Riding through the country for hours makes one think of the villages passing by as well as the basic value of the road. The highway we were taking was apparently a relatively new project, and as a result, it enabled communities to travel, communicate, and transport goods with considerable ease. Imagine how much harder it would be to get to school without the right roads to get you there. In response to this move by the government, we passed signs spelled out with stones on hills, recognizing the King's loyalty and concern for the country. There is great approval for Muhammad VI (M6 for short).
PICTURES OF TAROUDANT
PICTURES OF ARAZANE
Along the way, we noticed a truck on the side of the road, with teenagers collectting what looked like thousands of tangerines that had fallen off. Kivunim usually participates in what it called "social responsibility," even at this time of day. It was a sight to see so many people picking up these little orange balls and dumping them in crates to be load back on the bus. Furthermore, while there were plenty of cameras, the Moroccans were not originally interested in our assistance, because they don't like their pictures being taken, out of religious of observance, or plain dignity.
After a full day of driving, we arrived in Taroudant, a city 130,00 people, no Jews, and a governer's palace turned Hotel Palais Salaam. This was a paradise with hundreds of rooms, incredible intricate designs, fountains, archways, colors and lookouts. Just look around as we lit the Hanukkah Candles for the 7th night.
Nowhere else could I feel so much detail with my fingers in the geometric designs carved on the walls, the stone fountains, and stained-glass lamps. I was so overcome with excitement to see the city, especially since we were only spending the night, that I decided to wake up at 5 to see the sunrise. Little did I know that sunrise wasn't really until after 7. While waiting on a rooftop in the chilly darkness of the night, I enjoyed a few moments of consolation. A few others were apparently awake at 5:50...
Dawn suddenly pierced the skies, breakfast was served, and we spent the early morning strolling through a souk in the Medina (Old City). The spices were bold in color and scent, and the shoes were numerous. Then we hit the road to make one more significant stop before the Sahara.
About 50 years ago, the Jews of Arazane left their village, but the Rabbi left the wooden key to the Synagogue with a Berber man named Harim, telling him to open the door of the Synagogue to any Jew who stops by. About 40 years later, Raphy showed up doing research, and the rest you can watch and be moved by. Specifically watch the last video to hear how Harim still remembers the Moroccan Jewish melodies chanted in the Synagogue.
With thanks to Mr. Grobman,
It was a rainy visit, the roof of the outer room had recently collapsed after a large storm, and inside, the plaster is cracking and crumbling. Yet the music filled the sanctuary, the 800 year old ark was still intact, and the space was sacralized again. The most unusual piece of the entire story of this and other villages is that the Jews weren't kicked out; they left on their own, and the Berbers and other locals are waiting for them to come back. The Jews' properties remain unoccupied, and their religious sites are protected. How extremely bizarre that this is how the neighbors reacted to the Jews leaving. Perhaps what is even more bizarre is that with a relationship like this, the Jews left at all. The reasons we were told were escalating tension with Algeria, and the optimism of Israel, who sent messengers to recruit Olim. But as Raphy explained, "in Morocco we were Jews, but in Israel we were Moroccan." Moroccan Jews were discriminated by Israeli society, until the next ethnic wave came. The Moroccan Jews didn't get what they signed up for, and visited home often, especially on memorials of famous Rabbis. But the Rabbi who gave Harim the key never came back.
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