The Martyrdom of a Moroccan Jewish Saint

The Martyrdom of a Moroccan Jewish Saint

Brill’s Series in Jewish Studies Series Editor

David S. Katz

VOLUME 44

The Martyrdom of a Moroccan Jewish Saint by

Sharon Vance

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2011

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Vance, Sharon, 1963– The martyrdom of a Moroccan Jewish saint / by Sharon Vance. p. cm. — (Brill’s series in Jewish studies ; v. 44) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-20700-4 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Hatchuel, Sol, 1817–1834. 2. Morocco—Ethnic relations—Historiography. 3. Jewish martyrs—Morocco— Historiography. 4. Zaddikot—Morocco—Historiography. 5. Jews—Morocco— History—19th century. 6. Jewish-Arab relations. I. Title. II. Series: Brill’s series in Jewish studies ; v. 44. DS135.M9H388 2011 305.892’4—dc22

2011008039

ISSN 0926-2261 ISBN 978-90-04-20700-4 Copyright 2011 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints BRILL, Global Oriental, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change.

CONTENTS Acknowledgements ..................................................................... Note on transliteration ...............................................................

vii ix

Introduction ................................................................................

1

Chapter One The Many Lives of Sol Hatchuel .................... Conclusion ..............................................................................

7 38

Chapter Two The Limits of Protection: The Execution in Historical Context .............................................................. Introduction ............................................................................ Jewish Legal Status in Moroccan Islam ................................. Political Legitimacy in Morocco and Jewish Roles in Moroccan Society ........................................................... Conclusion ..............................................................................

52 79

Chapter Three The Tale of the Martyred Maiden ............... Introduction ............................................................................ Polemics ................................................................................... The Prose Genres and Jewish Historical Memory ................ Saints and Pilgrimage ............................................................. Jacob M. Toledano ................................................................. Joseph Ben Naim .................................................................... Conclusion ..............................................................................

81 81 82 85 89 93 99 113

Chapter Four ‘As An Ewe Before Her Shearers’: The Hebrew Elegies ............................................................... Introduction ............................................................................ The Poetic Elegies .................................................................. Gender Discourse ................................................................... Samuel Elbaz .......................................................................... Jacob Berdugo ......................................................................... Haim Haliwa .......................................................................... Jacob Abuhasera ..................................................................... Conclusion ..............................................................................

117 117 118 121 126 135 144 152 158

41 41 41

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Chapter Five The Fallen Gazelle ............................................ Introduction ............................................................................ The Tale of Ben Sa{adon ....................................................... David Pinto’s Tale .................................................................. The Jewish Community in Oran and Algeria ....................... Conclusion ..............................................................................

161 161 163 169 173 186

Chapter Six The Sacrificed Lovers: Sol’s Story in the Judeo-Spanish Newspaper La Epoka ....................................... Introduction ............................................................................ The Judeo-Spanish Press ........................................................ Sol La Âaddeqet ...................................................................... Gender Discourse in La Epoka ................................................ Conclusion ..............................................................................

189 189 193 194 206 208

Conclusion ..................................................................................

211

Bibliography ................................................................................

219

Index ...........................................................................................

233

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I first heard the story of Sol Hatchuel while doing a field study assignment for a class at Hebrew University taught by Issachar Ben-Ami. During a visit to a senior center I interviewed Hanna Levi and residents of the Musrara neighborhood in Jerusalem and asked them if there were any Éaddiqot, female saints. In response they told me her story. My time as a visiting graduate student at Hebrew University was supported by a Lady Davis Fellowship. It was these experiences in Israel that I have to thank for setting me on this journey and as a result of the amazing stories I heard from Mrs. Levi and other Moroccan immigrants I was inspired to make a trip to Morocco to see the Mella˜ of Fez and other places they talked about so fondly. I was able to do so thanks to an Institute for Maghrib Studies grant between 1996 and 1997. While there I benefited from the generous spirit of the Jewish communities of Fez, Casablanca and Tangier. I would especially like to thank the American Joint Distribution Committee and the Comité de la Communauté Israélite de Tanger, along with the American Legation Museum. This project would not have been possible without the support of my dissertation advisors, Dan Ben-Amos, Esther Schely-Newman and Roger Allen and the aid of a Foreign Language Area Studies Fellowship I received while a graduate student at the University of Pennsylvania. I am also grateful to Daniel Schroeter for reviewing the historical sections of the dissertation. The staff at a number of libraries and archives provided the needed documentation without which this work would not exist. My thanks to the libraries of the University of Pennsylvania and Northern Kentucky University, Colin Harris at the Bodleian Library at Oxford University, Benjamin Richler of the Institute of Microfilmed Hebrew Manuscripts at the Jewish National and University Library, David Benayem of the Hebrew Manuscripts Department at Bar Ilan University, the Israel Folklore Archives Named in Honor of Dov Noy, the Habermann Institute for Literary Research, the Ben Zvi Institute, the British Library, Archivo Histórico Nacional in Madrid, the Hispanic Society of America Museum and Library in New York City and the Bibliothèque nationale de France. I was also greatly aided by the language skills and translation help of Joseph Chetrit and Haim Benaim with the Judeo-Arabic manuscripts and David

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Hirsch facilitated my plunge into Judeo-Spanish. Jonathan Cohen and Susan Einbinder of Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati reviewed my translations of some of the Hebrew poems. Of course any errors are mine alone. The preparation of this book would not have been possible without the support of the Northern Kentucky University Faculty Development Summer Fellowship and Research Grant. My colleagues in the History and Geography Department were also very supportive and picked up the departmental duties I left while taking a leave to write this book. Paul Tenkotte and Debra Meyers read chapters and gave needed encouragement. I would also like to thank the anonymous reviewer and Jennifer Pavelko, the acquisitions editor at Brill. Finally thanks are in order to my husband Alejandro Mandel for his support and encouragement.

NOTE ON TRANSLITERATION I have followed the transliteration tables of the Encyclopedia of Jews in the Islamic World (EJIW) for Hebrew and Arabic. I used the English spelling of common Hebrew Biblical names in keeping with EJIW’s system. Arabic proper names are spelled with diacritics and long vowels as they appear in EJIW. However in both cases I have not altered the spelling of names of individuals that have established Romanization. Common place names in Morocco widely known by their French spelling are also retained, except when there is a generally accepted English version (e.g. Marrakech and Fez). The Judeo-Arabic texts were written in the local North African dialects and spelled phonetically using the Hebrew alphabet, my transliterations followed the EJIW chart for Hebrew with slight modifications (e.g. vav rendered as w). For Judeo-Spanish I followed the Library of Congress Ladino Romanization Table.

INTRODUCTION “In the year 1834 there occurred a sad incident that will never depart from Moroccan Jewish memory.” This is how Jacob Toledano began to tell the story of Sol Hatchuel, also known as Suleika,1 a young Jewish girl from Tangier who was executed in Fez for apostasy from Islam after her Muslim neighbors testified that she converted. The raw emotion felt by the entire community can be seen in a lament in JudeoArabic by Moshe Ben Sa{adon written shortly after her execution, “Waili [What a great misfortune for me] over what happened . . . to this virgin. I will cry and moan for that which has happened . . . nothing [else] like it has happened in my time.”2 Her public beheading sparked a wave of grief that found its expression in written and oral form. She was eulogized in Hebrew laments (qinot),3 Judeo-Arabic tales (qi a )4 and Judeo-Spanish ballads (romanceros). In European languages her story has been rendered in a wide variety of genres from an epic

1 In this work, I use both Sol and Solika to refer to Sol Hatchuel. Solika, also spelled Suleika, is the diminutive version often used in appellations for her in a variety of languages, ‘Lalla Sulika’ in Moroccan Arabic, ‘Solika la Âaddika’ in Judeo-Spanish, and ‘Sulika Ha-Âaddeqet,’ or ‘Ha-Âaddiqah’ in Hebrew. 2 Moshe Ben Sa{adon, QiÉÉat Sulika . . . Qi ot le-Tish ah be-Av, 1835, Taroudant, MS. 537, fol. 21b–23a, Universi¢at Bar Ilan. 3 Jacob Abuhasera, Sefer Yagel Ya aqov: . . .shirah adasha . . . (Tunis: Kastro, [1902]; Ashdod: Yeshivah ve-Kholel “Maskil le-David”, 1987), 13–15; Jacob Berdugo, Qol Ya aqov: ve-niqra shemo be-Yisra el Ma avar Yaboq (London: n.p., 1844); Haim Haliwa, “{Am Asher Niv˜aru,” in Qol Ya aqov, 129–31; Samuel Elbaz, “Shimkha Yah Qiddshah,” in Mi-ginze shirat ha-qedem: (piyyu ve- iqre piyyu ), ed. Y. Ratzaby (( Jerusalem): Misgav Yerushalayim, ha-Makhon le-˜eqer moreshet Yahadut Sefarad veha-Mizra˜, 1990), 83–87. 4 In Moroccan Judeo-Arabic the texts are almost all in manuscript form and few have been published. The Habermann Institute has photocopies of some works that were published in North Africa, (e.g. Qi ot Ha- Arsh, Tunis, 1897, Dr. Z. Malachi, letter to the author, January 13, 2004). Other Judeo-Arabic texts include: Moshe Ben Sa{adon, QiÉÉat Sulika . . . Qi ot le-Tish ah be-Av, 1835, Taroudant, MS. 537, fol. 21b– 23a, Universi¢at Bar Ilan; David Pinto, QiÉÉa di Sulika a-Âadiqah, Tefillah, n.d., Oran, Algeria, MS. 582, Universi¢at Bar Ilan. See also Joseph Chetrit, Piyyu ve-shirah beyahadut Maroqo: asufat me karim al shirim ve- al meshorerim (Yerushalayim: Mosad Bialik; Ashkelon: ha-Mikhlalah ha-ezorit, 1999), 41, n. 35.

2

introduction

poem,5 to French melodrama,6 to a painting in oil on canvas.7 Out of this mass of material I selected works written in European languages by diplomats and travelers and in Jewish languages by Sephardic writers in the first century after her death. The latter works consist of Hebrew texts written by Moroccan Jews, including four published qinot, two published prose texts,8 two Judeo-Arabic qi a (tales), and a romanso (serialized novel) published in the Judeo-Spanish newspaper La Epoka in 1902. This diverse set of texts provides the opportunity to compare different versions of the same story to see how the context of language, culture and historical circumstances, in addition to the author’s worldview, affected the way Sol’s story was told. What role did culture, language and theology play in shaping its different versions? Did contemporary politics play any role in these accounts of her martyrdom? While the basic facts can be gathered from these documents, namely that she was a young Jewish girl born in Tangier and publically executed in Fez in 1834, there are some crucial differences in the various accounts, namely the question of whether she converted to Islam or expressed an interest in converting. Moreover, these accounts gave alternative interpretations to the meaning of her sacrifice and the lessons that should be drawn from her story. Over the years the number of works recounting her martyrdom has accumulated. It is important to keep in mind that many texts are still in manuscript form and are housed in both public archives and private collections.9 In addition, there is the oral tradition of legends, some of which have been collected by the Israel Folklore Archives.10 It is impossible to do

Henry Iliowizi, Sol, An Epic Poem (Minneapolis: Ed. Tribune Print, 1883). (Dr.) Macé, Sol Hatchuel Melodrame en IV Actes (Rome: Imp. Innocenzo Artero, 1901). 7 Alfred Dehodencq, “Exécution de la Juive,” (1860–1862). 8 Joseph Ben Naim, Malkhe rabbanan: ve-hu sidra de-rabbanan . . . ayim de-rabbanan . . . (Yerushalayim: Y. AbikaÉiÉ, 1931); Jacob M. Toledano, Ner ha-ma arav: hu toldot Yisra el be-Maroqo (Yerushalayim: A.M. Lunts, 1911; Yerushalayim: ha-Sifriah ha-sefaradit, 1989), 254–255. 9 Meir M. Bar-Asher, “Vestiges islamiques dans le parler judéo-arabe du Maroc,” Journal Asiatique 292, no. 1–2 (2004): 361–80; Joseph Chetrit, Piyyu ve-shirah be-yahadut Maroqo: asufat me karim al shirim ve- al meshorerim, 41. 10 Dan Ben-Amos, Dov Noy, and Ellen Frankel, eds., Folktales of the Jews. Vol. 1, Tales from the Sephardic Dispersion (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2006), 87–94; Dov Noy, ed. odesh odesh ve-sippuro 1974–1975: esrim ve- arba ah sippure am niv arim be-livui mevo ot, he arot u-mafte ot, Sidrat ha-pirsumim (ha-Merkaz le-˜eqer ha-folqlor); asupah mis. 36. (Yerushalayim: ha-Merkaz le-˜eqer ha-folqlor, ha-Universi¢ah ha-{Ivrit 5 6

introduction

3

a thorough study of all the written and oral works devoted to Sol, particularly given the fact that her story continues to be retold in both written and oral form and is an ongoing tradition that generates new texts.11 Instead this study focuses on written sources from the first century after Sol’s death. These works were written in European languages by Jews and non-Jews as well as in Hebrew, Judeo-Arabic and Judeo-Spanish. Chapter one reviews and compares these versions of her story, starting with the earliest published texts based on interviews with members of her family. Chapter two places Sol’s execution within the historical context of contemporary Moroccan society during her lifetime, focusing on key events that affected relations between Muslims and Jews. In addition, the reason given for her execution, that she had converted and later recanted, raises issues regarding the process of conversion and treatment of apostasy in Islam. Given that most of the sources, including the historical sources based on testimony from Sol’s family state that she did not convert, but Muslim witnesses testified that she did, the status of non-Muslims in Islamic courts is crucial. In order to understand this status it is important to consider the position of nonMuslims in traditional Muslim society in general and the status of Jews in Moroccan society in particular. While Islamic laws regarding restrictions on non-Muslims are well established, they were not consistently enforced over time. In order to understand why this is so and what factors affected how severely these laws were enforced one needs to consider the role that Moroccan Jews played in the society as well as the relative balance of power between the Sultan and the guardians of Islamic law, the ulamā . These relations also changed over time and underwent profound transformations in the course of the 19th century.

bi-Yerushalayim, 1978), 64–65, 175–90. There are a number of stories about Sol collected in the Israel Folklore Archives, among them: IFA No. 22206, the narrator was R. Yoseph Cohen, from Morocco, redactors Etti Abitan, and Shoshi Chetrit, IFA No. 20944, by Ruth Cohen from Fez, and 922202, by Esterina Barsheshet, from Melilla. 11 Among these are two novels: Saïd Sayagh, L’autre Juive: Lalla Soulika, la tsadika: roman (Paris: Ibis Press, 2009); Ruth Knafo Setton, The road to Fez: a novel (Washington, D.C.: Counterpoint, 2001). A few of the web pages devoted to her are the following: “L’histoire de Sol Hatchuel (Sol a Sadikka)” http://dafina.net/forums/ read.php?53,87649,page=1, accessed July 12, 2010; “L’héroique et tragique histoire de Sulika Hatchouel” http://www.aschkel.info/article-33739204.html, accessed July 12, 2010; Soly Anidjar, “Lalla Sulika Sol Hatchouel De Tanger” http://solyanidjar .superforum.fr/vie-juive-au-maroc-f6/lalla-Sulika-sol-hatchouel-de-tanger-t1583.htm, accessed July 12, 2010.

4

introduction

In addition, relations between Morocco and Europe changed in this period and the Solika texts written by Europeans over the course of the century reflected that change. In contrast the Moroccan Hebrew texts were written within the framework of rabbinic Judaism, which embedded the significance of Sol’s martyrdom within the sacred historical conception of exile and redemption ( galut u-ge ulah). This conception was essential to Jewish identity and faith in the face of immediate Muslim religious challenges and theological polemics that predate Islam. Along with this atmosphere of religious debate there also existed a realm of shared popular beliefs between the two traditions. These took the form of pilgrimage rituals to Sol’s gravesite and hagiographic tales about her. Another level of shared culture is the Andalusian Maghrébine literary tradition, which can be seen in the poetic elegies. The elegies (qinot ) analyzed in chapter four combine this shared culture of Arabic poetics at the level of form with the Jewish liturgical poetry and interweaving of Biblical verses in the meli ah style. These poetic devices provide the aesthetic form for conveying the polemical content discussed in the previous chapter. Together they establish the thematic structure of all the Moroccan texts that tell Sol’s story within the context of rabbinic Judaism as it developed in the Andalusian and Moroccan tradition. In the Moroccan Hebrew texts the issue of gender discourse is interconnected with religious polemics at a number of levels. At the symbolic level relations between God and Israel are seen as a monogamous heterosexual marriage and Sol’s discourse in these texts reinforces this conception through her polemical rejection of both Islam and would be Muslim suitors. At the sociolinguistic level, the division between women’s discourse and education and men’s gives Sol’s learned disputation with her Muslim captors in these texts a dearth of plausibility, even as they convey a rich multi-layered web of connotations and meanings. Chapter five analyzes two manuscripts in Judeo-Arabic, one from Morocco, the other from Algeria. The first bears the title date of 1835 and continues in the Moroccan Hebrew rabbinic tradition, but given that it is written in the colloquial dialect gives voice to the fears and terror of a frightened young girl to a greater extent than the learned Hebrew works. Sol’s voice is also reinforced in this text by being written in the first person. In contract, the text from Algeria dates to the end of the 19th century and breaks with the rabbinic tradition. This break is emblematic of the rupture the Jewish community found itself

introduction

5

in as a result of the French conquest of Algeria and the French Consistory’s challenge to Algerian rabbinic Judaism as well as the wave of anti-Semitic violence that swept through Algeria at the end of the 19th century. On the other side of the Mediterranean the Jewish community of Salonika was also experiencing profound changes at the start of the 20th century and these changes are reflected in the version of Sol’s story published in the Judeo-Spanish newspaper La Epoka.12 This paper and its editor supported the modernizing program of both the Tanzimat Reforms and the school system of the Alliance Israélite Universelle. One way this reform movement’s culture spread was through the Judeo-Spanish press and through the genre of the serialized translated novel, the romanso.13 This genre was an expression of the westernizing reform program that combined openness to European culture with an adaptation of its literature to local cultural sensitivities. In keeping with this generic convention, La Epoka based its version of Sol’s story not on the Moroccan rabbinic tradition, but on one of the earliest Spanish texts devoted to Sol. This text was paraphrased and altered to suit the modernizing message of La Epoka’s editorial line. While the text was written in 1902, four decades before the destruction of Salonikan Jewry, its tragic ending foreshadowed the doomed fate of both the story’s protagonists and this community. What all of these texts had in common was that they told Sol’s story in away that expressed both their veneration of her and the relevance of her story to their contemporary reality.

“Sol la Âaddeket,” Folioton Numero 2. Folieton de la Epoca, Salonika, 1902. Archived in Ben-Zvi Institute, no. 1315–L. 13 Olga Borovaya, “The Serialized Novel as Rewriting: The Case of Ladino Belles Lettres,” Jewish Social Studies 10, no. 1 (2003): 30–68. 12

CHAPTER ONE

THE MANY LIVES OF SOL HATCHUEL In the Jewish Cemetery in Fez lies the mausoleum for Sol Hatchuel. On it are two inscriptions in French and Hebrew. The French states the following: Here lies Miss Solica1 Hatchuel, born in Tangier in 1817 refusing to enter into the Islamic religion Arabs assassinated her in Fez in 1834 uprooting her from her family. The whole world regrets this saintly child.

This disturbing inscription vividly describes the pivotal aspects of Sol’s short life, emphasizing Islamic evils and her martyrdom. And yet, the Hebrew text directly above this French testimony interprets the same event in a different light. The gravestone of the righteous Soliqa aguel, a virgin maiden who greatly sanctified the Name of Heaven and died a martyr in the glorious city of Fez in the year 5594 (1834) [and is] buried here. May the Lord protect her. May her merit protect us. May it be God’s will.

The French version emphasizes the circumstances around Sol’s death and provides some facts and details, blaming “the Arabs” for assassinating her for her refusal to convert to Islam. It provides details about place and year of birth and death. It gives a bare summary of the story of Sol’s short life and makes the reader want to know more. It also implicitly passes judgment on Sol’s executioners, expressing the sorrow of the Jewish community and asserting that the whole world regrets her demise.

1 The diminutive of Sol’s name also has a variety of spellings in the European sources.

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In contrast, the Hebrew version places its emphasis on Sol’s life as a virtuous model to emulate and as a “sanctified” martyr for God in the “glorious city” of Fez. Her status as a pure “virgin maiden” and the merit of her deed for her people takes precedence over the assigning of blame to “the Arabs” for her martyrdom. These contrasting stories that portray Sol as a victim of Arab brutality in the French version and as God’s chosen heroine for Moroccan Jews in the Hebrew text show important differences in emphasis and moral lessons to be drawn from the story. The French and Hebrew epitaphs epitomize the differences between European and Hebrew printed texts published around the world that purport to tell the real story of Sol’s life and its true meaning for the living. These texts provide not only different interpretations of the story, but even alter the plot in more significant ways, as will become apparent below. While maintaining the main events, writers reworked her story to conform to their cultural, religious and political perspectives. The European texts provide historical narratives that retell different versions of Sol’s life and martyrdom, focusing on the unique circumstances and details surrounding her story. The Hebrew epitaph emphasizes the emblematic, indicated by the use of liturgical formulas associated with tombstone inscriptions. In the Hebrew texts Sol’s death is part of the chain of sacred history and a long line of martyrdom tales dating back to the archetypal martyrdom of Rabbi Akiva, who was tortured and executed by the Romans in the second century. In this chapter I will present different versions of Sol’s story in both the European texts and the Jewish language texts, Hebrew, Judeo-Arabic and Judeo-Spanish. The emphasis here is to compare the versions of her story in these languages. Later chapters account for these differences by placing them in their historical and literary cultural context. Each text recounts the events of Sol’s life and death, but describes it according to the cultural beliefs of the author and his audience. From a historian’s point of view many of these texts are disappointing. There are two primary sources that can be traced back to Sol’s family, however each is problematic. The first contains literary embellishments and invented dialogue. The second, based on the account of one of Sol’s brothers retelling the story to a French traveler, has indecisive information on crucial points. Nevertheless, Eugénio Maria Romero’s El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea, and M. Rey’s Souvenirs d’un Voyage au Maroc are the most extensive primary historical

the many lives of sol hatchuel

9

Sol Hatchuel’s tomb in the Jewish Cemetery, the Beit Ha- aim, in Fez, Morocco

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chapter one

sources available.2 Regarding the author of the first source, very little information is available beyond what he provides in his own work. From his preface we learn that Romero obtained Sol’s story from her brother when they met in Gibraltar after her execution. Deeply moved by the brother’s story, he traveled to Tangier to meet with Sol’s grieving parents and possibly other relatives. Upon returning to Gibraltar he published his account of her life and death in 1837, three years after Sol’s execution.3 Except for this preface Romero does not provide any other references to his sources. Romero’s valuable account is one of the most detailed versions of her story, covering 121 pages in the Spanish original. In addition to vivid descriptions of the places of Sol’s confinement, he also provided extensive dialogue between Sol and her captors. Given that his own description of the circumstances of these conversations indicates that no one else witnessed them, particularly the ones that took place in Fez, and given some of the other literary embellishments Romero added, one can see that his work is as much a literary text as it is historical. Nevertheless, it is the most detailed work exclusively devoted to Sol ever published and one of the few in which the author clearly states that some of his sources were members of Sol’s family, including her parents. Despite its drawbacks, it is the first and most extensive primary source. Romero began his account with a description of Sol’s family that provides a glimpse into her economic background. Her father and older brother were modest merchants who made enough money to maintain their family’s subsistence, but little more than that. Sol and her mother were responsible for the upkeep of the household because the family could not afford any domestic help. Sol’s mother was a very strict taskmaster and disciplinarian and this led to conflicts between them. As a result of these fights, Sol took refuge in a Muslim neighbor’s house. Tangier, unlike Tetuan and cities in the interior, never had a mella , or officially designated quarter where Jews lived separated from Muslims. As such the two communities lived side by side, at times sharing

2 M. Rey, Souvenirs d’un Voyage au Maroc (Paris: Bureau du Journal l’Algérie, 1844); Eugénio Maria Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea (Gibraltar: Imprenta Militar, 1837). 3 An anonymous translation of his book was published in London two years after the Spanish work. Eugénio Maria Romero, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact (London: Printer L. Thompson, 1839).

the many lives of sol hatchuel

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the same courtyard.4 Simha, Sol’s mother was ambivalent about Sol’s visits to her neighbor, “Tahra de Mesmudi.” Both she and Sol had no inkling of Tahra’s ‘ruinous’ plans for Sol.5 Romero stated that, “The Arabs consider the conversion of a heretic (for such they deem all those of a different faith) to their belief as a most meritorious act; they hesitate not at the means they employ to make such conquests, when opportunities offer.”6 Tahra, being a dutiful exemplum of such a doctrine never lost the opportunity to relate to Sol the “excellence of her religion.” When she could not persuade Sol to voluntarily convert, she devised a plot to convert her by force. The opportunity came one fateful day, full of such unusual tumult and foreboding tragedy that it inspired Romero to describe it at length. As Aurora showed herself one day amidst a thousand groups of thick clouds, that covered the celestial vault with an opaque and heavy appearance; the timid warblings of the little birds announced their fears and the whistling wind threatened to tear up trees by their roots; that morning, the flowers hung their drooping heads and appeared withered; the vivifying Orb hid itself from mortal sight; the beautiful Phoebe [Sol],7 like another Circle rising from her couch, went out; as if by her presence to calm the . . . lowering anger of the elements. . . .8

Later that day Sol’s mother severely reprimanded her for not being more diligent with the housework and threatened her physically. Sol ran to her neighbor for protection. Romero continued to describe with

Moses I. Nahon, “Les Israélites du Maroc,” Revue des études ethnographiques et sociologiques 2(1909): 262. On Tangier, see E. Bashan, Ha-Yehudim be-Maroqo ba-me ah ha-19 veha-misyon ha-Anglikani, (Ramat-Gan [ Israel]: Ho a at Universitat Bar-Ilan, 1999), 21–33, on the establishment of the first mella in Fez, in 1438, 40 on the establishment of mella s in Rabat, Tetuan and Mogador (Essaouira) in the first decade of the 19th century. 5 Eugénio Maria Romero, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact (London: Printer L. Thompson, 1839), 10. 6 Ibid., 10–11. 7 The anonymous translator of Romero’s book reworked Sol’s name by changing the Spanish ‘sol’ (sun) into an anglicized form of the Greek “Phoibe,” meaning light. 8 Romero, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact, 11. Romero’s text is an example of the complex relationship between Spanish history, including literary history and the history and culture of Muslim Spain, in particular its unique Arabic poetic genres. One such genre was the nauriyyāt, or floral poetry whose outstanding characteristic was anthropomorphic descriptions of flowers. Romero uses it in his literary embellishments in a number of places, including his description of the Sultan’s garden (1837, 77). For a discussion of the origins of the nauriyyāt see James Monroe, Hispano-Arabic Poetry A Student Anthology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974), 10–11. 4

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great emotion and suspense how Sol threw herself into her friend’s arms, seeking to drown her sorrows and receive comfort from a friend who had given her refuge on numerous occasions. Unfortunately Sol, not knowing Tahra’s ulterior motives, “had the imprudence to express a wish to escape from the cruel oppression which she imagined she was subjected to . . .”9 Tahra, “the crafty Mooress” saw this as the perfect opportunity to put her plans to work. She offered herself as Sol’s protector.10 “If you choose, this very day, you may release yourself from her power. Hearken! Often have I acquainted you with the excellence of my religion, become Mahometan; avenge yourself of your oppressors, and remain free.”11 Sol reacted with horror, telling Tahra that her proposal was terrible and that she would not make a good “Mooress.” She requested to be allowed to rest so that she could relieve her agitated mind. Tahra allowed her to remain in her house and, “with the velocity of the wind, went to execute her meditated project,” which was to tell the governor, Arbi Esibo, that “a young Jewess, more beautiful than the spring,” had sought refuge in her home and that “she had induced her to become a Mahometan.”12 Upon hearing this, the Governor sent a soldier to arrest Sol and brought her before his court. When he was informed of her arrival, he ordered that she be brought into his apartment, an unusual command given that most accused captives were usually brought before the gates of the governor’s residence where summary justice was meted out, according to Romero.13 The governor, greatly affected by Sol’s beauty, informed her that having embraced Islam she would be under his protection declaring that “this day commences your happy existence.”14 Sol, after an initial silence, tried to explain to the governor, after being forced to speak, that she never pronounced any wish to become a Muslim.15 Initially the governor tried to persuade her with kind words. He welcomed Sol into his household and promised marriage to a “gay, rich, and powerful Romero, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact, 13. Ibid. 11 Ibid., 14. 12 Ibid., 14–15. 13 Ibid., 17. 14 Ibid., 18. 15 In a Judeo-Spanish romancero (Spanish ballad ) Sol’s response to the governor and later to the Sultan becomes the refrain “ ‘A Jewess I was born, a Jewess I wish to die,’ ” “Number 58, Sol la saddika” in Zarita Nahón, Samuel G. Armistead, and Joseph H. Silverman, Romances judeo-españoles de Tánger (Madrid: Cátedra-Seminario Menéndez Pidal, Universidad de Madrid, Facultad de Filosofía y Letras, 1977). 9

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Arab.”16 However, her continued refusal to convert resulted in her incarceration. At this point, the governor sent word to the Sultan asking for further instructions. It is unclear why he did this and Romero’s version of the story doesn’t provide any answers. However, a version that M. Rey published gave a number of reasons, among them that word had gotten out about her imprisonment increasing the likelihood that the Sultan heard about it. After several weeks, couriers arrived with orders to bring Sol under guard to Fez, where the Sultan had his court, according to Romero. Sol emerged from her confinement, “her countenance rather pallid . . . Her delicate feet confined by heavy fetters . . .”17 During her imprisonment in Tangier Sol’s family sent her food, and her brother bribed the guards to allow him to visit her. However, when Sol was summoned to the Sultan’s court the governor forbade her father or other family members from accompanying her on her overland journey to Fez. Furthermore the father, Haim, was also instructed to pay 40 dollars for the expenses of transporting the prisoner and her guards, or face 500 lashes. In despair he turned to the Spanish Vice-Consul, according to the Spaniard Romero, who loaned him the necessary sum.18 Haim was able to find an anonymous Jew who agreed to follow the procession surreptitiously.19 After six arduous days of travel while being strapped down to a mule for most of the journey, Sol and her escorts reached the imperial city of Fez. Upon her arrival she was greeted with a spectacle of royal mounted guards, led by the prince, who was also smitten by her Romero, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact, 26. Ibid., 51. 18 Romero, 1839, 45. Boutet, a French journalist, writing almost 100 years later, and, reflecting the Western consulates increased interest in the status of Moroccan Jews, has the French consul demand Sol’s release to little effect. Boutet, “ ‘Sulika’ La vie de Sol Hatchuel,” L’Avenir Illustré, 9/3/1929, 8. The Spanish Vice-Consul in 1834 was José Rico, whose papers are archived in the Archivo Históricos Nacional in Madrid. These archives contain receipts from 1834 to 1850 (Legajo 5835, Estado, Legación de España en Marruecos), along with the Vice-Consul’s papers from the same years (Legajo 5825 and 8364). None of these files show any record of such a loan or any mention of the Hatchuels. In fact no Jews are mentioned by name in these archives, although some archives mention the use of Jews as interpreters (e.g. “un judio diestro” [a skillful Jew], Legajo 8364, No. 407, Tanger, 23 de diciembre, 1834). 19 In a Judeo-Spanish version based on Romero and published in Salonika in 1902, a local Jew from Tangier by the name of David Salama agreed to follow the escort. This text also has an alternative ending not found in Romero or any other text and is probably fictitious. (“Sol La addeket,” Folieton de la Epoka, Salonika, 1902, 12, 15, 16.) See chapter six below. 16 17

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beauty.20 Romero speculates that the object of this procession was to “attract the attention of the Jewess, to excite her curiosity, and place her in view [of ] so many gay young men, adorned with richest splendour, that her inclination might lean to one of them . . .”21 From the courtyard she was escorted to the women’s quarters of the prince’s palace where she rested, bathed and was ordered to choose a kaftan to wear. While Sol was resting, the Emperor learned of her stay and was pleased with the comments and praises of her beauty given by the servants and members of the royal household. He admonished them to try and gently persuade her to convert and that whoever succeeded in such a task would be generously rewarded. Sol was allowed to rest in the women’s quarters and woke to find herself surrounded by a group of women from the royal household, among them the princess, eager to engage her in conversation meant to induce conversion. After exchanges with her concerning the nature of religion and natural law the princess realized the futility of such an effort.22 She retired and reported the failure of attempts to persuade her. A short time later Sol was presented to the Emperor. He received her with the utmost hospitality, admiring her beauty and the sagaciousness of her discourse, and declared his intention of wedding her to one of his nephews after her conversion. When Sol refused to convert, the Emperor declared that her only choice was to accept his offer and convert or prepare for death. After Sol declared that she was prepared to die, the Emperor expressed deep regret and compassion for “the unfortunate girl,” but declared that the “law must take its course” and that he saw her

Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea, 72–73. Romero, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact, 58. 22 These arguments between Sol and her captors are points in the narrative that display the most variations and reveal the author’s point of view. Sol’s discourse in the Moroccan Hebrew and Judeo-Arabic texts contrasts sharply with the non-Jewish European texts, as will be apparent in chapter three through five. The Moroccan Jewish texts make reference to rabbinic Judaism in accounting for Sol’s refusal to convert, while Romero used an argument based on ‘natural law’ and religious tolerance (Romero, 1839, 68). The Judeo-Spanish version of this exchange differs from both of these groups of texts and will be discussed in chapter six. For an analysis of Romero’s speech and its relation to contemporary domestic Spanish politics see Sharon Vance, “Sol Hatchuel, ‘Heroine of the 19th Century:’ Gender, the Jewish Question, and Colonial Discourse,” in Rethinking Jewish Culture and Society in North Africa, ed. Emily Beichou Gottreich and Daniel J. Schroeter (Bloomington, Ind: Indiana University Press, 2010). 20 21

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blood moistening the earth. “Unhappy! you should not have been so beautiful, and at the same time so unfortunate.”23 At first Sol was not sent to prison, but to the house of the “Kaid Mia.”24 Convinced of her inability to grasp the importance of this decision, both he and the “Cadi,”25 were instructed to try as best they could to persuade Sol before inflicting any punishment on her. However she was preparing herself for her eventual martyrdom. When the Jewish community in Fez learned of Sol’s captivity they tried every means available to persuade the Emperor to release her, but “the Moors had determined to convert the Jewess, and sought it with desperation.” The qā ī tried as best he could to persuade her because he knew that unless she converted, he had no choice but to condemn her to death. After his own attempts failed, he decided to mobilize the Rabbis of Fez to take on the task. He and the Emperor summoned the “Sages” and informed them that, “if they did not induce the handsome Jewess to embrace the Mohametan faith, she would be beheaded, and they would experience the anger of the Emperor.”26 The sages were brought to see Sol and, according to Romero, made the following speech attempting to persuade her to convert. Our law orders us, that after God we must respect the King.—The King desires that you should wear the turban; his will is sacred in the land, I neither can, or would advise you to act contrary to it, for it would be to oppose the supreme authority of the country that affords us asylum. Besides there are evils in human life that the goodness of the God of Israel tolerates and pardons. You, young creature, if you have only thoughts on the misfortune that may fall on your own head; you have not properly considered—you have parents, a brother, and relations, besides the remainder of the Jews residing in the empire who will be proscribed, persecuted, and probably some sacrificed; by becoming a Mahometan, not only do you avoid death, but an infinity of troubles that may fall on your family and people.—Avoid this misfortune even by an apparent conversion, in which case, we, in the name of our God, assure you of his glory, and guarantee your conscience on our responsibility.27

Romero, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact, 75. In Arabic, qā id, meaning commander or leader, the local governor. 25 In Arabic qā ī, religious judge. 26 Romero, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact, 78. 27 Ibid., 81. There is another historical document that claims that the rabbis of Fez in fact encouraged Sol to remain a Jew. This text will be discussed below. 23 24

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In this speech, Romero has the Rabbis of Fez try to persuade Sol to avoid death by accepting an official conversion while continuing to maintain her faith in secret. They do this in the context of warning of the dire consequences, not only to herself, but also for the Jewish community in general, if she defies the will of the Emperor. In the Moroccan Hebrew and Judeo-Arabic texts, this whole scene is not narrated.28 Some of the authors of the European language texts use Sol’s discourse to vilify the rabbis for making such a suggestion.29 Sol’s reply to the suggestion that she simulate conversion to save her life and possibly the lives of other Jews also deserves to be quoted at length. Some of the major differences between the European and the Hebrew texts are focused around her discourse here and in response to her captors. The words that Romero and later European writers put in Sol’s mouth are very different from the dialogue the Moroccan Jewish writers give her. I reverence you, Sages of my faith, but if our law ordains that after God we should respect the King; the King should not violate the precepts of God. I am resolved to sacrifice my life on the altar of my belief; this determination may prove disastrous, but it can be so to me alone: my parents, brother, relations, and other Jews will receive from heaven help and strength to survive my calamity, and the hand of Providence will restrain the infernal fury of the arm of fanaticism, to deliver you from evil. I will not, even to outward appearance, do what advise—glory is gained by acts of virtue, and to deliver the neck to the sharp sword of the executioner for being stedfast [sic] in the faith of my ancestors, is a sight that will appal my oppressors, who, whenever they reflect on their cruel deed, will feel o’erwhelmed with infamy and shame. Pardon me if I have offended you by my answer. Tell my beloved parents that they live in my heart—tell the Cadi not to importune me further; I am resolved stedfastly to adhere to the religion of my ancestors: nothing on earth can alter my resolve, therefore, any other trials will be in vain.30

While her reply touches on similar themes that are raised in the Moroccan texts there are some important differences. In this speech Sol rejects the option of overt conversion and the life of a crypto28 Although, as will be seen in chapter four there is one elegy that could be interpreted as making reference to such a possibility. 29 Benjamin’s text does this, as will be seen below. Godard (83–84), Macé (68) and Boutet (Dec. 19, 1929, 7) make use of this scene to engage in anti-Semitic stereotypes. See Vance, “Sol Hatchuel, ‘Heroine of the 19th Century:’ Gender, the Jewish Question, and Colonial Discourse.” 30 Romero, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact, 82–83.

