Mystic Flower

Lonely But Not Alone

2013-05-21T02:34:00.003-07:00

A Spiritual Short Autobiography by a Jew Who Should Never Have Been

by Nathan Lopes Cardozo

Judaism, to me, is not about laws but about music and musical notes. In all of its laws, I hear powerful sonatas that transform my soul: Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major, Op. 35, with its heights of intensity; Johann Sebastian Bach’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in D Minor, with his iron fist, uncompromising dedication to detail, and strict adherence to rigid rules of composition, resulting in a phenomenal outburst of emotion. When I listen to these masterpieces, I encounter the thunder and lightning experienced by the children of Israel when God revealed His Torah at Mount Sinai. It feels like being hit with an uppercut under the chin and remaining unconscious for the rest of the day.

But I also hear Igor Stravinsky’s recreation of Bach’s cantatas and, even more, his Le Sacre du Printemps (The Rite of Spring). The scandal it caused when it was performed in Paris on May 29, 1913, led to a breakthrough in the world of musical composition. The music never had a chance as the audience erupted in riotous behavior almost from the first sounds. The weird resonance, the odd twists and turns of melody proved disconcerting to many. There were reports of fisticuffs, spitting, slapping and even threats of dueling. Still, Stravinsky won the day. His first performance may have lost the battle, but since then, this masterpiece generates ecstatic reactions among many music lovers.

It brings to mind the great debates of the rabbis in the Talmud who showed unprecedented courage by interpreting Jewish law and philosophy in infinite ways that caused major conflicts, many of which have not been resolved to this day. The spiritual riots and debates concerning the words of God at Sinai continue to keep Judaism ever fresh.

I think of my non-Jewish friend who came to see me in the renowned Gateshead Yeshiva in England, the “Lakewood of Europe,” where I was studying at the time. He wanted to understand what a talmudic college was all about and wondered what I, once liberal-minded and secular, was doing in this “Jewish monastery.” I brought him into the Beit Midrash, where he expected to find a university-like, mannerly student body, speaking softly, whispering in near silence. What he actually encountered almost made him pass out. Hundreds of young men were nervously walking around, arguing and shouting at each other so that it was nearly impossible to hear one’s own voice. Turning to me in total astonishment, he asked whether this was a demonstration against the Queen of England or the British government. My answer shocked him even more: No, they are actually discussing what, precisely, did God say at Sinai over 3,000 years ago. I will never forget his response: “You still don’t know? “Indeed,” I said, “we still do not know!” Just as one can have major disagreements on how to interpret Bach or Brahms (Remember Glenn Gould and Leonard Bernstein?) so it is with Jewish law. There are many possibilities, and all are legitimate! We still argue about the words of God and have therefore outlived all our enemies.

I worry when people, including influential rabbis today, suffocate Judaism by seeing it as nothing more than laws to be observed. Every dispute must be settled; no doubt may prevail; every philosophical disagreement has to be resolved. It seems they are unable to hear its ongoing and astonishing music. They are spiritually tone deaf.

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I was born by breech delivery, a very painful procedure, which my mother endured with iron strength. We nearly did not make it. It was Friday night, the eve of Shabbat, and I was born to two marvelous people who by Jewish law would not have been allowed to marry. Theirs was a mixed marriage. My father was Jewish, my mother was not.

The physician was a religious Jew, Dr. Herzberger, who had to violate Shabbat to save our lives. It was Amsterdam, the 26^th of July, 1946, just after the Holocaust.

In many ways, both these facts—an unusual birth and being the child of a mixed marriage—have set the stage for my life. I often see things from a reverse position. What is normal for others evokes in me feelings of wonder and awe, and what others consider amazing I see as obvious. As the product of a mixed marriage, who converted to Judaism at the age of 16, I became somewhat of an in-out-sider. I had always seen myself as a “father Jew,” of zera Yisrael (Jewish ancestry) and therefore Jewish, but later on I learned that it did not make me a Jew according to Halacha.

My mother, while still a young woman, came to live with my father’s family once she had lost her Christian parents. So, she grew up in a liberal, socialist, Amsterdam-Jewish cultural milieu, where Friday night dinners were comparable to chatunot, though my father’s parents were not religious and as poor as church mice, as were most of Amsterdam’s Jews. My mother was completely integrated in this world and while she knew she was not Jewish, she was an integral part of the community, spoke its language and felt totally at home in this strange, secular but deeply Jewish world. It is no surprise, then, that she converted years later, when she was in her fifties, after I convinced her of Judaism’s beauty. After all, she had always been a Jewess. With the permission of Hacham Shlomo Rodrigues Pereira, Chief Rabbi of the Portuguese Jewish community in Amsterdam, my parents were married kedat ukedin (according to Halacha) by the same rabbi who married my wife and me three months later. There was, however, a small but crucial difference: my parents had been married for over thirty-five years, while my wife and I were just beginners!

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I spent more than 12 years learning in ultra-Orthodox yeshivot and received heter hora’ah (rabbinic ordination) from Rabbi Aryeh Leib Gurwitz, Rosh HaYeshiva of Gateshead, who was, in his younger years, the chavruta of Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman, the best-known disciple of Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagan, also known as the Hafetz Hayim. I know this world better than many do, but I am still not fully a part of it. Nor do I belong to the secular Jewish world, and surely not to the gentile world. I continuously struggle with my Jewish identity and religiosity; and now, at the age of 67, I am perhaps more involved in this endeavor than ever before. Day and night, I am busy with my great loves: Judaism, Israel and the Jewish people. Yet, I am unable to feel at home in the world of mainstream Orthodox Judaism. For many years I was a real bachur yeshiva, who had bought into the chareidi philosophy, but much later I realized that it had become too narrow, too insipid, and often trivial. Today, I believe that Modern Orthodoxy, too, has for the most part become tedious. Even the famous Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik, head of the rabbinical school at Yeshiva University in New York, was not able to lift it out of its spiritual malaise. Conservative and Reform Judaism are not options for my soul. They are too easy, too academic and unable to create a spiritual upheaval. My Judaism is one of dissent, protest and spiritual war against too much conformity. Self-critique is the crucial issue, not self-satisfaction. Not clichés, but insight; not obstinacy, but elasticity; not habit, but spontaneity; these and deep religiosity are for me the great movers behind this magnificent tradition.

My atypical beginnings have influenced my thinking in unconventional ways and to this day get me into trouble with some of my rabbinical colleagues, as well as with religious and non-religious Jews.

