Category: Coexistence

My mom’s spirit in Morocco

When I was a child, I grew up going to Temple Beth Ami in Rockville, MD. As many synagogues do, a Hebrew phrase is often placed atop the aron hakodesh where the Torah sits. At my synagogue growing up, it said: “da lifney mi atah omed” – “know before whom you stand”. At every single synagogue in Morocco and in the Jewish Museum in Casablanca, I saw this phrase over and over again. It’s not that it’s an entirely uncommon phrase to see, but it’s hardly the only one used in synagogues and it brought me back to my childhood, when my mom and I used to go to services every week. Where I used to lead services. And where she was President and on the Board for many years.

Here are some of the beautiful places I saw this phrase in Moroccan Jewish spaces, in every city I visited:

Every time I noticed the phrase, I gasped. How could it be that this particular Hebrew sentence was following me around a country halfway around the world that I had never visited and yet somehow was connected to? And I couldn’t help but think that this ability of Jews to traverse cultures and to connect around the world was something I learned from a young age and something my mom would be excited to see me pursue.

I often feel my mom’s spirit, especially when I travel. For example, I could feel her nudging me back towards my Jewish spirituality in Lisbon after losing my faith when she and my step-dad passed away. Looking back on it, that moment in Lisbon helped lead me to the rabbinical school program I’m in today. And to many other Jewish travel adventures.

There was another example on my trip that was possibly much more directly connected to my mom than even the words on the Torah Ark. One of my amazing tour guides, an elderly man, brought me to a zellij factory. Zellij is mosaic tile work. My mom was an avid mosaic artist. One of her most beautiful pieces which she left to me was called “The Tree of Life”. This is what it looks like:

Walking around the factory, the mosaics spoke to me. If my mom had been with me, she would’ve been in heaven, but not the one upstairs where she is now. I wished so badly she could’ve been there with me, enjoying the beautiful art work.

And then my guide brought me to a special piece. It was a tree. And its name was “The Tree of Life”. My jaw almost dropped. Here it is:

I explained in Arabic to the guide about my mom and mosaics and her piece with the very same name. I couldn’t quite capture the myriad feelings going through my heart. The sadness and anger that she couldn’t be there with me. The ecstasy of finding this deep connection to my mom and her legacy. The spirituality of the moment. And the possibility that my mom really was accompanying me on my journey. And on all my journeys.

I think back to the phrase on my childhood Torah Ark and apparently all over Moroccan synagogues. “Know before whom you stand”. Usually we think of this as God. When you rise to pray in a synagogue, you should know the majesty of God standing in front of you. But I would argue, in addition to that, perhaps the message my mom was sending was to know the Godliness of everyone who stands in front of you. My tour guide, the person working at my hotel, the fellow tourists I befriended, the local Jewish community members I met, the shopkeeper I had tea with for two hours. These are people created in the image of God who stood before me. Not just in a synagogue, but in everyday life. That’s what my mom taught me. To love your neighbor as yourself.

As a young kid, I remember my mom and I would drive around following cars whose license plates had her mom’s initials on them. Just to see where they were driving. Some people today might call that crazy. But she just wanted a connection. A sign from her mom that despite the cancer, the death, the sadness, that she was still with her in some way. And I think I finally understand why. Because everywhere you look, you can choose to see signs of your loved ones who are no longer with us. You can choose to see before whom you stand. Or not. I could’ve chosen to ignore the signs around me that my mom was with me. And it would’ve just made me feel lonelier. But instead, I choose to believe her spirit lives on around me and most importantly, inside me and the actions I take to honor her memory.

Thank you Morocco for helping me feel close to my mom and introducing me to so many incredible people to stand before.

Jewish Marrakesh

Morocco is an enchanting, chaotic, and peaceful land all at the same time. Its Jewish community dates back over 2,000 years and is the largest in the Arab world. Over one million Jews of Moroccan descent live in Israel, France, Canada, the U.S., Spain, and Latin America.

My first exposure to Moroccan Jewish culture was by way of friends in an exchange program between Bet Shemesh, Israel and Washington, D.C. Before it became a predominantly Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) city, Bet Shemesh was heavily Moroccan. My friends there introduced me to the foods, traditions, and sounds of the community such as Lehakat Sfatayyim, a Moroccan-Israeli band.

Growing up in the U.S., I had limited exposure to Moroccan Jewry since the U.S. Jewish community is predominantly Ashkenazi. I attended various Mimouna celebrations in the U.S. and Israel, though, which has always been a load of fun. It’s a way of ending the bread-free week of Passover with loads of carbs and greetings from neighbors. In Morocco, this traditionally meant Jewish and Muslim neighbors celebrating together.

I love exploring diverse Jewish communities, so I was thrilled to arrive to Morocco to learn more and to use my Arabic and French. I’ll be totally honest – I was equally parts nervous and excited. On my recent travels, especially after October 7th, I had experienced a lot of antisemitism, especially on my fall trip to Italy. Morocco is 99% Muslim and let’s just be honest – the relations between Jews and Muslims hasn’t been great recently, or for that matter in the past 100 years or so.