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Jew. Instead she accepts her fate and expresses her willingness to die for it. However her death and its significance are interpreted differently. In Romero’s speech, Sol makes a heroic appeal to ‘glory’ and ‘virtue.’ Her death is not for the sanctification of God’s name, as in the Hebrew epitaph and the Moroccan Jewish texts, but as a protest against ‘fanaticism,’ ‘evil’ and ‘oppression.’ Such conceptions, and Romero’s discourse in general, fit into the context of the tumultuous politics of Spanish society of his time.31 They are a world apart from the Moroccan texts, with their extensive quotations from the Hebrew Bible and their immersion in rabbinic Judaism.32 The qā ī heard Sol’s reply from a room next door and realized any further attempts to convince her to convert were useless. When the time came to pronounce her death sentence, he did so with deep regret. The Cadi, with tremulous steps, entered, and found the maiden in the same position as he had left her the preceding day; he trembled at her sight, and could hardly find the courage to address her. At length he said, “Phoebe [Sol], beautiful Phoebe, the term of life arrives as well as that of death. Here I am. Do you know the purport of my coming?” I know it. Have you thought of your future fate? Yes, sir. And what have you resolved? And— Rising from the ground with firmness, she prevented him finishing the sentence, and said,—Lead me to the place where my blood is to be spilt! Have you considered it well? said he, faltering. Yes, sir! Unhappy creature! your memory will be imprinted on me until I descend my grave!33

The Emperor arranged for her public execution on market day so that a large crowd would be assembled to see it. Romero described the extreme and contradictory reactions of the Muslim crowd gathered to watch. Some called her a blasphemer of the Prophet and demanded she be killed. Others, when they saw her, wept along with the Jews.34

31 See Vance, “Sol Hatchuel, ‘Heroine of the 19th Century:’ Gender, the Jewish Question, and Colonial Discourse.” 32 Discussed in chapter three. 33 Romero, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact, 87. 34 Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea, 116–17.

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Romero concluded his narrative by directly addressing the crowd gathered to watch the execution, calling them barbarians.35 He described Sol’s last moments, her asking for water to wash her hands, her kneeling before the sword of the executioner, her final recitation of the shema (Deut. 6:4, “Hear Oh Israel, the LORD our God, the LORD is One”). He also recounted how the executioner wounded her first and then asked her to consider converting one last time, and when she still refused, administered the final blow. He described how the leaders of the Jewish community in Fez hired some ‘Moors’ to gather her remains and delivered her body to the Jewish cemetery where she was buried next to a great Sage. He stated that Muslims also accompanied the corpse and visited her grave to pay homage out “of their respect to the memory of a true martyr to her religion.”36 His final comment on the meaning of the story of Sol’s martyrdom is that parents need to treat their children with less severity and that youth need to be careful whom they befriend.37 The Spanish version of Romero’s text sold 74 copies in Gibraltar in 1837. A play carrying the same title as Romero’s book was performed there in 1858. The same year the script of this play was published in Seville,38 a city where 53 copies of Romero’s book had previously been sold.39 In 1902 the Salonican Judeo-Spanish newspaper, La Epoka, published a ‘folieton’ of Sol’s story. This text, which will be discussed in chapter six, was to a large extent a paraphrase of Romero’s work.40 Another version of Sol’s story was published by M. Rey in 1844 in his Souvenirs d’un Voyage au Maroc. This one was based on an account from one of Sol’s brothers. Its interest lies in the fact that it provides additional information about Sol’s family and a slightly different account of Sol’s encounter with her Muslim neighbor. The informant’s name was ‘Jousouah,’ who was employed as a domestic with the French consulate in Tangier at the time he related the story to

35 See Vance, “Sol Hatchuel, ‘Heroine of the 19th Century:’ Gender, the Jewish Question, and Colonial Discourse” for an analysis of the European Solika texts’ descriptions of Islam. 36 Romero, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact, 93. 37 Ibid., 94. 38 Antonio Calle, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel or la Heroina Hebrea, drama historice en cinco actos, en prosa y verso (Seville: Imprenta D.G. Camacho, 1858). 39 Sara Leibovici, “Sol Hachuel la Tsaddikah ou la force de la Foi (1834),” Pardes, no. 4 (1986): 133–46. 40 “Sol La addeket,” La Epoka.

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Rey. Instead of using a literary style and adopting the point of view of an omniscient narrator, Rey claimed to be merely writing a verbatim translation of his informant’s account, spoken in “un Espangol assez corrompu” (a fairly corrupt Spanish).41 According to this account, Sol had two brothers and one sister and her family was poor. They shared a courtyard with a Muslim widow and her children, separated by a wall. The father, who was kind but sickly and “broken by age,” sold hardware in a stand on the main street of Tangier. The older son was always away on voyages and the younger was Rey’s informant. The older sister, who did not know how to read or write, was married and lived in Rabat. The mother was incapacitated, which meant that all the domestic chores fell on the 16 year old Sol. The mother was over 40 and had given birth to ten children, six of whom died in infancy. She had become nervous and quick to anger, and Sol, who was more beautiful than the most beautiful girls of Tetouan or Meknes, spent most of her days in melancholy drudgery without hope for the future. Her mother never ceased to hound her and would even hit her. When Sol felt she was being scolded unjustly she would take refuge with the Muslim neighbors. In this version the neighbor was a widow who told her she wished to adopt her as her own and treat her kindly. Sol realized herself that this would involve renouncing her family and her God and she fled from the house. When the brother and father came home, they saw she was upset, but unfortunately they did not pay sufficient

Rey, Souvenirs d’un Voyage au Maroc, 140. Rey was probably reacting to the specific dialect of Moroccan Judeo-Spanish, known locally as haquetía. An appreciation of the Judeo-Spanish dialects and their importance in the study of the historical development of the Spanish language did not become widely acknowledged until the second half of the 19th century. See Adolfo de Castro, Historia de los judíos en España: desde los tiempos de su establecimiento hasta principios del presente siglo (Cádiz: Imprenta, librería y litografía de la Revista Médica, 1847); José Amador de los Ríos, Historia social, política y religiosa de los judíos de España (Madrid: Impr. de T. Fortanet, 1876); Angel Pulido, Los israelitas españoles y el idioma castellano (Barcelona: Riopiedras Ediciones, 1904). The current online version of the Real Academia Española Diccionario De La Lengua Española, Vigésima segunda edición, states the following under the definition for “judeoespañol:” “Se dice de la variedad de la lengua española hablada por los sefardíes, principalmente en Asia Menor, los Balcanes y el norte de África. Conserva muchos rasgos del castellano anterior al siglo XVI.” [This refers to the variety of Spanish spoken by Sephardim, especially in Asia Minor, the Balkans, and in North Africa. It conserves many traits of Old Castilian from the 16th century.] http://buscon.rae.es/draeI/ Accessed January 18, 2009. See also Américo Castro, “Entre los hebreos marroquíes: la lengua española en Marruecos,” Revista Hispano-Africana 1, no. 5 (1922): 145–46. For a discussion of aquetía and an example of a drama in this language, see Solly Levy, YA ASRÁ escenas aquetiescas (Montreal: E.D.I.J., n.d.). 41

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attention to ask her what was wrong. For days she went about her work silent and despondent trying to respond to her mother’s shouts and demands as best she could. The final explosion came before one of the holidays, most probably before Passover, when it was necessary to clean the inside and outside of the house with particular diligence. Sol was busy doing her work while the Muslim widow regarded her with a hypnotic, fixed stare from over the wall. Sol became distracted and dropped a vessel of lime for whitewash onto the floor. As her mother came towards her with a menacing hand, Sol took refuge with her neighbor declaring, “ ‘C’est toi qui seras ma mère, et ton Dieu sera la mien!’ ” [ It is you who will be my mother and your God will be mine!]42 Hearing these words, the face of the “Mauresque” sparked with a demonic joy. She quickly closed all the windows, locked the door and ran to inform the “kaïd gouverneur” (qā id ). This account of Sol’s words to the “Mauresque” contradicts the accounts of her words to Tahra in Romero. In that version, Sol never comes close to hinting that she had any inclination towards Tahra’s deity or religion. While Jousouah stated that this does not count as a confession because it is not ‘the sacred formula of the true faith,’ it comes fairly close. Sol’s brother continued his story by describing and contrasting the relative benevolence of the current governor, Sidi Abelsam, with the fanaticism and cruelty of his predecessor.43 He was convinced that if her case had gone before Sidi Abelsam, the whole affair would have turned out very differently.44 Unfortunately the previous governor was not only fanatical, but also avaricious. When the widow came to him and told him of the Jewess in her house, she testified that she had said the ‘sacred formula of the true faith’ and demanded that the ceremony of her conversion be done immediately before she retracted. According to Sol’s brother, this must have meant that Sol did not say the shahāda because if she had done so she would have already been converted and could not retract on pain of death.45 For Sol’s brother, the fact 42 Rey, Souvenirs d’un Voyage au Maroc, 146. The line “your God will be mine” recalls what Ruth says to her mother-in-law in the Bible (Ruth 1:16, “your people shall be my people, your God my God”). 43 According to the text the governor of Tangier in 1840 was “Sidi Abelsam El Flaouï,” (Ibid.). In contrast, although Jousouah described the governor of Tangier when Sol was imprisoned, he refrained from giving his name. 44 Rey, Souvenirs d’un Voyage au Maroc, 146–147. 45 The Shahāda (‘There is no God but God and Mu ammad is the messenger of God’) is one of the pillars of Islam. Its recitation in Arabic by a non-Muslim constitutes conversion to Islam.

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that she did not say the shahāda was enough to declare her innocent, no matter what she did say in the Muslim neighbor’s house. Jousouah further stated that the governor himself was aware of the contradiction and shared the view that what Sol said did not constitute a formal conversion. However, being motivated by greed, he saw this as a good opportunity to hold the Jewish community ransom and sent soldiers to apprehend her.46 When she saw the soldiers she understood that she was in danger, threw herself at the feet of the Muslim widow and begged her to rescue her from them and return her to her parents. She declared that her earlier statements were made in a moment of frenzy and that she retracted what she had said previously and begged to be returned to her parents. When Sol’s mother heard her daughter’s cries it melted her heart and provoked a profound regret, maternal tenderness and love that she had not felt towards her for fourteen years. Jousouah described the painful and emotional exchange of glances between Sol and her mother as she was led away. The next day, Sol was brought before the court of the qā id and asked to pronounce the formula of conversion to Islam. Sol refused, saying her God was the God of Israel and her mother’s God. She further stated that what she had said previously was spoken in a state of delirium and should not be used against her because both her God and theirs was merciful. The qā id declared that she needed to realize she now had the choice between an ignoble death and a life of benedictions and delights.47 Sol replied that she thought about it and no consideration or menace could induce her to abandon her faith in the God of Israel. Sol was condemned to death and placed under arrest in the name of the Sultan. Couriers were sent to Meknes. Unlike Romero, who stated that the Sultan’s court was in Fez, this text stated that the seat of government was in Meknes.48 While the qā id waited for word from the Sultan’s court, the Jewish community in Tangier sent notices

Rey, Souvenirs d’un Voyage au Maroc, 147. Ibid., 153. 48 This account is probably more historically accurate on this point. In 1832 the Ūdāyā (spelled in French Oudaya or Oudaia), the largest segment of the Moroccan army, revolted in Fez. As a result the Sultan, Mawlay Abd al-Ra mān, moved his court to Meknes. See Abū al- Abbās A mad b. Khālid al-Nā irī, Kitāb Al-Istiq ā li-Akhbār duwwal al-Maghrib al-Aq a, vol. 9 (al-Dār al-Bay ā: Dār al-Kitāb, 1956), 35; C.R. Pennell, Morocco Since 1830 (New York: New York University Press, 2000), 47; Toledano, Ner ha-ma arav: hu toldot Yisra el be-Maroqo, 254. Chapter two below discusses this revolt in the context of social instability in Morocco and its effects on MuslimJewish relations in general and Sol’s case in particular. 46 47

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to Jews throughout Morocco asking for donations to help rescue Sol. They also appealed to the elite of their communities asking them to try to intervene with the Sultan. News of the affair spread throughout Morocco. Muslims demanded that the Sultan consider public opinion. Jews were hopeful that with enough bribes paid to their masters they could secure Sol’s release if they could raise enough money. However Sol’s brother was not hopeful that Jewish efforts alone would be able to rescue his sister, and he decided to try and get the European consulates to intervene. But his pleas fell on deaf ears; no consul of any European nation would listen to him.49 There is one consular document from the period written by Edward William Aurial Drummond-Hay, the British Consul General at the time, which reinforces this statement by Jousouah and will be discussed below. Here is another instance where the brother’s version differs from Romero’s. In the latter, the Spanish Vice-consul, and not the Jewish community, lends money to Sol’s father. In this version, the incident of Sol’s father being threatened and the Spanish loan are omitted. The question of what role, if any, European consulates played in Sol’s story is an issue that distinguished European and Jewish versions of her story, including the version being recited by Sol’s brother to M. Rey. Relations between Morocco and these consulates at the time of Sol’s story will be considered in chapter two. This version also differs slightly from Romero’s in the question of who followed Sol’s escort to the Sultan’s court. In both versions, the father is not allowed to accompany Sol. In Romero, he secretly hired a mercenary to follow the soldiers. In this version, published a decade after Sol’s death, Jousouah himself followed the escort without being detected, traveling six days barefoot. By following Sol to the court of the Sultan the brother was able to continue telling the rest of the story as an eyewitness. When Sol finally arrived at the court, she was deposited at the door of the harem. There she was bathed, given clothes and jewels, and hennaed. After she was dressed she was brought before the Sultan, who asked her name. When she told him, he replied that her name was in fact Fatma because this was his favorite name and the name of the Prophet’s daughter. He declared that he would be her father from now on and everything she wanted would be hers if she would convert.

49

Ibid., 154.

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Sol tried to protest that she was unworthy of such largess and that all she wished was to be returned to her parents and to her obscure life. The Sultan called her ungrateful and sent her back to the harem, where she was entertained by dancers and singers.50 Even after a month living in the harem, Sol still requested to be returned home. According to Jousouah the Sultan, ‘Abd al-Ra man was kind and wanted to let her go, but he could not ignore “the fanaticism of the people.”51 This fanaticism and the threats of the marabouts penetrated into the palace and he had no choice but to sacrifice “the poor Jewess.”52 She was transferred to Fez, the seat of the Supreme “Kadi” (qā ī ), who was young, intelligent, but without a heart. This description also differs from Romero, who portrayed the qā ī as being kindly to Sol and trying to do what he could to save her. Whereas Romero blamed the law, or “barbarian legislation,” the brother, according to this version by Rey, blamed the supreme qā ī himself. For Sol’s brother, he was the image of dominating “Mohamedism” and Sol was the image of oppressed Judaism.53 Jousouah recounted another episode not mentioned in Romero. After Sol was transported to Fez, she was judged in a court of the supreme qā ī and three ‘adouls.’54 She was not given any council of her own, only asked to state the formula that there is no God but God and that Mu ammad is his messenger. Instead she said that there is no God, but the God of Israel. She was condemned to death and sent to a cell. At midnight she was brought to a courtyard in the palace that was lit by torchlight. She was threatened with being burned alive if she did not confess the formula of the ‘true faith.’ Again she affirmed that there is no God but the God of Israel. Ironically, at this point Jousouah commented that the qā ī was acting out of benevolence, trying any means, including death threats, to get her to say the formula and save her life, and asking her to do so before administering the final, fatal

Ibid., 160. Ibid., 162. 52 A marabout (Arabic, murābi ) is a holy man believed to have a special relation with God and the ability to act as an intermediary between the divine and the believer. See Dale F. Eickelman, Moroccan Islam Tradition and Society in a Pilgrimage Center (Austin and London: University of Texas Press, 1976), 6. 53 Ibid., 166. 54 In Arabic adūl, a professional witness in an Islamic court. 50 51

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stroke.55 However, Sol again replied that there is no God, but the God of Israel. At the last minute she was returned to her cell. Finally, three rabbis and Jousouah were brought to see her. They informed her of all the efforts made by the Jewish community to save her, all the bribes given, all to no avail. They also reminded her that Israel was in exile for its sins and counseled her to dissimulate her faith, but to pray in secret to the God of Israel and wait, as Jews do, for Israel’s deliverance from their sufferings. And then they cried. Sol replied that she could not believe that “cohenin d’Israël” would counsel her to do such a thing. She affirmed that God would not abandon her in any ordeal and asked that they pray for her and pray with her.56 The next day was to be the last time Sol’s brother would see her alive. In the largest plaza in Fez at midday, the dignitaries, the qā ī, the governor, the magistrates of Fez, the cavalry, and the soldiers were gathered. Sol’s brother states that the Jews of Fez were reserved a privileged place to view the execution, because it was directed at them so they could learn the terrible lesson of the justice meted out “in this country.” Behind them was a multitude of men, women and children. In this “motley crowd all the races of Africa were represented,” from blond Rifians, to blacks of the Sudan, marabouts and dervishes.57 Men and women, young and old, rich and poor, all combined the same sentiment of impatience, curiosity, and ferocious exaltation. At the moment the midday prayer was called out by all the minarets of the city, Sol was led out by her executioner. The crowd had to be held back by the cavalry. When Sol reached the place of her execution the executioner exposed his long saber, which glistened in the sun, and removed the long veil that covered her head and body. The executioner asked Sol if she had one last favor to request. She requested a pair of man’s trousers to cover her legs so that as she fell, her body would not be defiled by the staring of the crowd. This request was granted and a Jew came from the crowd with a pair of large man’s drawers, which he helped Sol to put on. When this was done, Sol demanded a little more time to address a short prayer to the sky and she was granted this. She kneeled, prayed, and kissed the ground. While her head was tilted back towards the sun, the executioner grabbed her

55 56 57

Ibid., 168. Ibid., 169–170. Ibid., 171.

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hair and raised it to expose the place where he would strike, and with the other hand, he used his saber to trace a long curved line that would terminate with the fatal blow. At that moment Sol said, “I am ready.” Jousouah also stated that Sol was not struck the final blow, but wounded and then asked one last time to convert while being told that the magistrates were willing to give her one last chance to make the declaration and become a Muslim. Sol replied “Infamous tormentor”, shooting to the crowd a terrible glance, “malediction to you and your prophet, and blessed is the God of Is . . .” The executioner did not allow her to finish.58 After her execution, the Jews of Fez tried to gather Sol’s body, but were stopped by the ferocious crowd. The Sultan had to send in reinforcements to disperse them so that the Jews could return her body to the mella , but the gate was locked. The body needed to be taken around the wall, but this was dangerous because of the crowd. They had to wait until night, and they needed to bribe the governor to allow them to transport the body over the wall because it was illegal to bring corpses into the city. In the end they were finally able to bury Sol. According to Jousouah, Sol was seen as a saint and Jews from all over Morocco came to visit her grave. They gathered donations and built a small monument and ‘capola,’ but the “Muezzen” saw it and demanded that it be destroyed, and it was. Jousouah’s version provides more details than Romero’s account about Sol’s family and the struggles of the Jewish community, first to try to save her, and then to bury her remains. This account lacks the literary embellishments and the concluding moral lesson of Romero’s text. There is less political rhetoric and dialogue in this version, and Sol’s statements do not exhibit the plea for religious tolerance, cultural relativism and ecumenicalism of her discourse in Romero. This, and the lack of any reference to European consular attempts to save her or help her family, places Rey’s work within a Jewish perspective and distinguishes it from the European texts. On the other hand, as will be seen when the Hebrew texts are considered in depth, it also lacks, unlike Romero, references to Hebrew liturgy and Biblical verses. In addition, it does not follow the thematic structure and theological themes of the Hebrew texts. In these texts, as will be seen in chapters three and four, the final interpretation of Sol’s story invoked the

58

Ibid., 174.

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thematic conventions of all martyrdom tales. In rabbinic Judaism, martyrdom is seen as offering oneself as a sacrifice to compensate for the sins of the past that led to exile ( galut) and as an act that will hasten the coming of redemption ( ge ulah) in the future. There was a reference to this concept of exile and redemption ( galut u-ge ulah) in Rey’s text, but it was mentioned in the context of the Rabbis counseling Sol to simulate conversion while she was still alive. In the Hebrew texts from Morocco, the martyred Sol was praised for being steadfast and refusing conversion, and her death was interpreted as hastening the Messianic Age. Unlike the version in M. Rey, these Moroccan Hebrew texts never mentioned any attempts by the rabbis to convince Sol to feign conversion while she was still alive. Thus the version in Rey’s book is an interweaving of the European texts, with their emphasis on recounting the particulars of the incident, and the Jewish texts, with their lack of reference to European intervention on Sol’s behalf. Rey’s account provided the background information for a 1929 version of Sol’s story published as a serialized novel in the Casablanca newspaper, L’Avenir Illustré by the French journalist R. Boutet. Recently another primary source has been published, based on the British consul official dairy entry dated June 9, 1834. This account stated that the rabbis of Fez encouraged Sol to not accept conversion, and to “not desert her ancient Faith and to be persuaded, that, all which was threatened was done only to frighten her, for that if she saw the knife at her throat, she might be sure she would be pardoned.”59 William Aurial Drummond-Hay assumed that Sol, whom he described as a ‘foolish’ girl, had converted, but then changed her mind. His lack of sympathy and disinclination to intervene on her behalf is further signaled by his description of her father, whom he called a “huckster,” and by his attitude towards the Jewish community in general. He stated that the Jews of Tangier urged Sol “to return to their faith; upon which the Mohamedan authorities put her in prison . . .” In the British consul’s estimation, the blame for Sol’s beheading lies as much with the Jewish community’s bad advice to Sol as it does with the Muslim authorities. This historical document reinforces Jousouah’s statement that the European consulates did not try to prevent Sol’s

59 PRO, FO 174/218 quoted in Eliezer Bashan, “Te udot adashot al Sulika miMaroqo,” Pe amim 117(2008): 167–76.

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execution.60 However French versions written in the first decades of the 20th century claimed that there was an attempt to rescue Sol. These later versions are part of another category of works devoted to Sol written by non-Jewish Europeans in the period immediately prior to and during the Protectorat over Morocco. Unlike Rey and Romero, they did not consult with members of Sol’s family or any Jewish sources in their accounts. An outstanding characteristic of these works was that they used Sol’s story to express their artistic taste and promote their various political agendas. Two such texts were Dr. Macé’s Sol Hatchuel Melodrame en IV Actes (1901), and R. Boutet’s serialized novel, “ ‘Sulika’ La Vie De Sol Hatchuel” (1929–30).61 Neither of them adds any historically verifiable details to the story and yet both contain scenes with Frenchmen trying gallantly, but unsuccessfully to rescue Sol. Of the two Macé’s work took the most license, converting it into a libretto, following the structure of 19th-century operas, in particular Jacques Fromenthal Halévy’s La Juive, and making references to literary stereotypes about Jews current at the time. In Macé’s version, Sol is seduced by Tahra’s brother, Ali, who falls in love with her and later tries in vain to save her by enlisting the help of a French renegade who could aid them in escaping. After Ali converts to Sol’s religion, Sol agrees to marry him. He proposes that they escape to France, “where tolerance reigns” and Sol herself declares that her flag is the law of Saint Rouleau.62 For Macé, Sol’s martyrdom was a call

In the same article by Bashan, there is another document from John DrummondHay, who inherited his father’s post, dated 1845 in which he and his French colleague intervene to save a Jewish ‘lad’ who was caught up “under almost similar circumstances,” despite his government’s stance of non-interference in Morocco’s internal affairs, citing the “frightful martyrdom of a young Jewess a native of Tangier a few years ago” (Bashan, Ibid.). While it is difficult to know what could account for the change in attitude from father to son, one possible explanation could be that the Moroccan military suffered a severe defeat to French forces at the Battle of Isly the year prior to this incident. The effects of these changing relations between Morocco and Europe on the situation for Moroccan Jews in the 19th century will be discussed in chapter two. 61 The historical context of these works and their political agendas are discussed in Vance, “Sol Hatchuel, ‘Heroine of the 19th Century:’ Gender, the Jewish Question, and Colonial Discourse.” 62 (Dr.) Macé, Sol Hatchuel Melodrame en IV Actes (Rome: Imp. Innocenzo Artero, 1901), 67. There is also an English adaptation of Macé’s dramatic work. This work differs from the French. In this version Sol’s Judaism is not a French ‘culte israélite,’ but a ‘modern Zionist,’ à la Daniel Deronda, that sings of a return to the ancient homeland. In this English version, “Simrah,” Sol’s mother, who is described as a ‘fanatic,’ is full of venom against “Gentile swain.” In this adaptation the characters are 60

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for tolerance and enlightenment and an example of the evils of religious fanaticism, and republican France was the only legitimate heir of al-Andalus. Even as Macé’s representation of Sol’s religion was far from Judaism, Boutet’s version incorporated Sol’s martyrdom into Christianity, but by association rather than by her declaration. In an attempt to provide an air of historical realism, Boutet gave more details about Sol’s early life than any of the primary sources written shortly after her death. He identified the street her family lived on as “Kaous Mustapha” and the synagogue her family attended as “Ben Attar.”63 He even attempted to describe the supposed parental attitude towards her birth and early childhood: “Il n’y eut . . . aucune fête pour célébrer cette naissance . . .” (There was no ceremony for celebrating this birth [of a girl]); “Sulica grandit sans qu’on y prit garde.” (Sulica grew up without anyone paying attention.)64 Boutet’s version combined elements of M. Rey’s text with a version published by Léon Godard, a French abbé in colonial Algeria.65 Boutet’s version also engaged in political and religious polemics with Macé, particularly regarding the symbolic meaning of Al-Andalus, which for Macé was an ideological parent of Republican France. For Boutet, who was a devote Catholic, it represented decadence and assimilation to a hedonistic, seductive, secular culture.66 However they both gave France and Frenchmen a key role in a failed attempt to save Sol. Despite this difference in their literary and political orientations, they both appropriated Sol’s story, using it to advance their own agendas, which had more to do with France’s domestic politics on the one hand, and its position in

transformed into stereotypes and make references to famous English literary Jews (e.g. Shylock, Jessica, Rebecca) and contemporary attempts at conversion. Dr. Macé, Sol Hatchuel the Maid of Tangier A Moorish Opera in Three Acts, trans. D.A. English Adaptation by Paul P. Grunfeld (London: The Women’s Printing Society, Ltd., 1906). For an analysis of the Jewess in English literature, and in George Eliot’s novel, see Michael Ragussis, “Writing Nationalist History: England, the Conversion of the Jews and Ivanhoe,” English Literary History 60, no. 1 (1993): 181–215; “The Birth of a Nation in Victorian Culture, the Spanish Inquisition, the Converted Daughter, and the ‘Secret Race’,” Critical Inquiry 20, no. 3 (1994): 477–508. 63 R. Boutet, “ ‘Sulika’ La Vie De Sol Hatchuel,” L’Avenir Illustré 7/31/29, 8. 64 Ibid. 65 Léon Godard, Description et histoire du Maroc, comprenant la géographie et la statistique de ce pays, depuis le temps les plus anciens jusqu’à la paix de Tétouan en 1860, 2 vols. (Paris: Impr. E. Donnaud, 1860), 82–83. 66 See Vance, “Sol Hatchuel, ‘Heroine of the 19th Century:’ Gender, the Jewish Question, and Colonial Discourse.”

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Morocco on the other, than with Sol and the Judaism for which she sacrificed her life. Another set of texts also written by European Christians in the same period incorporated Sol’s story into a larger work the author wrote on Morocco. In these texts, the political agenda was conveyed by the entire work, with Sol’s story serving as one of several examples used to prove the author’s thesis. All but one of these texts stated that Sol did convert to Islam after falling in love with her male Muslim neighbor.67 After he died, she found herself alone and regretting her past conversion. Her martyrdom was provoked by her desire to return to the Jewish community. The one text that did not claim Sol converted focused its attention not on her story, but on the romance ballads sung about it. These the author interpreted as expressions of the supposedly repressed sexual desires of the young Tangier ‘hebrea’ (Hebrew girl).68 These texts can also be contrasted with those written by Jews in European languages. Sara Leibovici’s article contains references to two such works,69 one published in installations between 1879 and 1880, and the other published in 1928. The first, a series of articles by Isidore Loeb, was published in Archives israélites and provided interesting details about what happened to Sol’s relatives after her death. According to the author, her family became impoverished in the years following her execution. The brother Issachar, who died in 1868, sacrificed his fortune to try and save his sister. His surviving widow, two unmarried daughters and a married daughter, whose husband died in the cholera epidemic of 1878, were all barely being supported by his son, who lived in Rabat at the time of Loeb’s appeal on behalf of the family.70 Loeb’s version of Sol’s story is a summary of Romero’s, which he cited as his written source. He stated that both Jacob-Isaac Pinto of Tangier and a member of Sol’s family verified the accuracy of Romero’s account, minus the “mêlé de fictions oratoires” (mix of

67 Henri de la Martinière, Souvenirs du Maroc (Paris: Librairie Plon Plon-Nourrit et Cie, Imprimeurs-Éditeurs, 1919, 8); Manuel L. Ortega, Los Hebreos en Marruecos (Madrid: Editorial Hispano Africana, 1919, 158–160); D. Felipe Ovilo y Canales, La Mujer marroqui (Madrid, 1881), 114–15; Gabriel Séailles, Alfred Dehodencq Histoire d’un coloriste (Paris: Imp. 28 bis, rue de Richelieu, 1885), 146–8. 68 César Juarros, La Cuidad de los Ojos Bellos (Tetuan) (Madrid: Editorial Mundo Latino, 1922), 226. 69 Leibovici, “Sol Hachuel la Tsaddikah ou la force de la Foi (1834).” 70 Loeb, “Une Martyre Juive au Maroc,” Archives israélites, 6/10/1880, 197, col. 1.

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oratory fictions).71 The second article, by R. Tadjouri, was published in L’Avenir Illustré in 1928.72 In Tadjouri’s version, Sol was subjected to her mother’s strict punishments and also displayed feelings of tenderness towards Ali, Tahra’s brother, who wanted to marry her. In this aspect, Tadjouri’s version was similar to Macé and to the version Boutet would publish a year later in the same journal. Tadjouri added that after Sol was arrested and sent to Fez, the Sultan’s son fell in love with her and tried to seduce her. Sol, of course, rejected him and refused to be converted. She was martyred in Fez and given a ‘grandiose’ funeral. Tadjouri stated that he did research on Sol in Tangier, Fez, Tetuan, and Salé and collected a great number of oral traditions. Unfortunately, he did not state where he deposited his collections, nor did he indicate the sources for the version he gave of her story. He did mention several written documents: three popular songs in Judeo-Arabic, two poems in Hebrew, and a popular song in Judeo-Spanish. He did not give more details than this about these written sources. He stated that there were contradictory versions of the story current in different cities and that the version he gave contained only episodes and events that were common to all of them. The historical facts, according to Tadjouri, had been enveloped in the legends and it was very risky to try to distinguish between the two. He mentioned legends of Sol exacting vengeance against her executioners after her death and that her tomb was visited by women in distress. After Sol’s death, she was given the status of a saint and accredited with miraculously healing women and children who visited her gravesite. These stories will be discussed in chapter three. Tadjouri also mentioned two dramatic works, one by Macé, and the other an anonymous Spanish play. He declared Macé’s work to be without historical merit. He mentioned a manuscript of the Spanish script, without giving any date, and stated that this one was more historically faithful and was full of interesting information about Jewish customs in Tangier. At the end of his article, Tajdouri gave a French translation of a Judeo-Arabic popular song that is similar to the manuscript by David Pinto discussed in chapter five.73

Loeb, ibid., 5/27/1880, 181, col. 2. R. Tadjouri, “Sol, La ‘Sadiqa’,” L’Avenir Ilustre 3, no. 15–16 (1929): 4–6. 73 David Pinto, Qi a di Sulika a- adiqah, Tefillah, n.d., Oran, Algeria, MS. 582, Bar Ilan University. 71 72

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Sol’s story was also incorporated into books by Jewish authors writing in European languages in the 19th and early 20th centuries.74 One such writer was named J.J. Benjamin who published a version of Sol’s story in an account of his travels in Asia and Africa in the mid19th century.75 Benjamin began his version with a general statement regarding the lack of security and safety for non-Muslims in Morocco. Despite these dangers, he spent 25 days traveling to “Tessesuin, Teza, Fez, Tetuan” and then went to Gibraltar. He stated that a stranger could be taken into custody, “fined and maltreated” and that “false witnesses and evidence can be found without much search.” As proof of this he gave “the history of an unhappy Jewish maiden . . .”76 He learned about her from the Jews there and was shown manuscripts that recounted her story. Benjamin gave the town of Sol’s birth as “Tansa” and her father’s name as “Solomon Chatwil.” He started the story when Sol was 12 years old. He described her “perfect beauty” and how this beauty incited the envy of the Muslim neighbors. “ ‘It is a sin,’ said they, ‘that such a pearl should be in the possession of the Jews, and it would be a crime to leave them such a jewel.’ ” Muslims entered her father’s dwellings and “took possession of the beautiful maiden,” stating that she wished to embrace their faith.77 Sol was carried off to the palace in Fez and presented to the Sultan’s son as a gift. Upon seeing her, the prince declared his intention to make her an empress if she would agree to accept his faith. Sol replied, “[t]he whole world, and all its charms and treasures is nothing compared to God and His holy law. He is the Lord of Heaven and Earth. . . . He delivered our forefathers from Egypt, and made us guardians of His holy law. To this law I submit myself and am ready to die for its sake . . .”78 When the prince saw that his proposal was rejected, “he endeavored to obtain by severity what had been refused by persuasion.” Sol was sent to the dungeon where she was imprisoned and suffered privation. Jewish women who had converted were sent to her

74 In addition to Benjamin’s book, there is also Henry Iliowizi, Sol, An Epic Poem (Minneapolis: Ed. Tribune Print, 1883). 75 J.J. Benjamin, Eight years in Asia and Africa from 1846–1855 [Acht Jahre in Asien und Afrika. English] (Hanover [Germany] Printed by Wm. Reimschneider 1859). 76 Ibid., 273. 77 Ibid., 274. 78 Ibid., 274–275.

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to try to persuade her to convert.79 Sol replied, “Earthly life is but like a passing shadow; it is but a fleeting moment compared to eternity: rather, then, one short hour in misery and suffering and eternal bliss, than a life of joy and luxury, to which must follow endless remorse in the world to come. Everyone must die . . . the Lord of Hosts only is eternal; willingly I submit myself to His decree . . .”80 One last attempt was made to convert her. The “Chachamim” (sages) of the city were summoned and were told that the lives of all the Jewish inhabitants would be in danger if they did not succeed in convincing Sol to do the Prince’s bidding. They tried to persuade her with references to Esther.81 Sol replied that Esther was not called upon to renounce her faith and that if they thought it was right they should give their own daughters to the prince. “I will fulfill the law, if it be God’s will with my death.”82 When Sol was brought before the executioner, her defiance continued as he tried to force her obedience with sword thrusts to her neck. She replied, “Kafir ben Kafir (Hebrew, infidel, son of an infidel) spare thy trouble . . . Hear oh Israel, God alone is our Lord, He alone!”83 Then she was decapitated.84 The body was given to the “Nassi, Raphael Zerphati.”85 A monument was erected at her grave and both Muslims and Jews made pilgrimage. The prince gave her family an annual allowance, according to Benjamin. Two of her sisters went insane with grief. Benjamin stated that in 1854 he met with members of her family and spoke with those who witnessed her execution and was given copies of poetry and tales written by Jewish religious leaders in her honor. He cited Sol’s story as an example to educated European Jewish women stating, “See what was done by an ignorant, uneducated . . . African maiden . . . who perhaps was not even able to write.”86 Given the rhetoric Sol uses in answer to her captors in many of the Jewish texts the question of whether she was in fact educated enough to have made such statements is inevitable, as is the

79 This section of Benjamin’s account is similar to the Judeo-Arabic qi a by David Pinto discussed in chapter five below. 80 Op. cit., 275. 81 This is not in the Judeo-Arabic text by Pinto. 82 Op. cit., 276. 83 Ibid. The parenthetical phrase was added by Benjamin. 84 As with the Moroccan texts, Sol dies reciting the shema (Deut. 6:4). 85 Ibid., 276. The nassi, in Hebrew nasi , was the representative of the Jewish community to the Sultan’s court. 86 Ibid., 277.

