Marrakech’s rich Jewish past is proudly displayed as a relic, but it’s quite hard to find out where all the Jews went, and why. I went in search of sunshine (plenty of that!), the souk and some Jewish history.
When I got to my riad, beautiful accommodation in the heart of the old town (medina), the owner sat me down and gave me some advice about where to go.
“Go the Mellah”, he excitedly told me. That’s the Jewish quarter, which he failed to mention.
Before I went there, I explored the old town a little.
Setting off into the 34 degree heat, past stalls with Palestinian flags near the main square; all of a sudden I saw a Star of David on the wall. But it was crossed out. Indeed, I saw a few like this. Now, I’m no detective but I suspect these were linked to the war in Gaza, yet it’s no less unsettling for an actual Jewish person to walk past.
Lazaama Synagogue courtyard
I visited the House of Photography of Marrakech museum, where there was a whole section showcasing hundred-year-old photographs of Marrakechi Jews, and Berber Jews, from the nearby mountains. Unfortunately, the poster explaining it was mistranslated: ‘The Jew [singular] of Marrakech’.
While this was a typo, it left me wondering how many were actually left? The museum certainly didn’t explain where all the Jews went, and why, and how many remained. Intrigued at how this once-thriving community lived, I headed to the Mellah.
I stopped at a cafe ironically called Mazel. There’s no discernible acknowledgement of what that word means, or a nod to its Jewish links, or even where it is.
Lazaama Synagogue
But those who know, know. In the Mellah, down narrow residential roads, the Laazama synagogue is marked out on the Talmoud Thora street. It’s 50 dirham (about four pounds) to get in, and the shul doubles up as a museum. As you go in, the bimah is by the entrance, with a large ornate ark at the front, built into the wall. All around the shul hall are wooden chairs with blue cushions, marriage certificates, Judaica, tzedakah boxes and photos from the past. It felt like a synagogue, alright. And it is still functioning.
As you step outside, there is a peaceful courtyard with a fountain and citrus trees. There’s a second floor closed to the public, with blue and white curtains, and a shop whose manager started blowing shofars, on sale for about £20. It felt pristine and delicate, but somewhat preserved.
The museum element has an exhibition about its Jewish past – the Bnei Menasche – and it even mentions Israel a few times. There are historic scrolls and jewellery, books and portraits, in addition to short films and other historical explanations. One remarkable thing was how much I recognised. The hundred-year-old books had the same prayers. The children in the pictures are messing around in shul just like I used to. But even so there is not a great deal of information about the present.
The cemetery
Nowhere does it mention that many Jews left fearing for their safety, or because they felt locals would become hostile due to the creation of Israel, or subsequent wars. There were riots across the Middle East and north Africa. Historic, once-thriving communities were uprooted. While many left, lots of this community are also buried down the road in the cemetery, and many of the graves are from the last 50-60 years.
In the 1950s Morocco as a whole was estimated to have around 300,000 Jews. Now it’s reckoned there are just 3,000.The cemetery is a vast space with tens of thousands of above-ground graves, covered in white cement. To Marrakech’s credit, there has been extensive work to restore the area, including reintroducing old road names, and preserving the synagogue.
In the courtyard of the shul, there are also promotions for other faith-based exhibitions, all supported with government funding. Morocco has also taken steps to support its remaining Jews, and built a museum to Jewish history, in Casablanca. They are trying to preserve the past and support the remnants of the present.
Shofarim at the synagogue
After my visit to the synagogue, I was greeted by a local, who said he used to play with Jewish kids in the area, and told me how everyone lived peacefully and got along well. I don’t doubt this was true. But as he whisked me away to his a spice shop belonging to his friend, who started talking to me in Hebrew, it was all quite surreal. They were perfectly friendly, asking if I was Jewish and welcoming me, but it felt like a bit of an act, pouncing on someone exiting the synagogue to discuss how idyllic Jewish life once was. Marrakech used to be a great place to be Jewish, and certainly compared to its regional neighbours, it’s probably still amongst the safest and most tolerant.
But while there is a willingness to display its golden Jewish past, there’s a shuffling awkwardness about the present.