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At the age of 21, I married a Jewish girl from an Orthodox home. We have been blessed with five children, special children-in-law, lots of grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren. All of them are deeply religious, love Torah and excel in a variety of professions. We have children who are rabbis, teachers, businessmen, and one who is an architect with a license in counseling! Some of my grandchildren wear black kippot, and some have pei’ot; others have colored kippot, small and large. Some are closer to ultra-Orthodoxy, others are Modern Orthodox; some fervent Zionists, others not. They all represent parts of my personality and I love the diversity.

My home is in Jerusalem, in an ultra-Orthodox neighborhood where I no longer feel at home. With few exceptions, I pray with people I can’t speak with and I speak with people I can’t pray with. Still, I love them all. They are Jews, so they are my family. But I do not share with them an intellectual or spiritual-religious language. I have little in common with the Orthodox or the secular Jew in the way I see the world, God and Torah. For some people I am much too religious; for others, something of a heretic.

This is my fate and I can live with it, though it sometimes feels a little, and at other times very lonely.

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My brother is 64 and although according to Halacha he is not a Jew, he is more Jewish than many Jews I know. For years he ran a kosher home with his non-Jewish wife, to accommodate our family visits. He nearly converted but never took the final step. He wants to be buried in Beth Haim, the Portuguese Jewish Cemetery in Ouderkerk, which is a small town just south of Amsterdam. But he knows that will be impossible.

When I suggested to him that perhaps he should be buried in the Reform community’s cemetery in Amsterdam, he told me that he only wants to be buried in the Orthodox cemetery; other streams of Judaism are not on his radar!

Knowing that he will not be buried in Beth Haim, or any other Jewish cemetery, pains me greatly. How will it be possible to bury him among the gentiles when he is one of ours?

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The Portuguese Jewish cemetery in Ouderkerk is full of contradictions and reflects the turmoil that existed within early Dutch Jewish society, which included many Marranos, also known as Conversos, who fled from the Inquisition and came to Holland but could not fit in. One will find there the extravagant tombstones of some of the most remarkable Jews in all of Jewish history: Don Samuel Palache, the Sultan of Morocco’s commercial and diplomatic envoy in the sixteenth century; the famous Doctor Ephraim Bueno, early seventeenth-century Jewish physician and writer, whom Rembrandt used as the subject of one of his paintings; Antonio Lopez Pereira, chief treasurer of the King of Spain; and many other famous Jews.

These remarkable tombstones are outstandingly artistic and somewhat un-Jewish, reminiscent of the Catholic Church whose influence had not yet weakened. They have images of biblical figures and their narratives carved in marble. There is even one with an image of God speaking to the prophet Samuel! This is in total violation of Jewish law and is a clear indication of the spiritual confusion in which these Jews, including my forefathers, lived. I realize that my brother and I are strange by-products of this turmoil.

Even the parents of the most celebrated Jewish apostate and world-class philosopher, Baruch Spinoza, are buried there. But the philosopher himself was laid to rest behind the Nieuwe Kerk (New Church) in The Hague. A sad reflection of what transpired in this unusual Jewish Portuguese community that was teeming with people who had split personalities and tried to reclaim their Judaism after having been forced to live as Catholics for hundreds of years. Paradoxically, while the Inquisition and subsequent expulsion from Spain made these Jews long for Judaism as never before, when they came to Amsterdam many of them could not adjust to mainstream Orthodox Judaism. Some became practicing Jews outwardly but remained Christian in some of their beliefs. They believed Judaism to be a kind of Christianity, but without the cross. Others became secular but outwardly conformed to religious observance so as to remain members of the “Portuguese nation,” as they called themselves. They attended the Esnoga, the famous Sefardi Synagogue in Amsterdam, but their hearts were not in it. They had nowhere else to go, and they just wanted to belong. What made it even more critical was that they could not and did not want to be part of the Christian community of Amsterdam. Nor did they want to walk in the footsteps of Spinoza who, though he never chose baptism, was happy to leave the community and never looked back.

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As a child, I was always overwhelmed by the extraordinary, which was seen by others as normal. Wherever I looked, I encountered the miracle of life. Whether it was watching the sun go down, or seeing genetic life under a microscope, I was struck with wonder and amazement. What is life and what is the meaning behind it? How is it that we are able to think? The most incomprehensible fact is that we are able to comprehend at all. Is the world not more a question than an answer? Why was I put on earth at this time and born into this family? Had I been dead for millions of years before entering this world? As Polish-born American theologian Abraham Joshua Heschel put it, “a perpetual murmur from the waves beyond the shore” was my constant companion, and it left me no rest.

I realize today that these questions laid the foundations for my religious and philosophical inquiries.

Our family lived a completely secular life, but within me, unawares, grew a spiritual consciousness that had religious implications.

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My father was an extremely nice man, always in a good mood and incredibly proud of his Jewishness, particularly of being a Portuguese Jew. I doubt that he could have married a truly non-Jewish woman. He could only have married somebody like my mother who was Jewish without being a Jew. I greatly loved my father. He was a business man but should have been a professor. He was of high intellect and very sharp. Since he was born into a poor, socialistic Jewish family, he was never able to study or attend university. At an early age he went into business as a sales representative and traveled around Holland. Later, after the Holocaust, he started his own business, in sewing machines, which proved very successful.

Somehow, he discovered Baruch Spinoza who had lived in Amsterdam in the seventeenth century. Spinoza had been a member of the Portuguese community and was put in cherem (a ban pronounced by the ma’amad—council of rabbis and lay-leaders—of that community) after he started to express doubts about the truth of the Jewish tradition. It became the most infamous and harshest ban in all of Jewish history: “Cursed be he by day and cursed be he by night; cursed be he when he lies down, and cursed be he when he rises up; cursed be he when he goes out, and cursed be he when he comes in.” In the words of contemporary English Philosopher Simon Critchley: “That’s quite a lot of cursing” (The Book of Dead Philosophers, p. 157). When my father began to study Spinoza’s critique of Judaism, he became a follower and decided to live a secular life. But, as with many Jews, he did not entirely succeed, for he was too much of a proud Jew and certain taboos remained. He would not eat pork; in fact, it never entered our home. Friday night was as it had always been. On Pesach we ate matzot, and in winter we sometimes had a menora and a Christmas tree lit at the same time. It was clear that what my parents had agreed on—not to allow any religious observance in our home—did not work from day one. No doubt that was partially due to our mother’s insistence on having a “Jewish home” and our father’s endless discourse about his Jewishness. It was completely impossible to remain neutral in matters of religion!

It took my father many years before he was able to see the beauty of religious Judaism, revealed to him by his son, who was on his way to becoming a full-fledged Jew and reintroduced him to the Jewish way of living.