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attitudes of the authors of these texts towards the religious education of Jewish women. I will take up this issue again in chapter four. The portrayal of Sol’s execution and what happened in the final moments is another area of variation among the different sources. Macé’s treatment focused on Ali’s grief at losing Sol. For Boutet, Ali was a villain not a gallant lover. Instead of concentrating on him, Boutet returned the focus back to Sol, following most of the Jewish texts, the one exception being the version published in La Epoka, which will be dealt with in chapter six. However Boutet’s treatment of what Sol felt during the execution contrasts sharply with Benjamin’s references to the martyr’s “hour” of suffering to be compensated with an afterlife of eternal bliss; an approach echoed in both the Hebrew and Moroccan Judeo-Arabic texts.87 Instead Boutet focuses on the physical pain Sol must have felt at the moment of decapitation, which he describes in medically gruesome detail. A split crossed her throat; she felt her chest fill with gouglous [?] and her lungs crushed by great unending pressure. In her mouth refluxed a dirty, thick liquid. A fog tarnished the blue of the sky and the high walls danced, hazily in front of her eyes, as bells rang in her ears. She still had a hallucinogenic vision of the place; then she collapsed on herself and did not budge.88

87 Moshe Ben-Sa adon, “Qi at Solika . . .” in Qi ot le-Tish ah be-Av, 1835, Bar Ilan University Hebrew manuscript collection, MS 537; David Pinto “Qi a di Solika . . .”, MS 582. 88 “Un déchirement avait traversé sa gorge; elle sentait sa poitrine s’emplir de gouglous et ses poumons écrases par une pression sans cesses plus grandes. Dans sa bouche refluait un liquide épais et salé. Un brouillard ternit le bleu du ciel, et, les hautes murailles dansèrent, floues, devant ses yeux, tandis que des cloches tintaient à ses oreilles. Elle eut encore une vision hallucinée de la place, puis elle s’affaisa sur elle même et ne bougea plus.” (Boutet, 12/30/1929, 6) Richard D.E. Burton discusses the Catholic literary renaissance at the end of the 19th century in France, with its emphasis on personal suffering and martyrdom. Richard D.E. Burton, Holy Tears, Holy Blood Women, Catholicism and the Culture of Suffering in France, 1840–1970 (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2004). Gerson D. Cohen has pointed out that the “rabbis did not in general, refrain from describing the details of torture, as may be seen in the documents concerning R. Haninah and R. Akiba.” Gerson D. Cohen, Studies in the Variety of Rabbinic Cultures (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1991, 46). Some of the torments that Sol suffered are also described in the Moroccan and Hebrew Judeo-Arabic texts. However, in the description of the moment of her expiring, there is a difference. While some of the Jewish texts describe the violent acts committed against her, they do not describe how she must have felt physically when receiving these blows. Instead they focus on the brevity of this suffering, the bliss of eternal life, and the glory such suffering accrued to her and the Jewish People. I would suggest that there is a theological difference in

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In contrast to Boutet, Benjamin and the Jewish texts wanted to deemphasize the pain and suffering of the final moments of martyrdom, calling it a fleeting hour and contrasting it with an eternity of bliss. In addition, for the Moroccan Jewish sources, the emphasis was not on the suffering of the individual martyr, as it was with Boutet, but on the rewards that would accrue to the martyr’s suffering people. The Moroccan Hebrew and Judeo-Arabic texts all end with the theme of galut u-ge ulah, with the theological conception that the merit that such a sacrifice grants the Jewish People would hasten an end to exile and begin the age of redemption. This final interpretation of the meaning of Sol’s martyrdom in these texts also distinguishes them from Benjamin, despite their religious affinity. Benjamin’s text does not end with this rabbinic interpretation, but rather with a polemic against the education of European Jewish women. There is a further distinction between Benjamin’s version and these texts at another point in the narrative. His version, like the European texts written by nonJews, contains the scene with the rabbis counseling Sol to accept formal, external conversion when Jews were threatened. As mentioned above, this event is not narrated in any of the Moroccan Jewish texts in Hebrew and Judeo-Arabic. Benjamin’s account was the basis for later Hebrew versions of Sol’s story, such as those published in Mordekhai Ben-Ye ezkiel’s Sefer ha-ma asiyot and in Shelomo Ashkenazi’s Neshe Yisra el bi-gevuratan. Ashkenazi wrote the latter book, which focused on Jewish women martyrs, in order to encourage Jewish women in the Yishuv, the Jewish community in Mandate Palestine, to receive a religious education and as a protest against their assimilation, secularism and intermarriage with Australian soldiers.89 Pinchas Ben Tsevi Grayevski also included a very brief rendition of Sol’s martyrdom in his series Benot iyon. She is mentioned in a volume he dedicated to the Jewish victims of the 1929 Arab riots in Hebron. In this brief version, God granted Sol beauty and the

the value placed on pain and suffering as spiritual ideals in the two religions. Shelomoh Ashkenazi, who also wrote a version of Sol’s story in his book on Jewish women martyrs, declared that those who are martyred for God do not feel pain. Shelomoh Ashkenazi, Neshe Yisra el bi-gevuratan (Tel Aviv: Y. Chechik be- iyu‘a Mosad ha-Rav Kuk, 1946, 18). Such a declaration is not inconsistent with the Moroccan texts given that they describe what was done to Sol and not what she felt. 89 Mordekhai Ben-Ye ezki el, ed. Sefer ha-ma asiyot Hadpasah 2. metuqenet ed., vol. 6 (Tel Aviv: Devir, 1928), 341–51.Shelomoh Ashkenazi, Neshe Yisra el bi-gevuratan (Tel Aviv: Y. Chechik be- iyu a Mosad ha-Rav Kuk, 1946), 10.

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promise of a bright future. However Sol did not covet the rewards of this world, she “loathed the non-pure life, and as a daughter faithful to God, she sacrificed her life on the altar of her belief in her God; as one of the heroines of the daughters of Israel she walked courageously in their steps onto the stage of the slaughter. With a brave heart, with a shining face, and with a pleasant voice she recited the shema (Deut. 6:4) ‘Hear! O Israel, the Lord our God the Lord is One.’ ”90 Benjamin’s account also makes reference to Judeo-Arabic texts written about Sol, and one of these texts, discussed in chapter five, has many similarities with his version. The manuscripts discussed in this chapter are probably not the only texts in Judeo-Arabic. There are undoubtedly many Judeo-Arabic works on Sol, however much of this material is in private hands.91 There are however three Moroccan Judeo-Arabic reproductions of manuscripts at the Institute of Microfilmed Hebrew Manuscripts in the Jewish National and University Library.92 Only one of them bears a date. The whole volume of this manuscript is a collection of qi a (stories) for Tisha B’Av.93 The qi ah dedicated to Sol was written by Moshe Ben-Sa‘adon Ben Avraham and is dated 1835. This work is interesting because it appears to have been written a year after Sol’s execution and because of it’s refrain fi zma ni (in my time), meaning the author was a contemporary of Sol.94 He only briefly mentioned the events in Tangier and did not state the names of Sol’s neighbors and family members. The motivation for bringing Sol to Fez was that the ‘king’ wanted to marry her. Instead of 90 Pin as ben Tsevi Grayeski, Benot iyon vi-Yerushalayim: ovrot 1–10 (Yerushalayim: Ho a at Yad Ben Zvi, 1999, No. 819, 19 Av, 5689 [August 25, 1929], 368). 91 Meir M. Bar-Asher, “Vestiges islamiques dans le parler judéo-arabe du Maroc,” Journal Asiatique 292, no. 1–2 (2004): 361–80. See also Joseph Chetrit, Piyyut ve-shirah beYahadut Maroqo: asufat me karim al shirim ve- al meshorerim (Yerushalayim: Mosad Bialik, Ashkelon: ha-Mikhlalah ha-ezorit, 1999), 41, n. 35. Some Moroccan texts in Hebrew and most of the texts in Moroccan Judeo-Arabic remain in manuscript form and are scattered in archives and private collections throughout the world. 92 The manuscripts themselves are in the Bar Ilan University Manuscript library. David Benayem, from the Bar Ilan University Library Manuscript Department and Benjamin Richler, from the Institute of Microfilmed Hebrew Manuscripts at the Jewish National and University Library, provided me with the manuscripts and the catalogue information on them. 93 The Ninth of the Month of Av, the day of mourning that commemorates the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. 94 Although I was not able to find biographic information on Moshe Ben Sa adon, according to Joseph Chetrit, this manuscript is from Taroudant, (Personal Communication 6/19/08). Moshe Ben-Sa adon, “Qi at olika . . .” in Qi ot le-Tish ah be-Av, 1835, Bar Ilan University Hebrew manuscript collection, MS 537.

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focusing on these events or on the amorous advances and attempts at gentle persuasion and seduction of the Sultan’s court, he devoted more description to the tortures Sol suffered in Fez, including being struck with torches and lances. However when he reached the moment of her execution he did not go into the gruesome details of what she felt, but he did describe her throat being slit, using an Aramaic verb referring to ritual slaughter of animals.95 This text will be further analyzed in chapter five. The other Judeo-Arabic manuscript was redacted by David Pinto in Oran, Algeria. It does not show any date, but was probably written at the end of the 19th century. This qi ah is similar to the French translation by Tadjouri and contains many of the same events narrated in Benjamin’s account. However it also contains a section not translated by Tadjouri that has Sol giving a sermon after the text narrates her execution. This text breaks with the Moroccan Hebrew and Judeo-Arabic works and needs to be considered in the context of the situation of the Oran Jewish community at the end of the 19th century, which will be discussed in chapter five. There is third manuscript in the same collection that also doesn’t have a date, or any indication of its author. No place of origin is indicated either. It bares the title, in Hebrew, “I will begin to write qi at Lala Sulika .”96 The rest of the manuscript contains drawings throughout the text and is written in more than one hand. The section on Sol is on leaf 199A—it is incomplete, ending with the King’s proposal of marriage to her. The left side of the leaf (199B) is in a different hand and contains information on folk medicine. The manuscript is from Tazerwalt in the Sus region of Morocco.97 Unlike the Judeo-Arabic texts, some of the Moroccan Hebrew works have been published. The first texts to be published were two qinot (poetic laments), one by Jacob Berdugo and another by Haim Haliwa. These were published in a collection of religious poetry, Qol Ya aqov, in

Md a yifo, rb aliha. “Qi at Lala Solika ,” Qi ot shel Pesa ve-shel Sukkah ve-shel Tish ah Be-Av, n.d., MS. 389, fol. 191b–200, Universi at Bar Ilan. While part of the title is in Hebrew, the phrase “qi at Lala” is in Judeo-Arabic, as is most of the manuscript. [A]t īl likhtōv qi at Lala Solika . “Lallā” is Moroccan Arabic for “lady.” 97 I would like to thank Dr. Joseph Chetrit with whom I consulted on these manuscripts, especially MS 389 and MS 537. In addition, Haim Benaim of Casablanca helped me with MS 582 by David Pinto and MS 537. Any errors regarding them are mine alone. 95 96

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London in 1844.98 Another poetic lament was first published in Tunis in 1902 as part of a collection of religious poetry by Jacob Abuhasera.99 A fourth qinah was written by Samuel Elbaz in 1835, but not published until 1990.100 Although three of these qinot were first published outside of North Africa, all four were more than likely written in Morocco in the 19th century. In chapter four, I will present an analysis these four qinot. In addition, two prose tales, a ma aseh (legend ) by Joseph Ben Naim and a chronicle by Jacob Toledano will be analyzed in chapter three.101 The ma aseh by Ben Naim, a religious leader and scholar who spent his life in Fez, was also written in Morocco, despite being published in Palestine. The texts by Toledano and Ben Naim were the basis for later versions of Sol’s story, particularly published texts by two Jewish writers from Tangier, Isaac Laredo and I.J. Assayag.102 None of the Hebrew works were written by Jews from Tangier and none of them gave any detailed information about the part of the story that took place there. Instead they concentrate most of their attention on events at the Sultan’s court. Ben Naim’s ma aseh is probably the most detailed Hebrew account. It gives a vivid description of the recovery of Sol’s body and its burial, which will be discussed in chapter three. Of all the Moroccan Hebrew texts, his is the most repeated in the Moroccan Jewish oral tradition.103 The Moroccan Hebrew texts will be considered in chapter three and chapter four. Isaac Laredo’s Solika story is potentially interesting given the fact that he was from Tangier. As such, one would expect that he would have had access to additional information not available in the other sources discussed so far. In fact he stated that he did an investigation and interviewed descendants of people who witnessed the incident.

98 Berdugo, Qol Ya aqov: ve-niqra shemo be-Yisra el Ma avar Yaboq, 10–11; Haliwa, “ Am Asher Niv aru,” 129–131. 99 Abuhasera, Sefer Yagel Ya aqov: . . .shirah adasha . . .(Tunis: Kastro, [1902]; Ashdod: Yeshivah ve-Kholel “Maskil le-David”, 1987), 13–15. 100 Elbaz, “Shimkha Yah Qiddshah.” 101 Toledano, Ner ha-ma arav: hu toldot Yisra el be-Maroqo, 255–56; Ben Naim, Malkhe rabbanan: ve-hu sidra de-rabbanan . . . ayim de-rabbanan . . . 102 I.J. Assayag, Tanger . . . Regards sur la passé . . . Ce qu il fut (Tangier: 2000), 82–83; 507–19; Isaac Laredo, Memorias de un Viejo Tangerino (Madrid: C. Bermejo, Impresor, 1935), 343–48. 103 Collected in the Israel Folklore Archives, IFA No. 22206, the narrator was R. Yoseph Cohen, from Morocco, redactors Etti Abitan, and Shoshi Chetrit. R. Avraham Sebag, who serves as the sho at, ritual butcher of kosher meat, in Fez, told me a version based on Ben Naim (November 27, 1996).

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Unfortunately he did not shed any new light, but only reproduced both Toledano’s and Ben Naim’s versions of the story.104 He used his ‘investigation’ to pass judgment on Toledano’s account, stating that it was lacking in historical validity. Instead he endorsed Ben Naim’s version, which gives almost no information about the events that took place in Tangier. Another author from Tangier, Ben Assayag, bases his version on this same source from Fez. Sol’s story was also written about in the Judeo-Spanish press. Two accounts are preserved in the Ben-Zvi Institute. One was published in La Epoka as an anonymous separate ‘folieton’ telling Sol’s story based on Romero’s work.105 This version contains an episode that is unique and does not appear in any of the other written works. It will be discussed in chapter six. Another version of Sol’s story appeared in El Tiempo and was published in Istanbul in 1929.106 This account appears in article form and covers two columns. It is a composite version of Sol’s story and could have been based on Loeb’s account, which was published in 1880 in Archives israélites, because it gives details about events in Tangier, retelling the domestic quarrels between Sol and her mother, Sol’s relation with Tahra and her imprisonment in Tangier, events first narrated by Romero and retold in condensed form by Loeb. It states that the motivation for bringing Sol to Fez was her beauty and that the Sultan fell in love with her.107 Conclusion All of these versions contained an encounter between Sol and Muslims who claimed that she converted. Some of the European versions, including the shorter ones contained in larger works, accepted this claim and stated that Sol did convert for love and later retracted after

Laredo, Memorias de un Viejo Tangerino. “Sol la addeket,” Folieton de La Epoca 1902. 106 “Sol la addikah, Eiroina Judia del Maroko,” El Tiempo Anyo 57, no. Numero 17 (5689 [1929]): 170. 107 Loeb, Archives israélites, July 3, 1880, 188. Isadore Loeb was the secretary of the Central Committee of the Alliance Israélite Universelle in 1880 and by this time a network of Alliance affiliated schools were operating in Istanbul, which could explain how Loeb’s text may have been transmitted there. Aron Rodrigue, French Jews, Turkish Jews: The Alliance Israélite Universelle and the Politics of Jewish Schooling in Turkey, 1860–1925 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990), 57, 76. 104 105

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her Muslim husband died. As will be discussed in chapter two, there is some Makhzen (Moroccan Government) correspondence from the second half of the 19th century regarding incidents of Jewish women who married Muslim men, converted and later retracted their conversion.108 Paul Bowles’ version follows this plot.109 None of the Jewish sources state that Sol converted, but that she was the victim of false testimony. These sources express the pain and sadness felt over her death. In addition to the Hebrew qinot and JudeoArabic qi a she is also elegized in Judeo-Spanish romanceros (ballads).110 The Hebrew and Judeo-Arabic texts combine the feelings of pain and shock at the loss of such a young life with the traditional Jewish response to martyrdom. The terms galut u-ge ulah (exile and redemption) conceptualize this martyrdom in the context of the Jewish historical tragedy. Sol’s sacrifice is seen as an example of the sufferings of exile after the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed, and the religious merit of her death is likewise seen as providing hope for redemption and the coming of the Messiah. These concepts are invoked at the end of all the Moroccan Hebrew versions of Sol’s story. These texts, as will be shown in chapter three and four, also make reference to a complex history of polemics between Judaism and rival religions whose rhetorical and theological approaches both include a response to Islam and predate it.111 In contrast, many of the European accounts were motivated by humanitarian concerns and a desire to use the growing influence and power of Western consulates to alleviate the suffering of unarmed and

108 Mustapha Bouchara, al-Istī ān wa-al- imāyah bi-al-Maghrib 1280–1311 (1863– 1894), vol. 4 (al-Ribā : al-Ma ba ah al-Mu ārif al-Jadīdah, 1989), 1442–52. Most of the sources for these cases come from Makhzen correspondence dated between the 1870s and the 1910s. Bouchara’s account of this correspondence provides a great deal of detail, including, in some cases, the cities in which the incidents took place. Occasionally names of officials are mentioned, but in most cases, the names of the protagonists are not given. 109 Paul Bowles, Points in time (New York: Ecco Press, 1984), 51–54. See also de la Martinière, Souvenirs du Maroc, 8; Ovilo y Canales, La Mujer marroqui, 114–15; Séailles, Alfred Dehodencq Histoire d’un coloriste, 146–8. 110 No. 58, “Sol la saddika” in Nahón, Armistead, and Silverman, Romances judeoespañoles de Tánger, 171–2. Another romancero is “El Rey Arrepentido” in Juarros, La Cuidad de los Ojos Bellos (Tetuan), 227–8. There is also another romancero published as “Sol la saddika,” in The Tribe of Dinah a Jewish Women’s Anthology, ed. Melanie Kaye/ Kantrowitz and Irena Klepfisz, Sinister Wisdom (Montpelier, VT: Sinister Wisdom Books, 1986), 28. 111 See chapter three below on polemics.

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physically weaker members of this minority. However, some of these texts also had other political motivations. A close reading of these sources reveals that Sol’s story was used to make political arguments in debates that were internal to European politics.112 In addition, the ambiguous effects of European pressure on Morocco were not objectively considered in these accounts, nor was it considered that European intervention in Morocco worsened relations between Jews and Muslims over the course of the 19th century by destabilizing the society and altering the economy. For this reason it is important to place Sol’s story in the larger historical context of Moroccan European relations at the time, as will be seen in chapter two. Moreover, many of these accounts, while showing sympathy for Sol, ironically made reference to the European literary stereotypes of both Jews and Muslims that were current at the time.113 When considering Sol’s story from both a historical and even humanitarian perspective, a number of questions arise. The most obvious question is why didn’t the Muslim authorities simply return Sol to her parents when she stated she had not converted? How common were such incidents in Morocco? Was Benjamin right when he claimed that non-Muslims had no protection in that country? Why did Muslims seek Sol’s conversion “with such desperation”? What was the situation in Morocco at the time of Sol’s execution? What were the legal and religious issues involved in Sol’s case which led to such an outcome? These questions will be discussed in the next chapter.

112 Vance, “Sol Hatchuel, ‘Heroine of the 19th Century:’ Gender, the Jewish Question, and Colonial Discourse.” 113 M. Léon Godard, 1860, 83–84; Macé, 1901, 46, R. Boutet, December 19, 1929, 7.

CHAPTER TWO

THE LIMITS OF PROTECTION: THE EXECUTION IN HISTORICAL CONTEXT Introduction In order to understand why Sol was sacrificed, it is important to consider the status of Jews in Morocco, their situation in 1834, and the general state of affairs in Moroccan society at this time. Another important issue is the nature of relations between Morocco and Europe in the 1830s and the history of those relations up to that point. Some of the Spanish and French texts, particularly those written in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, claim that Europeans tried to intervene to rescue Sol. The attitude of the British Consul has already been discussed. Do the consular records of the other states support such claims? What were the interests of the European powers in Morocco in the 1830s and what influence did they have in the Sharifian Court? In contrast to these texts, there is no European presence in any of the Moroccan Jewish accounts of Sol’s martyrdom. To understand the discrepancy between these different versions, it is necessary to consider the changing role European consulates and their citizens played in Moroccan society during the 19th century and the effects this had on relations between Jews and Muslims in Morocco. It is also helpful to consider the role that Moroccan Jews played as intermediaries between Moroccan Muslims and Europeans. Jewish Legal Status in Moroccan Islam The status of Jews in pre-colonial Morocco was determined by a contract, commonly called the “Pact of Umar.” This pact ( ahd ) established the status of non-Muslims under Islamic law. In exchange for adhering to certain restrictions, the people of the Book (ahl al-kitāb) were given protected status (dhimma), which granted them the right to practice their religion and maintain religiously autonomous institutions as long as they abided by the restrictions placed on them. Originally

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the Pact was signed between Christians and the Muslim authorities.1 It was extended to cover all dhimma throughout the Islamic World and it became the basis for determining Jews’ legal status. It was referred to in Moroccan fatāwā related to them.2 Any violation of it would forfeit their protection and render their money, property and family members lawful booty of Muslims.3 Some of the restrictions in this pact included: removing one’s shoes in front of a mosque; being forbidden to ride a horse or other noble animal; not being allowed to bear arms; having to wear a designated costume that identified them as Jews; and always showing deference to Muslims.4 In return for conforming to these restrictions, Jews were granted protection of their lives and property and allowed to follow their own laws in governing their affairs. However cases involving disputes between Jews and Muslims would be adjudicated in Islamic courts where Jews were not allowed to give testimony.5 Mawlay Abd al-Ra mān made reference to this Pact in a letter addressed to the French representative in Tangier in 1842. Germain Ayache quotes this letter as follows: Les Juifs, dans mes Etats, sont liés par les clauses du contrat s’appliquant aux sujets bénéficiant de protection. Ces clauses sont inscrites dans notre bonne loi et règlent aujourd’hui, comme dans le passé, la façon dont les traitent les gens de notre foi. Tant que les protégés se conforment aux clauses auxquelles ils sont suomis, nous sommes tenus par notre loi de protéger leur vie et de sauver leurs biens. Mais s’ils viennent à violer une seule de ces clauses, la loi ne répond plus ni de leur vie ni de leurs biens. Or, notre religion n’accepte de leur part, qu’humilité et soumission, au point que si l’un d’eux hausse la voix envers un musulman, il est en infraction.6

1 . . . wa-an nuwaqqira al-muslīm. [. . . we shall show deference to the Muslims]. Mu ammad b. al-Walīd al- ur ūshī, Sirāj al-Mulūk (Cairo: 1872), 134. See also Norman A. Stillman, The Jews of Arab Lands ( Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1979), 157. 2 A fatwa (pl. fatāwā) is a legal opinion of a Muslim scholar. 3 In such a case they would be placed in the category those whom Muslims must fight, and their women and children would be confiscated by Muslim warriors. A mad ibn Ya ya al-Wansharīsī, al-Mi yār al-mu rib wa-al-jāmi al-mughrib an fatāwī ulamā Ifrīqīyah wa-al-Andalus wa-al-Maghrib, vol. 2 ( Bayrūt: Dār al-Gharb al-Islāmi, 1981), 249. 4 al- ur ūshī, Sirāj al-Mulūk, 134. Also Stillman, The Jews of Arab Lands, 157. 5 André Chouraqui, La Condition Juridique de L’Israélite Marocain ( Paris: L’Alliance Israélite Universelle, 1950), 120–21. 6 Germain Ayache, “La minorité juive dans le Maroc précolonial,” Hesperis Tamuda 25(1987): 148, quoted from a letter dated 20 Hijja 1257 / February 2, 1842, facsimile reproduction by Eugène Fumey in the collection “Choix de correspondances

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( The Jews, in my states, are bound by the clauses of the contract that applies to protected subjects. These clauses are written in our good law and regulate today, as in the past, the manner in which they are treated by people of our faith. As long as the protégés conform to the clauses under which they are submitted, we are beholden by our law to protect their life and safeguard their property. But if they violate even one of these clauses, the law [of protection] no longer applies to their lives or to their property. Therefore, our religion does not accept from them [anything] except their humility and submission, even to the point that if one of them raises his voice towards a Muslim, it is an infraction.)

European travel literature contained accounts of public encounters between Jews and Muslims that describe some of the forms that this submission took, including physical and verbal abuse.7 However,

marocaines”, Paris, J. Maisonneuve, 1903, Ière partie, Document XVIII, 41. Ayache also provides the original Arabic of this French translation made by Fumey. (Ayache, 149, n. 1.) 7 James Riley gave a description of Jews of different classes paying their jizya taxes. Such taxes were required by the ahd. Muslims were required to pay the zakāt as part of their religious duties. I have not seen any comparative study of the two and cannot say which was the heavier tax burden. Some studies of the bled a-siba, the regions not directly under the Sultan’s control, relate that often these regions did not pay taxes to the Makhzen. Alan Scham, Lyautey in Morocco Protectorate Administration 1912–1925 ( Berkeley: University of California Press, 1970), 94. However it is unclear from this account whether this refers to the qur ānic or extra taxes. Also no account is given as to whether zakah was collected locally. Thus, a comparative study of jizya versus zakah tax burdens and the difference in the relative tax burden between Muslims and Jews would be very difficult. The Jewish chronicles from Fez did complain of oppressive tax burden and demands for additional taxes beyond the jizya. Jane S. Gerber, Jewish society in Fez 1450–1700: studies in communal and economic life. ( Leiden: Brill, 1980, 184ff ) According to Bar-Asher, “many sources from the period indicate that the taxation weighed more heavily on the Jews.” He attributes this to the greater dependency of the Jewish minority on the Sultan for protection. Shalom Bar-Asher, “Ha-Yehudim be-Afriqah ha- fonit u-be-Mi rayim,” in Toldot ha-Yehudim be-ar ot ha-Islam, ed. Samuel Etinger (Yerushalayim: Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 1981), 146. The need for revenue to pay for the Sultan’s Court and army was an ever present problem, as will be discussed below. Whatever the relative tax burden was for each group, Muslims were, of course, not subject to the additional religiously sanctioned ritualized violence upon paying taxes. This is not to say that encounters between Muslim subjects and government officials were free from violence either. This will also be considered below. Here is Riley’s account of Jews paying the jizya in Essaouira/Mogador in the early 19th century. “I wished to see the operation, and went near the house of the al-cayd for that purpose. The Jews soon appeared by classes; as they approached, they put off their slippers, took their money in both their hands, and holding them alongside each other, as high as the breast, came slowly forward to the talb, or Mohammedan scrivener, appointed to receive it. He took it from them, hitting each one a smart blow with his fist on his bare forehead, by way of receipt for his money, at which the Jews said Nahma sidi (thank you, my lord ), and retired to give place to his companion.” The text goes on to describe the floggings and imprisonment received by those who did not, or

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rabbinic sources tended to avoid lengthy descriptions of such humiliations, even in community chronicles, such as Divre Ha-Yamim shel Fas 8 where accounts were given of events in which the community was attacked by rebelling tribes. Shalom Bar-Asher shows how in many instances North African Jewish religious leaders reinterpreted certain elements of the restrictions, such as wearing black and a distinct dress, as referring to mourning over the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem and as a badge of honor.9 In general, the condition of Jews in the Diaspora, including such restrictions and events of persecution, were interpreted as yissore ha-Golah (suffering of the Exile), which would eventually be alleviated and even revenged with the coming of the Messiah and the redemption from exile.10 Thus, these restrictions, which, from an Islamic theological point of view, served to confirm the

could not pay. If there was no one to pay for them many, after further floggings and imprisonment in dungeons were converted to Islam, where they were “received by the Moors as brothers, and were taken to the mosque, and highly feasted, but were held responsible for the last tax notwithstanding.” James Riley, An Authentic Narrative of the Loss of the American Brig Commerce, Wrecked in the Western Coast of Africa in the Month of August, 1815 (Hartford: S. Andrus and Son, 1847), 198–200. Quoted in Stillman, The Jews of Arab Lands, 369. This account reveals that in Essaouira at this time the tax was paid on an individual basis. In other communities, such as Fez, it was paid by the entire community. (Gerber, Jewish society in Fez 1450–1700: studies in communal and economic life, 188.) Susan G. Miller has written about the paying of the jizya tax in Tangier in the 19th century. As in Fez it was paid by the whole community and the ceremony of payment involved a representative of the entire Jewish Community coming before the basha in a public ceremony with a Jewish and Muslim audience of on-lookers. In describing this ceremony and how it changed over the course of the 19th century Miller states, “It is important to remember that symbolic performances generate multiple referents that can be interpreted in a variety of ways. In examining the theater of the jizya, we come to understand that subordination was only one aspect of the Jewish-Muslim relationship and that the ceremony of tax paying invoked various other affective means that worked to accommodate Jews within the larger Muslim society. Paying the jizya with dignity allowed the Jewish minority to engage in reciprocal, if unequal, exchanges with the political authority on a variety of levels. In doing so, the Jews of Tangier were pursuing a strategy that promoted social integration without violating the terms of the dhimmi contract.” Susan G. Miller, “Dhimma Reconsidered,” in In the Shadow of the Sultan, ed. Rahma Bourqia and Susan G. Miller (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1999), 119. 8 Meir Benayahu and Samuel Saul Serero, eds., Divre ha-yamim shel Fas: gezerot u-me ore ot Yehude Maroqo kefi she-reshamum bene mishpa at Ibn Danan le-dorotehem: ve-nilveh alehem tela ot u-me uqot Yehude Fas me- iburo shel Rabbi Sha ul Siriro. ( Tel-Aviv: ha-Makhon le- eqer ha-tefu ot, Universi at Tel-Aviv, 1993), 168. 9 Shalom Bar-Asher, “Ha-Yehudim be-Afriqah ha- fonit u-be-Mi rayim,” 144. 10 Dan Manor, Galut u-Ge ulah be-Hagut akhame Maroqo ba-me ot ha-17-18 ( Lod: Ma on Haberman le-Mekhkare Sifrut, 1988).

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superiority of Islam and inferiority of Judaism,11 were reinterpreted by Jews to conform to their historical and theological conception of galut (exile) and ge ulah (redemption). This point will be further expanded in the discussion of Jewish Muslim polemics in chapter three below. Such a reconception of Jewish status in an Islamic environment was part of an internal theological discourse whose intended audience was the Jewish community. This contrast of Islamic legal status and internal Jewish reinterpretation of this status raises the question to what extent were Jews a part of Moroccan society. This question has been raised and it is difficult to answer.12 In considering it, one should keep in mind that relations 11 “The Jews have said, “God’s hand is fettered.’ Fettered are their hands, and they are cursed for what they have said.” (Sura V: 67) A.J. Arberry, The Koran Interpreted, vol. 1 ( New York: Collier Books MacMillan Pub. Co., 1955), 138. See also Husain for a discussion of Islamic negation of Exile and Messianism. Adnan A. Husain, “Conversion to History: Negating Exile and Messianism in Al-Samaw al al-Maghribi’s Polemic Against Judaism,” Medieval Encounters Jewish, Christian and Muslim Culture in Confluence and Dialogue 8, no. 1 (2002): 3–34. For examples of hadith (sayings of the Prophet) calling for the protection of Jews, see David Corcos, Studies in the History of the Jews of Morocco ( Jerusalem: Rubin Mass, 1976), 59. 12 In fact Pennell raised this very question, but never answered it. Instead he discussed the social structure and hierarchies that existed in Moroccan society, pointing out that it was not as cohesive as contemporary society. “Were the Jews part of Moroccan society or outside it? The question could be asked, in different ways certainly, about many of the elements of the political and social structure. In 1830 this was not a unitary system, but like most societies, a conglomeration of its parts. Yet those parts were, in a twentieth-century perspective, usually autonomous.” C.R. Pennell, Morocco Since 1830 ( New York: New York University Press, 2000), 37. A more apt comparison would be between Moroccan society in 1830s and other societies in the 1830s. In terms of Jewish status in Morocco, a more relevant comparison would be between their status there and in Europe and the United States at the time. In the 1830s France and the US were the only countries that extended full citizenship rights to Jews. In 1856 non-Muslim Ottoman subjects were given equal legal status, to the chagrin of Muslim governors. Stillman, The Jews of Arab Lands, 357–61. In 1864 Moses Montefiore went to Morocco to obtain an interview the Emperor in response to the “Affair of Safi,” where the Spanish consul accused Jews of killing a Catholic priest. Initially four Jews were arrested, two were executed and other Jews in Tangier were also arrested at the instigation of the Spanish Consul, Merry y Colon. In response the Junta of the Jewish Community of Tangier decided to appeal to the Board of Deputies of London and the Alliance Israélite Universelle. As a result of Montefiore’s intervention with the Spanish government Merry y Colon requested that the last two incarcerated prisoners in the Safi Affair be released. While he was in Morocco Montefiore met with the Sultan and received a decree (dhahir) that he thought granted Moroccan Jews equal protection under the law. The London Times published a series of articles and notices regarding events around Montefiore’s visit, including “Jews in Morocco, Notes On” (February 1, 1864, 10 col. c.) on the Safi Affair and another article (March 3, 1864, 9, col. d ) on the dhahir, which was published in English translation and gave

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between citizens or subjects and their governments in the 1830s were very different than in today’s world. Notions of patriotism and nationalism had developed in Europe since the American and French Revolutions, but they were not immediately accepted in the rest of Europe. In addition, legal emancipation did not always lead to social acceptance, even in France.13 Nevertheless, the legal precept that citizenship status would be conferred independent of religious affiliation was enshrined in the American Constitution and the French Declaration of the Rights of Man. However, it was an idea that Morocco had not adopted and the Ottoman Empire was just beginning to adopt in the 1830s. Instead, the overarching conception was embodied in the term Umma—the Muslim community.14 Jews were not part of the Umma and, according to religious law, they would be in the same legal status as any other non-Muslim autochthonous community, if there were one.15 At this time, religious identity overrode other concepts of citizenship

the impression that Jews were to be given equal protection under the law, “all Jews residing in our domains . . . shall be treated . . . in manner conformable with the evenly balanced scales of justice . . .” Another article in the series entitled, “Montefiore ( J.M.) Jews in Morocco,” dated August 17, 1864, (9, col. d ) registered disappointment with the dhahir and described the murder of a Jew in Haha “at the hands of its DeputyGovernor.” “. . . [A]n apprehension has arisen that the Moorish Government does not really intend to fulfill its humane promises.” For an account of the Safi Affair, Montefiore’s visit and its aftermath see Robert Assaraf, Une Certain Histoiore des Juifs du Maroc 1860–1999 ([ France]: Impression realisée sur Cameron par Brodard & Taupin, 2005, 41–54 on the Safi Affair and Montefiore’s visit, 55–74 on the ambiguous application of the dhahir of 1864). See also Stillman, The Jews of Arab Lands, 371. 13 The process of secularization and Jewish emancipation in France was prolonged and not accepted by everyone. Lisa Moses Leff, Sacred Bonds of Solidarity The Rise of Jewish Internationalism in Nineteeth Century France (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2006), 17, 20, 22, 30, 191; Natalie Isser, Antisemitism During the French Second Empire ( New York: Peter Lang, 1991), 106–10. 14 See also Adbdallah Laroui, Les origines sociales et culturelles du nationalisme marocain (1830–1912) (Casablanca: Centre Culturel Arabe, 1993). Laroui discusses the role of religion and the concept of the Sultan as Imam (113), the status of Jews and the threat of their lack of submission to Islamic supremacy (310–311), the importance of maintaining the sharī a and role of jihad (ibid.). 15 To what extent Christians were tolerated in Morocco varied from one period to another and from one locale to another. In 1838 Christians were still barred from traveling into the interior of the country. Often they would do so anyway disguised as Jews. See Francis Rosebro Flournoy, British Policy towards Morocco in the Age of Palmerston (1830–1865) ( London and Baltimore: P.S. King & Son Ltd., Johns Hopkins Press, 1935), 35. On the other hand in the early 19th century, Europeans were exempt from dhimma restrictions due to treaty capitulations between Morocco and European powers. However, the Sultan insisted that Moroccan Jews, even if they were British subjects were still bound by these restrictions. Daniel J. Schroeter, The Sultan’s Jew: Morocco and the Sephardi world (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2002), 88–89.

