International Adventures

Oh boy is this overdue. I’m going to try and do my best though.

Morocco morocco morocco
Our whole adventure began with a late night flight out of Tel Aviv (as usual). For me, the adventure began two weeks earlier with a flight out of Tel Aviv to Rome, but that’s a story for another blog entry. Early am, we board a Turkish Airways flight to Istanbul. The same electricity that we felt before Greece and Bulgaria was in the air here too. Although our second international trip, the excitement paired with travel naivety was still very present. After landing in Istanbul we had a very quick layover to a flight to Casablanca. Oh Morocco. This was quite an experience. No one really knew exactly what was about to happen. We had just landed in Africa. In our first Muslim country. Our first Arab country. And here were were.
We first ventured to a Jewish museum with artifacts from shuls all across Morocco. The Jewish community there has existed since the second temple (two thousand years) with a large influx in 1492 with the expulsion of Jews from Spain. This museum was fascinating. Artifacts ranged from old torah scrolls and talitot to, sadly, photographs of what many of those very shuls look like today: empty and collapsing.
After our visit to the museum, we visited the local mosque. Oh boy. We had no idea what we were about to see. This mosque, Hassan II Mosque, is the third largest mosque in the world, only after Mecha and Medina. The building itself is immense. Covered in beautiful mosaics, incredible architecture, fountains; truly beautiful. The building can accommodate up to 25,000 worshipers. The courtyard is monstrous, absolutely huge; able to hold up to 80,000 worshipers.
We then left the mosque and headed to a small Jewish school, one of few that remain in Morocco. Most of the Jews of Morocco live, now, in Casablanca. This was experience has now fit in with a pattern of kivunim. Hebrew is the bonding tool we use with the dying communities. Its really amazing. In the states, the diapora Jews, do not all speak Hebrew, hardly any fluently. Yet, in all of our excursions, most every jew we have met has spoken to us in fluent Hebrew. Dying communities holding on for dear life to any Jewish connection they can grab. After the school we went back to our hotel and slept (waited) for an early morning wake up.