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Gradually, I took an interest in religion. I asked many questions and could no longer remain indifferent. It had already affected my personality. I doubted whether a secular way of life would still be possible and indeed concluded that such an approach left too many questions unanswered, and that the lifestyle for the most part lacked spiritual depth. To drop religion was no longer an option. But which religion was the crème de la crème?

I started reading anything I could lay my hands on concerning other religions, including Christianity, Islam, Buddhism and Hinduism, but none of them inspired me. Both my Jewish background, which was deeply embedded in my DNA, as well as my father’s Jewish pride, had made a profound impression on me. Clearly, I was already under the spell of Judaism and believed that if any religion was close to the truth, this was the one. By that time, I was about 14 years old.

I began visiting bookshops looking for Dutch Jewish books, but there were very few. At home I read books on general philosophy by William Durant, who had written some splendid introductions to secular philosophy for laymen. They had been translated into Dutch and were part of my father’s small library on the subject. I was fascinated by many philosophers and found their books very illuminating, though there were parts I could not understand. It was also the first time I was introduced to Spinoza, and later my father told me more about his philosophy. We started reading sections of his works together: a chavruta of sorts.

There was one book I got hold of that completely captivated me. It was a Dutch translation of a Hebrew book, Dorenu Mul She’elot Ha-Netsach (translated to the English The Modern Jew Faces Eternal Problems), by Dr. Aron Barth, general manager of Bank Leumi in the 1950s. Reading this book was somewhat of a breakthrough for me. It introduced me to the world of Jewish religious thought, about which I knew very little. It discussed major theological issues through the prism of Judaism and dealt with many problems I was thinking about. It was deeply rooted in classical Judaism and written in a clear and lucid style. The author displayed much knowledge and wisdom in confronting major issues of the day. Although he was not completely honest when he tried to undermine every form of Bible criticism, he introduced me to some important challenges to Spinoza’s claim that the Torah comprised different documents authored by several writers, not by Moses.

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As I was becoming more and more involved in my journey, my school studies got in the way. They were boring and of little importance compared to endeavors I believed were of much greater value: Judaism and discovering what life was really all about. I began neglecting my secular studies, and my school marks went down the drain. In fact, it got so bad that I failed my tests and was not promoted to the next grade. Understandably, my father was very worried.

Although the gymnasium where I studied was a first-class school, where Latin and Greek were taught, I felt that most of the classes were hopelessly dull and monotonous. What was completely absent was the challenge to discover things on our own. Everything was spoon-fed to the students. The teacher would tell us how to read Shakespeare and how to dissect a fish, instead of letting us find out for ourselves and only giving us advice when we were really on the wrong track. The learning process lacked all creativity and did not speak to our imagination. Instead of sending us home with a question, encouraging us to struggle with it, the teachers felt it was their task to ask the questions and immediately answer them. They did not realize that a question should sometimes remain unanswered, because every answer deals a death blow to further investigation.

I shall never forget that when one of the greatest scientists of our day, Isidore Rabi, was once asked why he became a scientist, he replied that his Jewish mother gets the credit. While other parents would ask their children what they had learned in school that day, she would ask: Izzy, what good question did you ask today? Answers are great, but doubt is what gives you an education.

Another boring aspect of my school education was that we were not allowed to come up with outrageous answers that would challenge the established system. If your answer did not fit the accepted scientific or literary framework, the teacher wouldn’t give you a second glance and would sometimes even punish you by sending you out of the room. I cannot remember how many hours I spent outside the classroom.

Years later, I was reminded of this while reading that the famous physicist Wolfgang Pauli once gave a lecture on elementary particle physics at Columbia University. Afterwards he asked Niels Bohr, arguably the greatest physicist of the twentieth century, whether he thought his theories were crazy. I do, replied Bohr. Unfortunately they are not crazy enough.

Encouraging students to be both curious and surprised is one of the great principles of good education. It is a sign of transcendence, the very foundation of authentic religiosity. Most of my teachers did not realize that and failed to adhere to the Greek proverb: Either dance well or quit the ballroom.

The Journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, Conversations, May, 2013, New York

To read the rest of the article click here: http://cardozoacademy.org/current-thought-to-ponder-by-rabbi-lopes-cardozo/autobiography-lonely-but-not-alone-ttp-344/

The Sounds of Jewish Morocco

2013-04-23T09:06:00.002-07:00

April 18, 2013 I organized the concert The Sounds of Jewish Morocco with Jewish musicians from Casablanca in a beautiful intimate synagogue close to the medina and close to the Jewish community center which was bombed in 2003. The concert, a farewell for Ambassador Samuel and Sylvia Kaplan gathered musicians who currently live in Casablanca and who show the diversity in the musical heritage of Moroccan Jews.

The program stated:
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"Moroccan Jewish musical traditions are ancient, varied and complex. Judeo-Berber Ahwash and Judeo-Andalusian liturgical songs mingle with Gharnati, Melhoun and cabaret music from the 1950-60s in Franco-Judeo-Arabic, experimental Gnawi jazz fusion and women’s traditional songs in Haketia (Moroccan Judeo-Spanish). Tonight our desire is to travel throughout the sonorous and historical landscape enjoyed by Moroccan Jews since millenary times and until contemporary Casablanca."

"Les traditions musicales juives marocaines sont anciennes, complexes et variées. Les chants Ahwach judeo-berbères ou les chants liturgiques judeo-andalouses se mêlent au chant Gharnatie, Melhoun, ou a la tradition des chants de cabaret des années 1950 et 60 en judéo-français arabe, ou dans les fusion jazz experimental gnaoui ou encore les chants traditionnels du femmes en Haketia (judéo-espagnol marocain). Ce soir, notre désir est de vous faire voyager à travers les paysages sonores et historiques dont jouissent les Juifs Marocains, depuis les mellah des villes imperiales ou de villages berbères, jusqu'au Casablanca d’aujourd’hui".

Vanessa Paloma

Haim Botbol thrilled us all close to the end of the evening when he chained one song into another and performed in his usual audience-rousing manner. It was quite a treat, since he performs rarely.

I sang a romance from Tetuan in Haketía, Moroccan Judeo-Spanish. This romance is an allegory for the Shechina in exile and exists only in Morocco and Oran in the oral tradition of the 20th century. To end the program I chose the Ein Keloheinu sung at Slat el Fassiyine until the 1960s which is in three languages: Hebrew, Judeo-Arabic and Judeo-Spanish. The audience joined in reiterating the unity in the diversity of Moroccan Judaism!