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based on birthright, language or culture. Even though Moroccan Jews were part of the native population, their status as non-Muslims, at the level of legal rights, overrode their autochthonous roots. When considering questions of legal status it is important to remember, as Mohammed Kenbib has pointed out in his study of Moroccan Jewish and Muslim relations, that one needs to take into consideration specific historical factors, such as power struggles, economic interests, and relations between Morocco and Europe.16 The question of legal status needs to be considered within specific historical contexts. Nevertheless it is important in that it provides the framework and sets the norms for society by delineating what rights different segments of the population should have. At the same time, one has to remember that the real determining factor is not to be found at the level of abstract, normative legal rights, but at the level of concrete historical events. As is the case with any legal system, laws have to be interpreted and enforced. The legal restrictions delineated in the Pact of Umar, and the ‘protected’ status of dhimma had varied levels of enforcement in Moroccan history. The Almohad Dynasty (al-Muwa idūn) of the 12th century was a period of forced conversion and religious persecution that exceeded the restrictions delineated in the Pact and even violated the Qur ānic injunctions against religious persecution. The Marinide Dynasty (1421–1465) redressed this excess by allowing Jews forcibly converted to discretely return to Judaism despite the Qur ānic prohibitions against apostasy.17 In addition, rulers in many Moroccan dynasties appointed Jews to positions of authority in their courts and in doing so often provoked the reprobation of the ulamā (Muslim religious scholars) who considered such appointments to be violations of Islamic law (sharī a).18 Moroccan history has shown a varied record

16 Mohammed Kenbib, Juifs et Musulmans au Maroc 1859–1948, Serie: Theses et Memoires No. 21 ( Rabat: Université Mohammed V Publications de la Faculté des Lettres et des Sciences Humaines, 1994), 4. 17 On the position of Jews in Morocco during the Almohad period see H. Z. Hirschberg, A History of the Jews in North Africa, 2nd revised ed., vol. 1 ( Leiden: Brill, 1981), 123–27. On the ability of converted Muslims to return to Judaism in the Marinide period, see Corcos, Studies in the History of the Jews of Morocco, 54. add punishments are punishments that are fixed for certain crimes and established in the Qur ān. Joseph Schacht, An introduction to Islamic law (Oxford: Claredon Press, 1964), 298. N.J. Coulson, A History of Islamic Law ( Edinburgh: Edinburgh at the University Press, 1964), 154. 18 Ibn azm’s polemics against the Jews and Judaism focused on his resentment against Samuel Ibn Nagrela, who served as the leader of the Granadan army of King Habbūs in the 11th Century. Theodore Pulcini, Exegesis and Polemical Discourse

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of enforcement of the dhimma restrictions. Some factors determining whether such restrictions would be enforced included the ideology of a given dynasty, the relative strength of a ruler and his relations with allies and competing factions. In addition, one must keep in mind that there were significant differences in the treatment of members of the elite (al-khā a) and masses (al- āmma) in Moroccan society, and such social rank distinctions also applied to Jews, as will be seen in the discussion of court Jews and the Sultan’s merchants.19 So far the discussion has focused on the general status of Jews as dhimma. In addition, there were specific issues of Islamic law and legal practice of immediate relevance to Sol’s case, namely the question of conversion, apostasy and the testimony of witnesses. The process of conversion to Islam involves recitation of the shahāda (testimony), which states that “there is no god but Allah and Mu ammad is His messenger.” Making such a declaration twice in the presence of a Muslim converts one to Islam. As will be recalled, there were some European sources, particularly from the second part of the 19th century that claimed that Sol did convert out of love. To what extend did Jews convert to Islam in the 19th century and what was the process? Mustapha Bouchara, in his study on immigrants and emigrants in Morocco in the 19th century, includes a section dealing with Jewish and Christian converts to Islam who became the subject of correspondence in the Makhzen archives. In a number of these incidents, conversion was performed in the presence of the qā ī, but not in all of them. One case concerned the incident of a Jewish woman who converted, married a Muslim and then wanted to return to Judaism when her husband deserted her. The Brazilian Consulate tried to intervene on her behalf. The position of the Makhzen was that if the husband were caught he would be arrested. However if the woman were now a Muslim, the Brazilian consulate would have no jurisdiction over her.20

Ibn azm on Jewish and Christian Scriptures (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 141–42, n.14; Gabriel Martinez Gros, “Ibn Hazm contre les juifs: un bouc émissaire jusqu’au jugement dernier,” Atalaya 5, no. Ata (1994): 123–34. For more on Ibn Nagrela see Eliyahu Ashtor, The Jews of Moslem Spain, vol. 2 ( Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 1992), 41–187. 19 Mohamed El Mansour, Morocco in the Reign of Mawlay Sulayman (Cambridge: Middle East & North African Studies Press, Ltd., 1990), 11–13; Pennell, Morocco Since 1830, 32. 20 Bouchara, al-Istī ān wa-al- imāyah bi-al-Maghrib 1280–1311 (1863–1894), vol. 4, 1442–52.

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Paul Bowles’s account of Sol’s story, as well as some European versions mentioned in chapter one, narrates an alternative version that has some elements in common with this incident.21 Once one becomes a Muslim, apostasy (ridda) is one of the add crimes, punishable by death.22 In Jewish versions of Sol’s story she did not convert. However, if her status was that of a converted Muslim, the question arises as to whether there were other incidents of Jews who converted to Islam and then recanted. How were they treated? Imrānī, in his collection of fatāwā from Fez, includes the incident of a Jew in Marrakesh who had converted to Islam, then told the Jewish community he had done so in a moment of insanity. He was arrested and imprisoned ‘until his situation would be cleared up.’ While in prison he died.23 In this case a convert who recanted was imprisoned, but not ultimately executed. The Makhzen correspondence also contains accounts of other Jews, mostly women who converted. No date was given for many of these incidents, but the correspondence relating to them are dated to the second half of the 19th century.24 In all the cases where converts were allowed to recant, they were under the protection of the foreign consulates and thus exempt from Moroccan

21 Paul Bowles, Points in time ( New York: Ecco Press, 1984), 51–54. These versions are considered in Sharon Vance, “Sol Hatchuel, ‘Heroine of the 19th Century:’ Gender, the Jewish Question, and Colonial Discourse,” in Jewish Culture and Society in North Africa, ed. Emily Beichou Gottreich and Daniel J. Schroeter ( Bloomington, Ind: Indiana University Press, 2010) and—“Conversione, apostasia e martirio: il caso di Sol Hatchuel,” Genesis Rivista della Società Italiana della Storiche VI, no. 2 (2007): 75–100. 22 Coulson, A History of Islamic Law, 154. 23 The qā ī in Marrakech ruled that he had remained a kāfir (infidel) by virtue of his retraction and thus was not entitled to a Muslim burial, but referred the matter to the ulamā in Fez. After some lengthy deliberation on whether he recanted and under what circumstances he had converted, the judges ruled that he was in fact a Muslim by virtue of having said the shahāda and was therefore entitled to a Muslim burial. Mu ammad al-Mahdī ibn Mu ammad Imrānī, al-Nawāzil al-jadīdah al-kubrā fī-mā li-ahl Fās wa-ghayrihim min al-badw wa-al-qurā al-musammāh bi-al-Mi yār al-jadīd al-jāmi al-mu rib an fatāwī al-muta akhkhirīn min ulamā al-Maghrib, vol. 3 ( Rabat: al-Mamlakah al-Maghribīyah, Wizārat al-Awqāf wa-al-Shu ūn al-Islāmīyah, 1996), 99–108. 24 Bouchara, al-Istī ān wa-al- imāyah bi-al-Maghrib 1280–1311 (1863–1894), op. cit. One incident involved a Jew who converted, recanted and when it was found he was not under consular protection was imprisoned where he retracted his apostasy. Bashan has a chapter on Jewish women and conversion to Islam based on English language correspondence. In these cases it was the husbands who converted and the wives refused to follow suit. In the cases described here the women were arrested or fled arrest and the Jewish community was threatened. Eliezer Bashan, Nashim Yehudiyot be-Maroqo: demutan be-re’i mikhtavim min ha-shanim1733–1905 ( Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University, 2005), 194–205.

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law. The general pattern that emerges from this correspondence is that when European consulates forcefully interfered, the converts who wished to return to Judaism were generally allowed to do so. In 1845 John Drummond-Hay described another incident involving a Jewish youth, whom Muslims claimed had converted. In that instance, the British Consul did intervene and the boy was saved.25 In Sol’s case, which took place a decade earlier, there was a different outcome. The motivations for such intervention were tied to the larger context of relations between Morocco and the European Powers and the specific historical circumstances prevailing when these events took place, along with the positions of Jews, as individuals and as a community, within Moroccan society and will be discussed below. The material provided by Imrānī’s Nawāzil is not dated and Bouchara’s material, given that it includes cases of Jews under consular protection, did not apply to Sol. But these two sources do give some indication of the process of conversion and apostasy in Islam as it was practiced in Morocco prior to the Protectorat. The case from Imrānī’s al-Nawāzil al-jadīdah does not deal with the process of conversion, but with what happened when a former Jew recanted. In Sol’s case, Tahra went to the qā ī and claimed that she had converted or expressed interest in converting, according to the different accounts.26 Theoretically, given the conversion process and the inability of nonMuslims to testify in Islamic court, more Jews, or non-Muslims in general, could have been forcibly converted in such a manner. The fact that this was not the official policy and that mass forced conversions were not the norm in the Muslim World,27 is probably due to both the

25 Eliezer Bashan, “Te udot adashot al Solika mi-Maroqo,” Pe amim 117 (2008): 167–76. 26 According to the version published by Rey, Sol said to Tahra, “your God will be mine,” Rey, Souvenirs d’un Voyage au Maroc, 146. Whether this can actually be interpreted as a confession of conversion is not clear, however. Maimonides affirmed that Jews and Muslims worshipped the same God so if such was the understanding Sol’s statement would not involve the relinquishing of her religion or God. David Novak, “The Treatment of Islam and Muslims in the Legal Writings of Maimonides,” in Studies in Islamic and Judaic Traditions, ed. Willian M. Brinner and Stephen D. Ricks, Brown Judaic Studies (Altanta: Scholars, 1986), 244. 27 Charles de Nesry wrote an article on incidents of kidnapping and forced conversion of young Jewish girls in Morocco in 1962. The author protested such incidents and stated that they were contrary to Moroccan law. He also stressed their lack of historical precedence and theological justification. Carlos de Nesry, “Un problème dramatique pour le judaïsme marocain Les conversions forcées des jeunes filles mineures,” L’arche, no. 71 (1962): 22–27. Doris Donath, on the other hand, stated

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Qur ānic verse stating that there is “no compulsion in religion,” and to the fact that the Jews of Morocco and in the Muslim World had a recognized religious status as protected subjects (dhimma).28 As stated above, historically, there have been periods of both forced conversion and allowance of apostasy of former Jews, both prohibited by Islamic law. Such historical precedence indicates the role that the Sultan could play in overriding Islamic law when he had sufficient strength and the inclination to do so. At the time Sol was in prison and executed, the ruling Sultan was Mawlay Abd al-Ra mān. It remains to be seen what his opinion and situation were in 1834. Before turning to this and the other relevant historical circumstances, the question of witnesses and testimony in Islamic court needs to be considered. This question and the related question of the veracity of witnesses are probably the most important legal issues, given the contradiction between Sol’s and Tahra’s statements. In general Jews were not allowed to give testimony against Muslims.29 When Sol was brought before the qā ī, according to all the accounts, her claims that she had not converted were dismissed out of hand. In Romero’s account, Sol was careful not to contradict Tahra directly.30 This evasion can be better understood when considering the restrictions imposed on Jews to neither challenge nor confront any Muslim directly and publicly.31 These issues of Islamic law and jurisprudence were only one factor determining the situation for Jews in Moroccan society. Other important factors included the role they played in the economy and society at large. In any discussion of this issue, one needs to consider the that in the period prior to the Protectorat Jewish women were exposed to the dangers of forced conversion given that Muslim men were allowed to marry Jewish women, and that girls were considered adults by the age of 12. Doris Donath, L’Evolution de la Femme Israelite a Fes (Aix-en-Provence: La Pensée Universitaire; Faculté des Lettres— Aix-en-Provence, 1962).The practice of early marriage of Jewish girls in Fez may have developed to prevent such incidents. Neither source indicates that forced conversion of young Jewish girls was practiced to such an extent that the survival of the community was threatened. Neither of these sources provided information on the situation in the 1830s. 28 F.E. Peters, A Reader on Classical Islam ( Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1994), 156. 29 Chouraqui, La Condition Juridique de L’Israélite Marocain, 121. 30 Eugénio Maria Romero, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact ( London: Printer L. Thompson, 1839), 21. 31 Jews and other non-Muslims were not allowed to testify against Muslims in Islamic courts, and the penalty for false testimony was not standardized. There was also no procedure for the cross-examination of witnesses to verify the veracity of their testimony. Joseph Schacht, An Introduction to Islamic Law (Oxford: Claredon Press, 1964) 187, 195.

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sources available and the facts that Moroccan Jewry and Moroccan society in general were not homogenous entities, and that their history varied over time and place. Another matter that needs to be considered has to do with the power of the ruler and the source of political legitimacy in Moroccan society. The Sultan was at times able to ignore the wishes of the ulamā , but he still needed to justify his right to rule and exercise power over his subjects. What was the basis of this legitimacy? How was rule established and maintained and what impact did this system have on the Jewish community? Political Legitimacy in Morocco and Jewish Roles in Moroccan Society The expression of political allegiance and acceptance of the ruler was given in the ceremony of the bay a, the oath of allegiance. This was a formal ceremony attended by representatives of the different segments of Moroccan society and consisted of an expression of their formal submission to the ruler.32 In the account of bay a for Mawlay Abd al-Ra mān representatives of the ulamā , the fuqahā , the ashrāf,33 and the different factions of the Moroccan military (including the Oudaya) were present and expressed their allegiance.34 These oaths, expressed in qa āi d from the leading representatives of the elite segments of Moroccan society, stressed the connection between legitimate governance and the upholding of sharī a.35 The Sultan’s legitimacy came, first and foremost from the sharī a and was predicated on his ability to uphold it. In addition, one of the central tasks of the Moroccan Sultan was to defend Islam from attack and, given that Morocco was 32 For a discussion of the bay a in contemporary Moroccan society see Abdeslam M. Maghaoui, “Monarchy and Political Reform in Morocco,” Journal of Democracy 12, no. 1 (2001): 73–86. See also Pennell, Morocco Since 1830, 15. 33 The fuqahā (sing. faqīh) are legists, experts in jurisprudence; the ashrāf (sing. sharīf ) are descendants of the Prophet Mu ammad. 34 The Oudaya (ūdāyā) were Arab warriors detached from their tribes and constituted as a unit of the Moroccan army in the time of Mawlay Ismā īl. See Jamil M. Abun-Nasr, A History of the Maghrib in the Islamic period (Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 230. 35 Qa āi d (sing. qa īda) are a genre of classical Arabic poetry often recited as panegyrics in honor of a ruler or powerful patron. Suzanne Pinckney Stetkevych, The poetics of Islamic legitimacy: myth, gender, and ceremony in the classical Arabic ode ( Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2002), 80; Abū al- Abbās A mad ibn Khālid al-Nā irī, Kitāb al-Istiq ā li-akhbār duwal al-Maghrib al-aq ā vol. 9 (al-Dār al-Bay ā: Dār al-Kitāb, 1956), 4–5.

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on the frontier between the Dār al-Islām (House of Islam) and Christian Europe, to conduct the jihad. His ability to protect the Muslim Community from European encroachment was one of the main sources of his legitimacy and right to rule. Since the ascendancy of the Sharifian Dynasties, starting with the Sa adiyūn, another source of legitimacy for the Sultan has been his descent from the Prophet Mu ammad. This source had, at times, allowed rulers such as A mad al-Man ūr and Mawlay Ismā īl to ignore the claims of the ulamā that they were violating the sharī a. However these two rulers were successful in defending Morocco from European encroachment. When a Sultan has such success on the battlefield he can command respect for defending the Umma, itself an important aspect of upholding the sharī a. Once his reign was formally recognized, the Sultan had immense political and economic power concentrated in his person, however this power was predicated on his upholding religious beliefs and institutions, and/or defending the Dār al-Islām.36 The Sultan had the power to appoint religious leaders (the ulamā and qā īs) and regional leaders and governors (qā ids and pashas),37 but the Makhzen often needed to justify its actions to the ulamā and couldn’t be seen to overtly stray from the most important elements of the sharī a.38 In addition, such conceptions such as ahd and bay a, which represented different types of contracts between superiors and subordinates, rulers and ruled, showed the way in which these relations were conceived and enacted throughout Moroccan pre-colonial society. Both Abdellah Hammoudi, and Mohammed Ennaji, discuss the role that humble submission and violence played in Moroccan society at large.39 [ Violence] showed up everywhere in this troubled society shaken by natural calamities and brutalized by the powerful. Apart from the truly Laroui, Les origines sociales et culturelles du nationalisme marocain (1830–1912), 113. Al-Na irī’s describes the bay a given to Abd al-Ra man in Fez when he became Sultan in 1823. From the description it is clear that his power and legitimacy come from God, who gives signs of His approval by bringing prosperity and victory to the armies (of Islam), al-Nā irī, Kitāb al-Istiq ā li-akhbār duwal al-Maghrib al-aq ā vol. 9, 4. 37 Laroui, op. cit., 99. 38 Ibid., 103. Some rulers, such as Mawlay Ismā īl, were able to consolidate power and ignore the opinions of the ulamā . However, after their death, the country was thrown into a period of anarchy. Abun-Nasr, A History of the Maghrib in the Islamic period, 239. 39 Abdellah Hammoudi, Master and Disciple The Cultural Foundations of Moroccan Authoritarianism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997), 3. 36

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chapter two pious who lived in fear of the Lord, husbands maltreated their wives and children; proprietors, their sharecroppers; bosses, their underlings. Though frequently stripped of any legitimacy, force as means of command constituted the surest way of overcoming resistors, strangling rebellion, and pressuring the peons of caïdal society.40

Violence also was used in establishing the authority of the Sultan. The Sultan’s ability to quell rebellion was dependent on his ability to establish the legitimacy of his rule and to organize and support his army. The problem of establishing political legitimacy, stability and security were ongoing issues. Mawlay Ismā īl’s reign (1672–1727) was remembered as one where security on the roads was guaranteed, yet it was also a reign of absolutism.41 Upon his death, Morocco entered another one of its periods of interregnum chaos, which lasted for 30 years until the reign of Mawlay Abdallah, who had to defeat the power of the abids and a seditious movement centered in Tetuan and Tangier that was monopolizing trade with Gibraltar.42 The question of commerce with Europe and the role that Moroccan Jews played as intermediaries will be dealt with below. For now it can be noted that granting dhimma trade monopolies was a way for the Sultans to control this commerce. It was preferable to allowing a free trade system advocated by European powers in the 18th and 19th centuries. Likewise, appointing dhimma, who were dependent on the Sultan for protection, as court officials would accomplish the same outcome of concentrating power in the hands of officials who were loyal to the Sultan alone.43 However, such appointments would, at times, provoke the ulamā . Violent rebellion and its suppression were part of the system of rule. Such incidents of violence were recounted by European travelers and diplomats.44 They wrote about these incidents making generaliza40 Mohammed Ennaji, Serving the Master Slavery and Society in Nineteenth Century Morocco, trans. Seth Graebner ( New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1998), 28. 41 Abun-Nasr, A History of the Maghrib in the Islamic period, 234. 42 Ibid., 239. The abid military force were enslaved troops who were Muslim and could not be held in involuntary servitude according to Islamic law. Mawlay Ismā īl ignored the protests of the ulamā from Fez. The later rebelled and were put down. Ibid., 234–35. In establishing his rule in this manner, he left a legacy of political absolutism and a high rate of expropriation to support the expenses of an army of abids and Oudaya who were loyal to him alone. Ibid., 230–236. 43 Schroeter, The Sultan’s Jew: Morocco and the Sephardi world, 107. 44 Thomas Roscoe, The Tourist in Spain and Morocco ( London: Robert Jennings & Co., 1838), 209, 13; John H. Drummond-Hay, Western Barbary: Its Tribes and Savage Animals ( London: John Murray, 1844), 1; Lancelot Addison, The Present State of the Jews ( London: Printed by J.C. for William Crooke, 1675), 7.

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tions about the ‘barbaric’ nature of Islam and its inherent ‘fanaticism.’45 Such travel literature was written with undeserved self-righteousness, given the state of society in Europe in the 19th century.46 But these incidents themselves were not fabrications. There was a pattern to the violence. It escalated during periods of interregnum and instability. Some of these incidents were also narrated in Jewish chronicles when that community was the victim. One such case involved the jailing and murder of the family of Don Yehuda Abravanel for allegedly hiding wealth and assets from the Sultan. In this incident his betrothed daughter and her fiancé were killed together by the Sultan’s guards.47 It is unclear whether the Abravanel family would have been spared had he been Muslim, or would have been treated with more severity with more family members killed in order to put down any possibility of rivalry or rebellion. In general it is difficult to evaluate such incidents of violence, particularly regarding charges related to tax evasion, in pre-colonial Morocco in terms of whether they are illustrative of dhimma status, or negative attitudes towards Jews as Jews or simply the general violence that existed in the society as a whole given the nature of how power and legitimacy were exercised and established. These attacks were not exclusively directed at Moroccan Jews either. Yet this unarmed minority was especially vulnerable, particularly during periods of upheaval. The reign of Mawlay Yazīd (1790–1792) was one such period. After the French conquest of Algeria, Morocco was thrown into another period of unrest and instability, as will be seen below. Such legitimacy crises could be avoided if the Sultan was victorious against his enemies because this was seen as a sign of divine grace and baraka. Conversely, defeat could be seen as a loss of this grace and could provoke a legitimation crisis. Sol’s execution came four years after such a crisis began. When considering her fate, the nature of the Sultan’s rule, in addition to his own inclinations, need to 45 See Vance for an analysis of these descriptions in relation to the Solika texts. Vance, “Sol Hatchuel, ‘Heroine of the 19th Century:’ Gender, the Jewish Question, and Colonial Discourse.” 46 David Snyder and Charles Tilly, “Hardship and Collective Violence in France, 1830 to 1960,” American Sociological Review 37, no. 5 (1972): 520–32; John Rule, The Labouring Classes in Early Industrial England 1750–1850 ( London: Longman, 1986), 357– 62. While this violence was denounced by writers such as Cobbett, these defenses of the working class were often accompanied by anti-Semitic scapegoating. William Oliver Coleman, “Anti-Semitism in Anti-economics,” History of Political Economy 35, no. 4 (2003): 759–77. 47 Toledano, Ner ha-ma arav: hu toldot Yisra el be-Maroqo, 1989, 255–56.

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be considered. Some of the accounts of Sol’s story indicate that Abd al-Ra mān was inclined to allow her to return to her parents and the Jewish community.48 However, in 1834 he was not in a strong enough political position to be able to ignore the demands of the ulamā . The reason for this will become apparent when considering the changed circumstances that resulted from the French invasion of Algeria and its effects on Morocco, to be discussed below. Before turning to this topic, a consideration of the different social groups in Moroccan society and the position of Jewish communities within Morocco’s social structure are necessary. In his discussion of Morocco’s social structure, Pennell emphasizes the hierarchical and fragmented nature of this society in the precolonial period. While it is true that status was, in some ways, determined by hereditary traits and other traits not easily changed—such as gender, familial status, and religion—Hammoudi has pointed out that one “could gain influence and rank through wealth, knowledge or personal efforts to achieve charisma. One’s worth depended on one’s social connections, style of interaction, skills and morality, as well as appropriateness and willingness to perform useful tasks for the community” or the Sultan.49 The merchants who traded on behalf of the Sultan (tujjār al-Sul ān) performed such useful functions by enriching the coffers of the Makhzen through their commerce, part of which included the import of European, particularly British weapons.50 As a result of this utility, certain families of tujjār al-Sul ān were protected from harm over generations.51 This conception also applied to Morocco’s native Jewish population. When considering the specific situation of the Jewish communities in Moroccan society one has to consider both the nature of this society and the fact that Moroccan Jewry did not constitute a homogeneous community. It was divided geographically and had its own

M. Rey, Souvenirs d’un Voyage au Maroc ( Paris: Bureau du Journal l’Algérie, 1844), 162. Hammoudi, Master and Disciple The Cultural Foundations of Moroccan Authoritarianism, 61. 50 According to Schroeter, “Ulema attitudes varied on the extent that Muslims and Jews should intermingle, but they all agreed Jewish merchants were useful for acquiring weapons needed for jihad.” Schroeter, The Sultan’s Jew: Morocco and the Sephardi world, 87. Jewish merchants also supplied arms to Abd al-Qādir. Kenbib, Juifs et Musulmans au Maroc 1859–1948, 59. 51 Daniel J. Schroeter, “Royal Power and the Economy,” in In the Shadow of the Sultan, ed. Rahma Bourqia and Susan G. Miller (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1999), 87. 48 49

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internal hierarchy. In addition, the situation of the different Jewish communities and their strata varied from one historical period to the next. When considering these differences, it is conventional to distinguish between Megorashim, the Sephardic exiles from Spain, and Toshavim, Jews who had lived continuously in Morocco before 1492. Zafrani and de Nesry also pointed out that Jewish communities were further divided between those living in the port cities and those living in the interior.52 The former were in contact with Europe and European travelers, merchants and consular officials, and often served as intermediaries between them and Moroccan Muslims. These communities were often Sephardim and had knowledge of one or more European languages. In contrast, the Jews living in the interior were not in contact with Europeans on a regular basis. They made their living as artisans and local merchants, often providing handmade goods to rural communities and bringing agricultural goods from the countryside into the towns. They frequently established client relations with local Muslims who provided them protection.53 Jewish communities were further divided linguistically between speakers of Judeo-Arabic, Judeo-Berber and Judeo-Spanish. The two most significant communities for Sol were her natal city of Tangier, and Fez, the city of her execution and interment. If the contrast between Moroccan port Jewish communities and those of the interior was one between European-oriented and native Maghrebi cultures, Tangier was the port city par excellence.54 Carlos de Nesry, writing in the 1950s, expressed this idea of Tangier’s avantgardism when it came to ‘occidentalization.’ He dated Tangier’s emergence from ‘the Middle Ages’ to the modern world to the reign of Napoleon III.55 If de Nesry was correct, then Tangier’s modernity came

52 Haïm Zafrani, Two thousand years of Jewish life in Morocco ( New York: Sephardic House in association with KTAV Pub. House, Jersey City, NJ, 2005), 139–40, 289; Carlos de Nesry, Le Juif de Tanger et le Maroc ( Tanger: Éditions Internationales, 1956), 20, 51, 106. 53 Zafrani, Two thousand years of Jewish life in Morocco, 17–18; Shlomo Deshen, The Mellah Society: Jewish Community Life in Sherifian Morocco (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), 27–28. 54 According to Kenbib, in the second half of the 19th century Tangier appeared to Muslims as a city conquered by European Christians. Kenbib, Juifs et Musulmans au Maroc 1859–1948, 458. 55 De Nesry, Le Juif de Tanger et le Maroc 55. According to de Nesry the Europeanization of Tangier and its Jewish community went hand in hand. Ibid., 58. Napoleon III served as president from 1848 to 1852, and as Emperor from 1852 to 1870.

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after Sol’s death; and indeed he does not mention her in his book Le Juifs de Tanger et Maroc. However Tangier’s contact with Europe predates the French Second Republic and Empire. Tangier’s history was conditioned by the frequent outbreaks of hostility between European countries and Morocco. This hostility resulted in the city being occupied by European powers ( Portugal, Spain and Britain) for over two centuries. To understand both Tangier’s and its Jewish community’s long experience of Europeanization, one needs to briefly consider this history. European powers had been threatening the Moroccan coastline and even occupying some of its port cities since the 15th century.56 Tensions between the two sides of the Straits of Gibraltar go back at least to the period of the Spanish Reconquest of Al-Andalus. Most of the Jewish population in Tangier traces its origin to the Sephardic exiles from Spain. In addition, the enmity between Morocco and Europe, particularly Spain, was further exacerbated after 1609 when Northern Morocco received Spanish Moriscos who were also expelled from Spain. Some of these exiles settled in Tangier, while others settled among the Berber (Amazigh) Muslim tribes of the Rif and spread the concept of jihad against the ‘infidel.’57 Thus, both Sephardim and Moriscos moved to Morocco as exiles from Catholic Spain. However, crossing the Straits did not relieve Andalusians from Spain’s grasp because the Iberian Christian Reconquista succeeded in establishing itself on the Moroccan side of the Straits of Gibraltar when Portugal took Ceuta in 1415. This garrison later passed into Spanish hands in 1678. Ceuta and Melilla to this day remain in Spanish control. As stated above, Tangier was occupied by both Portugal (1471–1661) and Britain (1662–1684). Tension continued into the 18th and early 19th centuries and extended down Morocco’s coast and expressed itself in corsair activity and pirating operations that took place between European powers and Muslim North Africa since the expulsion of the

56 Bernabé López García, “Entre Europe et Orient Ceuta et Melilla,” Revue du Monde Musulman et de la Méditerranée 59–60, no. 1–2 (1991): 165–80. 57 Amira Benison points out the difference between Northern Morocco, heavily influenced by a nostalgia for al-Andalus and the important concept of jihad against the threatening infidel along this border between the Dār al-Islām and Christian Europe, and Southern Morocco, farther away from this tense border region and more inclined to see the Europeans as trading partners. Amira Bennison, Jihad and its Interpretations in Pre-Colonial Morocco State-society relations during the French conquest of Algeria ( London and New York: RouteledgeCurzon, 2002), 4.

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Moriscos.58 All sides engaged in piracy to gain control over the seas and monopoly over trade, or to open up markets.59 Such tensions had a long-standing existence and combined religious identity and sentiments with economic needs and political ambitions. In 1828 and 1829, both Britain and Austria bombarded Moroccan ports along the Atlantic coast and set up blockades of Tangier in response to the Moroccan Sultan’s attempts to reestablish the corsairs and seize merchant vessels.60 In an attempt to isolate the Moroccan court from European pressure, Europeans were officially barred from traveling in the interior of the country.61 Tangier was established as the ‘diplomatic capital’ because it was the place where European consuls were housed. If they wished to visit the Sultan, they had to apply for permission from his representative in Tangier.62 In addition to tension and conflict, there were also trade relations between Morocco and Europe. The British base in Gibraltar was dependent on Morocco for its basic supplies.63 Moroccan Jews, in particular the Jews of Tangier, played a key role as consular agents, translators and merchants in mediating these relations. They also worked as domestic servants and porters, as Rey’s travelogue shows.64 At the top of the hierarchy were those who served 58 The Portuguese had been menacing Moroccan ports in the 16th century, taking El Jadida in 1502, Agadir and Safi between 1502 and 1508. See Andrew C. Hess, The Forgotten Frontier A History of the Sixteenth-Century Ibero-African Frontier (Chicago and London: University of Chicago, 1978), 16. 59 See Stepen Haliczer, “The Moriscos: Loyal Subjects of His Catholic Majesty Philip III,” in Christians, Muslims and Jews in Medieval and Early Modern Spain, ed. Mark D. Meyerson and Edward D. English ( Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame, 1999), 265–73. See Hess (op. cit., 61–70) on Muslim corsair activity in the 16th century; and Lucette Valensi, On the Eve of Colonialism North Africa Before the French Conquest, trans. Kenneth J. Perkins ( New York and London: Africana Publishing, 1977). 60 Jean-Louis Miège, Le Maroc et L’Europe (1830–1894) ( Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1961), vol.2, 34;———, Chronique de Tanger 1820–1830 Journal de Bendelac ([ Morocco]: Editions La Porte, 1995), 525, 538–39. 61 Flournoy, British Policy towards Morocco in the Age of Palmerston (1830–1865), 35. 62 M. Mitchell Serels, A History of the Jews of Tangier in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries ( New York: Sepher-Hermon Press, 1991), 11. According to Lakhassassi, French representatives from Algeria were refused permission by the Pasha of Tangier to travel to Meknes to meet with the Sultan in 1831, Mohamed Lakhassassi, “Des rapports franco-marocains pendant la conquête et l’occupation de l’Algérie (1830–1851)” (Universite de Paris I Panthéon-Sorbonne, 2000), Part II, 120. 63 Miège, Chronique de Tanger 1820–1830 Journal de Bendelac, 16. On Jewish role in trade with Gibraltar see ibid., 72, 74. 64 Rey, Souvenirs d’un Voyage au Maroc, 141. Landenberger also discusses the variety of work Jews did for the consulates, serving as interpreters, vice consuls, and merchants’ agents and porters. Margaret Landenberger, “United States Diplomatic Efforts on Behalf of Moroccan Jews: 1880–1906” ( Ph.D., St. John’s University, 1981), 9, 16–17, 36.

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as consular officials for various European powers.65 Jewish merchants were also the mediators who supplied Gibraltar with raw materials from Morocco. Hirschberg points out that the practice of using Moroccan Jews as consular officials was instituted due to the risks that Europeans ran in the 18th century in their dealings with Morocco. Moroccan Jews also lost their lives on occasion when working for European consulates.66 European consulates made use of Moroccan Jews as intermediaries out of necessity. However they often did not trust their Jewish interpreters.67 In one of the diaries of the British Consul General in Tangier, Edward William Aurial Drummond-Hay, who served from 1829 to 1845, described his interpreter Isaac Abensur as a ‘cunning Jew’ whom he suspected of disloyalty.68 Despite these suspicions, Jews were used as translators and intermediaries for their language skills and their knowledge of both Moroccan Muslim and European Christian societies and cultures. In addition to the wish to avoid the dangers of direct contact with Moroccan authorities, another reason Jews were used as intermediaries was because Europeans were officially barred from traveling in the interior of the country.69 Many nevertheless did venture into the interior and wrote travelogues of their journeys, but they traveled dressed in the local costume and often disguised as Jews.70 In contrast, Europeans were allowed in Tangier. Romero was able to visit with Sol’s family there, in part, due to this history of European conquest of this port city. However this history of conquest resulted in tension between Europeans and Moroccan Muslims and while Tangier was the seat of many European consulates at 65 I. Abensur served as interpreter for the British Consulate under J. Douglas E. Drummond-Hay, A. Bendelac served in the same capacity for the Netherlands and also served for a time as its Consul General. Miège, Chronique de Tanger 1820–1830 Journal de Bendelac, 16, 18. Also E.W.A. Drummond Hay’s diary entry for 5 of January 1830, (folio 7, in Bodleian Library, MS. Eng. his. E349). 66 Hirschberg, A History of the Jews in North Africa, vol. 2, 262–67 on the role Jews played in the difficult negotiations between Morocco and the Netherlands in the 17th century. Hirschberg describes an incident involving the death of the British Consul-General James Read while at the Sharifian Court in Fez, and the subsequent decision to use Jews as initial negotiators. One such interpreter and negotiator, Solomon Na mias, also lost his life in 1733, as did Jewish agents in Tetuan at the time of Mawlay Yazīd (r.1790–1792). Op. cit., vol. 2, 282–3. 67 Schroeter, The Sultan’s Jew: Morocco and the Sephardi world, 123. 68 E.W.A. Drummond-Hay’s diary, op. cit. 69 Flournoy, British Policy towards Morocco in the Age of Palmerston (1830–1865), 35; Budgett Meakin, The Moorish Empire A Historical Epitome ( London: Swan Sonnenschein & Co., 1899), 248. 70 Meakin, The Moorish Empire A Historical Epitome, 413, 472.

