That being said, the area is incredibly interesting, mainly because it's the historical home of the mellah, or Jewish quarter. Now used to refer to Jewish quarters in Morocco writ large, the word mellah was originally a unique reference to this one in Fes.
It derived from the name of the zone in which the neighborhood was constructed, "al-mellah," or "saline area" and initially carried no negative connotations; only later did stories develop that connected the salinity to a "salted, cursed ground" or to the purported Jewish custom of salting the heads of decapitated enemies.The history of the Jews in Morocco is a long one, dating back to the first several centuries of the Common Era, when the Jewish population was diaspora-ing throughout the Roman Empire, even as far west as current-day Morocco. Over time, the religion became entrenched in certain of the indigenous communities out yonder, and when the Arabs showed up in the eighth century, part of the resistance effort against them came from Berber tribes professing Karaite Judaism.
In fact, the Arab conquest of North Africa resulted in the settlement of even more Jews in Morocco: waves of them emigrated from the Middle East along with their Muslim neighbors. As was the case throughout the Muslim-ruled world, the Jews living in Morocco fell under the governance of dhimmi law, or the Muslim code of conduct for fellow "peoples of the book," i.e. Jews and Christians. This administrative system included such demands as a special tax for the dhimmi, as well as certain freedoms, like that of enacting and enforcing distinct civil legislation in accordance with their religions.
However, the existence of an on-the-books, legal relationship between Muslims and Jews did not prevent it from becoming profoundly complex. On the one hand, Jews could enjoy great political favor and economic success -- particular the more educated, wealthier Sefardi Jews forced out of the Iberian Peninsula at the end of the fifteenth century. On the other hand, their positions were typically precarious, they were the sometimes targets of rioting and -- as Alma, our outspoken Jewess likes to point out -- they were forced to live in "veritable ghettos," i.e. the mellahs.
The Fassi mellah was built about a century and a half after the establishment of Fes Jdid, in 1438. It contained its own market, large and beautiful residences (distinguishable from those of the medina by the presence of sizable windows and balconies overlooking the street) and two large gates, which used to be closed at 9:00 pm in
order to keep the Jews in and any potential rabble-rousers out.There are no Jews left in the mellah these days. It seems like at least some (maybe most?) of the Muslims who currently live in the old Jewish houses are aware of the history of their residences -- I mean, one row of them leans directly over the very sizable Jewish cemetery -- but Mohammed, our guide, described knowledge of Moroccan Jewish history amongst the general Muslim population as regrettably sparse. He himself, a university student, had only been exposed to the subject several years ago, by Alma's friend of a friend of a friend. The sincerity of his interest in the religion and language was evident, however. And so Alma invited him to Rosh Hashanah services at the synagogue in the Ville Nouvelle.
Right: no Jews remaining in the mellah but yes, some, in the Ville Nouvelle. Not many. It used to be that Fes had a very substantial Jewish population; prior to the establishment of Israel in 1948, the nation-wide count was around 250,000 Jewish citizens. Since then, though, the numbers have greatly diminished, down to some 5,000 people, most of them living in Casablanca. But there were a handful in Fes for Rosh Hashanah. Old men, mainly.
The synagogue was absolutely breathtaking. Located on one of many small side streets, behind a rusty, take-no-notice door and up a cramped flight of winding stairs, it was decorated lavishly with Hispanic-style plasterwork and hanging lamps of iron welded in intricate designs.
Our group -- me, Alma, two other girls, two other Jewish boys, Mohammed and Matt, a Quaker -- initially found a warm enough reception from the small group of old men; they even tolerated us taking photos of the beautiful surroundings. Then the servi
ces started. The girls and I had to retreat to the curtained area to the rear, Alma grumbling angrily about Orthodox practices, and so we didn't see clearly what happened next. All that we picked up on was Mohammed and Matt heading out the door. At the end of the services, there was a small shouting match: apparently, some (one?) of the men were upset by Mohammed's presence. I don't know if they asked him to leave, but, at any rate, he (and Matt, whom he fingered as a fellow non-Jew) felt sufficiently unwelcome that they made a hasty exit.Alma and Rod and Andrew (the two other Jewish Fulbrighters with us) were pretty upset by the episode. Although they sympathized with the guarded mindset of these Moroccan Jews -- understandable, given their history of persecution -- they were also disappointed, feeling like it was a lost opportunity to disprove certain negative stereotypes of Jews as closed-off and unfriendly to outsiders. Alma had even called the rabbi twice ahead of time to make sure that it was all right for Mohammed to come. Maybe, though, it was his hooded sweatshirt, jeans and sneakers. I don't know.
At any rate, with Islam so much on the brain here, the experience was a good reminder that other religious communities also have what I personally might consider sticky points. Being wholly excluded from the services on the basis of my gender, for example, put the marginalized status of women within many Islamic practices into a broader perspective.
It would have been neat to live in a house and an area steeped in such complex history, as I could have done in the mellah. On the other hand, history does not the neighborhood make. The idea of battling every day through the cat calls and entreaties to come in and buy this-or-that product, of feeling so acutely and constantly my status as a woman and outsider -- not appealing. So, like I said at the beginning, Fes Jdid was dismissed from the hunt for housing. All that remained was the Ville Nouvelle.
Rod and Andrew looking dapper, with more of the synagogue in the background
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