The Kaplans both spoke very movingly, congratulating the musicians and speaking to the power of music to move deep emotions. Ambassador Kaplan said he was moved in this synagogue on that evening in a way that he hadn't been moved since hearing his grandfather lead services in his home synagogue during his youth.

Sylvia Kaplan was thrilled to be in a synagogue in Morocco sitting downstairs, and not in the usual "azara" area reserved for women on the second floor. She reiterated how all the musician's talents shone through and that it was a musical testament to what it was like being Jewish in Morocco

Below is a photographic recap of the moving evening of sounds, emotions and joy which so many people collaborated to help come to fruition.

Thanks to Richard Elbaz who documented the whole event with his fabulous photography - here he is with Robert Abecassis (L) and Haim Botbol (R).

Jauk Amram Elmaleh, who is known as the White Gnawi brought his gear in early and set up for his jazz gnawi fusion which he started with a recording as early as 1959. Jauk did his bar mitzvah in this synagogue back in the day...

Haim Botbol, the superstar of Moroccan Jewish music also came early to set up and catch a rehearsal with the accompanists

Maurice Elbaz, producer of Moroccan music since 1999 was comfortably flanked by two masters.

I had many last minute details to arrange, and was hoping everything would go smoothly.

Fortunately Botbol was there to lift my spirits - having met and performed with him and his brother in Tangier in 2007, the Botbol brothers are like musical family in Morocco.

The Karoutchi brothers hail from another Judeo-Moroccan musical dynasty - the one which is currently active in the Moroccan Jewish (and non-Jewish) circuit.

from Left to Right: Jauk Amram Elmaleh, Vanessa Paloma, Maurice Elbaz, Maxime Karoutchi, Haim Botbol.

Pre-concert photos - what a richness of sound, emotion, history and creativity spanning Musical Jewish Morocco!

The youngest member of Kinor David Maroc arrived early, ready to sing Andalusian matrouz.

As the audience was arriving Botbol escaped downstairs to rehearse with Moulay Hachem Slaytine.

The audience started coming early and were seated when the Kaplans arrived from a reception at the historic Consular Mansion in Casablanca.

Jacob Wizman, the paytan who was the youngest student of Rabbi David Bouzaglo, and the current master in Morocco of the bakashot tradition started the concert with an a capella piyyut written by Israel Najara in the 16th century.

When Jacob was a teenager he formed part of a boy's choir of bakashot that met in this very synagogue - he was telling me about their choirmaster and the bread with butter and jelly that he remembers getting as a snack while they practiced liturgical poetry.

Maxime Karoutchi followed in the program with a combination of Arabic and French songs, he and his band had to leave immediately after their set for a gig elsewhere that night - he is currently the Jewish musician who continues the tradition of entertaining scores of Moroccans every week throughout Morocco and the Moroccan diaspora.

This synagogue is a gem which was built in 1927 with vocal acoustics in mind so as to facilitate the projection of the voice during prayer.

Jauk Amram Elmaleh performed a song called "Les trois prophètes" which he composed in the 1970s calling to peace between religions. His percussion and use of sounds transported the audience to a different soundscape to that which is usually expected

The audience was enthusiastic.

Kinor David Maroc, a group founded in Casablanca in 2008 was on next with an Andalusian matrouz, and required a major changing of the set.

They work with traditional Andalusian musicians and recruit teenage boys to teach them the Judeo-Moroccan musical traditions of their ancestors.

Here you see father and son singing on the back row.

They handed out the text they were performing and members of the audience were able to sing along in Hebrew and Arabic written out in Hebrew characters.

Some of the distinguished audience members were the director of the Fulbright in Morocco, James Miller; the Political Counsellor of the Canadian Embassy, Carole St. Louis; the US Consul to Casablanca and his wife, Brian and Clare Shukan and the President of the Jewish community in Casablanca, Boris Toledano.

It was a very moving evening for all of those present and thanks to everyone who collaborated in the production: Maurice Elbaz, Coco and Eli Tordjman, Jamal Abdenasser, Mounim Souibi, Nate Evans, Saida Loqmane, and Roy Mittelman's CUNY students of Jewish Morocco.

JUDEO-SPANISH IN MOROCCO

2013-04-07T02:54:00.001-07:00

La bienvenue et l’adieu | 1 - Frédéric Abécassis, Karima Dirèche and Rita Aouad (dir.)

Première partie : « Mille ans, un jour »

Judeo-Spanish in Morocco

Language, identity, separation or integration?

Vanessa Paloma

The hybrid identity of the Jews of Northern Morocco is exemplified in their language “Haketía” and through multiple expressions of oral traditions. I have participated in Jewish community life between 2005 and 2011 with the extant community in Tangier, and they practice synagogue chants in Hebrew, liturgical poetry in Hebrew and Spanish, readings from the prophets in Spanish on certain holidays and the Passover seder in both Hebrew and Spanish. They put their children to sleep in Spanish and express humor and certain emotions in Arabic. Many previous researchers have been privy to this complex relationship that language has in the identity and literature of this community amongst them Zarita Nahón (1929) in Tangier and Arcadio de Larrea Palacín (1954) in Tetuan. These are among the early compilators of Romances which recognized the importance of Judeo-Spanish literature in Morocco and its individual importance in parallel to Hebrew liturgical poetry.

Although the conscious identification of most members of the community today is as Spanish Jews, a profound interconnectedness to Moroccan language and culture is revealed in colloquial speech, idioms and intimate conversations. The Jewish community in Northern Morocco today has been reduced to less than one hundred, with close to seventy in Tangier and ten in Tetouan. The other cities which formed part of this Judeo-Spanish Moroccan identity historically, such as Chefchauen, Larache, Asila and Alcazarquivir have no Jews left. However, there are others who were born and raised in Northern Morocco and moved to Casablanca in the 1950s and 1960s, all the while maintaining Spanish language as their main household language.1 Others left Morocco in various waves of emigration which began with the Spanish invasion of Tetuan in 1860 and continues until our days.

The current Judeo-Spanish diaspora is concentrated mostly in Spain, Venezuela, Gibraltar, Toronto, Buenos Aires and Rio de Janeiro (Garzón, 223). This paper explores the remaining current community’s identity formation and their complex dynamics of separation and integration to Moroccan culture and society.

TO READ THE WHOLE ARTICLE GO TO: http://cjb.revues.org/217

Vanessa Paloma | Shirei Shevach - Songs of Praise - Alabanzas | CD Baby Music Store

2013-03-31T00:37:00.001-07:00

Vanessa Paloma | Shirei Shevach - Songs of Praise - Alabanzas | CD Baby Music Store

Songs from the soul during Passover and the rest of the year

stories about parallel realities

2013-03-20T20:06:00.004-07:00

This short video talks about the parallel realities I explore through the short stories in The Mountain, the Desert and the Pomegranate: stories from Morocco and beyond. Experiencing alternate ways in the world is available constantly to everyone, if only we open our eyes. These stories weave fact and fiction peeling away the layers of conscious and subconscious interactions with reality.