I started in Marrakesh. It’s a fascinating and beautiful city and overwhelms the senses. I stayed in the Mellah, or Jewish Quarter. I started by visiting the absolutely massive Jewish cemetery, filled with 20,000 graves, almost all marked by long white stones. It looks completely different from an Ashkenazi cemetery that I’d be accustomed to. It is the largest Jewish cemetery in the country. I followed the Jewish tradition of putting small stones on some of the graves to honor the dead. Here are some photos from the stunning site:

From there, I practically ran to the Slat Al Azama synagogue, built by Jewish refugees from the Spanish Inquisition and expulsion in 1492. I was so excited to get in and so were some Jewish tourists from Brazil. I got a chance to use my Portuguese with them as we talked about how excited we were to visit the synagogue. Once we got in, the father asked me to explain to him and his son some of the prayers that dotted the synagogue walls. It was amazing to have an instant Jewish connection with someone from so far away in a foreign land.

The synagogue itself is absolutely stunning, filled with mosaics, including blue and white Jewish stars all over the courtyard. There is a small but meaningful museum next to the sanctuary as well that documents Moroccan Jewish history. The place is well guarded and I felt safer there than in many European or American synagogues these days.

Here are some photos of the synagogue:

The synagogue had signage in Modern Hebrew, clearly geared towards Israeli tourists (yes, they come to Morocco too and offered many helpful travel tips via several Israeli Facebook groups I’m in). In fact one of the signs said in Hebrew: “we are here to continue to tell the Jewish story”:

They even had Judeo-Arabic postcards, such as this one which says “I will go around you” (like a kaparot rooster):

What was absolutely stunning to me (in the best way possible) was this bilingual Hebrew-Arabic postcard the museum was selling that listed cities in Israel and Morocco one after the other:

It was a beautiful token of co-existence at a time of great hatred in the world. Keep in mind this museum is an official organization in Morocco. Everything in the country happens with the blessing of the King. It was designed to send a message of acceptance and welcoming Jews, not an accident.

After having visited the synagogue and the cemetery, I decided to go to Friday night Kabbalat Shabbat services. I met the most eclectic group of Jews possible. A Persian-Israeli who spoke fluent Moroccan Arabic. What I think was a gay French-Moroccan Jewish couple with a young child in the Orthodox synagogue. A couple of Moroccan-Israeli bakers from Ashdod. And a Spanish-speaking Sephardic man from Panama!

The synagogue was also beautiful:

The services were quite an experience. I have gone to a couple Sephardic synagogues before in Israel and each one is unique in its rituals as well as melodies. But of course, I’m much more accustomed to predominantly Ashkenazi rituals in the U.S. I was almost completely lost during the service, both because I didn’t know the melodies (except for one or two!) and because the Hebrew text is also slightly different. The North African melodies were enchanting and I also felt like a bit of a spectator more than an active participant because it was both familiar and new to me. Not a bad thing at all, it just was a unique experience for me, like having one foot in and one foot out. It felt Jewish and so different from what I knew.

What was also striking about the synagogue is that it is currently run by Chabad! Chabad was founded in Lithuania, where some of my ancestors are from. It is a Hasidic movement geared towards outreach to other Jews to perform traditional rituals and mitzvot. It is not remotely something I expected to experience in Morocco, especially on Moroccan terms. What I mean is that if I went to Chabad in most countries, I would be able to follow the service more easily because the rituals are Ashkenazi i.e. Eastern European. However, the Chabad in Morocco follows the local customs and has to be one of the few in the world that is deeply, deeply Sephardic and Mediterranean.

After a few days of exploring Jewish Marrakesh, I took a day trip out to the countryside to see Amazigh (i.e. “Berber” – the less-accepted term) life. The Amazigh are the natives of Morocco and what I didn’t realize is that they have a 2,000+ year history of welcoming and building relationships with Jews!

I met multiple Amazigh people during my trip and got to see the remaining houses in a remote, formerly-Jewish village about an hour and a half outside Marrakesh. I even bought some pretty Judaica from an Amazigh man who told me the objects were from the neighboring village. He also said many Jewish tourists of Moroccan descent come to visit, including from Israel. Yes, he said “Israel”. It’s a word that’s so charged these days, but for many Moroccans I met, it was totally normal to say. To acknowledge. To allow to exist. May more people around the world follow their tolerant and open-minded example.

My Jewish experiences in Morocco were so rich and varied that I couldn’t possibly fit them into one blog post. That says something about the diversity and wonderful heritage of this beautiful country. Keep your eyes peeled for more stories from my adventure. It was a truly life-changing experience.

And next time you want a safe place to visit as a Jew, I can’t help but recommend Morocco over Florence. Travel is an incredible way to dispense with stereotypes and preconceptions.

Is Morocco an Arab country?

The answer for many Moroccans is “no”. How could that be? Arabic is an official language of the country. It is taught in schools, used by Muslims of all backgrounds in prayer, and is spoken on the streets. I used Modern Standard Arabic, Syrian Arabic, and French to get around the country even though I didn’t speak the local variety called Darija.

And yet, Morocco has another official language and no, it’s not French despite its widespread use. It’s Amazigh! Amazigh is the native language of Morocco and wide swaths of North Africa. In fact, it has many dialects within the country and across the region, some of which are not very mutually intelligible.

This is what the Amazigh script looks like (though some speakers in North Africa may use Latin-based or Arabic scripts):

It looks nothing like Arabic, sounds nothing like Arabic, and its vocabulary is unrelated to Arabic. In other words, it is the native language of Morocco because it existed there before the arrival of Arabs and Islam in the seventh century. And to this day, it is the mother tongue of 24.8% of Moroccans and is understood by many people as a second language. As far as ancestry, studies range wildly from 35% to 70% of Moroccans having some Amazigh roots.