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the time of Sol Hatchuel, their presence was not enthusiastic received by many Muslims in Northern Morocco.71 Nevertheless many Europeans visited Tangier and published accounts of their visits, including descriptions of Tangier’s Jewish community.72 These European travel sources, as well as works by European doctors, journalists and consular officials, are often used in reconstructing the history of the Jewish community in Morocco, in particular in Tangier.73 Romero’s work fits in this category, as do the works on Sol by the other European writers.74 Haim Zafrani has warned against using such sources, stating that the internal perspective of Moroccan Jewry, as expressed in their literary works, provides a better understanding than “the descriptions of the mella s and their population included by travelers in their narratives, or by certain diplomats and consular agents who very often blamed the Jews when their missions in

71 Kenbib, Juifs et Musulmans au Maroc 1859–1948, 458. Tangier’s history as a diplomatic capital and later international city is not looked at in a positive light by at least one Moroccan Muslim historian writing in Arabic. In addition to asking whether the native Muslim population benefited from Tangier’s status as an international city, al-Timsamānī refers to the “octopus of international Jewish capitalists” controlling the local press in fragmented Morocco during the Protectorat. Abd al- Azīz Khallūq al-Timsamānī, Min anjah al-sā irah ila anjah al- Anfa ([ Morocco]: A.al- A.K. al-Timsamānī, 2001), 8. See also Mas ūd Kuwātī, al-Yahūd fī al-Maghrib al-Islāmī min al-fat ila suqūt dawlat al-Muwa idīn (al-Jazā ir: Dār Hūmah, 2000), 6 passim; A ā Alī Mu ammad Shi ātah Rayyah, al-Yahūd fī bilād al-Maghrib al-aq á fī ahd al-Marīnīyīn wa-al-Wa āsīyīn (Dimashq: Dār al-Kalimah, 1999), 8, 31, 59, passim. 72 Addison, The Present State of the Jews; Eugène Delacroix et al., Souvenirs d’un voyage dans le Maroc ([Paris]: Gallimard, 1999), 111–14; Elizabeth Murray, Sixteen Years of An Artist’s Life in Morocco, Spain and the Canary Islands, vol. 1 ( London: Hurst and Blackett, 1859), 31–32; Drummond-Hay, Western Barbary: Its Tribes and Savage Animals, 1. Stillman, The Jews of Arab Lands, 312–14. 73 Stillman, op. cit. Some of the 19th century travel writings that Serel’s cites include Alexandre Dumas’ Le Veloce ou Tanger, Alger et Tunis, 1850–51, Delacroix’s Souvenirs, Mark Twain’s The Innocents Abroad, 1869, and William Lempriere’s A Tour from Gibraltar to Tangier and to Morocco, 1800, 298. Serels, A History of the Jews of Tangier in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, 185 n.28, 89 n.50, 298. 74 R. Boutet, “ Sulika La vie de Sol Hatchuel,” L’Avenir Illustré, 7/31/29 7–9, 8/15/29 12–14, 9/30/29 17–18, 11/7/29 7–8, 11/14/29 7–8, 11/28/29 8–10, 12/12/29 6–8, 12/19/29 10, 12/30/29 6–8, 1/16/30 5–7; Léon Godard, Description et histoire du Maroc, comprenant la géographie et la statistique de ce pays, depuis le temps les plus anciens jusqu’à la paix de Tétouan en 1860, 2 vols. ( Paris: Impr. E. Donnaud, 1860), 82–83; César Juarros, La Cuidad de los Ojos Bellos ( Tetuan) (Madrid: Editorial Mundo Latino, 1922), 223–236; D. Felipe Ovilo y Canales, La Mujer marroqui (Madrid: 1881), 114–15; Macé, Sol Hatchuel Melodrame en IV Actes; Henri de la Martinière, Souvenirs du Maroc ( Paris: Librairie Plon Plon-Nourrit et Cie, Imprimeurs-Éditeurs, 1919), 8.

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the country failed.”75 Often this blame took the form of standard 19th and early 20th century anti-Semitic stereotypes.76 Such stereotypes can also be seen in the French and Spanish texts devoted to Sol.77 Parallel stereotypes about Islam also permeate the consular records dealing with Morocco, and, yet, Moroccan historians have still used these records to reconstruct the history of Morocco and its relations with Europe. Their bias is noted, but they still contain valuable information on these relations, European plans for Morocco, intra-European rivalries and even the internal situation in Morocco.78 Such sources can also be used, with caution, for learning about events in Moroccan Jewish history, particularly where internal Jewish historical sources are lacking. In the case of Sol Hatchuel, both sources exist. They describe the basic outline of events; Sol’s neighbors’ claims that she converted, her imprisonment in Tangier and public execution in Fez. Yet the meaning they give to these events is not the same and the reason for their occurrence also varies among the different sources. None of 75 Zafrani, Two thousand years of Jewish life in Morocco, 9. Relying on European complaints regarding Jewish ‘usury some Moroccan historians have also blamed Jewish “reclamations” for Morocco’s colonization, Kenbib, Juifs et Musulmans au Maroc 1859– 1948, 253, 55, 91, 308; Khalid Ben Srhir, Britain and Morocco during the embassy of John Drummond Hay, 1845–1886 ( New York: RoutledgeCurzon, 2005), 151. In response Schroeter has critiqued Moroccan historians for overstating Makhzen protection of Jews and Jewish identification with colonialists. “The general thrust of their argument is that the Jew was protected by the Makhzan, and that this tended to overshadow the disabilities associated with the Pact of Umar . . . In this paradigm, the benevolent relationship between the Jew and the state, and . . . between Muslims and Jews was undermined by foreign interference, especially by the granting of consular protection . . . Implicit in these arguments is that the Jews . . . were to play an extremely small role in the modern nationalist movement, and . . . tended to identify themselves with the colonial regime.” Schroeter, The Sultan’s Jew: Morocco and the Sephardi world, 4–5. He discusses the situation of Moroccan Jews in the later half of the 19th century in a more nuanced way, pointing out that “[a]s imperialism undermined the legitimacy of the Islamic polity, Jews in growing numbers repudiated the dhimma pact offered by the state and sought the protection of a foreign power.” (Ibid., 153.) In addition, Lakhassassi has located the origins of Morocco’s loss of sovereignty not in the second half of the 19th century, when both European and protégés numbers increased, but with France’s colonization of Algeria in 1830. Lakhassassi, “Des rapports franco-marocains pendant la conquête et l’occupation de l’Algérie (1830–1851)”, part 1, 2–3. 76 Schroeter, op. cit., 57–60. 77 Vance, “Sol Hatchuel, ‘Heroine of the 19th Century:’ Gender, the Jewish Question, and Colonial Discourse.” 78 Lakhassassi, op. cit. used these sources extensively in his study of French Moroccan relations during the colonization of Algeria (part 1, 91 n. 5–6 on bias descriptions of Mawlay Abd al-Ra man in European sources; part 2, 119, n.5ff on European rivalries; part 2, 94–5 n.1–2, 135 n.2, 138 n. 2–3, 5–6ff on Moroccan instability as a result of France conquest of Algeria).

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these sources provide any larger historical context for why Sol was not simply returned to her family. To answer this question one needs to consider Jewish status in Moroccan society and to look at the situation in Morocco prior to her execution, particularly the period from the 1820s and 1830s. However, as Miège has pointed out, this is an obscure period in Moroccan history.79 This is also true for this period in Tangier, particularly Tangerine Jewish history.80 Much of the Jewish chronicles on Morocco are focused on the city of Fez.81 The Tangier Jewish community accounts, the Libro de Actas de la Junta Selecta de la Comunidad Hebrea de Tanger begins in 1860.82 Jacob Toledano, the author of Ner Ha-Ma arav, wrote an article in 1932 on the history of the Jews of Tangier.83 This article also did not cover the period of the 1820s and 1830s, but did discuss the growth of the Tangier Jewish community in the 18th century, with the settling of 79 Miège, Chronique de Tanger 1820–1830 Journal de Bendelac, 6. Many of the histories of Morocco in the 19th century written by Moroccan historians including Kenbib’s history (op. cit.) start in the 1860s, Ukashah Bir āb, Shamāl al-Maghrib al-sharqī qabla al-i tilāl al-Faransī, 1873–1907 ([Casablanca]: Jāmi at al- asan al-Thānī, 1981); Mu ammad Ābid Jābirī, al-Maghrib al-mu ā ir: al-khu ū īyah wa-al-huwīyah—al- adāthah wa-al-tanmiyah (al-Dār al-Bay ā : Mu assasat Bansharah, 1988). Jābirī’s starting point is 1874. 80 Serels’ book on Jewish history in Tangier only devotes nine pages to this period and most of that is devoted to Sol. Serels, A History of the Jews of Tangier in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, 1–9. His account of Sol’s martyrdom is mostly based on Romero. He also cites Ben Naim, Toledano, Divre ha-yamin shel Fas, which are analyzed in chapter three below, as well as Laredo, and Loeb. Hirschberg’s work, in addition to his account of Sol’s story, contains only two pages on Tangier, and those pages cover the 18th century. H. Z. Hirschberg, A History of the Jews in North Africa, 2nd revised ed., vol. 2 ( Leiden: Brill, 1981), 275–77, 304–05. Susan Miller’s work on Tangier begins in the 1840s. See Susan Gilson Miller, “Crisis and Community: the People of Tangier and the French Bombardment of 1844,” Middle Eastern Studies 27, no. 4 (1991): 583–96. 81 Hirschberg, op. cit., 189. 82 Sidney Salomó Pimienta and Vidal Sephiha, Libro de actas de la junta selecta de la comunidad hebrea de Tanger desde 6 heshvan 5621 hasta 29 iyar 5635 ( Paris: P. Abensur, 1992). The document covers events from October 22, 1860 to June 3, 1875. Jacob Toledano wrote an article on the Jewish community of Tangier that focused on kashrut controversies and internal conflicts in the community and its leadership who served as merchants for the Sultan and European powers. His article doesn’t provide much information on issues relevant to Sol’s case, namely relations between Muslims and Jews in the city in the 1830s. Jacob M. Toledano, “Ha-Yehudim be-Tangir,” Hebrew Union College Annual, no. 8–9 (1932): 481–92. Susan Miller’s articles also focus on the period after the 1830s. In addition to Miller, op. cit., see Susan G. Miller, “Gender and the Poetics of Emancipation: The Alliance Israélite Universelle in Northern Morocco, 1890–1912,” in Franco-Arab Encounters Studies in Memory of David C. Gordon, ed. L. Carl Brown and Mathew S. Gordon ( Beirut: American University of Beirut, 1996), 229–56; Miller, “Dhimma Reconsidered.” 83 Toledano, “Ha-Yehudim be-Tangir.”

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Jewish merchants from Sali, Meknes and Tetuan. Their settlement was related to the expansion of trade with Europe and some of the leading members of the community, such as Moshe Ben Mamon, served as Controller of Customs under Mawlay Mu ammad Ben Abdallah. He supported the expansion of trade and granted exemptions from taxation to Jewish merchants in order to develop trade with Europe. This aroused resentment among non-Jewish merchants and Ben Mamon was murdered in Tetuan in 1763.84 His son-in-law was appointed by the Sharifian Court and continued the same policy. Toledano also mentioned Samuel Ben Sumbol, who served as Nagid of the Tangier community and negotiated a treaty with Spain in the time of Mawlay Mu ammad. The author also discussed the economic hardships and threats the community suffered during the reign of Mawlay Yazīd (1790–1792) and mentioned the names of prominent court Jews who served under the previous Sultan who were resident in Tangier at the time, including the Cardozo brothers and Jacob Attal.85 The works in Spanish and French by Tangier Jewish writers, Laredo and Assayag also do not contain material on the Jewish community in the 1820s and 1830s, beyond their versions of Sol’s story discussed in chapter one. As can be seen from Toledano’s account, much of the information that does exist on Tangier’s Jewish community in this period focuses on Tangier Jews’ involvement with European consuls. In addition to Ben Mamon and Sumbol, Judah Benoniel, another Tangier Jew, served as the Sultan’s representative in Gibraltar. He was also an intermediary for Gibraltar Jews and government officials in the 1820s.86 Isaac Abensur served as Drummond-Hay’s interpreter starting in 1829. Meir Macnin, originally from Essaouira, served as the Custom’s Official in Tangier in 1825, in addition to being the Sultan’s representative with European countries. As Schroeter has pointed out, Macnin had more power than any Jew in Europe in the 1820s.87 European

Ibid., 485. Toledano, op. cit., 485–6. Schroeter’s The Sultan’s Jew discusses the fate of Sumbal (57–59), the Cardozo brothers, (24) and Jacob Attal, (27) all of whom served as tujjār al-sul ān, the Sultan’s merchants, all of whom were imprisoned and three of who were killed. The Cardozo brothers were also discussed in Samuel Romanelli, Travail in an Arab Land; translated from the Hebrew with introduction and notes by Yedida K. Stillman and Norman A. Stillman ( Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1989), 81–85ff, 142. 86 Schroeter, op. cit., 124. 87 Ibid., 105, 121. This fact itself and the phenomenon of the ‘Court Jew’ begs the question of whether the prominence of individual Jews provided any indication 84 85

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consulates resented his monopolies over their trade with Morocco.88 Often these resentments would make use of anti-Semitic stereotypes. Macnin, and even Abensur were described as “duplicitous cheats” and “cunning Jews.”89 Samuel Romanelli’s travel account for an earlier period (1786–1790) also contains an unflattering description of courtiers, both Jews and non-Jews. “Such people, whether Gentile or Jew, are merely instruments of the King . . .No one dares to harm them lest [he] be devoured. But if they lose the King’s favor for even a moment, they are lost forever . . . They are feared not loved. Capable of only evildoing, they know nothing of benevolence . . . The majority of them will not die as most men do . . .”90 These courtiers were at the top of the social hierarchy. They acted as the Sultan’s representatives and his merchants, trading on credits from him and on his behalf.91 As such, they were much easier to control than European and non-Makhzen sponsored traders would have been had the Sultan accepted the free market ‘liberalization of trade’ that the consuls kept advocating.92 In

regarding the legal status or well being of the rest of the Jewish community in any given society. 88 Ibid., 121, 123, 131. Macnin also owed money to French and British creditors, both Jewish and Gentile. Upon hearing of Macnin’s appointment as ambassador to London, the British consul general, James Douglas, advised the Sultan not to send a Jew like Macnin as ambassador to London, but to send a “respectable Moorish subject.” (Ibid., 131) See also Kenbib on European consulates resentment of Moroccan Jewish monopolies over trade. Kenbib, Juifs et Musulmans au Maroc 1859–1948, 36. 89 Ibid., 123, Ibid., 43 n.47. On Abensur, see Pennell, Morocco Since 1830, 32. Another example is contained in E.W.A. Drummond-Hay’s diary entry for January 5 1830, (folio 7, in Bodleian Library, MS. Eng. his. E349). Drummond-Hay had asked Abensur not to mention war with Austrians as he was trying to convince the Sultan to allow the British to survey the Moroccan Atlantic coastline and develop a commercial marine, but suspected that he had done so to promote his own advantage. “I never mentioned the Austrians or the war with them and desired [he] not to do so; but believe from own purpose the squeal (?) that the cunning Jew thinking it wd. answer his purpose, did assist the piquancy of this version of my speech by introducing an exemplification of the advantage that might accrue (?) to Marrocco (sic) in the Sultan’s Govt. being able to hold at weight the attempts of such naval enemies as Imperialists.” In addition to acting as translator Abensur also served as Drummond-Hay’s procurer of foodstuffs, “Delivered to Abensar for sundries. 46 dollars and 3 pesetas . . .” (MSS Eng; hist. e.346, folio 152, underline in original) 90 Romanelli, Travail in an Arab Land; translated from the Hebrew with introduction and notes by Yedida K. Stillman and Norman A. Stillman, 79. Samuel Romanelli, an Italian Jew, ended up stranded in Morocco and became an employee of one such court Jew, Eliahu Levi, whom he accused of causing the death of another courtier, a member of the Cardozo family of prominent Gibraltarine Jews (Ibid., 83). 91 Schroeter, The Sultan’s Jew: Morocco and the Sephardi world, 54. 92 Drumond-Hay, op. cit. folio 7.

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addition to engaging in long distance trade, the highest ranks of courtiers worked as tax farmers, particularly of taxes decreed by the Sultan, but not sanctioned by the Qur ān (mukūs).93 Using Jews as intermediaries between Morocco and Europe and between the Makhzen and the masses of taxpayers had its advantages. Because of their dhimma status, Moroccan Jews were dependent on the Sultan for protection. Since the period of Mawlay Ismā īl (1672–1727) Jewish merchants were used as intermediaries in order to reduce European pressure and prevent the possibility of unauthorized trade and sedition.94 This state of affairs lasted until the second half of the 19th century. Not all Jews served as courtiers. The vast majority was not. Lower down the merchant hierarchy, they acted as peddlers and local merchants in the interior, economically linking remote, rural villages with the imperial cities and the coastal ports. In Fez Jewish artisans worked in the tanning and precious metal industry.95 They were involved in manufacture and trade at all levels in both the rural and urban economies.96 Miège states that the Jewish population in Tangier in 1829 was 1600 and they comprised 20% of the whole. Echoing de Nesry, Miège stated that there was no part of the Tangerine economy in which Jews were not involved.97 Similar to other sources, he concentrates on the elite. Information on the lives of the majority of Jews on the lower rungs of society is much harder to come by. Romanelli’s travelogue described most of the Jewish population as ‘downtrodden and oppressed.’98 He described how the Jewish courtiers were able to exempt themselves from dhimma prohibitions by virtue of their contact with the Sultan.99 Macnin, in addition to receiving horses from the Sultan (an animal forbidden to dhimma) was also the recipient of

Schroeter, “Royal Power and the Economy,” 74–102. On the use of Jewish merchants to fulfill this role see Kenbib, Juifs et Musulmans au Maroc 1859–1948, 43. For an account of rebellions and Mawlay Ismā īl’s consolidation of power, see Abun-Nasr, op. cit., 230–36. 95 Chaim Bentov, “Omanim u-Va ale Melakhah be-Fas,” in Ha-Yehudim be-Marako ha-Sharifit, ed. Shalom Bar-Asher (Yerushayim: Merkaz Zalman Shazar le-ha amakat ha-toda ah ha-historit ha-yehudit, 1977), 135–66. 96 Shalom Bar-Asher, “Ha-Yehudim be-Afriqah ha- fonit u-be-Mi rayim,” 134– 43. 97 Miège, Chronique de Tanger 1820–1830 Journal de Bendelac, 16. According to Miège they were, “. . . minorité manipulée a-t-on dit; minorité, en fait, agissante et, parfois, manipulatrice” (Ibid., 17). 98 Romanelli, Travail in an Arab Land, 79–80. 99 Ibid., p. 90 93 94

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a remittance of 200 ducats from the Jewish community of Tangier.100 Mawlay Sulīmān, in his attempt to build his rule more soundly on Islamic law and the consent of the ulamā tried to curtain the abuse of privileges and get the Jewish merchants to pay their fair share of the jizya.101 He also wanted to enforce the sharī a laws more closely and thus sided with the ulamā in not allowing a Jewish bathhouse to be built in Fez.102 He established new mella s in Tetuan, Essaouira and other cities. Eventually the elite of Swarwi Jewish merchants were able to procure exemptions and the mella of that city consisted mostly of Jews from the lower ranks.103 Both Tangier and Essaouira had populations of European merchants and consular officials in the 1820s and 1830s and they were serviced by Jewish stewards, interpreters, and domestic staff.104 Sol’s family occupied the niche of lower level merchants and retailers in the port city of Tangier. When their business interests floundered, the sons were forced to work as servants for the European consuls. They did not have any consular protection or protégé status. They were also not official merchant representatives of the Sultan. While Jews of the highest ranks, who served as court officials or European protégés could get themselves exempt from dhimma restrictions, Jews of the lower ranks could not. Thus the prominence of court Jews, whose power was limited and often fleeting, did not always translate into benefits for ordinary Jews. In 1834, no court Jew was able to rescue Sol, although at least one, Raphael arfati, tried. Sol’s family’s limited resources and liminal status were probably contributing factors that sealed her fate. The question remains to be seen whether any of the European consulates would have had any inclination to help her. Europeans’ interactions with Morocco and Moroccans were made through Jewish intermediaries. Jews served the European residents living in the port cities of Essaouira and Tangier and Europeans visited and lodged in the homes of Moroccan Jews.105 Schroeter, Sultan’s Jew, 117. Kenbib, Juifs et Musulmans au Maroc, 52. 102 Ibid., 61. Kenbib states that conservative ulamā argued against more liberal interpretations of dhimma restrictions as a result of the increased prominence of wealthy Jewish merchants. 103 Schroeter, Sultan’s Jew, 93. 104 See Schoeter on Europeans entry into Moroccan Jewish homes and their use of Moroccan Jews as consular staff, Ibid., 121; Miège Chronique de Tanger 1820–1830 Journal de Bendelac, 17 on Christians in Tangier. On Jews working as domestics, see Rey, Souvenirs d’un Voyage au Maroc, 140. 105 Romanelli, Travail in an Arab Land, 21, 23. 100 101

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In fact in this period the only homes that Christian Europeans could enter were those of Jews.106 What opinions did Europeans in Morocco have of Jews in the 1830s? Elizabeth Murray described her entrance onto the shores of Tangier on the backs of ‘vagabond Jews.’ In the early 19th century Tangier did not have a port that would allow passengers to come ashore without wading through water, or being carried by Jewish porters. She describes the scene when two of these porters fought for custom. “. . . [ T ]he two sons of Abraham quarrelled [sic], and lost no time in proceeding to a liberal interchange of blows and scratches . . . the achievements of the tongue afforded by far the greatest amusement to the stranger who was the object of this petty quarrel, which seemed to have been got up for the express purpose of giving her an insight into one of the varieties of low life in Morocco.”107 Or perhaps the intent was to earn a few meager coins in a situation of poverty. John Drummond-Hay, the son and successor of Edward William Auriol Drummond-Hay, the British Consul General in Tangier from 1829 to 1845, described the Jews of Morocco as “the slave of slaves.”108 Such a description did not elicit any more sympathy on his part than it did on the part of Murray. “It is painful to look upon these degraded Israelites. Gross ignorance, bigotry, and depravity are stamped upon their features . . .”109 Despite these unflattering descriptions, the British Consul became the arbiter between Gibraltarine Jews, most of whom had originated from Morocco and worked in commerce supplying the British fort with its foodstuffs, and the Makhzen.110 The area of contention had to do with how Gibraltarine Jews should be treated when they were in Morocco. The Sultan still considered them his subjects and subject to dhimma restrictions regarding clothes and the jizya. In 1806 Cardozo petitioned the British consul to request that he ask the Sultan to withdraw his decree “prohibiting all persons professing the Hebrew Religion in general from appearing in any of his domains wearing European dress.”111 In 1816 the Moroccan authorities still demanded 106 107

9–10.

Schroeter, Sultan’s Jew, 121. Murray, Sixteen Years of An Artist’s Life in Morocco, Spain and the Canary Islands,

Drummond-Hay, Western Barbary: Its Tribes and Savage Animals, 1. Ibid. The author was describing his visit to a synagogue, whose prayer service he characterized as “wild beasts in a cage, mumbling their orisons.” (69) 110 Miège, Chronique de Tangier, 16; Schroeter, Sultan’s Jew, 44. 111 Stillman, The Jews of Arab Lands, 367. 108 109

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the enforcement of the dress code,112 which consisted of a black burnous and identified the wearer as a dhimma.113 Finally in 1831, after repeated British negotiation, British Jewish subjects coming from Gibraltar were finally allowed to wear European attire.114 European Consular officials were not as concerned, however, with the situation of Moroccan Jews still living in Morocco, unless they were under their employment. While European travelers devoted some space to description of Tangier Jews, European consulates had other priorities during this period. While E.W.A. Drummond-Hay’s personal papers contained notebooks which included descriptions of Morocco’s people, including Jews, as well as its flora and fauna, his diplomatic correspondence from 1834 shows that he did not wish to intervene on behalf of Moroccan Jews who were not under his employ.115 His son, John Drummond-Hay, who inherited his position, chose to intervene in 1845, advocating the return of ‘a Jewish lad’ to his family, citing what happened to Sol and a desire to avoid a similar outcome despite British official policy of non-interference in Moroccan internal affairs.116 This change in policy was probably the result of changing power relations between Morocco and Europe, particularly after the French defeated the Sultan’s forces at the Battle of l’Isly in 1844. However at the time Sol was held in prison in Tangier the European consulates were not able to impose their will on the Sultan and their primary concern was devoted to protecting Western merchant vessels and not the welfare of Moroccan Jewry. American diplomatic correspondence from Tangier made no mention of Moroccan Jews during this period.117 The earliest

112 According to Romanelli, who was in Morocco between 1786 and 1790, this dress code also applied to European Christians when they landed in Tetuan, Romanelli, Travail in an Arab Land, 3, 19. 113 Schroeter, Sultan’s Jew, 88–9. Some of the richer Jews paid great sums of money for the privilege of being able to wear European dress and avoid the insults to which one was exposed as a result of wearing the traditional attire. Romanelli, op. cit. 114 Schroeter, op. cit. 115 Edward Wm Auriol Drummond-Hay, journals, Bodleian Library, ( MSS Eng; hist. e.346–9, as well as d.492) contain such descriptions. “Correspondence 1830– 1844 n.d” (MS Eng. Hist c. 1075) does not contain any reference to Sol Hatchuel or her family. He discusses Sol’s execution in the official consulate dairy in an entry dated June 9, 1834. Bashan, “Te udot adashot al Solika mi-Maroqo.” 116 Bashan, “Te udot adashot al Solika mi-Maroqo.” 117 National Archives, General Records of the Department of State, Diplomatic and Consular Instructions 5:145, Consular Dispatches: Tangier 1797–1906, T.61 roll 1–8.

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American correspondence, from the 1790s to the 1830s, shows that the preoccupation was with securing American merchant vessels and with treaty negotiations. This lack of interest in Jewish welfare is also marked by the press. In the London Times there was very little discussion of the internal affairs of Morocco and no concern over the status of the Jews in the first half of the 19th century.118 Such a concern would not emerge until around the time of Moses Montefiori’s visit to Morocco in 1861.119 Despite Romero’s claim that the Vice Consul José Rico helped Sol’s family, a search of the Spanish Consul papers in the National Archives in Madrid showed no trace of this, nor any mention of Sol Hatchuel, her family or any other member of the Jewish community in Tangier.120 This is consistent with Jousouah’s version.121 Instead, Spain’s consular officials were concerned with the ships passing through Tangier,122 with attacks on its bases at Ceuta and Mellila and its own civil war.123 In Boutet’s version of Sol’s story, written almost a century later, the French consul tries unsuccessfully to demand Sol’s release, and a French ‘renegade’ proposes smuggling her out of Morocco on a boat.124 However in 1834 French consular officials were preoccupied with trying to force Morocco to stop supporting Abd al-Qādir’s resistance to their conquest of Algeria.125

118 There is only one article for the first three decades of the 19th century in the London Times (“Hebrew Ambassador From Morocco”, May 1, 1827 (6, col. d ). The next article is in 1858 (“Jews of Morocco” January 14, 1858 (6, col. f ). 119 For a copy of the dhahir from that visit see Stillman, The Jews of Arab Lands, 371–73. In addition to a series of articles on Montefiore’s visit to Morocco, the London Times published a number of articles on Moroccan Jews, mostly on violent attacks, from September 1873 to February 1880 (September 2, 1873, 4, col. d; September 3, 1873, 6 col. e; June 23, 1876, 5, col. e; June 29, 1876, 7, col. e; February 7, 1880, 4, col. e, 5 col. e; February 12, 1880, 7, col. d; February 21, 1880, 5, col. e). 120 Archivo Histórico Nacional, ESTADO, Legaje 5825, Legación de España en Marruecos (1833/1840); ESTADO, Legaje 8364 Correspondencia del Consulado de España en Tánger (1834/1840). 121 Rey, Souvenirs d’un Voyage au Maroc, 154. 122 Archivo Histórico Nacional, op. cit. In fact no Jews are mentioned by name in these archives, although some archives mention the use of Jews as interpreters (e.g. “un judio diestro” [a skillful Jew], Legajo 8364, No. 407, Tanger, 23 de diciembre, 1834). 123 Jerónimo Bécker, España y Marruecos: sus relaciones diplomáticas durante el siglo XIX (Madrid: Tipolitografía R. Péant, 1903), 126–28. 124 Boutet, “ Sulika La vie de Sol Hatchuel,” L’Avenir Illustré 9/30/1929, 8; 11/14/1929, 8. 125 After France’s conquest of Algeria its relation with the Makhzen was soured and at first its policy was to try to placate the Sultan, see Lakhassassi, “Des rapports franco-marocains pendant la conquête et l’occupation de l’Algérie (1830–1851)”, part

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As mentioned above, in 1830, four years before Sol’s execution France invaded Algiers and began its conquest of Algeria. The effects of this invasion were felt almost immediately. France’s taking of Morocco’s neighbor to the East was seen as a threat to Islam in general and Morocco in particular.126 The problems started immediately on Morocco’s eastern frontier. The region of Western Algeria and Eastern Morocco had many affinities that crossed the unclear boundary between Sharifian Morocco and the Western boundaries of the Ottoman Empire. There were tribes whose lands crossed these boundaries and many merchant families had branches in Oran and Tetuan, Tlemcen and Fez.127 In fact, the leader of the 19th century Algerian resistance, Abd al-Qādir, had ancestors from Morocco, and was considered to be a descendant of the Sharif Idrīs I, the founder of the first Islamic Moroccan dynasty in Fez.128 The Sultan, Mawlay Abd al-Ra man, as defender of Islam and leader of the Umma was put into a political and theological dilemma when the Muslim religious leaders of Tlemcen, in Western Algeria, declared their bay a to him in 1830. At first he referred the matter to the ulamā of Fez and he received a fatwa that stated that he could not accept such allegiance because it had already been given to the Ottoman Sultan. But when the ulamā of Tlemcen stated that they had been left leaderless as a result of the French invasion of their country, he could not ignore their demands to become his subjects.129 His ability to protect the Muslim Community from European encroachment was one of the main sources of his legitimacy and right to rule. For this reason the Moroccan Sultan could not ignore the bay a of Tlemcen and the popular calls of support for

2, 17, n.1. By 1832 France’s priorities were dominated by its concerns over Moroccan support for Algerian resistance, (Ibid., part 2, 130, n. 2). In 1834 France’s relations with Morocco were still preoccupied with the question of Moroccan support for the Algerian resistance to their conquest of Algeria (Ibid., part 2, 139, n. 1–2). 126 Mohammed Kenbib, “The Impact of the French Conquest of Algeria on Morocco (1830–1912),” Hesperis Tamuda XXIX, no. Fasc.1 (1991): 47–60. 127 Kenbib discusses the relations between Moroccans and Algerians prior to the French conquest and the Moroccan reaction to it, which he describes as a general state of “ jihad mobilization” at the time, (Ibid.). On economic, tribal and familiar connections between Eastern Morocco and Western Algeria see also Umar Bū Zayyān, Judhūr itti ād al-Maghrib wa-al-Jazā ir, 1832–1845 ([ Rabat]: Manshūrāt Ukā , 1988), 72, 92. 128 Ibid., 83, Bennison, Jihad and its Interpretations in Pre-Colonial Morocco State-society relations during the French conquest of Algeria, 124–25. 129 Pennell, Morocco Since 1830, 42.

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Abd al-Qādir’s resistance.130 He was obliged by both the sharī a and popular opinion to defend Islam from European encroachment. This invasion did not stop with the conquest of Algeria. Already in 1830 the French sent a warship to Tangier and after the Sultan had accepted the bay a of Tlemcen, he had to prepare to defend both the Moroccan coast and the newly incorporated territory in Western Algeria. Tensions between Muslims and non-Muslims rose, particularly in the port cities. The increased patrols of French battleships off the Moroccan coastal waters during this period put a strain on interfaith relations and prompted the Pasha of Tangier to declare that he couldn’t guarantee the safety of Christians or Jews if such aggression continued.131 That native Moroccan Jews would be placed in the same category as European Christians indicates both the important roles that religion and the concept of the Umma played in unifying Moroccan society as well as the ambiguous position and complex role Jews played in that society.132 Even though Moroccan Jews were part of the native population, their status as non-Muslims overrode their autochthonous roots. This was particularly true in the port cities where Jews often served as intermediaries between European consuls and Moroccan Muslims. The former were both trading partners and military rivals and, after 1830, conquerors of a part of the Dār al-Islām. In times of tension between European Christians and Muslims, Jews under the employ of the former were put in greater danger as a result of their associations with those who were seen to be threatening Islam. Meanwhile the situation in the interior and eastern border was also getting worse. The Sultan’s army in Tlemcen was unable to establish its rule and was forced to retreat when part of the old tribes loyal to

130 Bennison, Jihad and its Interpretations in Pre-Colonial Morocco State-society relations during the French conquest of Algeria, 89, 108. 131 Flournoy, British Policy towards Morocco in the Age of Palmerston (1830–1865), 61. Kenbib discusses further repercussions of the French Conquest on relations between Muslims and Jews in Morocco, Kenbib, Juifs et Musulmans au Maroc 1859–1948, 61–62. For a brief summary of the events that precipitated the French conquest of Algeria. see Elizabeth Friedman, Colonialism and After An Algerian Jewish Community, ed. Stanley Aronowitz, Critical Studies in Work and Community (South Hadley, MA: Bergin & Garvey, 1988), 3. For a more detailed historical analysis see Morton Rosenstock, “The House of Bacri and Bunasch: A Chapter from Algeria’s Commerical History,” Jewish Social Studies 14, no. 4 (1952): 343–64. 132 Germain Ayache, “Le Sentiment national dans le Maroc du XIXeme siècle,” Revue Historique [ France] 240, no. 2 (1968): 393–410. Also see Laroui, Les origines sociales et culturelles du nationalisme marocain (1830–1912), 113, 310–11.

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the deposed Ottoman rulers threw their weight behind French-client Muslim rulers based in Tunisia.133 Moroccan Muslims began taking matters into their own hands, particularly in the Rif region. Eruptions along the Moroccan coast flared up around the same time. In 1834 Riffian privateers became active in the Straits, and in 1835 British Christians were attacked.134 While England tried to position itself as a broker between the Sultan and other European powers, tensions between France and Morocco continued unabated, with French consulates seeing their protégés attacked during the period of Roche’s tenure as secretary to the French consul.135 In 1834 the French consular mission was preoccupied with stopping the Algerian resistance. Once the conquest had been completed and the Algerian resistance movement crushed, French consular officials were able to give expression to humanitarian sentiments. Henri de la Martinière, the chargé d’affaires in Tangier in the 1880s, admitted that he regretted that the European consulates did not do more to save Sol on purely humanitarian grounds.136 But in 1834 France would not have been able to intervene on Sol’s behalf, even if there were such ‘humanitarian’ concerns.137 The Sultan’s defeats, starting with the failed jihad in Tlemcen, seriously jeopardized his reputation and legitimacy. These threats from without were combined with instability from within. In 1831 the Oudaya rebelled against Mawlay Abd al-Ra mān, forcing him to withdraw temporarily from Fez.138 According to rabbinic sources, in the final battles between the Sultan’s forces and the Oudaya in 1832, the later hid in the mella in Fez. Eventually they were put down and the Jewish community celebrated their deliverance from the rebel tribes with a second Purim.139 In accordance with the Pact of Umar, in exchange for subordination, dhimma were entitled to such protection from the Sultan. His ability to protect this unarmed community was often seen as a measure of his power and efficacy.140 133 Bennison, Jihad and its Interpretations in Pre-Colonial Morocco State-society relations during the French conquest of Algeria, 57. 134 Flournoy, British Policy towards Morocco in the Age of Palmerston (1830–1865), 45. 135 J. Caillé, “La France et le Maroc 1849,” Hespéris 33, no. 1er–2e Trimestres (1946): 123–56. 136 de la Martinière, Souvenirs du Maroc, 8. 137 Ibid. 138 al-Nā irī, Kitāb al-Istiq ā li-akhbār duwal al-Maghrib al-aq ā vol. 9, 35. 139 Toledano, Ner ha-ma arav: hu toldot Yisra el be-Maroqo. 140 Abu al-Qāsim al-Zayyānī (1734–1833), when he praised the Sultan Mawlay Ismā īl for maintaining safety on the roads, stated that even a Jew or a woman could

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A way to challenge this power would be to show that he could not protect such communities by attacking them. When rebellions broke out in cities such as Fez, in many instances it was the mella , which in Fez was adjacent to the palace, that was attacked.141 In fact the abovementioned revolt of the Oudaya in 1831 nearly drove the Sultan from power.142 As indicated above, both Ben Naim and Jousouah’s account in Rey indicate that Mawlay Abd al-Ra mān wanted to return Sol to her family, but could not do so due to the aroused public opinion at the time. The French invasion of Algeria certainly was a contributing factor to such sentiments. Toledano’s appraisal of the Sultan was that he was honest and inclined towards compassion for the Jews, but his reign was fraught with political instability and he often was forced to compromise with those who wished to harm them.143 Fez, the city of Sol’s execution and interment, was the center of support for the Algerian resistance. In fact, when Algerians came to Meknes to ask for the Sultan’s support in 1832, they happened to arrive at the same time that the French delegation did, demanding that he cease this support. They were instructed to wait for his reply in Fez.144 Given that Fez was the center of this resistance, what was the situation for the Jews there? Despite the aroused religious outrage on the part of Muslims, an outrage that was redirected at all nonMuslims in the port cities, Moroccan Jews played a part in supplying Amīr Abd al-Qādir with arms.145 In addition to being an important center of support for the Amīr, it was the capital of Morocco’s first Muslim dynasty. Fez had been the center of the ulamā and the seat of Islamic learning with the Qarawīyīn mosque and university. The bay a travel unmolested. Cited in Norman A. Stillman, “Muslims and Jews in Morocco,” The Jerusalem Quarterly 5, no. Fall (1977): 78. 141 Daniel Schroeter has pointed out the relation between ‘incidents of anti-Jewish violence’ and ‘interregnum’. Schroeter, The Sultan’s Jew: Morocco and the Sephardi world, 9. This connection can be seen in rabbinic chronicles and histories. Toledano, Ner ha-ma arav: hu toldot Yisra el be-Maroqo, 231, 237, 254. These were also times of famine. During these periods the general population was also exposed to the violence of rebelling segments of Moroccan society. On the Oudaya revolts see al-Nā irī, Kitāb al-Istiq ā li-akhbār duwal al-Maghrib al-aq ā vol. 9, 33ff. 142 Bennison, Jihad and its Interpretations in Pre-Colonial Morocco State-society relations during the French conquest of Algeria, 57–58. 143 Toledano, Ner ha-ma arav: hu toldot Yisra el be-Maroqo, 253. 144 Lakhassassi, “Des rapports franco-marocains pendant la conquête et l’occupation de l’Algérie (1830–1851)”, part 2, 130–31. 145 Bū Zayyān, Judhūr itti ād al-Maghrib wa-al-Jazā ir, 1832–1845, 120.