Slat El Fassiyine

2013-02-28T04:57:00.001-08:00

February 13, 2013 was the inauguration of Slat El Fassiyine - the Synagogue of the Fassis (or those from Fez). This was a project deep in the heart of Simon Levy z.l. the former director of the Jewish Museum in Casablanca. There were many personalities in attendance and it truly marked an important message about the history and presence of Jews in Morocco from time immemorial. Slat El Fassiyine is the synagogue that maintained the synagogal rite that existed in Fez before the Jews arrived in large numbers from Spain in 1492. This synagogue fiercely defended certain specificities of ritual that the Toshavim practiced at difference of the Megorashim.

The head of the Moroccan government Abdelilah Benkirane was in attendance and he read a speech given to him to read by the King Mohammed VI. It was quite symbolic that he be present and speak in glowing terms about the historical links between Jews and Morocco and the importance of maintaining these ties and supporting the renovation of synagogues throughout Morocco. Benkirane is from Morocco's PJD Islamist party, and members of his party have recently been publicly talking about "clean" culture referring to exclusively Muslim culture. I specifically like the Torah finial in the foreground with Mr. Benkirane next to it, showing that different faiths accept and celebrate the holiness found in the other.

The Minister of Culture Mr. Sbihi was wonderful with a very insightful and intelligent speech.

Rabbis Sebbag (from Fez) and Rabbi Israel (originally from Tetuan and today the head of the Rabbinic Tribunal in Casablanca) were both in attendance and offered prayers for the current King and his father and grandfather.

Mr. Berdugo, the itinerant ambassador for the King and head of the council of communities of Moroccan Jewry spoke about recent projects to recuperate patrimony throughout the country.

Mr. Toledano is the current head of the Foundation for Moroccan Judaism and he gave a wonderful hommage to the work that Simon Levy z'l did during his years at the head of the foundation.

I took the opportunity to have a photograph in this historic synagogue with the current, and hopefully not last! Rabbi from Fez, Rabbi Sebbag. The current community is as small as fifty or less.

Jean Levy, the son of Simon Levy z.l spoke about his father and his passion for this project. He also explained how the German government was a principal financial support for this project and how he had worked closely with his father together on this project.

The head of the German parliament also spoke and gave a very powerful speech on the importance of interfaith dialogue and the significance of Muslim and Christian politicians being present for the opening of a Jewish synagogue in a Muslim country. He insisted on the crucial moment in history that we are living and how Morocco's example serves and inspiration for countries around the world regarding respect between faiths.

Yo me levantaré un lunes - Paloma, Kadiri, Olavide - YouTube

2012-10-29T07:23:00.001-07:00

Malala Yousufzai, Divinity in Diversity - Noah in the words of Steven Aiello & the Mishnah

2012-10-19T07:47:00.001-07:00

Dedicated to the complete and speedy recovery of Malala Yousufzai, who was attacked by those whose ideology is built on an antipathy of diversity and loath respect for others.

The Mishnah in Avot tells us that there were ten generations from Adam to Noah. This, says the Mishnah, should teach us a valuable lesson: illustrating God's patience in waiting so long before meting out retribution, giving successive generations the chance to change their ways. I believe that there is an additional message which we can derive from the story of Noah which is also supported by the emphasis on ten generations.

It is noteworthy to note the sin mentioned explicitly in the Torah as the primary reason for the flood—the sin of violent robbery. It was essentially a systematic deterioration of interpersonal respect for one another which led directly to the flood. This cause and effect can be contrasted with the story at the end of the Parashah, which describes the people of Shinar coming together to construct a 'skyscraper' in an apparent attempt to challenge God's authority. One would think that a direct assault on God should prompt harsher response from God than the mistreatment of one another. Yet the pre-flood generation was destroyed, while the Shinarites were merely given different languages dispersed throughout the land.

I believe that understanding this contrast emphasizes the balance between respect for diversity and universal respect for humanity (and all living creatures), a message critical for us to survive, as well as to thrive. A Mishnah in Sanhedrin looks at lessons that can be learned from the creation of Man. The Mishnah first explains that Man was created alone (i.e. as one Man) "for the sake of peace, so that one man could not say to his fellow man 'My father was greater than yours.'" According to this teaching, the common origin of humanity can be used to debunk any claims at innate superiority, the linchpin of racism. On the other hand, another teaching brought ad locum stresses a different idea—that one man was created to illustrate the greatness of God. Whereas man who copies the same recipe, using the same materials, is bound to create an identical product, God, as the Creator, "fashioned every man in the stamp op the first man, and yet not one of them resembles his fellow."

This is an incredibly powerful and illustrative lesson, for not only does the Mishnah emphasize the greatness of human diversity, it does so simultaneous to a demonstration of the commonality of humanity. The Mishnah thus teaches us an incredible secret—an acknowledgement of Divine Creation promotes both acceptance of diversity as a gift from God, as well as the belief that regardless of how different we may look, sound or act, we are nonetheless all God's children.

This lesson occurs throughout the story of Noah. The sins which prompted the flood were those which threatened humanity—a breakdown of interpersonal relations, of respect for one another. This was made more egregious by the proximity to Creation, merely ten generations removed from the common ancestor of Adam. This was not just a sin, but an ideology which could not be tolerated. The solution involved resetting the stage, to reteach humanity of its common roots. Even when this unity brought a direct challenge to God, the response was not destruction, but diversification and separation.

The lessons of this parashah are telling—God is "merciful." On the other hand, a failure to respect one another as individuals or people cannot be tolerated. The ultimate lesson from the beginning of Sefer Bereshit, the book of Genesis, is the seemingly contradictory one of commonality and diversity—we can acknowledge, respect and uphold differences while still believing that everyone is fundamentally the same. In fact, according to the Mishnah, both lessons can be learned from the same source.

shabbat shalom

Flor de Serena at CalState Long Beach!

2012-10-12T02:48:00.001-07:00

Mystic Flower

Rebi Yehuda Jabali en Ksar el Kebir

2012-08-26T10:56:00.001-07:00

En Alcazarquivir (Ksar el Kebir) reposa el Tsaddik Rebi Yehuda Jabali. Un caluroso día de Agosto del 2012 fui con Nina Harrus desde Casablanca - la hemos pasado de maravilla y fue muy conmovedor ver la llama en torbellinos, como si el Tsaddik subiera las tefilot a otros mundos. Un día de recogimiento y poesía en el Marruecos querido.