When I visited Morocco recently, I met Amazigh people both in the major cities and in the countryside, where their numbers are even greater. My first interaction was at the riyadh (traditional bed and breakfast) I stayed at in Marrakesh. One of the staff members was named Muhammad and when I started to speak with him in Arabic, he told me: “I prefer to speak in English and not in Arabic because I am Amazigh.” It hadn’t even occurred to me that someone in Morocco would prefer English over Arabic for reasons of cultural identity, but from then on, I respected his wishes and he taught me a few Amazigh words each day.

The Marrakesh medina (or “old city”) is fun but deeply chaotic with donkeys and mopeds and people running all over the place. I decided to take a break and head to the countryside for a day trip. I visited Amazigh villages on the way to (and in) Imlil. The mountains are deep green and sometimes snowcapped. The streams are beautiful. And the people are incredibly hospitable.

Along the way to Imlil, in the middle of rural Morocco, I spotted a shop in Tanahout with a sign that said the houses on the other side of the hill were the remains of a Jewish village named Azro. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. These are the remains of the village:

While some Jews in Morocco escaped there following the Christian Reconquista of Spain (and the subsequent Inquisition), others had already been living in the country for 2,000+ years. According to the shop owner, this village and its Amazigh Muslim neighbors had very good relations for many, many generations. He even sold some Judaica supposedly from the village (I have no way to verify its origins but I did buy some).

I frankly didn’t know much about Amazigh-Jewish relations before visiting Morocco but apparently they are deep and continue to this day, with descendants of Amazigh Jews coming back to visit frequently from France, Israel, and around the world. I’ll have a lot more to say about Morocco’s Jewish community in an upcoming blog, but I loved getting to know its history on my trip. While I encountered perhaps two or three instances of antisemitism, for the most part I found people incredibly friendly and welcoming when I mentioned I was Jewish. I felt safer as a Jew in Morocco than I have in parts of Europe and even parts of the U.S.

If Amazigh people have been in Morocco for 10,000-12,000 years and Jews for 2500 years and Arabs for 1300 years, what does that make Morocco? I mean even Moroccan Arabic is an eclectic mix of standard Arabic vocabulary, French, Spanish, and yes – Amazigh words. It is deeply incomprehensible when spoken at a normal pace to Arabic-speakers from countries such as Syria, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia.

There is an important word in Arabic that explains what happened (and is happening) in Morocco: استعرب (ista3raba). This word means to “Arabize”. To become Arab by adopting the language and customs of the culture. In other words, while some Moroccans are descendants of Arab tribes that migrated to the country over the centuries, many are Amazigh people who became Arabs. Some perhaps by choice and others due to social pressure and stigma.

This phenomenon is not unique to Morocco and it partially explains part of the wild diversity of Arabic dialects (or perhaps better put, languages) of the Middle East and North Africa. In the Levant, for example, the Arabic is layered over Aramaic and Hebrew influences from the civilizations that existed in the region before the Arab conquest.

The King of Morocco has, in an important step, started to honor this complex cultural diversity rather than suppressing it in contrast with what some leaders in North Africa have done in the past. The 2011 Constitution states that Morocco is: “A sovereign Moslem State, committed to the ideals of openness, moderation, tolerance and dialogue to foster mutual understanding among all civilizations; A Nation whose unity is based on the fully endorsed diversity of its constituents: Arabic, Amazigh, Hassani, Sub-Saharan, African, Andalusian, Jewish and Mediterranean components.” The bold text is my addition to make this point: Morocco is now officially a multicultural country, with Amazigh as a co-official language with Arabic. And its Jewish community is recognized by the ruler of the land as essential to its history and essence.

Morocco is an Arab country. But as my travels there (and Muhammad at my hotel) taught me, it is not only an Arab country. Its layers of Amazigh and Jewish history run deep, and even its Jewish community has used many languages and embraced different identities throughout its history.

In an era where people are looking for black and white answers to complex problems, Morocco is a welcome bit of gray space. It is a place full of diverse and sometimes competing identities that still manage to co-exist better than in many countries around the world.

I’ll have a lot more to say about this fascinating country. Until next post, bslama, ar tufat, lehitra’ot – see you soon!

The Zionist Response to Zohran Mamdani

The election of Zohran Mamdani has put many Jews, myself included, on edge. You can look up his long history of virulently anti-Israel comments here. His obsession with Israel (and not with other countries’ human rights concerns) is antisemitic. He has no problem marching in the NYC Pakistan Day Parade but boycotts the Israel Day Parade. The double standard is appalling, given that Islam is the official state religion of Pakistan and religious minorities and LGBTQ+ people are legally discriminated against. Yet it is only Israel that Mamdani chooses to boycott. No country is perfect and expecting Israel to be exemplary while excusing Pakistan’s human rights abuses is bigoted.

The purpose of this post, though, is not to rehash what many media outlets, Jewish organizations, and politicians have debated. I find Mamdani’s rhetoric appalling and antisemitic. You may not. But one thing is crystal clear: Mamdani has clearly said he boycotts the world’s only Jewish homeland and that requires a forceful and thoughtful response. Because Israel, for all its imperfections, is the only safe haven for our people and has saved the lives of millions of Jews from around the world fleeing persecution.

