun,

Son chemin,

Vers son tr?sors priv?.

Eliany Marc – Creation and Israel

Poems on Creation and Israel

M. Eliany ©

Hear the cradle
Hear
The cradle
Weeping estrangement.
Hear
The tale of reeds
Lamenting men
Far from their source.
Hear
The moan of women
Blowing in the wind,
Wishing back
The time they loved,
The time they were united,
The time they praised benevolence,
The time they lived in humility.

Samson and Delilah
M. Eliany ©

I have seen a woman in Timna’
A beauty amongst Philistines,
Delilah is her name.
She is my destiny,
My wife to be!
The wedding lasted seven days.
Ornaments,
Adorned garments,
Torches lit and procession.
Samson and Delilah
Were king and queen.

On the seventh day,
Before the sun sank down,
Between riddles and wine,
Samson’s pride was cut.
Ever since,
Life in Israel
Has never been the same.
And till this day
Israel and Philistines
Remain astray.

Love is my fate
M. Eliany ©

Love is faith.
Love is my fate
Equally in
Synagogues,
Churches,
Temples or
Mosques.

I shunned no reason
M. Eliany ©

I
Shunned no reason
Scorned no learning
Clang not to one single creed.
I
Saw
No beginning,
No end.
I
Saw
Existence in itself
Truth in all.


The light I love

M. Eliany ©

You are
The light I love,
The source of all illumination,
The experience of all imagination,
The inspiration of what exists not.
You are
The Light of Lights,
My quest so pure,
How could there be any Hope
But You!

My dreams
M. Eliany ©

My dreams were blood stained,
Orphans bathed in them,
And my prayers,
Too powerless
To sooth my aching soul,
Until I brought an end to evil
And I learnt to do good.

Late
M. Eliany ©

Late you came to me,
Emerging from within,
Not from lovely things
Sought out there.
And I loved you shamelessly,
As if existence was only in you,
As if all else existed not.

Make peace your path
M. Eliany ©

Make peace your path,
Justice – your walk.
Drink from the fountain of life.
Let others drink in turn.
Life is your spring.
That is all there is!”

Justice seduced me
M. Eliany ©

Justice seduced me
And I was overcome.
I tried to say:
It’s not my business
But like fire,
It burnt in my heart,
And I could not bear
My efforts to contain it.

Unmoved Mover
M. Eliany ©

Unmoved Mover!
Uncaused Being!
I searched
Till the darkest of darkness
Came upon me,
Till every abyss
Filled with delusion.
But You eluded me.
Unmoved Mover!
Uncaused Being!
Could You ever exist?
If You do,
Shine upon me,
And make me sing your praise.

Living on borrowed time
M. Eliany ©

I am
Neither a man or a woman,
Neither a Jew or a Muslim,
Neither from earth or heaven,
Neither from North or South.

I am what I am,
A living creature on borrowed time.
Every thing else matters not.

Towers of Illusion
M. Eliany ©

It is still summer here
but it is not as hot,
as on mid-summer days.
From time to time,
forecasters say,
a cooler day is on its way,
yet above seasonal temperature lingers.
On such days,
dreamers say,
we might get
some rain.
That is what winter is like here.

Meanwhile, the country is in denial,
that balance in the Middle East has gone by.
Israel offensive capabilities remain destructive,
but its enemies’ missiles’ arsenal multiplied.
For this, Israel has little defense.

The day missiles fall upon Tel Aviv,
in lieu of heaven’s rain,
the glass towers,
where our elite resides,
will tumble.

Then, it might be too late to ponder,
why alternatives were hardly considered.
And believers might wonder
why Heaven let it happen.

Until then, we shall remain proud
of our might,
chariots and smarts,
and towers of illusion
and semblance of success.

Blessing for a holiday season
M. Eliany ©

It is sunny in the Holy Land,
No rain,
No peace yet,
But hopes remain,
That rain will come
And peace too.

This Christmas,
When you whisper Santa,
Or ask Heaven for a wish,
Please plead for rain and peace,
To bless the Holy Land,
And may you be blessed
With a Merry Christmas,
The best of New Years,
And the happiest holiday season.

Eliany Marc – On Wine and Love

On Wine and Love

© Marc Eliany

Come Into My Garden

Come my love Into my garden

The roses are in bloom,
Their scent exhilarating.

Drink with me
For the sun has risen
And the birds are singing.

Come My Love

Come My love

Drink my grapes.

Lick the juice on your lips.

And watch the stars smiling,

For the moon Is dancing.

Drink Up

Drink up,
My love.

Fill my cup!
Let me drink
My sorrow.

For my house
Is in ruin.

And the heavens
Remain still.

Green Are the Grapes Marc Eliany

Green are the grapes
In my beloved’s garden

Her lips Scarlet red.
And her kisses
The taste of wine.

But in my land
My friends are scattered
Like rubies
In pigs’ stalls.

My Eyes Caught Your Lips

My eyes caught your lips.
A garden
A lawn
And soon Budding trees,
Flowers And ripe fruits Too.
He, Who will not bite,
Will bear his sin.