Sami El Magrebi's song

2012-08-19T05:39:00.003-07:00

The song Sami El Maghrebi wrote for King Mohammed V at his return to Morocco after his exile in Madagascar.
Performed at the Jewish Museum of Casablanca in September 2011: Vanessa Paloma, voice; Hashem Moulay Slaytine, mandoline; Amine Asoufi, percusion

Tefilá Or Zarua en Melilla

2012-08-14T09:16:00.001-07:00

La familia Wahnón Benarosh en Melilla tiene una tefilá que la llaman "la de las novias" - donde se hacen los matrimonios, por ser grande y bella. Es una sinagoga en el centro de Melilla en el 3er piso de un edificio que ellos han construido a comienzos del Siglo 20. Tiene un trabajo de madera labrada y de vitrales bellísimos.
Yo tuve la ocasión de asistir el 12 de Agosto del 2012 a un shiur y reunión de la comunidad entera en que dos Rabinos hablaron. Aqui adjunto va un video del Rabino Yamin Bitán donde el recalca la espiritualidad de las madres Melillenses cuando rezaban a Dios delante de la Mezuzá, me impresionó mucho tener a un Rabino hablando con el público con tal Kavod sobre la práctica tradicional de las mujeres antiguas. Es una práctica que se ha hecho por todo Marruecos, el de rezar por las mañanas al frente de la mezuzá.

Los que tengan ocasión de ir a Melilla, no se pierdan una visita a esta bella Tefilá y al museo arqueológico en la ciudad antigua que tiene una sección sobre la historia Sefardita.

Concierto en PARIS

2012-07-21T17:14:00.001-07:00

Del 8 al 13 de julio del 2012 fue la Universidad d'enverano de judeo-espagnol en Paris. Organizado por AKI ESTAMOS tuvo lugar en la Sede Internacional de la Alliance Israelite Universelle. Aqui estaba en el concierto de la noche de inauguración de la semana de mesas redondas, clases magistrales, proyecciones y conciertos. Fue un gran placer y un gran honor para mi formar parte de la lista de participantes! Y esperamos al año entrante para gozar de la segunda edicion!

Arabic news on our Rabat MAWAZINE concert

2012-06-28T13:24:00.001-07:00

May 2011 in Rabat Begoña Olavide, Samira Kadiri and I performed at the beautiful Villa des Arts a program of Women's songs called Riad Al Achikat : The Lover's Garden.
Here is a view from that day.

Los Angeles Jewish Symphony

2012-05-29T04:02:00.000-07:00

March 31, 2012 the Los Angeles Jewish Symphony, directed by Dr. Noreen Green performed a program called Istoria Judia-- I was thrilled to be the soloist for a series of pieces on Judeo-Spanish culture. Performing with 100 people on stage is like riding a wave of sound, rhythms, desires and emotion. It takes a different kind of concentration and energy than the chamber concerts that I am used to! I wore a Berberisca dress that I brought from Morocco for the performances on my US tour, to showcase some of the other beautiful aspects of Moroccan Jewish traditions. On this evening we premiered a piece called "A Letter fell out of the sky" written by Michelle Green-Willner which is based on an endecha from Tetuan called "De Burgos partió ese Rey" and on a Passover song recalling the crossing of the Red Sea which is sung by the community of Belmonte, Portugal. This was all done recalling the text of the Edict of Expulsion, whose anniversary was the same day as our performance: March 31 (1492). We also performed a Sephardic Medley arranged by Shaul Bustan with an Arabic song, the romance of Gerineldo and a Passover piyyut in Judeo-Spanish: Mose salio de Misrayim. The Cantans of Salonika by Gilbert Trout, in hommage to this community which was decimated by the Holocaust and we finished with Ofer Ben-Amots Deshame, which won the Festiladino prize in Jerusalem some years back. A great program, great musicians and a wonderful audience! We are looking forward to performing it in other cities!

L'Observateur du Maroc

2012-01-31T13:17:00.000-08:00

Here is the link for this 4 page article dedicated to my work in the January 13 issue of this Moroccan weekly magazine:
http://www.lobservateur.info/Societe/il-etait-une-fois-a-casablanca-vanessa-paloma-une-colombe-sepharade.php

Singing Moroccan music

2012-01-29T06:09:00.000-08:00

Ya Mouja Ghrani is the song we sang as a sextet together with singers from all Morocco: Meknes, Oujda, Tetouan, Tangier, Casablanca and Sahara... and women musicians!

Filmed for 2M's Chada AlAlhane at Dar Bouskoura

Al Pasar Por Casablanca - Romance de Don Bueso

2011-12-22T14:50:00.000-08:00

Al Pasar por Casablanca - Don Bueso - Una Tarde de Verano are different names for this pan-Mediterranean Romance which deals with the fear of captivity and the relief of release--a common concern during times of Reconquista and Inquisition.

We chose to shoot the video in the dramatic landscape of the American Southwest, stark and reminiscent of certain places in Morocco, but in the "new world" where many Sephardic Jews fled to escape forced conversions in the 15th century.

Today we are witnessing the awakening of thousands of descendants of these very Sephardim to their ancestral religion.

La Serena

2011-12-19T01:58:00.001-08:00

excerpt from Mystic Siren: Women's voice in the balance of creation ©Gaon Books 2007

This entire song refers to our spiritual awakening and the different stages through which we must pass to reach a point of spiritual transformation that culminates in mystical ecstacy. First, there's a search for identity, then a confrontation of pain, finally a question of what's the source of love. At this point the realization of the soul comes into the song and the desire to connect with the soul, a sadness for time lost and the excitement of finally consummating the connection.

If the sea were of milk
and boats were of cinnamon
I would stain myself completely
to save my banner.

If the sea were of milk
I would become a fisherman
I would fish out my pain
with words of love.

If the sea were of milk
I would become a salesman
walking and asking
where does love begin?

In the sea there's a tower
in the tower there's a window
in the window there's a girl
who loves sailors.

Give me your hand, dove
so I may come to your nest
wretched are you who sleeps alone!
I come to sleep with you.

Don't kill me with a knife
nor with a revolver
kill me with your love
I will die in your arms.