This post is about what’s next.

First, let’s define Zionism. Zionism is the national liberation movement of the Jewish people. It is the belief that Jews are a people, an ethnic group with literature, cuisines, customs, languages, and millennia of shared history. There are right-wing Zionists, centrists, and left-wing Zionists who have debated the future of our people and our relations with our non-Jewish neighbors both inside and outside Israel’s borders. But fundamental support for a Jewish safe haven in our ancestral homeland is backed by the vast majority of American Jews – 85% in this poll. You don’t need to agree with all of a particular Israeli government’s policies to believe that Jews need a place to call home.

Now that we’ve defined the problem (Mamdani) and what Zionism is (and isn’t), let’s talk about what a Zionist response to his rise should be.

The Zionist response to antisemitism is to invest in our people, our homeland, and our allies.

Our people. We should proudly support proud Jewish artists, educators, writers, and businesses who contribute to the well-being of our community. For every boycotter like Mamdani, buy another gift from Israel for your friend for Chanukah or from one of my favorite Zionist artists in Alexandria, VA. Check out Modern Tribe as well! Put your money where your mouth is.

Our homeland. In addition to supporting Jewish businesses, find ways to strengthen Israel. Donate to the Spirit of the Galilee, led by my dear friend Rabbi Leora Ezrachi-Vered, a group promoting co-existence between Israelis of all faiths. Support Blend.Ar, led by my friend Chen Kupperman, which organizes Arabic immersion courses in Abu Ghosh to promote thoughtful collaboration between Jews and Arabs. Contribute to Magen David Adom, Israel’s emergency responders who treat (and are treated by) people of all faiths. There are so many other fabulous charities out there that deserve your backing. Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need some advice about how to strengthen Israeli society.

Our allies. Many non-Jews are standing by our side and deserve recognition. If we take some of the energy we feel towards people like Mamdani and put it towards thanking people who have our back, we’ll feel better. For example, I live in Atlanta and the moderate mayor Andre Dickens won re-election Tuesday too. He has visited Israel and vigorously condemned the October 7th attacks. He takes safety seriously for his Jewish constituents. It’s people like him we need to elevate in our national discourse. Thank politicians like him for standing with us and support them with votes and donations. And donate to non-partisan organizations like the American Jewish Committee that build bridges of understanding between Jews and diverse communities.

In the end, the best response to hate is to remember that we may despair and feel like it’s 1933, but today is different. We have a homeland to call our own. We must stand together with our people, our safe haven Israel, and our non-Jewish allies. Haters gonna hate, but we are a strong community full of love and hope and we will come together and win.

A few days before the election, I was uncertain how to react to a near-certain Mamdani victory. A friend told me Delta restarted direct flights from Atlanta to Tel Aviv and I jumped on the site and bought a ticket to Israel. I’ll be back in Israel this spring for a long visit and I’ll be looking for all sorts of ways to support my friends there – Jews, Christians, Muslims, and Druze. Because by building a stronger Israel, I not only help them, I help bring greater safety and security and resilience to Jews in New York and around the world.

Yachad nenatzeach. Together, we will win.

Making Peace With Arabic

My journey with Arabic started at the local Jewish Community Center, where I took a class in high school. I then studied the language for four years in college and with Syrian refugees on Skype. My studies were helped by my passion for languages and my love for Hebrew, its very similar sister language.

Why Arabic? It all started when I was sitting in my Lebanese friend Jad Zakhour’s (z”l) car hearing my first sounds of Arabic music. It was those tantalizing sounds, plus the delicious food and warm welcome I always received in his house, that caused me to become curious about this language. After all, Arabs and Jews are cousins. If we’re ever going to make peace with each other, we need to understand each other.

As with many other Jews and Israelis, I felt the pain of October 7th deeply and personally. In addition to the horrific results of the attack, the subsequent war has involved my friends risking their lives by serving in the military, going through countless rocket attacks, and a friend’s nephew being injured in the vile Hezbollah terrorist attack on Druze kids playing soccer in Majdal Shams.

I lost friends over the past couple years who showed their antisemitic (or at best, deeply ignorant) sides to me. I was discriminated against in the LGBTQ+ community, including being screamed at in public for being Israeli. I would walk by my local synagogue only to find antisemitic graffiti daily across the street.

All of this caused me to distance myself from Arabic. Anything that sounded like Hamas, like terrorism, like antisemitism, made me feel disgusted and frankly, scared. This was not an easy thing for me to reject. I had written an entire book about my relationship with Arabic as a gay Jew. Arabic is in my veins, it is part of what motivates me to make the world a better place for everyone. Yet the pain was so raw I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even listen to Arabic music for over a year.

Something changed for me recently. Because of the Syrian government’s attacks on its Druze minority, Arabic’s spirit has reawakened in me. Why? I’m not entirely sure. But I think it’s because I remembered – Arabic is not just Hamas. Arabic is not just Hezbollah and the wretched Syrian government. It is also the language of the my friends. It is the language of 20% of Israelis. Yes, it is a language of many Muslims – and also Christians, Alawites, Druze, and Jews! It has been a Jewish language, with specific Jewish dialects, for many hundreds of years across the Middle East. Some of which were spoken by my Iraqi Jewish neighbors in Tel Aviv.