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of the communities of Fez were the most important for establishing the rule of the Sultan. It was in that city where the bay a for Mawlay Abd al-Ra mān took place in 1823. Fez had frequently been the site of rebellion against the Sultan, as in the case of Mawlay Ismā īl.146 It was the center of the Oudaya rebellion mentioned above. Fez also played an important role in Moroccan Jewish history. It was the focal point for the return to Judaism of conversos escaping the Inquisition.147As Hirschberg noted, much of the Moroccan Hebrew chronicle writing was centered in Fez and focused on this Jewish community.148 Their origins in Fez go back to the founding days of the city when Mawlay Idrīs II invited Jews to settle there and help develop the economy.149 Maimonides lived in Fez for awhile, studying under its rabbis. It was the home of R. Dunash Ben Labrat, the Hebrew poet and grammarian who first applied Arabic metrics to Hebrew poetry. David Ovadia called Fez the city in which “traditions were preserved for many generations,” “the center of the Torah and its sages” and “one of the capitals of holy learning.”150 It was the birthplace of two of the authors of the Hebrew Sulika texts, Joseph Ben Naim and Samuel Elbaz. Among its illustrious Jewish families of the 19th century was the arfatis, who served as court officials and representatives of the community. Raphael arfati, serving in this function in the 1830s, was given permission to gather Sol’s remains and have them buried.151 The role of Fez as the center of Islamic discontent against rulers, as in the ulamā revolt against Mawlay Ismā īl, and as the place where rebellious troops congregated, as in the case of the Oudaya revolt, placed the Jewish community in a vulnerable position and showed how dependent they were on the Sultan for protection.152 This insecurity was

Abun-Nasr, A History of the Maghrib in the Islamic period, 234–35. Ben Naim, Malkhe rabbanan, 91a; Haim Beinart, “Fas—Merkaz le-giyyur u-leshivat anusim le-yahadut be-me ah ha-16,” in Pirqe Sefarad, ed. Haim Beinart ( Yerushalayim: Ho a at sefarim a. sh. Y.L. Magnes, ha-Universi ah ha- Ivrit, 1998), 855–68. 148 Hirschberg, A History of the Jews in North Africa, 189. 149 Zafrani, Two thousand years of Jewish life in Morocco, 3. 150 David Ovadia, ed. Fas ve- akhameha: divre yeme ha-Yehudim bi-q.q. (qehillat qodesh) Fas (Yerushalayim: Ho a at Bet Oved, makhon le- eker Yahadut Maroqo, 1978), 9, 28. 151 Malkhe rabbanan, after folio 127. ( Pagination ends with the last biographical entry, folio 126. The rest of the book, including the story about Sol is not paginated.) 152 Deshen, Mellah Society, 32. 146 147

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reflected in the accounts written in the Hebrew historical writings such as Divre ha-yamin shel Fas.153 In addition to periodic attacks on the Jewish community, another issue of complaint revealed in the writings was the heavy tax burden.154 As indicated above the problem of financing the Sultan’s court and his military was a perennial problem at least since the time of A mad al-Man ūr if not before.155 Excessive taxation of the Umma often led to rebellion. However, the unarmed Jewish minority was more easily and successfully pressed into paying whatever tribute was demanded of them. When many of their most successful merchants sought relief from such burdens and the other debilities of dhimma status in consular protections, the Makhzen’s treasury suffered.156 This was particularly a problem in the second half of the 19th century when the number of both Jewish and Muslim protégés increased dramatically. The balance of power began shifting between Morocco and Europe with the French invasion of Algeria. This event threw Moroccan society into a crisis and this crisis had repercussions on relations between Muslims and non-Muslims inside Morocco. The aroused public opinion, particularly in Fez, prevented the Sultan from simply returning Sol to her family, a solution that, according to several of the sources, he preferred. The French invasion of Algeria also resulted in continuous border disputes between Morocco and France. In 1844 France bombarded Moroccan ports, including Tangier. In 1860 Spain occupied Tetuan until Britain forced it to withdraw. The British policy had been to open Morocco’s markets up to free trade and to do this Britain Benayahu and Serero, eds., Divre Ha-yamin shel Fas. Vajda’s translation of the period covering the early 19th century contains entries for three incidents of the Oudaya pillaging of the Mella in Fez in 1820, 1822, and 1831. Georges Vajda, Un Recueil de Textes Historiques Judéo-Marocains, Collection Hespéris (1951), 100. 154 Gerber, Jewish society in Fez 1450–1700: studies in communal and economic life., 184ff, Shalom Bar-Asher, “Ha-Yehudim be-Afriqah ha- fonit u-be-Mi rayim,” 146. 155 According to Abun-Nasr, when his subjects complained of overtaxation, al-Man ūr was reported to have said, “ ‘The people of Morocco are lunatics, and their madhouse consists of oppression.’ ” (Abun-Nasr, 216). 156 Schroeter discusses the utility of Jewish merchants for the Moroccan Sultans. As non-Muslims they would not be corrupted by contact with European Christians the way Muslims would and their dependence on the Sultan meant that they would not be a threat to his rule or “undermine the authority of the dynasty.” (The Sultan’s Jew, 11) Pennell describes the final collapse of Moroccan sovereignty at the end of the 19th century and the role that European merchants and their Moroccan business partners and protégés played in the economic disintegration. ( Pennell, Morocco Since 1830, 118–119). 153

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made ample use of protégés who benefited from capitulation agreements that placed them out of Moroccan government jurisdiction. Morocco’s defeat at the hands of European powers from the 1830s onward, combined with its weakening economic position, helped to destabilize its society. This instability led to an increase in violence, especially against Jews who did not benefit from consular protection. These incidents increased at a time when European presence in Morocco grew. While all this was happening European powers, especially Britain, began taking a greater interest in the state of Morocco Jewry, as can be seen from John Drummond-Hay’s efforts in 1845. This concern became even more pronounced after Montefiore’s visit to the Sultan’s Court in 1864. Several researchers have discussed the economic motivations behind European diplomatic interventions on behalf of Jews that took place later in the century after 1850.157 To understand the economic motivation behind the growing concern for Moroccan Jewish welfare in the second half of the 19th century, it is important to remember that many Jews in the coastal ports, especially in Tangier, played a vital role as intermediaries between the Europeans and Moroccan Muslims. As European presence in Morocco increased over the course of the century, their mediating role became more prominent. As stated above, the consular records, the secondary sources and the earliest versions of Sol’s story show virtually no interest in protecting non-protégé Jews in the 1830s. Such an interest would not appear until later in the 19th century, when the balance of power shifted in favor of Europe, which was able to impose its demands for free trade on Morocco. As more Europeans entered the Moroccan interior for trading purposes, they became more interested in its social relations, including relations between Muslims and Jews. Later in the

157 Ayache stated that European powers used the Jewish issue to advance their own agenda of colonial conquest, Ayache, “La minorité juive dans le Maroc précolonial,” 165. Cruickshank makes an implicit connection between British merchants’ interests and the protegé system when he presents the British position as having “no desire to extend protection beyond the provisions of their treaties of 1856. It could not, however, consent to deprive British merchants of any advantages conceded to merchants of any other country.” Earl Fee Cruickshank, Morocco at the parting of the ways ( Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1935), 45. Ortega, advocating Spain’s adoption of a ‘Sephardic policy’ made the connection between national economic interest and protecting Jews explicit. Manuel L. Ortega, Los Hebreos en Marruecos (Madrid: Editorial Hispano Africana, 1919), 298. See Vance, “Sol Hatchuel, ‘Heroine of the 19th Century:’ Gender, the Jewish Question, and Colonial Discourse.”

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19th century there was a growing interest in actively intervening on their behalf, particularly after Moses Montefiore’s trip to Morocco in 1863–4.158 Suleika texts written in this period and later reflected this increased interest and inserted fictitious European consuls and ‘renegade’ characters who tried to save her. These later versions were a reflection of these changed circumstances. The growing European presence also led to an increase in the number of persons who were given protégé status, among them a number of interpreters and intermediaries required to conduct business. The expanded number of protégés, both Moroccan Jews and Muslims, and foreigners exempt from Moroccan law combined with the collapse of the local economy. Sol’s relatives continued to be the victim of this economic collapse at the end of the 19th century when they were left destitute and the French Jewish press appealed for support on their behalf.159 This economic instability, in turn, provoked increased political instability, violence, and rebellion and would eventually lead to a collapse of Moroccan society in general and the imposition of direct colonial rule in 1912.160 The French and Spanish Solica texts written during this period were heavily influenced by this historical context and their versions of her story reflect this. However they do not reflect the actual state of events in 1834 when Sol was imprisoned and executed. There is no indication in the actual

158 Sir Moses Montefiore published a series of letters and dispatches about his trip to Morocco in the London Times (March 3, 1864, 9 col. d; August 2, 1864, 6, col. f; June 3, 1864, 8, col. a; and August 17, 1864, 9, col. d ) where he describes his correspondence with the Sultan, his ruling (dhahir) granting them fair treatment and violation of this ruling in the province of Haha by a local official, including a letter from Abraham Corcos narrating the incident. As for U.S. diplomatic interest in Moroccan Jewry Margaret Landenberger shows that this concern would only come later in the century. Landenberger, “United States Diplomatic Efforts on Behalf of Moroccan Jews: 1880–1906”, 6–7. While the legal basis for the protégé system was established in treaties between Morocco and Western powers already in the second half of the 18th century, this system did not begin to impact Morocco until the mid-1800s when the number of Europeans settled in Morocco began to significantly increase. For the beginnings of the protégé system see Cruickshank, Morocco at the parting of the ways, 3. For its extension later in the 19th century see Pennell, Morocco Since 1830, 81. The United States consular representatives did not begin to intervene on behalf of Jews in general, especially non-protégés, until the 1860s. ( Landenberger, op. cit., 22). 159 Isidore Loeb, “Une Martyre Juive au Maroc,” Archives Israélite 41, no. 22–24 (1880): 181–2, 87–8, 96–7. 160 Srhir, Britain and Morocco during the embassy of John Drummond Hay, 1845–1886, 151; Daniel J. Schroeter, Merchants of Essaouira Urban Society and imperialism in southwestern Morocco, 1844–1886 (1988), 128, 60.

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historical records from that period of any desire to intervene on her behalf or any interest in improving the welfare of Jews in Morocco. Conclusion When reading the different accounts of Sol’s martyrdom, it is important to consider the historical context, particularly relations between Morocco and European powers and the effects of the French conquest of Algeria on Morocco. This is especially important background to consider when reading the European accounts of her story. In this chapter, I discussed this context, particularly relations between Europe and Morocco in the 1830s and how they changed over the course of the 19th century. As European presence increased, so too did the increased interest in Moroccan Jewry. The reason for this had to do with the key role they played as intermediaries and servants of both the Makhzen and European consulates. In order to understand this role it is also important to consider the position of Moroccan Jewish communities in pre-colonial Moroccan society, in particular their dependence on the Sultan for protection. The willingness and desire to protect Moroccan Jews varied over time and was often contingent on their being useful to the Makhzen treasury. As the balance of power shifted, the Sultan’s ability to protect this community weakened. Sol’s execution was a case in point. As Moroccan society disintegrated, calls for European protection increased throughout the course of the 19th century. These calls were reflected in the versions of Sol’s story written in this later period. However looking at the consular records and historical accounts of European consulates’ concerns in 1834 reveals that these later sources had no basis in historical facts. They reflect the historical reality of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, not that of 1834 when Sol was executed.

CHAPTER THREE

THE TALE OF THE MARTYRED MAIDEN Introduction This chapter and the next focus on tales and qinot, poetic laments, written in Morocco in the 19th and early 20th centuries. While texts about Sol continued to be composed in Hebrew in the latter part of the 20th century in Israel, the 19th and early 20th century texts written by Moroccan Jews constitute a relatively homogeneous corpus that can be studied as one unit in terms of its literary and religious traditions. The prose genres, specifically the chronicle, the ma aseh, the historical tale, and the midrash or homily are rabbinic literary categories that express a particular approach to historical memory, one that subsumes the specifics of events under the general concepts of the sacred historical dynamic of exile and redemption, galut u-ge’ulah. This conception of Jewish history as a cosmic dialectic of galut u-ge’ulah is closely related to religious polemics that were immediately directed at Muslim challenges to Jewish self-conceptions and identity, but whose origins predate them. These polemics and religious concepts were expressed in Joseph Ben Naim’s ma aseh and the qinot for Sol discussed in the next chapter. The building blocks for these were the earliest chronicles written about her. Jacob Toledano’s chronicle drew on them and made reference to the poetic laments. Ben Naim’s tale, in addition to expressing these rabbinic concepts, also provides a vivid description of Sol’s execution and the struggles to bury her as well as interesting hagiographic material and popular beliefs surrounding her tomb. Such beliefs are an example of an element of shared cultural syncretism between Jews and Muslims in Morocco. This dynamic of separate societies, “jealous of their identity, intransigent in their faith and beliefs” on the one hand, and a “similarity of mental structures” between Jews and Muslims, on the other, is characteristic of what Haïm Zafrani called the “Judeo-Maghrebian personality.”1 One can see this personality expressed in these Moroccan Hebrew texts. 1

Zafrani, Two thousand years of Jewish life in Morocco, 88, 204.

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Jewish polemics in the Islamic environment in general and in Morocco in particular were a blend of rabbinic polemical debate dating back to a period prior to the rise of Islam and a specific response to Islamic challenges. Probably the two most important charges against Judaism were the concepts of tabdīl, falsification of the scriptures by Jews, and naskh, abrogation of Jewish law and of Jewish conceptions of sacred history and future redemption.2 Jewish polemical responses to Islam were directed at countering these charges. Maimonides (1135–1204), in his “Epistle to Yemen,” shapes his defense of Judaism and counterattack around the need to repudiate the charge of abrogation, naskh.3 This counter-attack used a variety of methods, including adoption and adaptation of Islamic concepts. Shimon Shtober has documented numerous Islamic terms in Judeo-Arabic writings, including al-qur’ān to refer to Scripture, qibla, to refer to the direction of Jerusalem, and al-rasūl (the messenger) to refer to Moses.4 The shift in the conception of Moses, from Moshe Rabbenu (our Rabbi, or teacher)5 back to Moses as a unique “prophet of the LORD,”6 parallels the shift from

2 Husain, “Conversion to History: Negating Exile and Messianism in Al-Samaw’al al-Maghribi’s Polemic Against Judaism.”; Sarah Stroumsa, “From Muslim Heresy to Jewish-Muslim Polemics: Ibn Rawandi’s Kitab al-Damigh,” Journal of American Oriental Society 107, no. 4 (1987): 767–72. 3 Maimonides focuses his defense of Judaism around the charge that the debased condition of the Jews in exile was proof that God abandoned them. He counters this charge with quotes from the Bible, reinterpreting Gen. 28:14 (“Your descendants shall be as dust of the earth”) to mean that “it was already preordained that Israel would be humbled and overcome by the nations, but that in the end it would triumph, as predicted by the Prophet Isaiah.” Moses Maimonides, “The Epistle to Yemen,” in Crisis and Leadership: Epistles of Maimonides, ed. Abraham Halkin (trans.) and David Hartman (discussant) (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1985), 102. 4 Shimon Sh ober, “Ha-qiblah bayn Islam le-Yahadut—mi-pulmus le-qli ah ve-ha amah,” in Masoret ve-shinnui ba-tarbut ha- Arvit-ha-Yehudit shel yeme-ha-benayim: divre ha-ve idah ha-shishit shel ha- evrah le- eqer ha-tarbut ha- Aravit-ha-Yehudit shel yeme-habenayim, ed. Joshua Blau and David Doron (Ramat-Gan: Universi at Bar-Ilan, 2000), 227–42. 5 The term defines Moses as a proto-sage who received, along with the written Torah, the oral Torah, including commentaries that came centuries after his death. 6 For the Biblical conception of Moses as an incomparable prophet see Num.12:6–8 and Deut. 34:10. For a comparative analysis of Moses in the Bible and rabbinic literature see Israel Abrahams, Louis Jacobs, and Aaron Rothkoff, “Moses,” in Encyclopedia Judaica, ed. Fred Skolnik and Michael Berenbaum, 2nd ed., vol. 14 (Detroit: Thomson Gale, 2007) 522–536. As Louis Jacobs points out there was a need in the early rabbinic period not only to find precedents for their work as teachers and interpreters

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the need to legitimize and find precedents for rabbinic Judaism in pre-Islamic times, to the need to confront the Islamic challenge and its prophet. Maimonides devotes considerable attention to debunking Mu ammad’s prophetic status and elevating that of Moses. Judah Halevi, in his Kuzari, also made the claim that the faculty of prophecy was an exclusively Jewish possession.7 This preoccupation with Moses as singular religious leader may explain why beginning in the 8th century his death became an increasingly popular subject in religious poetry.8 In the texts discussed in this chapter the re-emphasis of Moses as a unique prophet reflects the need to respond to the Islamic challenge. The conception of exile and redemption, galut u-ge’ulah, was central to much of Jewish writing in poetry and prose genres, such as exegesis, sermons, and theological works.9 Interspersed within these writings would be coded polemic responses to the Muslim doctrine of naskh and protests against the trials of exile and subjugation (shi bbud ) under Islam. The call for revenge was also closely related to the call for God to make good His promise and redeem His people.10 These themes of exile, revenge and redemption are present in all but one of the Moroccan Hebrew texts discussed in this and the next chapter. However, despite these influences the role that Islam played in Jewish polemic writing was not exclusive. Despite Jewish participation in the majālis (theological debating forums) of Medieval Islam, the number of Jewish works devoted exclusively to polemics against Islam is relatively few.11 Instead polemics were scattered in other genres, such as exegesis, sermons, histories and poetry.12 The role of polemics in of Torah, but also to not reduce Judaism to a personality cult around Moses. The balance was struct in the concept of Moshe Rabbenu (Ibid., 533–34). 7 Colette Sirat, A History of Jewish Philosophy in the Middle Ages (Cambridge, Eng.: Cambridge UP, 1977), 117. 8 T. Carmi, ed. The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse (New York: Viking Press, 1981), 95, 265–74. 9 Manor, Galut u-Ge’ulah be-Hagut akhame Maroqo ba-me’ot ha-17-18. 10 Ibid. 11 David Sklare, “Responses to Islamic Polemics by Jewish Mutakallimūn in the Tenth Century,” in The Majlis Interreligious Encounters in Medieval Islam, ed. Hava Lazarus-Yafeh, et al., Studies in Arabic Language and Literature (Wiesbaden, Ger.: Harrassowitz Verlag, 1999), 137–61. 12 Moshe Perlmann, “The Medieval Polemics between Islam and Judaism,” in Religion in a Religious Age Proceedings of Regional Conferences at the University of California, Los Angeles and Brandeis University in April 1973 (Cambridge, MA: Association for Jewish Studies, 1974), 103. Oral genres also contained polemics: for folktales see Heda Jason, Studies in Jewish Ethnopoetry, ed. Lou Tsu-k’uang, vol. 72, Asian Folklore and Social Life Monographs (Taiwan: The Orient Cultural Service, 1975); Dov Noy, Moroccan

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the poetic writing will be discussed in the next chapter. Since Jewish religious debate predated Islam, many of the concepts and references used in Jewish polemic writing refer back to pre-Islamic times. Often the ethnic tags and images used to refer to Muslims were taken from Biblical terms and images. This is understandable given the Bible’s place as the fountainhead of Jewish culture and religion, it was also the repository of Jewish sacred history and, through the belief in exile and redemption, of the faith that Jewish suffering in the Diaspora was only a temporary reality and that the future would bring restoration. When Maimonides discussed the contemporary Jewish condition, he comforted his listeners by pointing to biblical quotes that predicted their current state of subjugation.13 As these prophecies were seen to have come true, so too would those promising redemption. Use of biblical imagery was also a way of avoiding exposure of internal Jewish discourse to Muslim authorities. It was a type of bā in (hidden) discourse.14 Some of the terms used to refer to Christians and Muslims were Esau, Edom, and Ishmael, Hagar, and Kedar.15 Some other terms used by the Moroccan authors of the Sulika texts include Sevah and Havilah to refer to the Sabian kingdom of Arabia and to Africans (sons of Cush), given that the latter were used as executioners.16 This conception

Jewish Folktales (New York: Herzl Press, 1966). For proverbs see Louis Brunot and Elie Malka, “Proverbes judeo-arabes de Fès,” Hesperis 24, no. 3 (1937): 153–81. In particular proverbs 20, 62, 66, 75, and 82 are cross-referenced to Edward Westermarck and Shereef Abd-es-Salam Baqqali, Wit and Wisdom in Morocco: A Study of Native Proverbs (London: George Routledge & Sons, Ltd., 1930). In addition, Robert Attal has written about the image of Jews in Muslim popular expressions and Daisy Hilse Dwyer has discussed gender and ethnic stereotypes in Moroccan Muslim popular expressions, R. Attal, “Croyances et Prejuges Image du Juif dans l’Expression Populaire Arabe du Maghreb,” in Les Relations entre juifs et musulmans en Afrique du Nord, XIX e–XX e siècles: actes du colloque international de l’Institut d’histoire des pays d’outre-mer, Abbaye de Sénanque, octobre 1978, Éditions du Centre national de la recherche scientifique (Paris: 1980), 56–61; Daisy Hilse Dwyer, Images and self-images: male and female in Morocco (New York: Columbia University Press, 1978). 13 Maimonides, “The Epistle to Yemen,” 100. 14 Ross Brann, Power in the Portrayal Representations of Jews and Muslims in Eleventh- and Twelfth-Century Islamic Spain (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 2002), 157. 15 Norman Roth, “Polemics in Hebrew Religious Poetry of Mediaeval Spain,” Journal of Semitic Studies 34, no. 1 (1989): 153–77. See also Carmi, ed. The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse, 334–35; Raymond Scheindlin, The Gazelle Medieval Hebrew Poems on God, Israel, and the Soul (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1991), especially the poems by Judah Ha-Levi, and Moses Ibn Ezra (poems 1, 3 and 11). 16 Haim Halewa’s poem in Qol Ya aqov, see chapter four. Allan R. Meyers, “Class, Ethnicity, and Slavery: The Origins of the Moroccan ‘Abid,” The International Journal of African Historical Studies 10, no. 3 (1977): 440.

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sees Jewish history after the Exile as one long night of suffering and the Moroccan Diaspora is included in this outlook. This is reflected in virtually all of the texts considered here and in the next chapter. In addition to being an important element in religious polemics they represent an archetypal approach to Jewish history and historical memory whereby each specific event is subsumed under the general pattern of the dynamic of exile and redemption, galut u-ge’ulah. The Prose Genres and Jewish Historical Memory The Moroccan Hebrew prose texts devoted to Sol are contained in three genres, chronicles, the ma aseh, the rabbinic historical tale and the midrash, or biblical exegesis. In addition to the two texts by Ben Naim and Toledano that are the focus of this chapter, there are several others, among them accounts by R. Raphael Elbaz and Avner Yisrael arfati, and a short account in Divre ha-yamin shel Fas, a chronicle on the Jewish community in Fez kept by the Ibn Dahan family.17 Toledano referred to the two accounts by Elbaz and arfati in his version, which is also a chronicle. These three texts, which existed in manuscript long before being published, consist of short third person narratives of events that all begin with the formula “In the year. . . .” The chronicles do not contain literary elements such as dialogue and description.18 They vary in length from two sentences to half a page, with the shorter ones lacking exposition and the longer lacking historical causality. As Yerushalmi, in his book Zakhor Jewish History and

17 Joseph Chetrit, in his study of Moroccan Hebrew poetry, has provided a summary of many of the tales and poetic laments devoted to Sol written in Hebrew and Moroccan Judeo-Arabic. Joseph Chetrit, Piyyu ve-shirah be-yahadut Maroqo: asufat me karim al shirim ve- al meshorerim (Yerushalayim: Mosad Bialik; Ashkelon: ha-Mikhlalah ha-ezorit, 1999), 41, n.33–36; Georges Vajda, Un Recueil de Textes Historiques JudéoMarocains, Collection Hespéris (1951), 100; Raphael M. Elbaz, “Kisse Malakhim,” Divre Ha-Yamim shel Malakhim Muslimiyyim al yesod meqorot ivriyyim ve- aravim, 19th century, Sasson 1007/1, Jewish National and University Library, Institute of Microfilmed Manuscripts; Avner Israel arfati, “Iggeret Ya as Fas,” in Fas ve- akhameha: divre yeme ha-Yehudim bi-q.q. (qehillat qodesh) Fas, ed. David Ovadia (Yerushalayim: Ho a’at Bet Oved, makhon le- eker Yahadut Maroqo, 1978), 151. 18 For a discussion of the annals and chronicle as historical narratives see Hayden White, The Content of the Form Narrative Discourse and Historical Representation (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1978), 5.

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Jewish Memory,19 has pointed out, Jewish writings in the post-Biblical and medieval period were not concerned with conveying the details of historical events. Much of the commemoration of these events was made in poetic and liturgical compositions. Often current events were subsumed and interpreted in the general pattern of past events and of the historiosophic themes of exile as punishment for sin and hope for redemption at the end of history.20 Zafrani has also shown how this connection to tradition and sacred memory influenced Jewish religious writing in Morocco.21 While there were chronicles that were kept, including Divre ha-yamin shel Fas, an important chronicle recorded by the Ibn Dahan family from the generation after the Spanish Expulsion to the 20th century, many of the events were only given the briefest narration. In Divre ha-yamin shel Fas there are only two sentences devoted to Sol. Vajda has translated much of this important chronicle, including the entry on her: [ In the year 5594 the saintly woman Solīqa Hajwīl of Tangier was martyred. She was killed by the sword and interred here, in Fez, having conserved her virginity.]22

The two other chronicles devoted to Sol provide more details, but even the longest of them, Toledano’s text discussed below, does not exceed a paragraph. While these texts may have been brief they, nevertheless, provide the building blocks for the longer genres of the ma aseh, historical tale, and the qinot, the poetic elegies discussed in the next chapter. The ma aseh is a rabbinical historical genre. Dan Ben-Amos defines it in the following terms: “The ma aseh (pl. ma asim) is a narrative of events that both the teller and his audience assume to present an actual 19 Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi, Zakhor, Jewish history and Jewish memory, 2nd. revised ed. (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1996), 40, 45. 20 For a discussion of the historiosophic approach of Moroccan Jewish sages see, Manor, Galut u-Ge’ulah be-Hagut akhame Maroqo ba-me’ot ha-17-18, 31. 21 Haïm Zafrani, Études et Recherches sur la Vie Intellectuelle Juive au Maroc de la fin du 15e au début du 20e siècle Deuxième Partie Poésie Juive en Occident Musulman (Paris: Geuthner, 1977). 22 Vajda, Un Recueil de Textes Historiques Judéo-Marocains, 100. “Iggeret Ya as Fas” also contains an account of Sol’s death that doesn’t give any more information than Divre ha-yamim shel Fas, but expands on her description (“the righteous, the holy, the famous”) and her deed ([she] stood the test . . . a virgin maiden, blessed is she and blessed is her lot.” Avner Israel arfati, “Iggeret Ya as Fas,” in Fas ve- akhameha: divre yeme ha-Yehudim bi-q.q. (qehillat qodesh) Fas, ed. David Ovadia (Yerushalayim: Ho a’at Bet Oved, makhon le- eker Yahadut Maroqo, 1978), 151.

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occurrence, even, and sometimes specifically because, it involves divine intervention and the performance of miracles. The generic term draws upon the opening formula ma aseh be . . . (‘A tale about’) that introduces most of the legendary, biographical, and martyrological tales.”23 The martyrdom tales are stories that follow a fixed structure and engage in polemical defense of Judaism. Yassif expands the description of the archetypal Jewish martyr tale. It involves a Jew who is summoned to a public state sponsored trial where he is required to give up his faith.24 In all of the archetypal tales the Jewish martyr is male. This is true even for Hannah and her seven sons, given that it was the sons who were martyred, despite the fact that the tale is identified by the mother’s sacrifice in Lamentations Rabba.25 The martyr argues in public for the superiority of his Jewish faith, often using, as Galit asanRokem has pointed out, rabbinical arguments and biblical prooftexts.26 He is subjected to torture and is executed. Often supernatural events accompany the body or spirit after the execution.27 This aspect of the tale branches off into hagiographic literature and becomes the material for saints’ legends, the practice of pilgrimage and narratives related to this practice, which will be discussed in the next section. According to Simha Goldin the story of the death of R. Akiva became the archetypal martyr tale, which included all of the above features, plus his expiration precisely when he recited the word e ad (one), the ending of the shema prayer (Deut. 6:4, “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God the Lord is One”).28 The main events of Sol’s story, particularly the events that took place after she was arrested, follow the pattern of the martyr tale in all its details, including her soul’s ascent to heaven after her recitation of the shema and her pronunciation of the final word emphasizing the unity of God, e ad, just as R. Akiva had done. This recycling of events in martyr tales is characteristic of Jewish memorial writing. Within the long history of Jewish martyrdom, later memorial writings were often subsumed as just another example of earlier

23 Dan Ben-Amos, “Jewish Folklore” (unpublished article and annotated bibliography, University of Pensylvania, N.D.), 33–34. 24 Eli Yassif, The Hebrew Folktale: History, Genre, Meaning, trans. Jacqueline S. Teitelbaum (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1999), 143. 25 Galit Hasan-Rokem, Riqmat ayim (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1996), 128–33. 26 Ibid. 27 Ibid. 28 Bab. Talmud, Berakhot 61b; Simha Goldin, Alamot ahevukha, al-mot ahevukha (Lod: Devir, 2002).

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archetypal persecutions. Once memorial liturgies were written for the earliest events, there was no further need to memorialize later events because they were just more examples of the same pattern.29 In the case of the Sephardim, there were poetic elegies, written after the persecutions in Spain of 1391,30 and there was some interest in historical writing after the Expulsion, as Yerushalmi points out.31 For Morocco the most elevated commemorative writing was in the form of qinot, both personal and national. It was in this genre that polemics and the martyrdom tale combined with the highest aesthetic forms, which were drawn, as will be seen in the next chapter, from Arabic poetics. The written raw material for the qinot came from the chronicles, which provided a way of organizing historical events in a chronological fashion and allowed for their recording shortly after the events took place. The chronicle Divre ha-yamin shel Fas is an example of this, including its brief account of Sol’s martyrdom. These accounts lack dialogue and description and they often do not contain any of the archetypal or polemical elements of the ma aseh or the qinot. In this sense they are closer to the narrative data used by historians because they emphasis the specifics of the event, but they often do not provide much detail about historical actors or the circumstances surrounding that event. Toledano’s chronicle of Sol’s martyrdom does contain some editorializing on the significance of her death for the Jewish community and makes reference to the qinot that were written about her, but it lacks the extensive polemic elements, biblical and rabbinic quotes and thematic structure of the martyrdom tale. Ben Naim’s ma aseh, as will be seen, has all of these elements and provides a great deal of additional details and historical information on Sol’s final moments, the struggle to bury her and hagiographic stories surrounding her tomb.

Yerushalmi, Zakhor, Jewish history and Jewish memory, 51. Yerushalmi shows how texts that recounted the persecution at Blois in 1171 were memorialized in seli ot (penitential prayers) and annual fast days. These seli ot became the archetypal martyrdom texts and were not modified or added to until after WWII among the Ashkenazi community. Gerson Cohen, in his analysis of Ibn Daud’s account of the Four Captives, states that historical events were also altered in this tale and in his Sefer Ha-Qabbalah so that they would conform to a pattern. “It is in this very orderliness of history that Ibn Da’ud finds a source of consolation, a source of hope that history will yet vindicate the Jewish hope for redemption.” See Gerson D. Cohen, Studies in the Variety of Rabbinic Cultures (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1991), 179. 30 Dan Pagis, “Qinot al gezirot 1391 be-Sefarad,” Tarbi 37, no. 4 (1968): 355–73. 31 Yerushalmi, Zakhor, Jewish history and Jewish memory, 60. 29

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Saints and Pilgrimage Both Moroccan Judaism and Islam place a high value on the veneration of saints, addiqim—righteous, in Hebrew; awliyā’—friends of God, in Arabic, also known in Morocco as marabouts (murābi ūn in classical Arabic).32 In Moroccan Islam, these ‘holy men’ often play important political roles. While alive they serve as mediators between warring parties, and after death their tombs are acknowledged as sanctuaries for those seeking refuge.33 Historically, Jewish saints’ tombs did not have such official political status.34 Nevertheless, there are numerous stories in which their tombs provide aid and therapy to their supplicants and punish transgressors and tomb desecrators.35 The story of the Sultan’s paralysis after Sol’s death fits into this motif.36 Other stories associated with Sol’s tomb involve the curing of barren women and sick children.37 Stories of miraculous cures associated with the tombs of Muslim marabouts also exist.38 There are also origin stories and myths associated with the Sherqawa. In general these myths have to do with the remote past and contain elements of the fantastic with the saint performing miracles while still alive.39 I have not run across any Sulika texts in written or oral forms that involve her performing miracles while she was still alive. Despite these differences with the Islamic hagiographic texts collected by Eickelman, other legends regarding Muslim female saints discussed by Mernissi have some elements in common with Sol’s story, including female saints fleeing their 32 Issachar Ben-Ami, Ha ara at ha-Qedoshim be-Qerev Yehude Maroqo ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1984); Dale F. Eickelman, Moroccan Islam Tradition and Society in a Pilgrimage Center (Austin and London: University of Texas Press, 1976). 33 Clifford Geertz, Islam Observed Religious Development in Morocco and Indonesia (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1968); Eickelman, Moroccan Islam Tradition and Society in a Pilgrimage Center, 40. 34 Janice Rosen, “From the Maghreb to Montreal: Moroccan Saint Veneration Among Muslims and Jews,” in Jewish-Muslim Encounters History, Philosophy and Culture, ed. Charles Selengut (St. Paul, MN: Paragon House, 2001), 51–71. 35 Issachar Ben-Ami, Yahadut Maroqo Perakim bi- eqer Tarbutam (Yerushalayim: R. Mas, 1975). See pages 172–175 (Hebrew section) for Judeo-Arabic version of these miracle stories and pages 178–180 (Hebrew section) for Hebrew translation. 36 R.Tadjouri, “Sol, La ‘Sadiqa’ ” L’Avenir Ilustre 3.15–16 (1929): 4–6. 37 Ben-Ami, Ha ara at ha-Qedoshim be-Qerev Yehude Maroqo, 577–581. 38 Jeannine Drouin, Un cycle oral hagiographique dans le moyen-atlas marocain, Université de Paris V René-Descartes Séries Sorbonne 2 (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne Imprimerie nationale, 1975). 39 Ibid., 7; Dale Eickelman, “Form and Composition in Islamic Myths: Four Texts from Western Morocco,” Anthropos 72, no. 3/4 (1977): 447–63.