VIHUELA

2011-12-18T14:12:00.000-08:00

Here I go on a new musical adventure! I am recently the owner of this beautiful vihuela made by Rafael Weisman. It took months and all sorts of coordinations for it to make it to Casablanca from the mountains north of Taos New Mexico... Now to the adventure of learning to play it!
I encourage you to find out about vihuela's little known history and repertoire... I in turn plan to sing Romances to the vihuela, which was done throughout the 15th and 16th centuries... recordings and videos will be forthcoming!

article dans Le Matin

2011-12-15T02:47:00.000-08:00

http://www.lematin.ma/journal/Entretien-avec-Vanessa-Paloma-soliste-auteure_-Le-conte-nous-plonge-rapidement-dans-un-monde-onirique-/159887.html
lematin.ma art et culture
Entretien avec Vanessa Paloma, soliste, auteure
«Le conte nous plonge rapidement dans un monde onirique»
Publié le : 09.12.2011 | 17h41

L'artiste soliste Vanessa Paloma vient de faire paraître son deuxième ouvrage sur les contes du nord du Maroc. la parution en anglais: «The Moutain, the desert and the Pomegranate : stories of Morocco and beyond» devrait bientôt être suivie d'une traduction.

LE MATIN : Pourquoi avoir choisi d'écrire un livre sous forme de contes ?

VANESSA PALOMA : En fait, moi j'adore lire les contes. Je pense qu'étant donné que le conte est écrit dans un format court, il a la faculté de nous plonger rapidement dans un monde onirique. C'est donc plus facile pour les gens de lire un style plus léger, plus accessible, même si on est en présence d'idées profondes.

Pour pénétrer votre nouveau livre, quel angle de lecture recommandez-vous pour un public d'amateurs ?

C'est simple. Je pense qu'il faut juste le lire avec un esprit ouvert, ce qui permet au lecteur de voyager à travers le contenu.

D'où vous vient votre passion pour l'écriture ?

En fait, je suis chanteuse à la base et les chants que j'interprète sont issus d'une tradition orale racontant des histoires. C'est donc une manière orale d'écrire et les personnes ont tendance à relier l'écriture au papier, alors que les mots restent les mots. Personnellement, depuis toujours, j'adore l'écriture et les chants et c'est justement cette relation avec les mots, les histoires et les contes qui m'a incitée à aller vers l'écriture.

Que pensez-vous de la littérature marocaine ?

D'abord, il est très important de rappeler que la littérature marocaine est très ancienne et repose en grande partie sur la tradition orale. En effet, cette dernière est d'une richesse incroyable ! Et malheureusement, nous avons tendance à oublier ce côté oral. Quand il s'agit de littérature, on pense principalement au côté écrit et sacré du livre. Or, ce n'est pas toujours vrai. L'oral est plus fort que l'écrit, car il existe en chacun de nous. C'est la mémoire des anciens (les grands-parents, etc.). Dans ce sens, c'est une richesse, un héritage millénaire de la littérature marocaine qu'il faut valoriser et mettre en avant.

Qu'est-ce qui vous plaît particulièrement dans le genre du conte ?

Dans ce livre, il y a une partie qui relève purement de la fiction et une autre qui découle d'un vécu, d'une expérience personnelle que j'exprime. Et c'est justement dans cet apport varié que réside la richesse du conte. Chaque rencontre ayant sa magie et ce genre d'écrit donne du sens à ce qui est oublié, tout en faisant passer un message profond.

Vous avez grandi en Colombie, à Puerto Rico et aux États-Unis. Comment s'est fait le passage d'une culture à l'autre, par exemple pour écrire ce livre, qui trouve ses racines dans la culture marocaine d'antan ?

Je pense qu'on a trop tendance à se focaliser sur la différence des gens et à oublier ce que nous avons en commun. D'ailleurs, j'ai toujours pensé que le Maroc était très proche de l'Amérique latine et qu'il n'y avait pas une très grande différence entre ces deux cultures. J'ai toujours dit que le Maroc, c'est la Colombie en arabe. En partie, bien sûr, mais il y a plusieurs similitudes et c'est sur ce fond commun qu'il faut travailler. À ce propos, je prends l'exemple d'une chaise. Bien que cette dernière ait des appellations différentes d'une langue à l'autre, elle reste quand même une chaise en fin de compte. Et c'est là l'idée qu'il faut avoir et transmettre, à savoir qu'il y a des choses communes à l'humanité, avec des différences d'une culture à l'autre, et c'est justement cela qui fait la richesse de l'humanité.

On dit parfois que les contes nous plongent dans un monde irréel, fait de rêves et de fantasmes. Qu'en pensez-vous ?

À mon sens, il faut aller au-delà des apparences, car il y a d'autres niveaux de la vie, qui se déroulent en même temps que notre quotidien. D'où la nécessité de s'ouvrir à d'autres expériences, d'autres «mondes».

Parlons de votre nouveau roman. Comment est née l'idée de départ ?

En fait, je suis soliste à la base et aussi chercheuse en ethnologie. Donc voilà, j'avais des contes écrits antérieurement et ce que je chante est en étroit rapport avec les contes, exprimant parfois une réalité et parfois de la pure fiction. Donc voilà, du fait des thèmes que je chante, on m'a demandé d'écrire un livre pour mettre cet héritage oral sur papier. Au début, j'étais réticente et gênée, puisque ce n'était pas là mon métier, mais après je me suis rendu compte que tout mon travail, ma vie étaient autour du conte et que, d'une certaine façon, traduire cette littérature orale à l'écrit était en quelque sorte un devoir. C'est ainsi que j'ai décidé de me mettre à l'écriture.

Ce roman est intimement lié à votre pays d'origine, le Maroc. Que pouvez-vous nous dire sur votre relation à ce pays ?

J'ai des racines remontant à cinq générations au Maroc et suis originaire de Tétouan. Et c'est là une partie de mes racines. Au début, je suis venue en tant que chercheuse dans le domaine de l'ethnologie (les chants judéo-marocain des femmes du nord) pour ensuite m'installer définitivement. Une décision «mûrement» réfléchie, qui comporte un côté positif et, bien sûr, un aspect difficile, lié à l'intégration.

Votre roman est un véritable éloge du chant, où puisez-vous votre inspiration ?

C'est le chant qui m'inspire, surtout lorsqu'on voit ce moment de communion entres les gens que le chant crée. À mon avis, le chant a une grande force de ralliement, de cohésion… Pour transmettre une émotion pure, pour unifier les gens en les rassemblant autour d'un héritage commun. D'ailleurs, dans ce livre, il y a un compte qui s'appelle «Estrella» qui veut dire étoile.

Quels sont vos projets ? Sur quoi travaillez-vous en ce moment ?

En ce moment, je travaille sur plusieurs projets différents. Une recherche sur les femmes musiciennes au Maroc et je prépare également un mon travail doctoral à l'INALCO (La Sorbonne) par rapport aux femmes juives du nord du Maroc et la tradition orale, cette hybridité identitaire qui est très importante à découvrir pour faire un travail d'archivage.