Terrorists don’t get to “own” a language. Neither do antisemites. Arabic can and should be for all, just like any other language. It is a way to communicate, it is a way to build bridges, it is a way to make peace. I don’t know how to make peace in the Middle East, but I do know I’m in the process of making peace with Arabic. And maybe, here as I sit writing and soaking in the sounds of the Arabic music that got me interested in the first place, making that peace internally is the first step to making a more peaceful world for everyone.

As my blog banner photo from Majdal Shams says in Hebrew and Arabic: “why not?” The time to heal, to build, and to grow is now. Make your internal peace and then maybe one day all sides can reach out their hands to create a safer, more peaceful world. Ken yehi ratzon, inshallah, may it be so.

Sicily and Malta: echoes of Israel

Sicily and Malta are two of the most beautiful places I’ve ever visited. The Mediterranean islands have a lot in common. They’ve been conquered by many civilizations, including the Greeks, the Romans, the Arabs, and countless others.

Each civilization has left its mark on the islands’ history. In Sicily, there are Roman mosaics, Greek theaters, Greek temples, Baroque churches, Arabesque cathedrals, even Middle Eastern-inspired food that is quite different from what you might encounter in northern Italy. I did a street food tour and enjoyed every last bite.

Even the markets in Sicily look almost identical to Israel or any Middle Eastern country. With loud shouting and free samples!

Malta is even more Middle Eastern than Sicily! I speak Arabic and when I wanted to catch a cab from the airport to my hotel, I heard a driver talking to another driver. I understood almost every word. I hopped in the cab and asked the driver if he was speaking Arabic or Maltese, the local language. He said Maltese! I was stunned. This man’s speech sounded so familiar to me that it almost sounded like a Tunisian immigrant to Malta speaking Arabic.

The architecture in Malta, in particular, is very reminiscent of what you’d find in Israel in places like Akko and Jerusalem.

The nature in both countries is stunning. Malta’s blue lagoons and cliffs. Sicily’s incredible countryside, full of green hills, yellow flowers, lemon trees, and of course views of Mt. Etna (which erupted while I was on a bus!).

The Maltese and Sicilian people were incredibly friendly, especially in Malta. Both countries drive like maniacs but the people – the people were the superstars. They were so open. They were so willing to unabashedly share their stories, their lives, their problems with their spouses, their hopes, their dreams, their politics – it felt like being back in Israel but in a place that hasn’t known war in a very long time.

I have a lot to say about my experience in these two incredible countries. The sights to see are countless. The vibes are fabulous. The food delicious.

I couldn’t help but think that maybe one day, when Israel is given a chance to breathe, and when its neighbors accept its existence and all choose the path of peace, that it can be a destination as tranquil as Sicily and Malta. That have lived through ages of conquest and rich cultural heritage. But have come out on the other side stronger yet still welcoming. Whole.

May you have the great privilege that I did to visit these stunning countries. And may my friends in the Middle East one day know the peace of Malta and the peace of Sicily.

Libi bamizrach. My heart is in the east. Soon enough it won’t be enough for me to see buildings that remind me of Akko and Jerusalem. It’ll be time for me to visit the only place where I’m not a tourist. Where I don’t have to look longingly at beautiful architecture and be the “other”. The only place I can truly call my own.

Malta is home to an Inquisitor’s Palace and Sicily, once home to a bustling Jewish community, wiped it out during that very same Inquisition. These places, like many that I’ve visited, are or have been home to incredible Jewish communities. And I honor their resilience over the years.

And I wish for nothing more than for us to no longer need to be resilient. For us to be as tranquil as the Sicilian countryside or the lagoons of Malta. Because we’ve earned it.

Ken yehi ratzon. May it be God’s will.

Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Córdoba

Spain has an incredibly long history of co-existence (and discord) between Jews, Muslims, and Christians.  Few cities offer a more beautiful way of seeing this interaction than Córdoba.

I started my visit off in the Mosque-Cathedral.  Yes, it is a mosque and a cathedral, although actively only a cathedral these days.  Built originally as a basilica by the Visigoths in the 6th century, it was destroyed and then built as a mosque by Muslim conquerors in the 7th century and then dedicated as a cathedral in 1146.  You can see a timeline of the Mosque-Cathedral’s construction here.

The back-and-forth conquest of the area by Muslims and Christians left its mark on the Mosque-Cathedral.  There are clearly Islamic archways throughout the 23,400 square meter building (that’s about 250,000 square feet!).  There’s even a beautifully restored mihrab, which showed Muslim worshippers the direction of Mecca for prayer.

And then smack dab in the middle of the enormous mosque complex, there’s a cathedral!  And from the middle of the cathedral you can still see the Islamic archways that dot the entire campus.  It’s like one civilization couldn’t escape the other.

If you have the chance to go to Córdoba, this building is an absolute marvel and alongside the Alhambra, one of the most impressive pieces of architecture I’ve seen in Spain – indeed, perhaps all of Europe.

After my tour of the Mosque-Cathedral and eating some delicious gelato, I decided to explore the Judería, or Jewish quarter, of Córdoba.  Because Jews also called this place home for many centuries, including the famous Maimonides who was born in Córdoba in 1135.