My joy

My joy,
My heart’s delight,
Come to my side,
Fill my cup!

My friends have faulted me.
But my heart is pure
My soul with no blemish.

Come to my side,
Pay them no heed,
Let me drink
The wine On your lips.

Sleep Not

Sleep not!
Drink my wine!

Make My garden Your bed.

Sip In joy My bloom.

Scented delights,
A river stroll,
Birds singing,
The sound of your lips
In my garden!

 

Wake Up My Love

Wake up my love
My vine is in bloom.

Fill your cup
With glittering wine.

Your scent
Dances in my heart
Like fire.

And angels
Sing your praise In the heavens.

Wine

Wine
Red
Like my tears
For my loss
For my beloved
In ruin.

The Scroll of Tislit

The Scroll of Tislit

El Hi Ani © All Rights Reserved

Shortly after the destruction of the Second Temple (70 CE), Jews were dispersed about the four corners of the Roman Empire. Priests made every effort to travel together and established communities where possible. People still remember that priests lived in Debdoo in northern Morocco. But few recall that once upon a time, Aghamat was a city of priests too and that at some later date, when Jews were allowed to live in Marrakech, most priests settled there.

There were priests (Cohanim) of many kinds: some conducted sacrificial rituals, some were architects specialized in temple construction but our ancestors were priests-scribes. They remembered everything and when the time came for them to seek refuge outside of Judea, they walked barefoot all the way to the kingdom of Ephraim at the edge of the world and settled in Aghamat.

The priests brought to Aghamat seven Torah Scrolls written by Temple scribes. Alas, six scrolls were destroyed across the ages due to persecutions in Morocco and Iberia. It was a time when the world turned upside down, for respectful neighbors turned into enemies, forcing Jews to leave Aghamat for Seville (1142 CE). After a reprieve, persecutions followed the Jews. For the Rabbi of Seville, a priest-scribe too, was called upon to convert to Christianity (1391 CE). The rabbi refused and went to jail. One day a Torah Scroll was smuggled into his cell. When the rabbi opened the scroll, it transformed into a chariot that transported him to Morocco!

The Scroll of Seville was one of seven scrolls priests brought to Aghamat after the destruction of Jerusalem. But now, may the Merciful have mercy, the whereabouts of only one scroll is known; that is the Scroll of Tislit, celebrated every year in the month of Heshvan in Ashkelon. It is the most wonderful of all scrolls. It is the most powerful of shields. It had the power to protect from bullets. It even survived fires. Even Moslems celebrated it in Tislit!

Eliette Abecassis, Sepharade

Eliette Abecassis, Sepharade
2009, Albin Michel Fiction, French

Reviewed by M. Eliany

Eliette  Abecassis  knits a love tale, contemporary,  as well  as, ancestral, the tale of Moroccans and Sephardi Jews, vacillating between  stereotypes, intentionally and intentionally, stretching limits of facts and  truth, to make a story, anchored in the real, in a pursuit of her heroes’  identity, one’s identity, one’s self, free of constraints (p. 239-246), yet  subject to endless affinities, overt and hidden, conscious and unconscious, and  subject to misunderstandings and contradictions, in which rebellion and  conformity are blurred (p.347).
Eliette Abecassis tells her tale of the Sephardim, aware  there must be different perceptions of it, as in the case of multiple  co-existing realities (p.265-266). It is a touching tale of a person,  male, female, discovering the human and universal in himself, herself, through  shaping encounters with the ‘other’, in love and hate, in a course of a  lifetime, in which, a memory of historical dimensions in contained.
Eliette Abecassis deserves much respect for digging deep  into herself, her heritage, our colorful heritage, cherishing its splendor, in  spite of its entrapments, to make us aware who we are, as individuals, as a  community, to love ourselves as we are, in our strengths and weaknesses.
Read this book and spread the word that it is, perhaps, a contemporary  amulet, to save us from losing a sense of who we are.

The Age of Reason

I was a toddler when I recited my prayers by heart. Grandpa Jacob was a prayer leader then, taking the place of great grandpa Abraham, after whom our synagogue was named. It was grandpa’s duty to recite prayers and benedictions for me, as well as for other people who could not utter pleas for them-selves. When I was too young to read, I listened to his chants and watched the printed letters running backwards past his finger, like trees rushing behind the bus I took so many times to study far away from home in Jerusalem.

Grandpa Jacob taught me that in the time of the First Temple, our ancestors’ prayers were entirely spontaneous. Worshipers used their own words to utter thanks and supplications any time they wished. Therefore, he said, I could use my own words to wish for any thing I wanted. I do not recall the desires I had as a toddler but I do remember mimicking the movement of grandpa’s lips, his whispers and chants, as well as, his general demeanor. Our film records demonstrated already then the bond between grandpa and me.

It did not take much time for me to read. I was an infant when toddlers chanted the alphabet at my crib. Hardly three years thereafter, I recited them in turn, showered with sweets falling from above like manna from heaven. It was the day of my betrothal to learning; a ritual held over since the time my ancestors lived in Babylon.