Par Afaf Sakhi | LE MATIN

Recent article for reading at Villa des Arts

2011-12-15T02:44:00.001-08:00

SONG as an INTRINSIC part of PROPHECY

2011-11-10T19:48:00.000-08:00

Thoughts to Ponder

No Mashiach Without a Song

Nathan Lopes Cardozo

Whether the angels play only Bach praising God, I am not quite sure;
I am sure, however, that en famille they play Mozart. (1)

When attending synagogue services around the world, one is often confronted with a lack of religious enthusiasm. In many synagogues, services are heavy and often depressing. It is not always the lack of concentration by the worshippers that makes synagogue services unattractive, but the absence of a song and passion. It is true that prayer is a most serious undertaking, yet our sages have often emphasized the fact that the opportunity to speak to the Lord of the Universe is a great privilege, which should bring much happiness to man. After all, for humans to converse with their Maker is something that has no logical basis. Who is man to speak to the King of Kings? This is even more surprising when one contemplates the fact that man has the opportunity to praise God with hymns and laudations. As the great German poet Johann Wolfgang Goethe once said, “Wer einen lobt, stellt sich ihm gleich.” (He who praises another person places himself on the other’s level.) And as Aristotle said—probably referring to Plato—“Everyone may criticize him, but who is permitted to praise him?”

Most interesting is the fact that one of the ways we are able to identify the Mashiach is by his capacity and willingness to sing. In the talmudic tractate Sanhedrin (94a), Bar Kapara states that God intended to appoint King Chizkiyahu as the Mashiach, the ultimate redeemer of mankind, but eventually did not.

Chizkiyahu is known as one of the most righteous men the Jewish people has ever seen. He introduced significant religious reforms and was a man of outstanding devotion, committed to the highest level of morality. In fact, he was so successful in promoting Torah study that there was “no boy or girl, no man or woman in the land who was not well-versed in the religious laws of tahara and tuma – purity and impurity!”

Still, King Chizkiyahu was unable to teach the awe of God to his own son and heir to the throne, Menashe. King Menashe is known for his wickedness, and commentators observe that this was partially due to the fact that his righteous father did not know how to sing and was therefore unable to inspire him. We can be sure that Menashe was well educated in Jewish learning, but all such learning was academic and frigid, because the warmth of a song did not accompany it.
Most telling is that, as the sages inform us, King Chizkiyahu did not sing even after he experienced a great miracle that saved Israel from the hands of the wicked Sancheriv, the Assyrian king (ibid).

Being unable to sing is considered by our sages a serious and irreparable weakness that invalidates one from becoming the Mashiach (ibid). Indeed we find that all of King Chizkiyahu’s efforts to encourage Torah learning came to an end after he passed away. There is no future to Jewish education and Judaism without a song and passion.

This, however, needs some clarification. What is there in a song, not found in the spoken word, that makes it so crucial to the Jewish tradition?

It may be worthwhile to look at a highly irregular statement by the great rationalist thinker, Rambam. Discussing human reason and prophecy, he writes:

I say there is a limit to human reason, and as long as the soul resides
within the body, it cannot grasp what is above nature, for nothing that
is immersed in nature can see above it. Reason is limited to the sphere
of nature and is unable to understand what is above its limits…
Know that there is a level of knowledge that is higher than all philosophy,
namely prophecy. Prophecy is a different source and category
of knowledge. Proof and examination are inapplicable to it. If prophecy is genuine then it cannot depend on the validation of reason….
Our faith is based on the principle that the words of Moshe are prophecy
and therefore beyond the domain of speculation, validation, argument or
proof. Reason is inherently unable to pass judgment in the area from which prophecy originates. It would be like trying to put all the water in the world into a little cap. (2)

Music raises the spoken word to a level that borders on prophecy. It gives it a taste of that which is beyond and transforms it into something untouchable. There no way to explain the difference between a spoken word and one which is sung, unless one sings. It lifts a person out of the mundane and gives him a feeling of the imponderable, which is the entrance to joy. It sets the soul in operation and brings us near to the Infinite.

“Some men go on a hunger strike in the prison of the mind, starving for God,” said Heschel (3). Only song will free them. Prayer is our answer to the inconceivable surprise of living. “To be able to pray is to know how to stand still and to dwell upon a word” (4).This is true, even more so, when a group of human beings join in communal song.

When our sages inform us that one who is unable to sing cannot be Mashiach, it should be a message to all who want to be religious. Song with passion is crucial while praying and when trying to live a meaningful life. We are deeply indebted to Sephardic tradition, Chassidism and legendary figures such as Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach z”l, for they have placed song in the center of modern Jewish life. While there is much more to Judaism than song and music, it is time that synagogue rabbis give this aspect of spiritual expression their devoted attention, teaching members of their communities to surprise themselves at what their souls are able to achieve. It is prayer in the form of song that makes this possible.

******
(1) Karl Barth quoted in his obituary, The New York Times, Dec. 11, 1968

(2) “Letter to Rabbi Chisdai” in Kovetz Teshuvot HaRambam Ve’iggerotav, Abraham Lichtenberg, ed. Leipzig: H.L. Shnoys, 1859. II, pp. 23a-23b

(3) Abraham Joshua Heschel, Man Is Not Alone: A Philosophy of Religion, New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1976. p. 90

(4) Abraham Joshua Heschel, Between God and Man, New York: Free Press, 1997. p. 206

Sukkot 5772 in Casablanca

2011-10-26T05:21:00.000-07:00

The deconstruction of building a sukkah in Casablanca--
FINAL step--enjoying the night air and an artistic moment with creatives in the city--
and before?
Abdelkader (the plumber!) built the structure and set up all the different materials, palm branches and date palm fruits-- you can see the city from the terrace while we were building it. I believe that this is possibly the highest Sukkah in Africa (14th floor)--does anyone have one higher? Please do let me know!
I got the branches a couple of blocks from our building on a busy corner, and from there they transported it over to the house in a pushcart and then they were hand carried up 14 floors because they didn't fit in the elevator--alas.
Thanks to all the wonderful Moroccan Muslims who made this sukkah possible! I think that this is a real example of what the sukkah symbolizes in unifying peoples and bringing different types together--

Mohammed V juste parmi les nations

2011-09-24T11:53:00.000-07:00

At Al Akhawin University in Ifrane and the Jewish Museum in Casablanca there was a conference to remember Morocco's King's counter to the Vichy's Statut du Juif, here is the New York Times' article on the conference