In the Jewish quarter, there is one of three remaining well-preserved medieval synagogues in Spain.  It was built in 1314 and has beautiful Moorish-style architecture and you can still clearly see the Hebrew engraving on the walls.  You can learn more about its history here.

The Hebrew on the walls particularly caught my attention and spiritual energy.  The fact that I could read some of it really moved me.  Jewish history is so often erased.  Our connection to our ancestral homeland of Israel, where Hebrew comes from, is so often denied.  Yet here in Spain, many miles from our home, there stood a synagogue, over 700 years old, with engravings in the same language I pray in.  The same language I use to write to my Israeli friends on WhatsApp. Jewish history is real and the chain of our existence is unbroken by the conquerors of the day.  I’m grateful to Spanish activists like Red de Juderías de España who have preserved Jewish heritage for us to enjoy despite all the pain our people have endured in this country.

I also stopped by Casa de Sefarad, a Jewish history museum housed in a 14th century Jewish home with a lovely and friendly woman at the front desk who was very proud of the city’s connection to Maimonides.  It’s a beautiful museum and worth a visit.

From the Jewish quarter, I decided to go a little outside Córdoba to Islamic ruins known as Medina Azahara.  These ruins date from the mid-10th century and are absolutely stunning.  This former city is now an archeological park and is set in a gorgeous rural area just a 15-minute drive outside of Córdoba.  If you have the chance, you must go.  You can still see archways and columns and elaborate Islamic architecture.  And far fewer crowds than the center of Córdoba.

It’s a place where you can really meditate on the meaning of these three cultures – Jewish, Islamic, and Christian – which have been, and in some cases continue to be, living in contention with each other.  But also influencing each other and at times even co-existing.  Whether it’s the Islamic arches in a Catholic cathedral, the Moorish décor surrounding Hebrew in a synagogue, or the Jewish scholars like Maimonides who crafted wisdom while living amongst these civilizations- one thing is clear.  We are interdependent.  And nothing, perhaps nowhere, shows that better than Córdoba.  So grab a salmorejo (feel free to hold the pork!) and enjoy this marvelous city of three cultures.

The difference between Israelis and Palestinians

Israelis and Palestinians share a lot in common. As do most human beings. We want a good life for our families, we want to put food on the table, we want to find a sense of purpose. We often find ourselves perplexed by the lack of control we have over events in our lives. Nowhere is that more true than the Middle East.

But what most western liberals fail to understand, that I do understand having traveled extensively in Israel and Palestine and being a fluent Arabic speaker, is that there are fundamental cultural differences between these two societies. Differences that are leading to continued conflict and distress.

Let’s start with some basic premises before we dive into this difficult topic. First, innocent people are suffering in Israel and Palestine and that makes me very sad. Second, the way out of this conflict is unclear and anyone who pretends to have a “magic solution” like “from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” (i.e. genocide of Israelis) or “death to the Arabs” is full of shit. Erasing the “other” will only perpetuate conflict rather than resolve it. And third, some of the people I know with the strongest opinions about Israel and Palestine have never stepped foot there. And should be invited to listen and learn and, frankly, shut up if they have nothing constructive to say.

So what are some of the differences between Israelis and Palestinians? Israel is a much, much more diverse society than Palestinian society. Consisting of Jews from all over the world (including the dozen or so Muslim-majority countries that ethnically cleansed them in the 20th century), plus Druze, Arab Christians, Circassians, Arab Muslims, and non-Jewish refugees- it is a virtual melting pot of civilizations. Meanwhile, Palestinian society consists of an ever-increasing Muslim majority, with a dwindling Christian population consisting of 1 to 2.5% of the West Bank. Life is far from perfect for minorities in Israel, but it is a fundamentally more pluralistic and inclusive society, with non-Jews making up approximately 26.6% of the population, with full voting rights and citizenship.

Palestinians are also rabidly homophobic when compared to their Israeli neighbors. Only 5% of West Bank Palestinians support LGBTQ+ relationships according to a BBC poll. A year ago, a Palestinian gay man was beheaded in Hebron. Meanwhile, 61% of Israelis (and 68% of Israeli Jews) support equal rights for LGBTQ+ people. While right-wing politicians continue to attack the Israeli LGBTQ+ community, they represent a minority of the country and face intense pushback from Israeli civil society. There is next to no Palestinian civil society pushing for social acceptance for the queer community. Religious fundamentalism and a deep-seated conservatism define Palestinian society in a way that western liberals have trouble understanding – or at times even justify.

I could go on and on about the litany of differences, including the rights and roles of women, but I’d like to focus on the single most important difference between the two societies. Most Israeli Jews are prepared to accept a Palestinian state as part of a peace agreement. Only 24% of Palestinians accept the idea of an agreement with Israel, with even lower numbers in younger generations. The numbers vary according to how the question is phrased and no doubt the number of Israelis feeling in the mood to make a peace agreement after the horrific October 7th Hamas massacre is going to go down. But fundamentally, one society accepts the existence of the other, and the other doesn’t accept the existence of the former.

Most American liberals or progressives or whatever you’d like to call people on the left-end of the political spectrum that I’ve often called home- most of them have no clue how to process the idea of Palestinians’ cultural differences as an obstacle to peace and human rights. Not the only obstacle, but certainly a big one. When you see people waving pride flags at anti-Israel rallies in Europe and the U.S., you have to wonder how these people have deluded themselves. How, in a colonialist fashion, they have imposed an American understanding of race, sexuality, victimization, and oppression on two countries across the world with very complicated and significant cultural differences.