I learnt that our history began with our patriarch Abraham. Abraham, the patriarch, left Ur at the time of King Ur Nammu. He wandered to Haran, Canaan, Egypt, finally settling in Hebron, where he purchased the Cave of Macpelah, a burial place for him, his wife Sarah and the rest of his family (2000 BCE). Our legendary King David was anointed in Hebron but when Israel succumbed, Edom, Greece, Rome, Arabs, Franks and Turks settled it, each leaving its mark, especially Herod the Great and Salah-A-Din. Hebron, Abraham’s shrine, is nowadays a battlefield.

In the time of Abraham, Nimrod, the son of Canaan, proclaimed him-self God, defying heavens from the height of a tower built downtown Babel. Wickedness spread on earth then, imposing upon the righteous wandering to far away lands.

Abraham, grandpa told me, stayed near, wandering in the outskirts of Babel, beheading every idol in sight, except for one waving an axe high. Shortly thereafter Nimrod cast Abraham in jail. A few years later, the tower of Babel reached heaven and Nimrod ordered Abraham thrown from its pinnacle. When the executors neared the summit, their language confounded and the tower crumbled.

Thereafter, kings followed Abraham’s teachings. People shattered idols. And my ancestors left Ifrikia to settle Canaan, the land where Abraham was crowned king.

Great-grandpa was a Ben Moshe but he was named Abraham too. I was born shortly after his death. But grandpa Jacob who knew him well told me his tale. ‘Abraham’ grandpa said ‘did not acquire Hebron with strong arm. He bought it from Ephron the Hittite for a price.’

Abraham distinguished himself from neighbors by his love for Heaven, his distinction between right and wrong and his commitment to do right on earth, like Shem the priest and Noah the righteous who saved us from extinction. Abraham, in grandpa’s tales, was a just man. He was shy of war, hospitable to strangers and put in Michael’s words, Abraham was a leader of a cultivated tribe, one of many Hebrew tribes that migrated from Mesopotamia to the western Mediterranean, to earn a living as merchants or in the services of local kings. Our ancestor was versed with contract making, Michael said, even his relationship with God was contractual in nature. He exchanged fertility for loyalty, for it was his dream to spread his seeds across nations. Thus, beyond the Land of Israel, we live everywhere, bound by an everlasting pact, trading righteous behavior for God’s grace.

I was still young when Michael told me God was in my mind. It was a time when God appeared like superman in my dream. I wanted to be like him. But when I woke up, I suspected Michael did not speak of the same God grandpa knew, a God who made my ancestors wise and good, just and loving and without whom life could not exist. In all things, Michael told me, even in the tiniest of plants, there lies life. I liked grandpa’s God but I loved Michael’s too.

At a very young age I knew I was born in the image of our extraordinary God and that my purpose on earth is to complete Its creation. Yet, I wondered. Because grandpa attributed life to an Almighty Creator, the cause of everything, even things beyond understanding.

As I approached Bar Mitzvah, I asked my mother if God existed for real. Mother was not surprised. She looked at me and smiled. She loved me unconditionally, even in light of my scepticism.

No one knows! Mother said. In the beginning people said God was the sun, or the moon, or nature itself. Abraham, our forefather, separated the Divine from realm of nature, thinking ‘It’ was a force outside of nature, a power outside of him. Ever since, the tales of revelation enticed moral existence. Ever since our ancestors attributed to divinities meanings to suit them. Abraham shattered his father’s old material gods to create One Universal God. Later Prophets gave up the God of sacrifices for the God of justice. As old gods died, new ones were born in the image of succeeding generations, like the transformation of a male and female into a newborn child!

So you see, mother said, when the wonder of rebirth became common knowledge, our minds opened to believe in what we know, displacing beliefs in the unknown. Our vision of God changed. Nowadays, the wise hardly see divinity in external powers. They seek salvation within, relying increasingly on themselves.

I grew freer as I approached Bar Mitzvah, discovering in the process that grandpa’s God did not have to be mine and that our bond was one of survival and perennial love, for I loved him as I loved my mother and I loved both as I loved myself. And although the once divine lost its shine, along with its privileged priests of then and now, I pronounced my Bar Mitzvah vows as if grandpa’s God was also mine for there lied my adulthood and corresponding responsibility.

Thereafter I shunned no reason, scorned no learning and did not cling to a single creed. My creation no longer had a beginning or end, it lied in existence itself, in truth and in everything.

The Circumcision

Kiriat Shemona
Purim, 1969

It was a time when a sterile woman was likened to a dead tree, a childless man was counted lifeless and the crown of existence was the birth of a male child to carry the name of his family.

What could a sterile woman or a lifeless man do in those days? They went on pilgrimage to holy sites where long dead saints rejuvenated stale unions. Those were the clinics where infertile couples were impregnated and where male off springs took place in wombs where only female broods were born. When a child was conceived, the pregnancy was announced to the sound of cries of joy. From that moment, every precaution was justified to carry the pregnancy to full term.

My conception was announced in a whisper and although my parents lived in Israel, far from Maghreb, cries of joy spread the news in my hometown, from its northern edge at the Fort of Tel Hi to its south end at the JFN Nursery.