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parental domicile, being very beautiful, refusing the Sultan’s advances (Sida Zohra El Kouch), and in the case of Lalla Aziza, being murdered.40 In contrast, the stories of other Jewish ‘holy women’ collected by Ben-Ami do not contain other Jewish female saints with stories similar to Sol’s.41 Stillman has written a comparative study of Jewish addiqim and Muslim marabouts stressing the differences between them. One of the principle differences is that while many Moroccan marabouts are venerated while still living, most Jewish addiqim are usually venerated after their death.42 The role of Sufism, Sufi lodges and distinctive practices (Arabic— uruq, sing. arīq) to achieve altered states of consciousness and divine closeness, as well as the role of the disciple’s complete surrender and physical submission to the master are religious practices specific to Islam.43 The veneration of descendents of the Prophet, his Companions and Muslim warriors who engaged in the spread of Islam are also elements unique to Islam and Moroccan Islam in particular. Geertz has described the characteristics and ideal traits of these warrior saints, including, “aggressive piety,”44 “extraordinary physical courage, absolute personal loyalty, ecstatic moral intensity.”45 Despite the very different historical and political context and despite the very important difference that Sol, as a Jew and a woman could not engage in armed struggle and martial holy war, at certain points in these Hebrew texts, she does take on some of the characteristics of these ‘warrior saints.’ This can be seen in the poems of Samuel Elbaz and Haim Haliwa. In these poems she engages in polemics against her captors and bravely suffers martyrdom. One of the most important functions of the adddiq in the hagiographic tales is to protect the community, particularly the weaker members of the community and to avenge attacks against it or its

Fatima Mernissi, “Women, Saints and Sanctuaries,” in The Signs Reader: Women, Gender and Scholarship, ed. et. al E. Abel (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1983), 57–68. 41 Issachar Ben-Ami, Saint Veneration among the Jews of Morocco (Detroit: Wayne State University, 1998), 305–21. 42 Norman A. Stillman, “ addīq and Marabout in Morocco,” in The Sephardi and Oriental Jewish Heritage, ed. Issachar Ben-Ami ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press, the Hebrew University, 1982), 489–500. 43 Hammoudi, Master and Disciple, 92. He also discusses the use of decapitation (63) and violence (84) for quelling rebellion and achieving leadership. 44 Geertz, Islam Observed Religious Development in Morocco and Indonesia, 9. 45 Ibid., 33. 40

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individual members.46 Many of the Sulika hagiographic tales fit in this category. The legend mentioned by Tadjouri that upon Sol’s death the Sultan became paralyzed and was not healed until he went to her tomb to ask for her forgiveness is one example. Upon receiving it he was cured and in gratitude sent candles and oil on the anniversary of her death.47 Sol is also credited with healing sick children and curing bareness in women. Much of the hagiographical tales collected by Issachar Ben Ami center around this theme. “Lalla Solica had a large niche, and opposite her was R. Judah Ben- Attar. Between them was a spring. So I took the child and put him inside the niche for the candles, and said: Lalla Solica, if he is meant for this world, heal him, but if not, do as you wish! I went to a corner and sat down there in the cemetery . . . I sat there for three hours . . . later I went there and I thought he was dead. But when I got [close], he smiled at me and waved his hands. . . .”48 The use of Sol’s tomb as a site for healing sick children is mentioned in some of the qinot. It is invoked in Haim Haliwa’s introduction to his elegy for Sol where he affirms that, “those who come to seek her face, who are all their lives in pain, will leave long their diseases and be healed.”49 Even when children do not survive infancy they can be consecrated to Sol. Jacob Berdugo’s elegy for Sol, discussed in the next chapter, was prompted by the loss of his infant son, whose death he interpreted as a sign that he was destined to wed Sol in heaven.50 Two other hagiographic tales, discussed below, are narrated in Ben Naim’s account of Sol’s martyrdom. One involved her appearing to a yeshiva student in a dream and another concerned her body’s miraculously defying decomposition when it was exhumed as a result of the moving of the Jewish cemetery by order of the Sultan. In addition to describing the characteristics of saints and their deeds or the miracles associated with their tombs in saint legends, annual

46 Jason, Studies in Jewish Ethnopoetry, 162–63; Issachar Ben-Ami, “Folk Veneration of Saints among the Moroccan Jews,” in Studies in Judaism and Islam Presented to Shelomo Dov Goitein on the occasion of his eightieth birthday by his students, colleagues and friends, ed. Shelomo Morag, Issachar Ben-Ami, and Norman A. Stillman ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press The Hebrew University, 1984), 342. Hammoudi also discusses hagiographic tales about warrior saints as counter-weights to the Sultan’s power, Master and Disciple, 85. 47 R. Tadjouri, “Sol, La ‘Sadiqa’,” L’Avenir Ilustre 3, no. 15–16 (1929): 4–6. 48 Ben-Ami, Saint Veneration among the Jews of Morocco, 316–17. 49 Haliwa in Qol Ya aqov, see chapter four. 50 Berdugo, Qol Ya aqov, chapter four.

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pilgrimages to their gravesites are important practices of saint veneration in both Moroccan Islam and Judaism. In both the Moroccan Muslim mawsim (colloquial musem) and in the Jewish hillulah devotees come to ask favors, be healed and to repay past wishes granted.51 Both involve animal sacrifice at the site of the tomb and sharing of a communal meal near, or even sometimes on, the tomb. In the Muslim pilgrimages a central function of the musem is the renewal of the covenant between the descendants of the saint, who are also considered holy, and the tribes who live in the region of the saint’s tomb.52 While many Jewish families and former residents of certain villages have connections to particular addiqim and visit their tombs or sanctuaries annually in Morocco and Israel, this overtly political role of saintly lineages, such as the Sherqawa, is a feature specific to Moroccan Muslim political history.53 Normally an official hillulah happens annually at the anniversary of the saint’s death when that date is known or around a Jewish holiday, such as Lag Be’Omer when it is not.54 It is often organized by an official committee, as is the hillulah for the Baba Sali in Netivot, Israel, and for R. David U Moshe, R. aim Pinto and many other

51 Oren Kosansky situates the Moroccan Jewish practice of saint veneration and pilgrimage within ‘canonical Judaism’ and not as a syncretic belief and practice originating in the larger non-Jewish environment. Oren Kosansky, “All Dear Unto God: Saints, Pilgrimage and Textual Practice in Jewish Morocco” (PhD, University of Michigan, 2003). I would argue that while the question of influence is hard to prove and while one finds an abundance of references to ‘canonical Judaism’ or rabbinic Judaism in hillulot practices there is nevertheless some similarities in the activities that take place at musems and hillulot in Morocco. 52 Eickelman, Moroccan Islam Tradition and Society in a Pilgrimage Center, 112–13. 53 Ibid., Ben-Ami, “Folk Veneration of Saints among the Moroccan Jews.” I attended the hillulah for the Baba Sali (R. Yisrael Ben Mas ud Abuhasera, the grandson of Jacob Abuhasera) in Netivot, Israel and for R. Shimon Bar Yo ai on Mt. Meron, Israel in 1994. I also attended the hillulah for R. David U’Moshe in Morocco in 1996. At all the hillulot, including the one in Morocco, there were fliers and plaques for the Israeli Sephardi religious party, Shas (Sephardi Shomrei Torah). While the hillulot in Morocco may not have an overt political role to play in Moroccan society at large they are now cites where at least one Israeli political party has a presence. For a comparison of Morocco and Israel in the political dimension of saint veneration see A. Weingrod, “Saints and shrines, politics, and culture: a Morocco-Israel comparison,” in Muslim travellers: pilgrimage, migration, and the religious imagination, ed. D.F. Eickelman and J. Piscatori (London: Routledge, 1990), 217–35. Also Y. Bilu, and E. Ben-Ari, “Saints Sanctuaries in Israeli Development Towns,” Urban Anthropology 16.2 (1987): 245–72. 54 The 33rd day after the Omer, which falls on the 13th of Iyyar according to the Hebrew calendar. According to Kabbalist tradition, R. Shimon Bar Yo ai, the accredited author of the Zohar, died on this day. An omer is a sheaf of corn. It is also a type of divine offering (Lev. 23:15). The counting of the Omer refers to the 49 days between the second day of Passover and Shavu ot (Pentecost).

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addiqim in Morocco. Often these hillulot last for several days. However there is no organized official annual hillulah for Sol or any of the other ‘holy women’ in Morocco or Israel.55 Janice Rosen described one hillulah that was organized by the Communauté Sepharade de Québec for Sol in Montreal in 1999. It lasted one day, but followed the practice of other hillulot for male saints as these practices have evolved in Canada. In the Canadian hillulah for Sol, as in the Moroccan and Israeli hillulot, candles and wine were auctioned. However there was no animal sacrifice, although a banquet was served and ‘oriental’ music played. Fittingly, the purpose of the hillulah was to raise money for Sephardic orphan children.56 One can see references to hagiographic material in both the qinot discussed in the next chapter and in the text by Ben Naim. Before discussing the latter, I will analyze Toledano’s chronicle, which was written prior to it. Jacob M. Toledano R. Jacob Toledano (1880–1960) wrote a history of Moroccan Jewry, Ner ha-ma arav, in which he consulted unpublished Moroccan Jewish manuscripts as well as Western sources.57 He served as Chief Rabbi in several cities including Tangier, Cairo, and Tel Aviv. He had also been a rabbi in France. In addition to Ner ha-ma arav he wrote several other works in Jewish history, biblical commentary and Jewish law.58 55 On other Moroccan Jewish ‘holy women’ see Ben-Ami, Saint Veneration among the Jews of Morocco, 305–321. According Hanna Levi, an immigrant Moroccan Jewish woman living in Jerusalem who regularly attended the hillulot in Israel and attended them in Morocco prior to her immigration, there are no organized hillulot for female saints in Morocco or in Israel. (Personal communication, Musrara, Jerusalem, Israel, 1/9/1994.) According to Esther Schely-Newman there are now new female saints in Israel, but they have this status because they act as intermediaries for male saints. (Esther Schely-Newman, personal communication, 10/23/2005). 56 Rosen, “From the Maghreb to Montreal: Moroccan Saint Veneration Among Muslims and Jews.” 57 Toledano, Ner ha-ma arav: hu toldot Yisra’el be-Maroqo. 58 Appiryon: ma arekhet sifre ha-perushim ha- idushim veha-be’urim, she-nit abru al perush haTorah le-Rabbi Shelomoh Yi haqi . . . hashlamah mi-perush Rabbi Shemu’el Almosnino . . ., Jerusalem: [s.n.], 665 [1905]; Bat Ami: al devar agunot va- agune ha-shemad . . . asher na asah be-’ar ot qibbush ha-Na im ba-mil amah ha- olamit ha-a aronah, Tel-Aviv: ha-Rabbanut haRashit veha-Mo a ah ha-datit le-Tel Aviv-Yafo, 707 [1946 or 1947]. Bat Ami dealt with the halakhic dilemma of trying to solve the marital status problems of widows ( agunot) whose husbands had disappeared during the Holocaust and were presumed, but not proven dead. According to Jewish law they would not be allowed to remarry

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Ner ha-ma arav is a chronological history of the Jews of Morocco beginning with the earliest Jewish settlements there, making reference to both Roman written records and Jewish legends. This work was an important source for other histories on the Moroccan Jewish community, including Hirschberg’s A History of the Jews in North Africa.59 The account of Sol’s story is contained in the fourteenth chapter covering the period from 1740 to 1840. This chapter focuses on the reigns of Mawlay Abdallah (1727–1757) and his son, Mawlay Mu ammad (1757–1790), and on some of the rabbinic leaders of the community, the general conditions of Jews, including complaints over heavy taxes, and the effects of draughts, famine and rebellions on the Jewish communities of Morocco. The story of Sol is told after an account of the rebellion of the Oudaya army against Mawlay Abd al-Ra mān (1824–1859).60 His account of this rebellion focused on the attack on the Jewish quarter, stating that they ransacked the Mella of Fez and killed many Jews. Eventually the Sultan was able to restore order and disperse this tribal army. Toledano reported that many Jewish families in Fez celebrated their deliverance from the Oudaya as a small Purim.61 There is also another event of interest that Toledano narrates in this chapter. It involves the jailing and murder of the family of Don Yehuda Abravanel for allegedly hiding wealth and assets from the Sultan. In this incident his betrothed daughter and her fiancé were killed together by the Sultan’s guards.62 Despite the fact that this event took place in 1820 it is narrated immediately after Sol’s story. The reason could be that while Sol died alone and un-betrothed, in this case a young betrothed woman is killed along with her fiancé. As will be seen in chapter six, the version of Sol’s story in La Epoka combines these two events in interesting ways. Unlike Ben Naim, who devotes four pages and several different genres to her martyrdom, Toledano only devotes one paragraph. He

until the remains of their husbands would be found and their status verified. Another historical work by Toledano on the Jewish communities in Egypt and Palestine in the 12th century is the following: Mi-seride ha-genizah be-Mi rayim: meqorot le-toldot hayishuv be-E[re ] Y[isra’el] u-Mi rayim ba-me’ah ha-11 veha-12 li-s. ha-N. [ Jerusalem: Mizra u-ma arav, 1920]. 59 Hirschberg, A History of the Jews in North Africa, vol. 1, 492, vol. 2, 336, passim. 60 Toledano, Ner ha-ma arav: hu toldot Yisra’el be-Maroqo, 254. 61 Ibid.; Pennell, Morocco Since 1830, 47. 62 Toledano, Ner ha-ma arav: hu toldot Yisra’el be-Maroqo.

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does provide footnotes where he states that there are both oral songs and written poetic laments in manuscripts dedicated to Sol, without giving exact citation information. He cites Jacob Berdugo’s poem in Qol Ya aqov. He also makes reference to a manuscript by R. Raphael Moshe Elbaz, which the later stated was a history of the “Muslim Kings” of Morocco, as well as another manuscript entitled Ya as Fas.63 The three chronicles start off the same, “In the year 1834 . . .” This is the opening formula also adopted by Divre ha-yamin shel Fas. Toledano also relies on Elbaz’s manuscript for the opening events of the story, which involved Sol’s male family members in an argument over who would marry the beautiful thirteen-year-old girl. It is interesting that, although Toledano served on the Rabbinical Court in Tangier for a time, he used this Fes source for his version.64 He also refrained from using biblical quotations to describe Sol’s beauty, and did not provide a lengthy elaboration of her physical attributes, as did Ben Naim. His style is concise and narrates just enough events to move the plot, with limited description and explanation for why events unfolded as they did. In the year 1834 there happened a sad incident that will never depart from Moroccan Jewish memory. In the city of Tangier there was a very beautiful girl, her name was Sulika aguil, from one of the respected families of Jews of Tangier. When she was thirteen, a struggle erupted between her relatives, with each one wanting to take her as a wife. And the King, Abd al-Ra mān, came to know about the argument. When he had heard about it his soul stuck to her and he proposed that if she would abandon her religion he would marry her. But she did not desire to agree to his proposal at all. All the means he tried to persuade her

63 Ibid., 254, n.55. Raphael M. Elbaz, “Kisse Malakhim,”Divre Ha-Yamim shel Malakhim Muslimiyyim al yesod meqorot ivriyyim ve- aravim, 19th century, Sasson 1007/1, Jewish National and University Library, Institute of Microfilmed Manuscripts. Toledano’s reference to Ya as Fas is incomplete. David Ovadia, in his published anthology of Jewish manuscripts from Fes, Fas ve-Hokhmeha, includes a work entitled “Iggeret Ya as Fas,” by Avner Israel Ha- arfati, (87ff ). The entry pertaining to Sol is on page 151. Ovadia, ed. Fas ve- akhameha: divre yeme ha-Yehudim bi-q.q. (qehillat qodesh) Fas. 64 Here is a translation of the Elbaz manuscript. “And in the year 5594 [1834] a young virgin girl was killed, the righteous, the holy Solika’ ague’l in Fez sanctifying His name, may He be blessed openly. And she is from the city of a’nza’. And her relatives fought over who would wed her and they brought her before the King. And the King asked her to exchange her religion and he would wed her because she was good-looking. And she refused his request and they exhausted themselves in trying to seduce her with all kinds of seductions and to no avail. And she gave herself to die in sanctifying His blessed name and she was 13 years old, may her merit protect us, Amen.” Elbaz, “Kisse Malakhim.”

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chapter three did not draw her attention. And in the end she delivered her soul to be killed by the king’s orders and she is buried in Fez. This event upset the Jews so much that they called her gravesite ‘the grave of the adeqqet.’ There are also wailing songs (shiri nehi ), and qinot in the Arabic spoken in Morocco in memory of her and the great deed of this unfortunate and beautiful addeqet.65

What is unusual about this text is the role that the Sultan himself plays. He becomes Sol’s would-be suitor and is the one who has her killed for rejecting his advances and refusing to convert. The contrast between this incident and the previous incident that Toledano narrated is interesting. In that event Sultan Abd al-Ra mān plays a pivotal role as well. However it is the opposite role. There he is the deliverer of the Jewish community because he put down the Oudaya rebellion and saved the Jews from their violence.66 Here he is the villain who has one of their beautiful daughters killed for refusing to accept his advances. While the community is not mentioned as being in danger in this version of the story,67 there is no salvation, at least not in this world, for Sol. The locus of the problem has also shifted from religion and religious debate to one of a spurned lover. In the statement, “she did not agree to his proposal at all” it is unclear whether her main objection is her refusal to convert or her refusal to be married to him. The issue of conversion is mentioned, but without any religious polemics whatsoever. The lack of dialogue is consistent with the chronicle genre. Despite the sparseness of the narrative and lack of literary embellishments, Toledano’s text would also be copied and referenced by later written versions of Sol’s story, including a more expanded and melodramatic version by Shlomo Ashkenazi, which combined Toledano’s version with Benjamin’s.68 On the other hand, Laredo, in his book Memorias de Un Viejo Tangerino (1935), emphatically rejected Toledano’s version as historically

Toledano, Ner ha-ma arav: hu toldot Yisra’el be-Maroqo, 254–55. Toledano himself describes Mawlay Abd al-Ra man as honest and inclined towards compassion for the Jews, but his reign was fraught with political instability and he often was forced to compromise with those who wished to harm them. (Ner ha-ma arav, 253.) 67 Although in Romero, in the Judeo-Spanish text from La Epoka (Salonika), as well as in Benjamin’s version, the community is threatened with destruction if Sol doesn’t agree to convert and accept the advances of one of the males of the royal household (the Sultan or in some versions his son). 68 Shelomoh Ashkenazi, Neshe Yisra’el bi-gevuratan (Tel Aviv: Y. Chechik be- iyu a Mosad ha-Rav Kuk, 1946), 125–30. 65 66

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inaccurate, despite his use of the opening formula of the chronicle. The basis of Laredo’s rejection is precisely the role the King plays in Toledano’s version of the story. “How could a Sultan, who is the lord of lives and haciendas, who has millions of subjects of the fair sex, who has his harem full of beautiful women from all the regions of his Empire, fall in love so deeply with a young Jewish lady and send her to be beheaded because she refused to convert to Islam? And, moreover, Mawlay Abd al-Ra man, who was famous for being good and loved by his subjects, Muslims as well as Jews, how could he go and commit such a vulgar and antipathic act? No! Mawlay Abd-al-Ra mān could not have done such a thing.”69 Laredo stated that the Sultan wanted to let Sol go, but he had to take into consideration Muslim public opinion because Sol’s case had become well known, so he had to submit the issue to the Islamic court. The qā ī advised Sol to ‘abjure’ in order to preserve her life. But Sol was stoic and impassive, and refused to convert. Laredo defended the character of the Sultan and provided a version of the story similar to the one by Ben Naim, but without citing him.70 In addition to Laredo’s rejection based on his defense of the character of the Sultan, the account can be critiqued at another level. Despite Toledano’s use of the chronicle form, there is a lack of plausibility in the narrative plot—the King is able to hear a domestic dispute taking place in the northern corner of his kingdom, and takes an interest in the debates between Sol’s relatives over who would marry her. And immediately upon hearing of the dispute ‘his soul stuck to her.’ If not a lack of plausibility, there is at least a missing link in the chain of events that would make such a causal explanation plausible. This lack of a causal relation between two events in the plot, this broken chain of events, is not evident in Toledano’s historical narrative that immediately precedes Sol’s story. Toledano, in his introduction, also stated that he made use of Western histories and sources, as well as

69 “¿Cómo un sultán, que es dueño de vidas y haciendas, que cuenta por millones sus súbditos del bello sexo, que tiene su harem repleto de bellísimas mujeres de todas las regiones de su imperio, va a enamorarse tan perdidamente de una doncella judía y la manda degollar porque no quiso convertirse al Islam? Y, además, Muley Abderrahman, que tenía fama de bueno y amante de sus súbditos, tantos musulmanes como hebreos, ¿iba a cometer un acto tan vulgar y antipático? ¡No! Muley Abderrahman no pudo haber hecho eso.” Isaac Laredo, Memorias de un viejo tangerino (Madrid: Ed. Bermejo, 1935), 344, underline in the original. 70 Ibid., 344–47.

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Moroccan Jewish historical manuscripts, such as Divre ha-yamin, Ya as Fas and Kisse Malakhim in writing his own history. Such use of documentation, along with his adoption of the chronicle form would lead one to expect a narrative with greater historical probability, particularly for events from the recent past.71 Unlike Laredo, in his account of the story, Toledano does not mention having consulted any descendants of eyewitnesses to events in Fez or Tangier. This could be due to the fact that he relied almost exclusively on written documents. These documents focused mostly on events that had immediate, catastrophic impacts on entire Jewish communities (decrees, civil wars, rebellions, and natural disasters), and threatened to uproot them. Most of these chronicles were written in Fez.72 Sol’s story was of a different nature. Its impact was psychological and moral. There was a single heroine and she was female. The story starts as a domestic dispute. At that point events are familiar and local, and take place in Tangier, not Fez, the center of historical writing and a seat of the ruler. What is unusual, when comparing it to other events narrated in Ner ha-ma arav and in Divre ha-yamin shel Fas, is that this event gained so much attention. Other Jews, including women, had been killed or martyred and were treated as addiqot,73 but they did not generate the same interest or leave as large a body of written works as Sol’s martyrdom. Perhaps this is due to the public nature of her execution, the movement of her trial from Tangier to Fez, and the impact that it had on the Jewish communities of Morocco as a whole. It also had an impact on European travelers who visited Morocco during the 19th and early 20th centuries and some of them wrote their own works about Sol. These works, particularly Romero’s, were quoted and cited in texts written by both Jews and non-Jews writing in European languages and in Judeo-Spanish. But neither Romero’s

One would have expected Toledano to make use of Romero, if he was already using other European works. It can only be speculated as to why he did not. The text might not have been available to him, although it is interesting to note that it was available to a writer in Salonika, as we will see in chapter six. It could be, assuming he did have access to Romero’s work, that he felt that it was too literary. This was Hirschberg’s appraisal of it (A History of the Jews of North Africa, vol. 2, 1971, 304). In fact both Hirschberg and Toledano make use of exclusively Hebrew sources when rendering their versions of events. Neither account provides as much details as does Ben Naim and Romero. 72 Benayahu and Serero, eds., Divre Ha-yamin shel Fas, 18; Hirschberg, A History of the Jews in North Africa, vol. 2, 189. 73 Ibid., 10; Ben-Ami, Saint Veneration among the Jews of Morocco, 315–18. 71

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work, nor the work of others writing in European languages left any trace on the Sulika texts written in Hebrew or Judeo-Arabic, not even on texts, such as Toledano’s, which were written as histories (toldot). Joseph Ben Naim R. Joseph Ben Naim, (1882–1960) was born in Fez. His most well known published work is Malkhe rabbanan, a historical and biographical dictionary on Moroccan Jewish sages.74 In addition to providing important information on the lives of Moroccan Jewish rabbis, including the other authors discussed in this and the next chapter, this work also contains an introductory history of Moroccan Jewry. Ben Naim wrote 48 other works,75 many of which have been published posthumously.76 He received a traditional rabbinic education, and also passed examinations conducted by the French authorities after the Protectorate was installed. He became interested in history and the natural sciences and organized his works in an encyclopedic format. He had an extensive library in rabbinic literature, which included both works published in Europe and Moroccan unpublished manuscripts. All of his written works were in the field of rabbinics and his halakhic opinions were often responses and resistance to the growing influence of French and European culture on the Jewish community in Fez.77 He was aware of the rationalist and scientific approaches to the generation of knowledge and could make use of them in his writing, as will be seen below. Malkhe rabbanan is organized by given name and locality. It provides biographic information for rabbis living in Morocco between the 15th and the early 20th centuries. In his introduction Ben Naim focused on the religious leadership and interpreted Moroccan Jewish history through the lens of galut u-ge’ulah, particularly the trials of exile and the

Ben Naim, Malkhe rabbanan: ve-hu sidra de-rabbanan . . . ayim de-rabbanan . . . R. Yehoshua Ra’hamim Dufour, “Tour sur les Rabbins du Maroc,” http:// www.modia.org/tora/maitrmaroc.html, accessed February 18, 2004. 76 Haggadah shel pesah: im perush magid le-adam, Lod: Orot Yahadut ha-Magreb, 756 [1996]; Sefer on Yosef: iyunim hilkhatiyim u-she elot u-teshuvot be-arba at el e ha-Shu. a, Lod: Orot Yahadut ha-Magreb 1990. 77 Ben Naim, Sefer on Yosef. 74 75

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constancy of the “business of Torah.”78 The Moroccan Diaspora, in conformity with the general appraisal of the situation of this “unfortunate People,” ha- am ha-umlal ha-zeh, is described as a “lamb among wolves.”79 This assessment of the situation of Moroccan Jewry and the Jewish Diaspora in general is consistent with the Jewish religious, sacred historical conception of exile and the hope for redemption. This is an outlook that permeates both Andalusian Hebrew religious poetry,80 Moroccan Hebrew poetry,81 as well as Moroccan Jewish religious writing in general before the 20th century.82 The Sulika text, entitled “Ma aseh be-ne arah ha- addeqet” (A Tale of the Righteous Maiden) is located at the end of the book, after the rabbinic biographical entries. It gives a chronological narrative of events,

78 Joseph Ben Naim, Malkhe rabbanan: ve-hu sidra de-rabbanan . . . ayim de-rabbanan . . . (Yerushalayim: Impr. Ma arav, 1974), 2a. 79 Ibid., 1b. 80 This perspective can been seen in the poetry of Judah Ha-Levi (11th–12th centuries). See Carmi, ed. The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse. This is the general perspective after the Expulsion from Spain, when secular poetry was overtly rejected, and its themes were allegorized and used in religious poetry. Ephraim azan, “Mi-Sefarad le- efon Afriqah—Ha-Shirah ha- Ivrit be-Ma avar,” Pe amim 59(1994): 52–64. Rationalist philosophy also suffered the same fate, with its modes of thought being taken over and used in kabbalistic systems. Gershom G. Scholem, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism (New York: Schocken, 1965; reprint, Third Revised ). 81 Chetrit, Piyyu ve-shirah be-yahadut Maroqo: asufat me karim al shirim ve- al meshorerim. 82 This is also true of Divre ha-yamim shel Fas and Toledano’s Ner Ha-ma arav. This was true in general for the chronicles and historical writings written in Hebrew up to the first half of the 20th century, when Toledano’s and Ben-Naim’s works were first published. In European languages, a revised appraisal of Jewish life in Morocco developed, starting in the 20th century. ( José Bénech, Essai d’explication d’un mellah (ghetto marocain); un des aspects du judaïsme (Paris: Larose, liminaire, 1940); de Nesry, Le Juif de Tanger et le Maroc and Les israelites marocains à l’heure du choix (Tanger: Éditions internationales, 1958); Juifs du Maroc: identité et dialogue: actes du Colloque international sur la communauté juive marocaine: vie culturelle, histoire sociale et évolution, Paris, 18–21 décembre 1978 (Grenoble: Éditions La Pensée Sauvage, 1980); André Goldenberg, ed. Les Juifs du Maroc Images et Textes (Paris: Editions du Scribe, 1992).) Ladero’s text, published around the same time as Ben Naim, but in Spanish instead of Hebrew, does not take a sacred history and exclusively Jewish approach. His work is more a local history of notables of Tangier in general. While much of his work is devoted to Jewish notables, he also includes some European residents and Moroccan Muslims. His book opens with a geographic history of Tangier itself. Laredo, Memorias de un viejo tangerino. De Nesry, writing in a period of transition in Moroccan history saw the decision to stay in Morocco after independence as a wager and hoped that the newly independent nation would make room for the hybrid and multilayered nature of Moroccan Jewish identity and would not treat its Jewish population as Egypt and Iraq had (de Nesry, 1958, 110). It would seem that the language used and the audience addressed, along with the changed historical circumstances, had a great deal to do with the type of history that was written about Jews in Morocco.

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with the most detailed events taking place in Fez. The text opens with the formula ma aseh be . . ., “a tale about. . . .”83 The story opens in Tangier. As is the case with Toledano’s version, Ben Naim’s narration of events pertaining to this location lacks factual details. He changes Sol’s mother’s name and does not mention her father or brother. He also does not mention Tahra, Sol’s Muslim neighbor and friend, nor that Sol was in the Governor of Tangier’s house and prison. He does not give many details regarding Sol’s passage to Fez. In addition to changing the names of Sol’s family, the male Muslim neighbor, who is named Ali in Boutet and Macé, is given the name walid la’ dina’, (a boy without religion). This nomenclature can be seen as an editorial comment on the role both he and the members of his household played in Sol’s downfall with their giving of false testimony claiming that she had converted of her own free will. Ben Naim stated that the motivation for this lie was that, “he saw a beautiful girl sitting with his women, and he tried to seduce her and speak to her softly.”84 All of the characters in the scenes from Tangier functioned as folktale dramatis personae with very little description given to them or to the motivations for their actions.85 This is true until the scene shifted to Fez where the most important action took place and where Ben Naim provided the most details. This is not surprising given that the author is from Fez and knows this aspect of the story better than the events in Tangier. But before focusing on the events in Fez, it is worth considering one important aspect of Sol’s story that takes place in Tangier, and this is the description of her beauty, an aspect of the story that Laredo dismissed in his appraisal of Toledano’s version. Like the European texts, Ben Naim also described her appearance. Such descriptions, along with the dialogue given to Sol, are points in the narrative where each author relies on his cultural, religious and linguistic tradition. Both Ben Naim and the Moroccan qinot discussed in the next chapter draw on the Bible for their portrayal. Ben Naim drew his description from quotations of biblical verses that deal with the redemption of Israel, the triumph of God, endogamy, and fidelity to Judaism. All of these biblical quotes reinforce Sol’s own message and deed. “The maiden Pagination ends with the last biographical entry, folio 126. The rest of the book, including the story about Sol is not paginated. 84 This quote is from the first page of the story. 85 V. Propp, Morphology of the Folktale (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1968), 25. 83

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was very beautiful, a ‘diadem of glory’ (Isa. 28:5), a ‘graceful mountain goat’ (Prov. 5:19–20).” Looking at the larger context of the biblical verses shows their connotations and the editorial point of view of the author. In Isaiah 28:5 the verse quoted is, “On that day the Lord of hosts shall be a crown of beauty and a diadem of glory to His people.” Sol’s beauty, and the beauty of her deed, her martyrdom, is compared to the divine crown of glory. She is the crowning jewel and pride of her people. The second quotation is from Proverbs 5:19–20, “Find joy in the wife of your youth—A loving doe, a graceful mountain goat. Why be infatuated, my son, with a forbidden woman? Why clasp the bosom of an alien woman?” This proverb in particular valorizes the ideal of endogamy. Its larger context is a relevant intertext to Sol’s story. In the biblical proverb, a parent gives advice to a son. The Hebrew reader, as a son with religion and a thorough knowledge of the full biblical passage,86 would be able to recall the entire proverb from just the two quoted words. Had Sol’s seducer not been a ‘boy without religion’, or at least a boy without familiarity with the Hebrew Bible, he also would not have been willing to try to seduce a girl who was religiously an ‘alien woman.’ This emphasis on foreignness and distance between Sol and her Muslim neighbors is perhaps reflective of the social realities in Fez more than in Tangier. This idea of foreignness begs the question of how Sol came to be sitting among the womenfolk of this ‘irreligious’ boy. Ben Naim answered this question perfunctorily in one sentence. In order to quiet an argument with her mother, who had hit her, “she went into the adjoining courtyard that had living in it the gentiles. . . .” The emphasis in this account on religious separation can best be appreciated when contrasted with the European language accounts by both non-Jews and Jewish writers, which emphasized the close friendship that had developed between Sol and Tahra, her Muslim friend and neighbor. These accounts pointed out that Tangier was unique in that Jews were not confined to a separate mella , as they were in Fez and other cities, but lived side by side with their Muslim neighbors. Even Judeo-Spanish ballads devoted to Sol emphasize the friendship between Sol and Tahra, and thus the severity of betrayal by the later.87 In addition to the lin-

86 Zafrani describes the Moroccan traditional Jewish educational system that from an early age had its male pupils memorize the Hebrew Bible. Haïm Zafrani, Deux mille ans de vie juive au Maroc, Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, 1998, 61. 87 “Sol la saddika.”

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guistic difference and different perspective on relations between Jews and their non-Jewish neighbors, the Spanish and Judeo-Spanish texts, unlike the Hebrew texts, do not contain as many references to the Hebrew Bible or other Jewish religious writings. It could be that the use of Hebrew, as opposed to Spanish or even Judeo-Spanish, encouraged an approach to Muslim Jewish relations that emphasized the concept of separation and religious polemics. Nevertheless, Sol’s reply to the attempted seduction combined references to both Jewish and Muslim religious concepts. “She did not look at him. He showed her gold and silver and silk and tried to get her to change her religion for the religion of Mu ammad, their prophet, and become his wife. She believed in God . . . and she said to him, ‘There is nothing like our God, and the true prophet is Moses our Rabbi (Moshe Rabbenu), peace be upon him, and I won’t change my religion, the true and holy religion, for any other.’ ” The statement ‘there is nothing like the Lord, our God’ is a reference to the prayer from the liturgy “Ayn ke-Elohenu” and the Biblical verse, ‘There is none like the LORD our God,’ (Ex. 8:6). It can also be seen as a polemic reference to the Islamic shahāda (“There is no god, but God, and Mu ammad is his Messenger”). While the beginning of her reply shows the similarity between the two monotheistic religions, Sol immediately added a reference not to Mu ammad, but to Moses; directly challenging Islam by stating that, “the true prophet is Moses, our Rabbi.” The reference to Moses as a prophet is taken from both Islamic conceptions, and polemics against Islam.88 Sol’s polemics here, in her direct address to Muslims who try to convert her, combine both Jewish and Islamic religious references in asserting the superiority of Judaism over Islam. Such assertions are clear violations of the Pact of Umar (“we shall show deference to the Muslims”),89 as well 88 The story of Moses and the Exodus is from the Pentateuch and precedes the Biblical writings of the Prophets. He was designated as “Rabbenu”, our Rabbi, or the first Rabbi, during the post-Biblical period of classical Midrash, in order to incorporate and vouchsafe rabbinic legal authority and exegesis by seeing Moses as a prototype and precedent. In Rabbinic Judaism, Moses received both the written and the oral Torah, including the exegesis of future generations, from God at Mt. Sinai. In Islamic writings, both Moses, and Abraham and all of the Biblical figures are seen as prophets who foreshadow Mu ammad’s message and share in his tribulations of being at first rejected by their own people. Maimonides, in his “Epistle to Yemen,” incorporates the Islamic conception of Moses’ prophethood and uses it to prove his superiority to Mu ammad. 89 . . . wa-an nuwaqqira al-muslīm [ . . . we shall show deference to the Muslims.] al- ur ūshī, Sirāj al-Mulūk, 134. See also Stillman, The Jews of Arab Lands, 157.

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as the Qur ānic sūra and legal prooftext, “Fight against those to whom Scriptures were given, who forbid not what Allah and His apostle have forbidden, and follow not the true faith, until they pay the tribute out of hand, and are humbled” (Sura 9:29).90 In fact many of the polemic statements placed in Sol’s mouth in these texts contrast sharply with both European travelers’ accounts of contacts between Muslims and Jews, which described the Jews as humbled both verbally and physically, as well as Jewish historical accounts of such encounters.91 It was in their Hebrew texts, particularly in their poetry, as we will in the next chapter,92 that Jewish writers were able to find an outlet for their desires for relief from passive acceptance of their status. Thus, Sol’s polemics in these writings, in contrast to her polemics in the European texts, expressed a long history of protest against the conditions of exile and a refusal to be humbled or humiliated. Her discourse asserted the superiority of Judaism and the need for renewed faith in God’s promise to His People and drew on polemic references contrasting Moses with Mu ammad, affirming him as “our rabbi” while also declaring him a prophet. Such discourse is fortified with amble prooftexts from the Bible and classical rabbinic literature (Talmud, and midrashim) for reinforcing these claims, as will be seen below. In contrast to this polemic approach to proselytizing Muslim characters and their religion, Ben Naim introduced the character of the ruler, Mawlay Abd al-Ra mān, as a king who “was straight and merciful and pious ( asid ) and never did anything bad to the Jews.” Both the king and the judge, Ben ’Abd al-Hadi, are described as reluctant to rule against Sol because it was “against the judge’s spirit” (neged ru o).93 However, “the king, Mawlay Abd al-Ra mān, sentenced her 90 This pact or contract ( ahd ) was referred to in Moroccan religious rulings (fatāwā) related to Jews, as shown in chapter two above, and any violation of it would forfeit their protection. In such a case they would be placed in the category those whom Muslims must fight, and their women and children would be confiscated by Muslim warriors. (A mad ibn Ya yā al-Wansharīsī, al-Mi yār al-mu rib wa-al-jāmi al-mughrib an fatāwī ulamā’ Ifrīqīyah wa-al-Andalus wa-al-Maghrib, vol. 2 (Bayrūt: Dār al-Gharb al-Islām, 1981–1983), 249. 91 Drummond-Hay, Western Barbary: Its Tribes and Savage Animals, op. cit.. Also Ben Naim’s description of the attacks on different Jewish communities during the reign of al-Yazīd (Malkhe rabbanan, 3–4b) and his description of conditions in the Moroccan Diaspora quoted above. 92 See also Chetrit, Piyyu ve-shirah be-yahadut Maroqo: asufat me karim al shirim ve- al meshorerim. 93 In Moshe Ben Sa adon, Qissat Solika . . . Qissot le-Tish ah be-Av, the minister is referred to as Ben Jelloun and in Romero he is called “Kaid Mia”, Eugénio Maria

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according to their religion, which required death.” Whereas most of the characters in Tangier lack names or are given invented names by Ben Naim, in Fez all the characters, including the Muslim characters, have proper names. The sentence was pronounced only after numerous attempts both to seduce and to coerce Sol into accepting Islam failed. Given that witnesses in Tangier had already testified that she had converted, her insistence on her Jewish identity, from a Muslim legal perspective, represented apostasy, and was punishable by death.94 Ben Naim described the threats and violence to which she was subjected. “And before they carried out the sentence they [the woman in charge of the king’s wives] tortured her with a whip and scared her with death threats, and they brought a sharp sword to scare her and soften her and they bruised her hand with the sword, they spilt her blood, and all this did not help and she did not give ear to listen.” However before resorting to violence, she was brought before women who converted from Judaism.95 The circumstances of their conversion and entrance into the Sultan’s entourage are never mentioned. Given the antithetical nature of such events, it is possible to understand this lack of a full accounting in the narrative and the desire to leave them unexplained. In order to belittle such acts of apostasy Sol questioned the Jewish identity and ritual purity of the converts. “Then they brought her in front of the women who converted to seduce her. ‘Why are you going through all this fear? You won’t be equal to us and this is what happened to us.’ She replied to them, ‘You (masc. plural) are for sure not Israelites and your mother is not qedosha [sanctified]. But I am a pure Israelite. I will not change and I will never abandon my religion.’ ”96

Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea (Gibraltar: Imprenta Militar, 1837), 76. 94 Execution was not always performed immediately. In some cases, such as the case of the converted Jew in Marrakech, imprisonment was the first punishment. This was also true in Sol’s case. 95 David Pinto’s tale, Qi a di Solika a- adiqah, mentions yisl’amiy’at who say the same statement as those quoted here. The use of the term yisl’amiy’at instead of “muslīmāt” is an indication that they converted and were not born Muslims. Also Romero (1837) and Juarros (1921) mention the formerly Jewish women in the Sultan’s harem. The Makhzen archive does contain correspondence related to Jewish converts to Islam. There is mention of a case involving a Jewish woman who converted and was brought before the Sultan’s household and received a pension. Bouchara, al-Istī ān wa-al- imāyah bi-al-Maghrib 1280–1311 (1863–1894), vol. 4, 1445. 96 Second page of “Ma aseh be-Ne arah ha- addeket,” Malkhe rabbanan.

