Keys to Tetouan

by Mois Benarroch

  - I agree we have problems here, but we can stand up and fight here, not like in exile where we always had to lower our eyes at one point or another

  - Yes mom, here we can stand up and fight, look them in the eyes and lose. We can lose as Jews.

  Tetouan 2000

  We call this place Tetouan after the late Mois Benzimra that settled in this Mediterranean island exactly fifty years ago. He took fifty women that gave birth to four hundred and fifty children, and they in turn brought new women and men here and gave birth to five thousand descendants. The sun shines every day here just like in legendary Tetouan, and today we demand independence from your country, we don’t speak your language, and we don’t share the same religion, we don’t practice the same traditions and we don’t wish to be part of Europe, not like Malta, our island doesn’t have no strategic importance, we don’t fish, therefore have no territorial sea demands, except those designated to bathing and tourism, Mois Benzimra bought this island from its previous owner for the sum of one million dollars, that is why we rightfully own it. As for your claim that this will encourage other islands under your sovereignty to ask for independence too, we have to wonder about that, since these islands depend on you financially, so that would be very unlikely, on the other hand, we are very self-sufficient financially, and that's because all of our money comes from smart investments in world markets. The origin of this money is the fifty year old Benzimra's treasure. And therefore, we ask of you, let us live our lives.

  12

  - But, dad, to go back to Morocco...

  - I came back to die here, die here at least, your mom died of a broken heart in Israel but maybe that was what she wished for

  - But to Morocco? You could have moved to Spain at least

  - To Spain, yes, to Spain to, but here is Morocco and Spain together, this is my city, this is my Spain, this is the place I call my own, I got tired of the Ashkenazim

  - But to go and live with Arabs?

  - What's wrong with the Arabs?

  - You always told me that we will go there, to Israel, at least there will be no Arabs, you told me the Arabs are bad

  - Bad, but as bad as the Ashkenazim, maybe our Arabs are not as bad as the Arabs over there, but they had to fight against the Ashkenazim so it's hard to say

  - But the Ashkenazim are our people, like you always told me about that German during the holocaust, the one you taught Spanish

  - Jacob Hess, yes, our people indeed, they are our people, but they are bad, what can you do, maybe your son will know how to deal with them better than I did and open a seaweed factory, I can see that you didn't have great success with it, our people indeed, but yet, bad.

  A letter from the past found by Isaac Bibas in one of his grandfather's books

  Oh you my dear brothers, who think Spain is your country and that you will get to enjoy it for many years, I, the crazy, feel sorry to disappoint you, the Benzimra family will go everywhere in the world, the Benzimra family that is so sure about its ancient origins, the thousand years origins in the land of Spain is destined to be wiped out of this country. The Jew that brought the sword to two thousand years, he will be the one that will strike you, that will remind you there is no redemption to Jews but in the land of Israel, that there is no place where Jews can realize their verdicts but in their own land. Yes, I've heard about the Khazars, but even they spread out to other nations after they converted, and I heard about queen Elisheva from Yemen too, and I heard about other small places where Jews lived for several years, and yet it seems as if no where will the Jew be able to be his own master but in Israel. And the way is long. You sit at home now and read this letter with disbelief, disbelief in all the lies you will need to tell and needed to tell in order to convince yourself that this country is good, that Toledo and Lucena, Vinarós and Lanjarón are the places you belong to, that Tolox is the city of your fathers, that Sevilla and Granada and the Guadalquivir and the Guadalajara are your rivers, and that your tears over the ruined temple are diluted with the happiness of those who reached haven, you think that this is a country where all people can live together, where Muslims and Christians will let you live your lives in peace, you think there is nothing more impossible than displacement, you think being accepted by counts and kings is a guaranty for a better future, you think I'm a dark prophet calling at the gate, you think I wish to shock you, but you will travel all the countries in the world and won't find peace, you will remember the big doors of your homes and every Andalus door would look huge comparing to the ones you'll need to enter, this is your story family and friends, and the story of the Jewish people, and yet, dear Benzimra family, know that there is a redemption, know that we will go back to our land, and know that the temple will be built, mark my words.

  13

  - Mom, are we here yet?

  - We’ve been here for a while now, son.

  - When did we arrive?

  - Twenty years ago.

  - So why does it feel like we're still on our way to the promised land.

  - Because the promise wasn't kept.

  - And mom, are they our people.

  - They are our people, those are the people we are part of

  - You said that all the children here will be like us, that everyone will be Jews just like us, but they are not, they are different

  - These are our people

  - So why is it that in Spain I feel more at home than here, even in France

  - Go to Spain then

  - Dad was right, we should have went to Spain, our country is there, there is where we longed for, not here, there, there is where our language is

  - I never felt at home in Spain, that's true, we spoke Spanish and it connected us but Spain is not our land

  - Are we there yet mom?

  - We're getting there.

  - Will we get there mom? Will the exile end?