I’m not in any way suggesting that Palestinian human rights be disregarded because they are by-and-large ultraconservative, antisemitic, and homophobic. Two wrongs don’t make a right. The status quo cannot continue. All human beings deserve dignity and I’ve been incredibly outspoken (if you’ve followed this blog at all) in advocating for Palestinian and Arab-Israeli rights.

But the only way to make peace is to understand reality first. And until American and European liberals can wrap their heads around the cultural differences between Israeli and Palestinian societies, we will get nowhere. We will get more heated rhetoric and antisemitism. Out of both hatred and a lack of understanding of how this conflict continues to plague the region.

Jews and Israelis of all faiths have a right to protect themselves. Ourselves. If seeing Jews wield the power to protect themselves scares you or causes you concern, you are an antisemite. Until our neighbors, the Palestinians, are willing to accept the existence of Israel, this conflict will continue ad infinitum. And the day Palestinians come to the peace table in good faith, I’ll be the first in line to protest the Israeli government until it makes peace a reality. I eagerly await that day and hope one day, much like there is an Israeli peace movement, that there will be an equally large Palestinian one.

Until that day, we will protect ourselves. As my cover photo from a Druze village in the Galilee says in Arabic sarcastically: “it’s all my fault, I love my sect”. It’s all my fault. I love the Jewish and Israeli peoples and we will outlive all those near and far who wish us harm.

Feeling numb

When I was a kid, I was always the most talkative one in class. I had the best grades but the one thing my teachers would say to my mom at parent-teacher conferences was that I had to learn to raise my hand. Ever since, I’ve been speaking out – and writing – about what is important to me. And what was once a liability in the classroom has since become a skill and one that I’m proud to use to articulate my thoughts about life and the world around me.

Ever since the massive Hamas terrorist attack and pogrom on October 7, I’ve felt numb. And despite my usual verbosity, at times speechless. I’ve felt out of place and sad at friends’ parties, unable to find my inner joy. I’ve felt lonely as I watch acquaintances and friends – mostly not Jewish but occasionally Jewish – justify Hamas’s horrific attack. I feel as if I’m carrying a weight in my stomach as I watch a constant stream of victims’ faces scroll across my Facebook and Instagram. A very significant number of Israeli friends, although themselves “safe”, have lost loved ones to Hamas’s slaughter of innocent civilians.

First things first. I am incredibly sad and extend my deep condolences to my friends living in Israel who have lost loved ones and are coping with the most existential crisis in Israel’s history in the past fifty years. Who are stuck at home and bomb shelters as thousands of rockets whiz overhead. Who are scared and deserve better than to live in chaos and fear.

For me, while I am not in Israel, I feel this pain viscerally. I’ve spent time in many of the places attacked. I’ve met people there – some of whom may no longer be alive. My blog post cover photo is from Sderot, which has been battered to a pulp by Hamas attacks recently and has endured their terror tactics for over a decade. The reason I feel this attack so viscerally is not only because I’m a Jew, is not only because I’m Israeli, is not only because my friends are suffering. It’s also because I recognize that it could have been me kidnapped or killed. If the timing had been different, I could’ve been one of the civilians tortured or burnt alive. It could have been me.

When I visited Sderot a few years ago, I stopped by Kibbutz Nir Am across the street. At the time, Hamas was “only” sending over rockets and flaming kites to set fire to agricultural fields and parks. I encourage you to read the blog about my experience there and the kind people I met, including a father of a five-year-old. I hope they are ok. Nir Am is one of the kibbutzim that was attacked in the Hamas invasion.

One loss is a tragedy. Thousands is a statistic. But we must never lose sight of the 1,500+ Israeli lives lost in an utterly unnecessary and evil act by religious fanatics. Each and every innocent life lost is as if an entire world was lost. Friendships, partners, parents, children, community. Destroyed. Not to mention the hundreds of hostages kidnapped, raped, and abused by Hamas terrorists. It should go without saying, but I will say it anyways, that the Palestinians caught in the crossfire and oppressed by Hamas deserve safety too. And a government that represents their genuine interests for self-actualization and freedom, not murderous rampages against Israeli civilians. I mourn the losses of Palestinians as well and I hold Hamas accountable first and foremost for instigating this war resulting in these deaths.

Where to from here? I don’t know. Part of me wants vengeance. Part of me wants to crush Hamas (more justifiable than vengeance). Part of me wonders what the plan is for once Hamas is hopefully defeated. Part of me wonders if Hezbollah and Iran will strike at Israel from the north, my very favorite part of Israel. Part of me wonders if non-Jewish Israelis who’ve been killed and kidnapped are also getting their airtime they deserve. Clearly this was an attack on the Jewish people and Jews in and outside Israel are more vulnerable to antisemitism and violence than in a very long time. This was the single worst single-day attack on Jews since the Holocaust. And Hamas is also holding non-Jewish Thai people captive, for example. Hamas terrorists are simply fanatics who will stop at nothing to kill, kill, kill.