Early am wake up for a bus to Marrakesh. We spent the day going the medina of Marrakesh and exploring the medina quarter. This was one of many of a series of experiences of first contact with something I had never really experienced before. I’m not sure there is a word or term for it, though many would simply slap on the buzzword ‘third world’. That may even be the most accurate term, but it certainly was not what came to mind. Walking through the medina was incredible. Among other amazing sights was a giant cart with a cage on the back filled with chickens being pulled by a mule. These cages provided the city’s chicken supply. Giant mountains of spices , smells of freshly cooked bread, motor bikes zooming past. Morocco was a full sensory attack, constantly blasting your eyes, ears, nose and mouth with everything new. We then walked into the Jewish cemetery where some graves were marked hundreds of years ago and a synagogue that has been preserved for over five hundred years.
Like clockwork we jump on a bus in the early am and drive 14 hours to Warzazat, a small town in southern Morocco on the edge of the Sahara desert. However, Warzazat is not accessible by bus. So. About 45 minutes from the town the bus stops. As one might imagine we are pretty loopy from the bus at this point. Too bad. We jump into a dozen or so 4x4 jeeps and drive the rest of the way through the desert to the town. There’s not much nightlife on the edge of the Sahara so we hit the hay as soon as we can. ‘Oh wait, before you hit the hay we’re waking up at 4:30 to watch the sun rise. And dress warmly it’ll be cold’. How nice. 4:30 am, I crawl out of bed and walk about 10 minutes to a group of camels. Kivunim boards the beasts of the desert and shuffle up a sand dune just in time to watch as the sun rises above the vastness of the Sahara. Indescribably beautiful. We all sit together, huddling for warmth as we watch a once-in-a-lifetime sight. Who would have thought the might Sahara would be so cold? Time to go, back on the camels. Pack up our things and back in the 4x4s. This time we take the long route through the desert. Awe-some. So incredible. As far as you can see desert. Yet every now and then we see a boy on the side of the road with an addidas shirt or a new york yankees hat; classic signs of globalization. Finally we reach the edge of the desert and re-board our chariot of a bus.
Twelve more hours on this bus. At this point we have figured out tricks for the buses, ways to stay sane. We tell each other stories about our families, watch movies (spliters are a must!), games like geography. We finally arrive, at night, to a very small town called Teluet in the Atlas Mountains along the old caravan trail from the Sahara back towards Marrakesh. Before I continue, I cant stress how amazing of an experience it was to in one moment be in the heart of the sahara desert, notorious for its oppressing heat, and the next in the Atlas Mountain covered in snow. It does a number on your brain. As we arrive we are greeted with tea and dinner. Delicious couscous, soup. Very yum. Pitom (suddenly) a group of Moroccan singers come out, followed by a group of musicians with drums and cymbals to perform for us. We sang, quite literally, late into the night. They called kivunimers up to sing and invited us to dance with them. Some took over drums but all had fun. When it was time for sleep, the boys and girls were split up; the girls to one large room with individual beds and the boys upstairs. At this point, and do remember: we are high up in the Atlas Mountains, it is FREEZING. I end up sharing a bed with a friend of mine and having to sleep fully clothed for fear of waking up an ice cube (or not waking up at all).
Once again, early a.m. wake up; only this time, the entirety of our surroundings is covered in snow. Everything is white and boy, is it pretty. We have a walking tour of the Casbah in the town, still ornately designed and beautiful preserved. Time to go. We hop into smaller buses, fitting 12 or so to a car, and start to head through the mountains back home. As we’re heading through the mountains, we come to a halt. Sure enough, as if in a story, we’re stuck. Kivunim is stuck in the Atlas Mountains, surrounded by snow in the middle of Morocco. Now, I know what you’re thinking. How scary! Classic movie set up: The Morocco Chainsaw Massacre. But in classic Kivunim fashion, we all jump out of the vans and start playing in the snow. Snowmen, snowball fights and games galore. After about 45 minutes of stuck in the snow, we’re back on our way – continuing our 12-hour journey to Marrakesh.
One thing I’ve failed to mention, and I’m not sure how it is I have, is our entourage. Since the 2003 Casablanca bombings on several Jewish sites, every Jewish community center, every shul, every Jewish gathering is protected by the Moroccan Federal Police. That means that whenever we go anywhere, we have our own personal army coming with us. We show up to a shul – the street is blocked off and there are 4-5 police cars waiting to escort us inside. Quite a feeling. Imagine that. A country of 34 million people and there’s a private police escort for a miniscule minority of FIVE THOUSAND JEWS. Really remarkable.
Moving on. To wrap up our trip in Morocco we spent three days in Marrakesh. The night we arrived we had an excursion to the shuk, or the marketplace. WOW. Ill talk more about the shuk when I talk about our day trip there. We spent much time visiting different shuls and various Jewish sites in the city. The shul that we spent Shabbat at was really interesting. As a Jew, raised in New York City, gone to an essentially Conservative day school, a Conservative summer camp, it’s a very interesting experience to both see how incredibly different the service is (these Jews are not only Sephardim but pieces of their service are lead in Arabic and pieces in French – certainly the d’var Torah), but how incredibly similar it is. Much of our trip is seeing the different world Jewish communities and how unique there are while at the same time seeing what unites us all. Seeing our amazing nuances (sometimes not so subtle) and our binding connections.
In the shuk, we had time to simply go explore ourselves. I walked around with a friend named Micha to go buy authentic Moroccan shoes. After a series of serious haggles, we were simply strolling when something interesting happened. A man yells out ‘hey, where you guys from?’
Us: Los Angles, New York
Man: ah yes! America, Kentucky fried chicken! Yum yum. No but seriously what do you guys think about your government?
Us: well, we don’t like bush but now we’ve got Obama so we’re pretty happy
Man: yeah, you know theyre all the same, we hate your government.
(man turns around to show us the writing on his back GAZA SUPPORTERS….)
Man: you know, its all just the zionists. Everyone knows Israel and the States are one in the same. The Jews control the senate, everyone knows that.
At this point we slowly walked away.
Shortly there after I had a monkey thrown on my shoulder. One thing to explain about the shuk. Everything – EVERYTHING- and everyone in the shuk is centered around getting money. If you stop to look at an entertainer – pay me money. You get a monkey thrown on your – pay. You talk to someone – pay. Knowing this I willingly accepting the monkey for the sake of an offer I couldn’t refuse.
Once again, early am we drive north for a ferry to Spain. We drive to Tangiers and grab the ferry. Allowing Kivunimers to say we have every type of stamp in our passport: plane, boat, train. The works.

Spain, I regret to say, was disappointing. We spent at least 80% of our time on buses. We visited Cordoba, Toledo and Granada. In Granada we explored the Alhambra Castle, a beautiful, beautiful piece of incredible history. Cordoba, showed us the roots of Sephardi Judaism and Maimonides’ home of study for many years. Toledo unfortunately only gave us a panorama view and a hotel room. In all three cities we had dinner outs and the opportunity to help ourselves to all the gazpacho, paella and sangria we could enjoy. Although it was upsetting we couldn’t spend more time in spain, I will remember it as an amazing tease of a visit. Delicious, beautiful, interesting and fun. I suppose I’ll just have to go back.

Until next time!