  Azancot

  The Azancot family from the Parisian suburb Champs-sur-Marne was getting ready for a trip in Tetouan. Fifteen years has passed since the first time Jacob visited Tetouan, for his father's funeral, and twenty years since he left for college in Strasbourg. This time he went to visit his sister who was one of the last Jews there, with his wife and his two children, one of them is eight years old, and the other is six. When he left for college he didn't even consider coming back, everything in Tetouan looked like the place you would leave and never come back to, as if the whole experience was based on a different tomorrow in which life won't be conducted in the city. At a stage in which all Jews will leave the city of their ancestors. Tetouan was always considered to be a city with no future, ever since the mid nineteenth century people left to Brazil, to Caracas, to Madrid, and later to the Canary Islands, Paris and the US. And practically anywhere in the rich world. Few came to Israel too and made a name for themselves or stayed for a few years and went traveling again. Jacob didn't go to Israel, exile was his home, he left Tetouan to a college in Strasbourg, and then moved to Paris, and since his job required frequent travels to Champs, he eventually decided to move to the quiet boring Parisian suburb.

  His clinic was located in the close rich town of Gournay, where he made a name for himself. But all this reputation suddenly seemed irrelevant. Maybe he could talk about midlife crisis, but most of all he was annoyed by that reflex of thinking about himself in third person, as if he was writing a novel or an endless story. For years he kept asking himself why can’t he think of himself in terms of I, why does he keep thinking about this Jacob, maybe it's always about that Jacob from Tetouan, that Jacob that is still over there, ever since he was eighteen, when he arrived to that firm and ugly University in that Ashkenazi city of Strasbourg, Jews there looked so different, even the few that came from Algiers were somewhat weird, until this very day when he looks at his wife that was born in Aïn Témouchent and arrived to Paris when she was seven months old, he says to himself, who are you anyway, how can I explain to you about my place of birth, you won't understand, you will look at me
as if I'm one of your parents talking about Algiers in yearning, as you look at them and laugh of them, of their Couscous stories, of their trips to Algiers City and Oran, and then he would look at his children, and find himself thinking like he was his own grandfather, Yitshak Benzimra, thinking what can I tell these children that never visited "Yagdil Torah" synagogue, that never saw Alliance school, the many windows and the big black gate in which students walked through to another world, a world where everything was clear, where French was the language of a different world.

  The black gate of the Alliance school. Before breakfast they spoke Spanish at home, never French, maybe just a bit while doing their homework, and on the other side of the gate it was all French, even the teachers who knew perfect Spanish got mad an punished in French, and the other gate, the gate to the skies and the children's games, the gate of "Yagdil Torah" synagogue with the Hebrew letters he couldn't understand, the wonderful letters and the serious men, and the not so serious men that talked to the kids and told them off. There was rápe there too, a powder that made the grown-ups sneeze and was passed around from hand to hand, and every week there would always be one kid that would fall for it, became red and sneezed for a few good minutes, he too went through this trial by fire.

  And there he stands today, Six AM, with his suitcases ready, in the driver's seat, driving his Mercedes to the city of his ancestors, no, not exactly, his city, it's his city, it took him a while to realize it but that is his city, the one that will always be his city, and he is about to show his children all the places he used to play in, and the sea.

  "I can't get over it" said Jacob to his wife, "I just can't..."

  "Get over what?"

  "Can't get over thinking about myself in third-person."

  "Keep your eyes on the road, keep your eyes on the road, and stop thinking about it, besides, you know what I think, I think you need to see a therapist."

  "That is your answer to everything, therapy; everyone thinks that what he learned would solve all the problems of the other"

  "As you think that your medicine, keep your eyes on the road, will solve people's problems"

  "Only their sicknesses, not all their problems, but psychology thinks it would solve all the problems"

  "Not all of them, but it will solve your ones"

  "And I will say it again, I went through six months of therapy and it didn't change anything"

  "Kids be Quiet! Let dad drive, maybe you want me to drive Jacob, you look disturbed"

  "No, that's OK."

  Jacob drove to Perpignan, and from there to Barcelona, and took all the Mediterranean roads all the way to Malaga, where he spent a few nights at his sister Simi's house. She wasn't home, she waited for him in her second house in Tetouan at that time. Simi was at the middle of moving and stayed in those two houses alternately. He continued his journey on Sunday and headed to Algeciras, and there, when he reached the highway, which was under serious construction works, he got confused and drove into the wrong lane and got hit by a truck. The journey was interrupted.

  14

  - I thank god each and every day for the fact we didn't get here before 1972 at least, I'm so happy we didn't come here in 1965, or in 1960, every day we didn't spend here was a gift.

  - OK

  - But dad, you already knew, as you were here in 1970 and saw what's going on.

  - Your mom wanted to come here and nowhere else, she always led me here, she led all of us

  - Why didn't you say anything?

  - I told her, that this is not good for us, that we will be better off in Spain or in Canada, but you know, Canada wouldn’t accept us because of Leon, because of his disease, and then we got here and he died a year later, that's life...

  - Why didn't you tell me?