Part of me experiences this death and destruction as an Israeli. And part of me experiences it as an American Jew who lives next to a synagogue which now has multiple police cars outside for protection. Within whose doors my friend works at a preschool every day. As Hamas calls for global jihad. And progressive American voices who are usually our allies stay silent or, worse, allow their latent antisemitism to seep through. I get nervous every time I walk by the synagogue. What if the jihad comes here? Will that be enough for my fellow American progressives to speak out for our lives?

Why is it so hard for people to realize that it is possible to be pro-Palestinian and not justify Hamas’s actions? One friend (now former friend) claimed that what Hamas did wasn’t terrorism, it was an an act of anti-colonial resistance. Putting aside the fact that Jews are not colonizers in their own historic homeland and that they don’t control the Gaza Strip, when did Mahatma Gandhi ever sanction raping and burning British women alive? How sick some people are. It makes me feel unsafe and angry.

As I write this blog, I am giving myself permission to feel. To let the numbness fade and to find my words. Much as I did as a little kid. Yet I don’t particularly care to wait politely and raise my hand this time. Sorry Mrs. Kyle.

I live now as a bold, liberated Jew and a compassionate human being. Hamas is trash. They are the ISIS of Palestinian politics and do not represent all Palestinians. I continue to believe in freedom for Palestinians and I wish for the destruction and eradication of the Hamas movement which terrorizes their lives as well.

To my fellow Jews heaping criticism on Israelis right now, take a step back and recognize your privilege. We are lucky to live in the United States where we haven’t known war on our shores of this kind for a very, very long time. The closest thing was 9/11 and that was 30 times smaller in proportion compared to what Israel is experiencing right now in terms of casualties. We have a right to speak out and even to disagree among ourselves, but show some sensitivity to people whose lives are marked by traumas we couldn’t even imagine.

It is 12:19am and I needed to write this blog because I’ve been holding these thoughts inside me and haven’t been able to sleep well in a week and a half. Here’s to hoping this helps.

To my friends across the ocean, Israeli and Palestinian, who are struggling – I love you. All I can offer are my words but I mean each and every one. May we find a route to peace, to justice, to safety. And soon. Inshallah. God willing.

A Haggadah of Hope

It’s not hard to be disenchanted with Israeli politics these days. While most of the world has been focused on Benjamin Netanyahu’s anti-democratic “judicial reform”, his same government has also been engaging in racist incitement and encouraging violence against Palestinians. The pogrom in Huwara is only possible because of a government that cares nothing for the lives of its Palestinian neighbors and who views its own Arab citizens as a threat. With a new militia promised to radical racist cabinet member Itamar Ben-Gvir, we may only be steps away from even more confrontation and death.

In such dark moments, we must not find the light – we must be it. For me, that means digging through my books. It means finding some knowledge, some history, some inspiration for how we can overcome such horrible things.

I found just the book!

Digging through my bookshelves, I found a 1935 Haggadah, or Passover prayer book, from Jerusalem. But it was not any old Haggadah, it was a bilingual Hebrew-Arabic book – with the Arabic written in Hebrew characters.

It remains a mystery to me as to why this Haggadah was published in both languages! Not because there is no reason for it to be – but rather many! First things first – this was published by an Ashkenazi printer – Mendl Friedman. So the printer was unlikely to be a native Arabic speaker, like some of the Jews who had been living in Jerusalem for centuries before the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948. Also, the Arabic inside the the Haggadah seems to be Levantine, though it’s a bit unclear at times and there seem to be a few inconsistencies. For example, in the Four Questions, the writer may have made a grammatical error (or I’m a bit rusty!), by first translating the Hebrew “leylot” (nights) as “leyli” (night as an adjective) instead of “liyali” (nights) before later switching back to “liyali”:

These inconsistencies make me think it was probably not a native speaker doing the translation, although I can’t be sure. In any case, we may never know whether this was an attempt to write in Judeo-Arabic, an attempt by Ashkenazi Jews to fit in their local environment, or the off chance that a Zionist organization wanted to promote integration into the local Palestinian culture (as some of them initially supported). Although the latter seems unlikely since the most pro-Arab Zionist movements tended to be extremely secular and were not likely to be publishing a religious text. If anyone reading this blog has insight into the who, what, when, where, why of this book, please share it with me.

So what does this have to do with today? In short, I am inspired by the publisher’s attempt to integrate Jewish and Arab cultures by way of language. Without knowing the intended audience, I can still say that publishing a sacred Jewish text in Arabic is a statement – especially in the conflict-ridden years leading up to Israel’s founding. I am moved by it and hope we will find many more ways to connect across cultures using language and our sacred texts as a point of commonality rather than conflict.

This Passover, Benjamin Netanyahu will probably be spouting off racist bullshit with his equally crazy family in a comfortable home rather than a jail cell where he belongs. However, we can be comforted by the past and inspired to act in the future. Jews and Arabs have not always been at each other’s throats. In 1935 an Ashkenazi Jew published a Passover Haggadah in Hebrew and Arabic. He probably couldn’t have imagined it would end up in a gay American-Israeli Jew’s hands, but that is the magic of history in action.

May this holiday bring more joy to the world. May it bring freedom. May it give us the courage to confront our modern-day autocratic Pharoahs in America, Israel, Russia, Turkey, Hungary, China, and more. For these Pharoahs sit in temporary comfort – justice will come. Avadim hayyinu – we were once slaves, and we will not stop fighting until we are all free. Chag pesach sameach, Happy Passover, and Ramadan Karim.