  - You were young, we couldn't talk there, I'm not sure you would have understood, I didn't really understand until they didn't let me do anything and I opened a grocery store, it wasn’t just me they didn't want, but not even my money, they just wanted us to spend it on rubbish, and then your mom refused to go to Venezuela, that's life

  - That’s life...

  - That’s my life, maybe you can try to do something else with yours, maybe your son, I thought that immigration requires a sacrifice of one generation, not two, not three...

  Moshe Benzimra's amnesia

  I forgot it again, and it is simply unbelievable, I write about everything that happens to me except the accident near the synagogue. Especially now I tell myself, because I was in Tetouan, and I was in the Yagdil Torah synagogue, and it was just next to it, and only now, months after I came back to Paris, I remembered it, incidentally, after I wrote about Jacob and his synagogue, I remembered the accident on Rosh Hashanah, maybe I should have asked the collector if he remembered it, it must have been an unusual event, you don't see accidents near the synagogue every day.

  Why do I keep forgetting it? Why do I forget?

  I forget writing about it in my poems, and now in my stories.

  So I'll write it down exactly as I remember it:

  It was on Rosh Hashanah, the sun was out, but it must have rained that day or the day before, all us kids used to go out of the synagogue to play on the streets, it was usually during Alia La Torah that really bored us, there was no singing, and we were never called, we were seven, eight and ten, and back then a puddle used to form between the sidewalk and the road, one of the kids used to throw a stone in it and the one in front had to jump back so he won't get wet, the one that jumped used to jump towards the road obviously, but very few cars used this road, the road was basically leading nowhere back then, and today it's the center of town, and so it happened that when I jumped back, a car showed up, the car noticed me in time, turned left and so I hit my head, it wasn't too bad, I was conscious most of the time, maybe I lost it for a few seconds, I don’t remember, they called my father, and maybe I felt I did something wrong too, maybe because I was playing, maybe because I went out the synagogue, he took me to the hospital, if I remember correctly he took me in the car that hit me, Renault 4, or maybe in a different car, anyway, it wasn’t an ambulance and it wasn’t our car either because I came back home with the Trolley, anyway, we used to walk to the synagogue, a distance that used to feel long but today is actually only a five minute walk, I got three stiches at the hospital and I went home, my mom was very worried, I remember my father in those moments, he was really supportive, when my mom was not around, his fatherly trustworthy side of him used to reveal, but that didn't happen too often, obviously that was the event of the day, and the next few days too, I went to rest and everybody spoiled me rotten. As far as remember that didn't leave any special marks, and I healed very quick, I don't even remember any pain after that, or headaches.

  I'm not sure if it's related, but thirteen years later I started feeling dizziness, and then my hearing got bad, down to sixty percent of normal hearing. Maybe it's related and maybe not.

  Maybe I don’t remember it because it is much more interesting literary-wise than it was significant in my life?

  I don't have a clear answer. But then again, as soon as the subject comes up, I remember it to details.

  15

  - We can't publish your novel.

  - But why?

  - Look, I actually did want to, but the publishers are against it.

  - The publishers, but you're the manager

  - They say it's not commercial, they say it's not ripe, they say it's not enough

  - What am I, a cook, an economist, I'm a writer, I write good books, I don't need to cook them

  - I think it's a good book and I hope someone else publishes it

  - Maybe it's because it talks about the Ashkenazim, maybe it's because my name is Benzimra

  - That's what you do you Moroccans, as soon as you don't like what you hear it becomes origin discrimination, what do you think, you think I publish every manuscript that has an Ashkenazi name on it, it's just that we don't have excuses, you do, you're lucky that wa
y

  - Yeah, and write better and then we'll publish it

  - That exactly what I was going to say

  - How come I always know what you're about to say, how come I don’t trust a publishers company manager that tells me he will publish my books, how come I can't believe him, I'm not talking about anyone specific, I'm describing a situation, that's totally different, I don't hate anybody

  - I'm sure about that and I really hope you will find other publishers, goodbye.

  - If that's your goodbye then I say it is war.

  Mois in Paris

  Mois Hatchwell Benzimra was about to publish his fourth book, which was also the first one that published by the well-respected La Fayette publishing agency. He wasn't too fond with the editor, but the days he used to erase literature agents phone numbers from his phone are long gone. Now he wanted success more than anything else. Now that he had made a name for himself for being a troublemaker, he can be the dignified well-dressed writer of the "Culture Salad" TV show. The interview was arranged, as it is done by major publishing agencies in advance, he appeared on TV the same day the book was sent to the stores, which obviously guaranteed more sales.

  Benzimra carries the name of his grandfather Mois Benzimra, and for years used his surname Hatchwell, until he found solidarity with his grandfather and started to use a second surname in his books. It's a common tradition in Spain, and in the Jewish families of Tetouan, to carry the surname of the father first and the mother's second. He was also the grandson of the praised Yamin Hatchwell, the head of the Jewish community of Melilla, and one of the community's biggest and richest donors. They say that when he traveled abroad, he used to take ten people for Minyan with him, paying all expanses, so he could pray while he was on the ship.