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Qedosha literally means ‘holy.’ It is also related to the benediction said by the groom during the marriage ceremony, “At mequddeshet li . . .,” (You are sanctified/espoused to me). The implication is that the converts’ mothers were not sanctified or properly espoused to their fathers, and thus these converts are bastards according to Jewish law.97 It is questionable how much Sol would have actually known of Jewish marriage law. It would depend on how prevalent cases where the bride was not properly wedded were in her community and whether they were a topic of discussion by the Jewish public, particularly by women and by lay members of her socio-economic status.98 Assuming that such complications in Jewish marriage law were not widely discussed, particularly by women, Sol’s polemic can be seen again as being improbably infused with the kind of rabbinic learning that Ben Naim would be versed in, but not necessarily a young girl of Sol’s background. It is in Sol’s discourse that her authors instill their own learning and worldview. This will be seen again in the Hebrew qinot in the next chapter. Considering that none of the authors were in a position to witness or hear her statements while she was in captivity, they were free to invent what they imagined she would have said based on their own background and education. Ben Naim, who also wrote exegetical and halakhic ( Jewish legal) works, has Sol make reference to the concept of qidushin, to the purity of the bride and her unambiguous sanctification to one groom, to call into question the purity and religious identity of these Muslim converts. If they can be seen as having been born impure, their conversion is no great loss to Judaism. Sol with her fidelity to her faith and her willingness to be martyred is assumed to be of pure birth. Another connotation involved in the concept of qedusha, and one that Sol might have been more familiar with, is the Jewish woman’s practice of niddah, or avoiding sexual relations and physical contact with her husband while menstruating. For 97 See Judith Romney Wegner, Chattel or Person? The Status of Women in the Mishnah (New York: Oxford UP, 1988), 42ff, 60ff. In her discussion of the acquisition of a wife, Wegner specifies the complications involved in the ambiguous status of a woman or girl of marriageable age who was previously betrothed to another, or not properly divorced prior to being remarried. 98 According to Isadore Loeb Sol’s brother did become a rabbi in Gibraltar after her execution (Loeb, “Une Martyre Juive Au Maroc;” also “Sol La addeket,” Folieton de La Epoka, 1901, p.16.) However, she did not come from one of the elite rabbinic and scholastic families. Romero describes her family background as that of modest merchants who made just enough to get by. Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea, 2.

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Moroccan Jewish women this was one of the markers of identity that distinguished them from Muslim women.99 Given that such practices are part of the woman’s sphere, Sol would probably have been familiar with them. After Sol refused to convert she was sentenced to death. Ben Naim described her execution as if he had witnessed it personally, “And when the decree came out our hearts broke.” He went on to describe how she was brought to the public square, her tying her dress between her legs out of modesty so that when she fell, she would not be exposed. Ben Naim rendered the dialogue between Sol and “the man of blood.” “After he cut the skin and flesh of her neck he said to her, ‘Even in this moment if you will desire and listen to my voice and return to our religion there is a cure to your plague.’ She said, ‘Happily God will cut your hand if you don’t finish the slaughter,’ and with great love she said she would never leave the religion of Moses and Israel and God did not remove her innocence, and he finished her slaughter in front of the eyes of the gentiles.” While this description is horrific and gives greater detail than his narration of the events in Tangier, the most detailed part of Ben Naim’s text comes in the description of what happened in the Mella after Sol’s execution and the struggle to retrieve her body and bury her. That day was a day of confusion for the residents of Fez. Thick [clouds in the] sky flowed, strong rains, and gloom covered the face of all the city, and even this did not dampen the anger of the gentiles. They surrounded her like bees . . . and they wanted diligently to destroy her. From here and there came the cry to burn her body, as if they found a way to destroy the soul as well as the body. The Sage R. Raphael Ha- arfati, mustered courage and strength and threw gold and gave bribes to the important people at court to rescue her body. And he went out to where she expired, and with him his gentile servants. In order to separate the throng of gentiles from her, he scattered coins of silver all over the ground, and all the fanatics and criminals that had gathered turned their attention to gathering the money. They loaded her body and brought it into the Mella . And there was great confusion (mehumah ‫ )מהומה‬in the city, and all the Jews were vexed under them. All the noise in the city, all the city raged and quaked, and the gates of the Mella were closed. So they lifted her body from the wall and lowered it into the Mella . The Rahel Wasserfall, “Menstruation and Identity: The Meaning of Niddah for Moroccan Women Immigrants in Israel,” in People of the Body: Jews and Judaism from an Embodied Perspective, ed. Howard Eilberg-Schwartz (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992), 308–28. 99

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chapter three Jews were greatly afraid that the savage, cruel, fanatic gentiles would chase after them and would take her from them to execute their plot. They brought her body to a street in the city [inside the Mella ] and they made a great elegy, men, women and children. There was in all the city a meeting full of groans and moans, and cries of ‘woe alas.’ And one man swore that as they were lowering her corpse from the wall he saw the ends of the large, beautiful, blonde curls of her hair. And after the elegies, they brought her to rest in the earth. Blessed be her, and blessed be her lot. Who will take her place? See how awful this spectacle is! Who could stand up to such a challenge? For her memory’s sake each one will give praise. There has never been another like her. It is said that many daughters, because of her, had become valiant. (Prov. 31:29) Her merit will stand for us and for all of Israel. And almost all the Jews began referring to her, after her death as “Lalla Sulika”, and the meaning of the word “Lalla” in Arabic is “mistress”. All the Jews of Morocco use this title for Muslim women. She came in a dream to a talmid akham (religious student) and told him, “I fled from this title and now you call me by it.” And from then on they ceased to mention her by this name.

The biblical quote (Prov. 31:29 ‘Many daughters have done valiantly, but thou excellest them all’) makes reference to the effect that Sol’s heroism had on the women and girls of the Mella as well as on the attitudes of their male relatives. Sol’s bravery has been an on-going model for Sephardic girls and women.100 Jacob Berdugo’s qinah for Sol, discussed in the next chapter, makes that the focal point of his elegy. What is remarkable in this section of Ben Naim’s narrative is that, unlike the qinot and the section he devotes to events in Tangier, there is only one biblical verse quoted. Instead of building his narrative with chains of biblical verses he uses detailed description and eyewitness narration. The description of the atmosphere, both natural and human, and the reactions of the Muslim and Jewish crowds; the deeds of the sages, the efforts made in trying to gather her body and convey it into the Mella all combine to provide one of the most detailed descriptions of the entire narrative. Ben Naim was born five decades

100 Juliette Hassine, “Le- i uv demutah shel gibborat tarbut al pi eqs im harugat ha-malkhut Sol Haguiil mi-maroqo,” in Ishshah ba-Mizra , ishshah mi-Mizra : sippurah shel ha-Yehudiyah bat ha-Mizra , ed. Shaul Regev and Tova Cohen (Ramat-Gan: Univesi at Bar-Ilan, 2005), 35–54. Ruth Knaffo Setton and Yaelle Azagoury have also written on her impact on women and girls from the Moroccan Jewish community. Their work appears in Jewish Culture and Society in North Africa, ed. Emily Beichou Gottreich and Daniel J. Schroeter (Bloomington, Ind: Indiana University Press, 2010). See also Knafo Setton, The road to Fez: a novel.

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after Sol’s death, yet the details of his account makes one think that it was based on the recollections of eye witnesses who had a talent for remembering and narrating this event. This contrasts with the sparse two—sentence account of Sol’s martyrdom from Divre ha-yamin shel Fas quoted above, most probably written shortly after her execution. Ben Naim’s lengthy text, first published almost a century after the events, is probably the most fully developed and realistic Moroccan Hebrew prose narrative.101 This atmospheric attention to detail combines with an otherworldly content, particularly in the hagiographic material included. The story of Sol coming in a dream to a religious student after her death forbidding the use of the term Lalla in reference to her has been retold in oral tradition and is also an indication of the community’s and its religious leadership’s concern with reaffirming the boundaries between Jews and Muslim.102 The veneration of Sol as a saint, addeqet in the Moroccan fashion, should not be allowed to blur the divisions between the two religions, or to absorb Judaism or Jews into Islam, normative or popular. There is another hagiographic story that Ben Naim includes in his Sulika tale. In 1884 King Hassan I ordered that the Jewish cemetery be moved to make way for an expansion of the palace. “And we heard that when they moved her bones they smelled the smell of myrrh.” Myrrh was associated with Abraham, who was also associated with martyrs when he offered his son, Isaac.103 This story is yet another in the collection of hagiographic tales surrounding Sol’s gravesite and indicates that both sages and lay people attributed it with miraculous qualities. The symbolic force of myrrh further associates Sol with the long chain of biblical and post biblical martyrs and prompts Ben Naim

101 Poetic compositions were written, some of them with prose introductions describing the events of Sol’s story by writers who were alive in 1834 and could have witnessed these events, had they been in Fez, or have heard accounts from eye witnesses if they were from other Jewish communities in Morocco. Chapter four contains three poems by poets that fit this category. 102 Interview R. Abraham Sabag, Fes, 4/16/97, also Israel Folklore Archives named in Honor of Dov Noy no.a22.206, told by R. Yosef Cohen, 12/16/2001. Nevertheless, two other stories from the archive (20.944 told by Ruth Cohen, N.D.; and 20.947, told by Ruth (?) (N.D.) continued to refer to her as “Lalla.” 103 “Myrrh” in Encyclopaedia Judaica, vol. 14 ( Jerusalem, Israel: Keter Pub. House), 727; also Song of Songs Rabba 3:6 no.2. Peter Brown points out that accounts of the gravesites of early Christian saints state the tombs or the relics of saintly martyrs gave off scents of flowers (lilies and roses). Peter Robert Lamont Brown, The cult of the saints: its rise and function in Latin Christianity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981), 76.

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to end his account with a midrash ne mad, a pleasant commentary or homily on the subject of martyrdom. His motivation for adding this midrash at the end of his narrative was to not leave the page half blank. The result is that his Sulika tale combines two rabbinic genres, the ma aseh and the midrash and further demonstrates his rootedness in rabbinic scholarship. His midrash combines this tradition with a familiarity with rational scientific discourse. The classical midrash, as it developed during the period from 1st century C.E. to the 6th century, was an exegetical work on biblical verses. Often the sources of the written midrashim were oral sermons given in the synagogue.104 Ben Naim begins his midrash with references to the Babylonian Talmud and references to two Ashkenazi rabbis with whom he corresponded.105 His subject is the vision of the frogs from the Ten Plagues of Egypt that Hananiah, Mishael and Azariah saw in the furnace (Dan. 3; Pes. 53b). According to legend when Hananiah, Mishael and Azariah were ordered by the Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar to worship him as a god or be killed, they remembered the story of the plague of frogs in Egypt who sacrificed themselves so the Children of Israel could go free and were rewarded with being returned to life. With this faith they entered the furnace and were spared.106 After providing these references Ben Naim launched into a discussion on the instincts of both humans and animals for self-preservation, which he stated are laws of nature. He therefore asked the question how can God make a ruling contrary to such natural laws? He resolved this dilemma through a discussion of ‘man’s intellect’ and wisdom, which were endowed to him by the Creator, who also endowed him with the

104 Joseph Heinemann, “Profile of a Midrash,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 39 (1971): 141–50. 105 He mentions Pesa im 53 [Bab. Talmud] without quoting it. The two rabbis were R. Isaac Goldman and Mordechai Gimpel. According the Jewish Encyclopedia there was an Isaac Goldman who lived in Warsaw and was the owner of a printing press. His son, Bernard (1843–1901) was active in gathering support for Galician Jewry. Isidore Singer, “Goldman, Bernard” in Jewish Encyclopedia, http://www.jewishencyclopedia .com, accessed July 25, 2003. The other rabbi was Mordechai Gimpel, from Ruzhany, Belarus, who wrote a work entitled “Yesod Ha-Torah.” He was active in the Zionist movement and immigrated to Palestine where he died in 1892. “Mordecai Gimpel Jaffe” in Jewish Encyclopedia, http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com, accessed July 25, 2003. I was not able to locate his work, Yesod Ha-Torah. 106 Louis Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews, Volume 2: Bible Times and Characters from Joseph to the Exodus, 179, http://philologos.org, accessed April 15, 2010.

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wisdom to sacrifice himself for a higher religious ideal.107 In this section Ben Naim used the language of Jewish medieval philosophy, including terms such as “intellect” and “soul,” from medieval Aristotelian Jewish and Islamic discourse.108 These medieval terms are combined with more modern, rationalist descriptions of natural law and the instinct for survival along with “higher ideas and elevated thoughts, belief in religion and commands from any torah.” Here the term ‘torah’ refers not simply to the Bible, but to any theory or doctrine, religious or scientific. Ben Naim’s appeal to instinct and laws of nature can be explained by his interest in the natural sciences and desire to reconcile the laws of nature with Torah. His text is a combination of several distinct genres, including the ma aseh, with which he starts a very modern historical narrative, and a modified, philosophical, almost scientific midrash justifying in rationalist terms the concept of martyrdom. The narrative of Sol’s martyrdom is told in great detail, vividly, and in all its uniqueness. And yet it is part of the general pattern of Jewish historiosophy and Jewish memory.109 The reliance on a language of biblical and rabbinic intertexts is still there, but to a much lesser extent than in the Moroccan Hebrew poetic texts discussed in the next chapter. It is because Ben Naim provided unique and vivid details that his text became the source for other works on Sol in Hebrew, both written and oral, created by Sephardi and Ashkenazi writers.110 In addition to these narrative creations, another image from his account has been portrayed in the visual representations of Sol Hatchuel. The reference to her golden locks, which could be seen when her body was lowed into the Mella , contradicts Romero’s description of Sol’s raven black hair, as well as Dehodencq’s painting and other

In the case of the frogs, their Creator also had the power to change their character. 108 Colette Sirat, A History of Jewish Philosophy in the Middle Ages, Paris: Editions de la Maison des Sciences de l’Homme, Cambridge, Eng.: Cambridge UP, 1977. 109 Historiosophy is a term coined by Gershom Scholem to describe the intersection of history and metaphysics and the way the Lurianic kabbalah endowed historical events, such as the Expulsion from Spain, with metaphysical and cosmic meaning. Shaul Magid, “Gershom Scholem” in Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, http://plato .stanford.edu/entries/scholem. Accessed April 15, 2010. 110 Hirschberg follows Ben Naim’s version in his book, A History of the Jews of North Africa, vol. 2, 304. Ashkenazi (1946) and Geveyski (1999) follow Toledano’s version. 107

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Display in Em Ha-Banim Museum. The sign above reads “Solika The Righteous.”

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lithographic portrayals of her.111 This contradiction is reconciled visually in a display in Fez at the “Em-Ha-Banim” Museum site next to the cemetery where Sol is buried.112 On the wall of the main hall of the museum is a photographic reproduction of a lithograph of Sol. She is portrayed as being light skinned with long black curls. Around the outside of the frame, someone added two long locks of a blond wig that drape down and outline the frame. Thus, both Romero’s description, as rendered by the lithograph, and Ben Naim’s description of Sol’s hair color, as rendered by the collage of the wig added to the outside of the frame, have pictorial representations close to the site of Sol’s internment. Conclusion The Moroccan Hebrew prose and poetic texts represent one literary tradition centered in rabbinic Judaism with its fundamental conception of galut u-ge’ulah. This concept was both a polemic answer to the challenge from other religions that claimed that Judaism had loss God’s grace after the destruction of the Temple and a positive affirmation that the exile was only temporary and that the Jewish people would eventually be redeemed. This idea is central to traditional Jewish historical interpretation whereby events that happen to individuals and the community are subsumed under this overarching dynamic of exile and redemption. This is especially true of the stories of martyrs, including Sol. There are several genres in which these stories are told in both prose and poetry. While the chronicles do not always convey this message in their texts they nevertheless provide the data from which the more elaborate genres such as the ma aseh, midrash and qinot draw their material.

111 Alfred Dehondencq, Execution de la Juive, circa 1857. A black and white photograph of the oil painting is in La Vie Juive au Maroc, Ed: Aviva Müller-Lancet, Israel Museum & Stavit, 1983, 252. A reproduction of a lithograph of Sol is in Manuel Alvar, Cantos de boda judeo-españoles, Madrid: Instituto Arias Montano, 1971, 144. 112 Em Ha-Banim was a network of schools supported by women from the Fez Jewish community. It provided a religious, but modern alternative to the Alliance schools. After the Mella was deserted and most of the Jews left Fez it was turned into a museum. Joseph Tedghi, “Em Habanim,” in Encyclopedia of Jews in the Islamic World, ed. Norman Stillman, vol. 1 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 170–71.

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While Toledano’s work is an important source on Moroccan Jewish history, his version of Sol’ story, when compared to Ben Naim’s account, lacks details and the movement of the narrative from Tangier to Fez lacks causal probability, or in the very least contains gaps in the chain of events. The role of the Sultan in this version shifts the cause of the quarrel from a religious dispute centered on questions of conversion, testimony of faith, and theological superiority to one of a spurned lover. Even as the cause of the dispute shifted from theology to romance, Sol’s martyrdom and her exemplary conduct still place Toledano’s version within the framework of rabbinic Judaism. This is reinforced by the way Sol’s story is inserted between the account of the Oudaya attacks on the Jewish community and the martyrdom of the Abravanel family. All of these events are examples of the collective suffering of the Jewish people in exile and the belief that their sacrifice will bring forth the redemption, just as the community was eventually redeemed from the Oudaya revolt. In these stories the details of the event and their setting are less important than the martyr as an archetypal illustration of the dynamic of exile and redemption for the current generation. Toledano’s version was built on earlier chronicles such as R. Raphael Moshe Elbaz’s Kisse Malakhim, which he acknowledged in his citations, and was also the source for later versions, particularly those written in Mandate Palestine.113 There are some similarities to the version in Benjamin, in that the emphasis is on Sol’s beauty and the desire to present her to the Sultan as a gift. In Benjamin she was to be given to his son, in the Judeo-Arabic texts discussed in chapter five she was meant as a present for the Sultan himself. In Benjamin and the Judeo-Arabic texts Muslims claim that she converted, in Toledano no such claim is mentioned, only that the Sultan had heard about an argument among her relatives over who would marry her and decided that he would take her himself provided that she agree to convert. The righteousness of her deed is compounded by the injustice of his degree, which is inconsistent with Toledano’s general appraisal of Mawlay Abd al-Ra mān, which was that he was just, but ineffective as a ruler.114 However Toledano’s version of Sol’s story, despite its appearance in his historical work on Moroccan Jewry, is more aligned

113 114

Ashkenazi, Neshe Yisra’el bi-gevuratan. Ner ha-Ma arav, 253.

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with a number of folklore motifs.115 It does not contain all the elements of the martyrdom tale, such as the reciting of the shema , but as a chronicle entry it provides the elements for the more elaborate genres of such tales. Ben Naim’s version of Sol’s story is more elaborate and contains two rabbinic genres, the ma aseh and the midrash, along with interesting hagiographic material, expanded description and a modern realistic prose style containing a virtual eyewitness account. In the scenes from Tangier, characters also lack names and the details are imprecise, giving this section the style of a folktale, more expanded than Toledano, but also lacking in specifics. The description of Sol’s beauty uses biblical verses, also used in the qinot to make compact editorial comments and theological statements with maximum impact. However when the scene switches to Fez, events are described in detail and vividness. Throughout the narrative there is a polemical exchange between Sol as the representative of Judaism and her Muslim captors. She answers their attempts to induce her to convert with an assertion of the superiority and uniqueness of Judaism. Such a defense constitutes a transformation and reversal of the established order. Here and in the qinot, the Pact of Umar, and specifically the prohibition against defamation of the Prophet Mu ammad or Islam are ignored. The shahāda is rejected in favor of the God of Israel and Jewish liturgy that affirms that ‘there is no one like our God.’ The use of biblical and rabbinic references locates the polemics in a general context of historical Jewish polemics against other religions in former times. Specifically anti-Islamic polemics are confined to declaring the prophecy of Moses to be unique and by inference and implication, denying the prophecy of Mu ammad. The revival of Moses as prophet, in addition to his role as prototypical rabbi, shows the influence of Islamic concepts on Jewish polemics. The invocation of the coming Redemption is itself a denial of the Islamic polemic of naskh (abrogation), as well as a theme that also goes back to biblical times. Engaging in such polemics in the presence of Muslims and overtly rejecting their prophet constituted a violation of the dhimma status. For such defiance Sol pays the ultimate price and her martyrdom and Ben-Amos has identified a number of them, including C577 “Tabu: socializing with a member of another group,” F575.1 “Remarkably beautiful woman,” V463 “Religious martyrdom.” Ben-Amos, Noy, and Frankel, eds., Folktales of the Jews. Vol. 1, Tales from the Sephardic Dispersion, 94. 115

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the struggle to retrieve her body, bury her and establish her grave sight as a place of pilgrimage are elaborated on with dramatic tension, vivid details and the emotional attachment of someone who writes as if he witnessed these events before his eyes. While the content of the story is polemical Ben Naim’s hagiographic tales are part of the general phenomenon of miraculous tales around saints’ tombs and their pilgrimage. Both Jews and Muslims make pilgrimages to the tombs of their righteous dead and seek out and receive supernatural interventions, particularly in the area of medicinal healings. Sol’s tomb, which is credited with healing sick children and curing infertility, is no exception. The story of her returning in dreams and the miraculous scents emanating from her remains is part of this tradition. At the same time her martyrdom and its meaning forbid subsuming her to any shared identity between Muslims and Jews when she appears to future Jewish leaders, the Talmudic students, and announces that she is not to be called by the Moroccan Arabic honorific title of Lalla. The Moroccan Hebrew tales are part of the literature on Sol that represents an approach that is unique when compared with the European texts. It shares many elements with the texts in order Jewish languages, but draws to a much greater extent on the rabbinic concepts of galut u-ge’ulah. These concepts and the thematic structure of the martyrdom tale achieve their fullest expression in the poetic laments, the qinot. Yet in both prose and poetry this literature also shows affinities with a shared Maghreb culture. Zafrani refers to this as the “JudeoMaghrebian personality,” characterized by syncretism and the “linguistic landscape of the Islamic West and old Hispano-Maghrebian world.”116 This syncretism expresses itself both at the level of popular religious beliefs and practices and in the realm of poetic expression.

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CHAPTER FOUR

‘AS AN EWE BEFORE HER SHEARERS’: THE HEBREW ELEGIES Introduction The Moroccan Hebrew texts are part of the rabbinic literary and theological tradition. While the prose genres, the chronicle, ma aseh and midrash expressed elements of this tradition, it is the qinot, the poetic laments that represent it most fully. In these texts the martyrdom tale achieved its fullest expression and its highest aesthetic values. The elegies for Sol are examples of this narrative. All of them have the same thematic structure: description of the beauty of the virgin maiden, the attempts to seduce her, polemical exchanges contrasting her religion with that of her captors, her martyrdom and its meaning for Judaism and the Jewish People. They all conclude with an appeal to God to avenge the suffering of His people, to end the exile and begin the Messianic Age of redemption. They make use of Hebrew biblical quotes and rabbinic literature creating a rich polysemic layer of meaning and connotations for readers who were, like the poets, well educated in Scripture and the classical rabbinic tradition. They also draw on the poetic tradition inherited from Muslim Spain and classical Arabic poetry. In addition, given the subject of these qinot, they engage in gendered discourse at a number of levels. In terms of content this discourse exists in the exchanges between the heroine and her captors and in the description of her beauty, which is often infused with religious connotations in metaphoric conceptions of divine beauty and metonymic references to the Temple sacrifices. The treatment of sexual relations in these texts and their intersection with religious concepts are important themes. Finally, there are the sociolinguistic divisions between women’s discourse and education and men’s, which become apparent when evaluating the verisimilitude of the dialogue written for Sol in these qinot.

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The qinot discussed in this chapter continue the poetic tradition of Andalusia with modifications made after the Expulsion from Spain. In the pre-Expulsion period this tradition was embedded in both the classical rabbinic piyyu and the Arabic poetic tradition.1 From the piyyu was derived rabbinic hermeneutics such as gematria and the notarikon, systems of kabbalistic interpretation of sacred Hebrew texts,2 the use of acronyms to make connections between different words and ideas, in particular the dialectic of exile and redemption, which created a whole series of antitheses for these poets.3 Antithesis ibāq, also plays an important role in Arabic poetics, in particular in the ilm al-badi , the science of Arabic prosody, where it was one of its five elements, along with metaphor, paranomasia, tajnīs, the use of internal repetitions within lines of poetry, and the use of theological speculation, or al-madhhab al-kalāmī;4 the later showing that the close connection between poetry and theology is another area of commonality between the two traditions. These elements were also used in Moroccan Hebrew poetry, particularly in the qinot. Both poetic traditions showed what Haim Zafrani described as a “preoccupation with style seen in the unusual frequency of certain types of expressions and linguistic signs, in the significant recurrence of thematic unities and lexical and syntactical models, and sometimes excessive use of homophony, alliteration, assonance and antithesis.”5 These techniques were used in both religious and secular Hebrew poetry in its Golden Age in Spain.6 After the Expulsion secular poetry was repudiated, but its themes and forms were incorporated into religious poetic genres.7 At the level of form Ibid., 271, 73. Gematria is an exegetic technique based on the assigned numerical value of each Hebrew letter and involves deriving connections between those words that have the same value when their letters are added. No ariqon is a method of finding new interpretations by taking the beginning, middle or end letters of Biblical words and using them to construct other words. 3 Ibid. 4 Roger M.A. Allen, The Arabic literary heritage: the development of its genres and criticism (Cambridge, U.K.; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 370. 5 Zafrani, Two thousand years of Jewish life in Morocco, 271. 6 Raymond P. Scheindlin, ed. Wine, women, & Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life ( Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1986), 4; Scheindlin, The Gazelle Medieval Hebrew Poems on God, Israel, and the Soul, 7–8. 7 Efraim azan, “Mi-Sefarad le- efon Afriqah—ha-Shirah ha- Ivrit be-Ma avar,” Pe amim, no. 59 (1994): 52–64. 1 2

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the rhyme scheme of all the poems discussed in this section follow the general pattern of the muwashsha , one of the unique genres of Andalusian Arabic and Hebrew poetry. In this form each strophe is divided into two hemistiches, with the first part varying from stanza to stanza, usually with the first two lines rhyming, while the second hemistch of the final line is constant throughout the poem.8 All but the last poem by Abu a era, mention a la an or melody, often coming from Arabic musical traditions, to which the poem could be song.9 At the level of content, there is a distinction between these poems and that of the Andalusian Arabic and Hebrew muwashsha . Unlike in the Andalusian poetic tradition, which takes its imagery from classical Arabic poetry, particularly descriptions of gardens and themes from love poetry,10 in these poems the images all come from the Bible and occasionally from rabbinic literature. This is not really an innovation when one considers that Andalusian Hebrew poetry also interwove biblical verses, even into secular poems.11 However, whereas the Spanish model tended to strike a balance between the biblical themes and the Arabic imagery, here the former predominate. In terms of form, in addition to the muwashsha rhyme structure, one can also see a greater balance and symmetry, particularly in syllable count, between the hemistiches in this poetry, following the Andalusian and classical Arabic model, than was true of other Hebrew poetic traditions. Thus, while the influence of Arabic poetics lost ground at the level of images and content, it was still preserved at the level of form, particularly in the use of the badi poetic devises of tajnīs and ibāq, paranomasia and antithesis. The interweaving of biblical verses was extensive in the poetry, in the style of the meli a, and became a standard elevated style for Hebrew poetry from the Andalusian Period, especially from the 10th

Scheindlin, The Gazelle Medieval Hebrew Poems on God, Israel, and the Soul, 19. Zafrani, Études et Recherches sur la Vie Intellectuelle Juive au Maroc de la fin du 15e au début du 20e siècle Deuxième Partie Poésie Juive en Occident Musulman. The version I have of the Abuhasera poem is from a recent edition of his diwan. All the poems in this edition lack introductions and it could be that the original poem did contain an introduction indicating a melody to which the poem could be song. Abuhasera, Sefer Yagel Ya aqov: . . . shirah adasha . . . (Tunis: Kastro, [1902], Sefer Yagel Ya aqov he- adash ha-shalem (Ashdod: Yeshivah ve-Kholel “Maskil le-David”, 1987), 13–15. 10 James Monroe, Hispano-Arabic Poetry A Student Anthology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974). 11 Carmi, ed. The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse, 27; Scheindlin, ed. Wine, women, & Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life. 8 9

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century on.12 It resulted in a rich layering of multiple meanings and connotations that is difficult to render in translation. “Examination of works of poetry and other written pieces reveals a virtually unlimited power of suggestion, dense thought, an accumulation of emotions, a tight network of references, of formulas tending toward the greatest possible concentration of meaning, of connotations going beyond the frontiers of the text to a highly allusive, symbolic and allegorical world. . .”13 No translation can do justice to these qinot in their original Hebrew, where each word and phrase is part of a complex web of biblical source text as well as multiple layers of rabbinic commentary and liturgical intertexts. My translations concentrate on pointing out the biblical verses that are quoted at length. The analysis will consider some of the Arabic poetic rhetorical devices used, but my focus will be at the level of content, paying special attention to the gender discourse, polemics and portrayal of Sol’s captors in the poems. I will also pay close attention to how biblical verses are used to convey points of view by comparing the biblical contexts of the quoted verses with their use in these poems. The subject of gender and polemics is interconnected with the Hebrew rabbinic traditions whose central concepts, as already discussed in chapter three, were organized around the dynamic of galut u-ge ulah, which were expressed in both the prose genres of sermon, the ma aseh, as well as in poetic works.14 Inter-religious polemics were an important part of the themes of religious poetry.15 The Bible and biblical language were the fountain from which Hebrew poets drew for both aesthetic and religious reasons. The Bible was seen as the most elevated form of literary expression in Hebrew, similar to the role of the Qur ān in Arabic. It also was used to counteract the Muslim concepts of naskh. Just as the Bible had already predicted Israel’s subjugation to the nations, so would its prophecies of redemption also be realized. One way of making the connection between biblical and contemporary times was by referring to the contemporary peoples among whom Moroccan Jews lived by using biblical tribal names (Sevah and 12 Carmi, ed. The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse, 27. It was used in the period of the pay anim—liturgical poets active from the 6th Century CE on, but it developed as a high art form, following Arabic poetic models, in Muslim Spain. Raphael Patai, The Jewish mind (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1977), 103–04. 13 Zafrani, Two thousand years of Jewish life in Morocco, 204. 14 Manor, Galut u-Ge ulah be-Hagut akhame Maroqo ba-me ot ha-17–18. 15 Perlmann, “The Medieval Polemics between Islam and Judaism.”

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Havilah).16 In addition to showing continuity between biblical time and contemporary reality, which connected polemics directed at Islam with biblical polemics, the use of biblical ethnonyms had the effect of collapsing time, or the time interval between sacred history and current events.17 Gender Discourse The issue of gender discourse in these works exists on a number of levels. One level involves the gender discourse within the texts themselves, and another involves the fact that there are distinctly male and female speech genres in traditional Jewish discourse and in Middle Eastern and North African discourse. These distinctions have to do historically with women’s lack of access to the written language in these societies.18 Complicating the picture is the fact that the learned, text based genre associated with men is itself not monolithic. It has levels and layers of knowledge with the more advanced and esoteric confined to an educated elite,19 and an elementary level accessible, in Jewish society, to all Jewish males. This elementary education involved memorizing the Torah as well as its commentaries in Aramaic, and in the local languages (e.g. Judeo-Arabic, Judeo-Berber or Judeo-Spanish).20 The Haim Haliwa’s poem in Qol Ya aqov, see below. Zafrani, Two thousand years of Jewish life in Morocco, 199. 18 For a discussion of distinct male and female speech genres in Tunisia see Monia Hejaiej, Behind Closed Doors Women’s Oral Narratives in Tunis (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1996) and Sabra J. Webber, Romancing the Real: Folklore and Ethnographic Representation in North Africa (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1991). In the case of Morocco Joseph Chetrit has pointed out that during wedding ceremonies men chanted liturgical poems (piyyu im) in Hebrew while women sung popular wedding songs in the Jewish versions of the local language dialects ( Judeo-Berber, JudeoArabic or Judeo-Spanish), Joseph Chetrit and et al., Ha- atunah ha-yehudit ha-masortit be-maroqo pirqe iyyun ve-ti ud, Miqedem umiyyam (Haifa: Universi at aifa ha-faqul ah le-mad ae ha-rua ve-ha-merkaz le- eqer ha-tarbut ha-yehudit bi-Sefarad u-bi-ar ot ha-islam, 2003), 192. For discussion of the education of Jewish women in Morocco, see Donath, L’Evolution de la Femme Israelite a Fes; N. Bensadon, “La femme juive de Tanger et de Tétouan,” in Mosaiques de Notre Memoire, ed. Sara Leibovici (Paris: Centre d’Études Don Isaac Abravanel UISF, 1982); Haïm Zafrani, Deux mille ans de vie juive au Maroc (Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, 1998), 7. 19 Moses Maimonides, The guide of the perplexed Maimonides; an abridged edition with introduction and commentary by Julius Guttmann; translated from the Arabic by Chaim Rabin; new introduction by Daniel H. Frank, (Indianapolis, Ind.: Hackett Pub. Co., 1995). 20 Zafrani, Deux mille ans de vie juive au Maroc, 64; Pédagogie juive en terre d’islam; l’enseignement traditionnel de l’hébreu et du judaïsme au Maroc (Paris: A. Maisonneuve, 1969). 16 17

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culmination of this education was in the bar mi vah, after which most boys went to work along side their fathers. Only those students whose parents could afford to give up their sons’ earning capacity went on to the Yeshivah where they would study the Talmud and legal texts full time.21 Thus, access to this more specialized rabbinic discourse was not available even to all men. Girls did not have access to this education,22 nor to most of the Hebrew Bible.23 Yet in the Hebrew texts discussed in this and the previous chapters Sol quotes biblical verses in Hebrew and even uses Aramaic references, as in the poem by Haim Haliwa. The use of extensive biblical quotations in liturgical poetic genres was an expected convention.24 In both the qinot, and in the ma aseh by Ben Naim, Sol’s use of male rabbinic discourse is part of a strategy of defending herself and defending Judaism.25 Given that she was the sole representative of Judaism and the Jewish People in her encounter with her Muslim captors in these texts she was ‘given’ the requisite educational background to put up the kind of defense that these writers would have liked to have seen. It also needs to be remembered that while the protagonist may have been female these texts are still part of the network of male rabbinic texts and make reference to this culture and its foundation texts, the Torah, Talmud, and Midrash.26 At the level of literary content, within this tradition, particularly in its more allegorical and mystical expressions, female and male personas are sometimes used interchangeably, particularly in texts that describe the relationship between God and Israel. Here the former is portrayed as a male lover and Israel as his estranged female beloved. This alleIbid., p. 68. Ibid., p. 71. 23 Chetrit and et al., Ha- atunah ha-yehudit ha-masortit be-maroqo pirqe iyyun ve-ti ud, 192. 24 Carmi, ed. The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse. 25 Research on contemporary North African women’s discourse has found that while there is a distinction between genres associated primarily with men and those associated with women, women sometimes use male discourse to establish their own authority, Debra Kapchan, Gender on the Market Moroccan Women and the Revoicing of Tradition (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996); Esther Schely-Newman, “ ‘I Hear from People Who Read Torah. . .’: Reported Speech, Genres and Gender Relations in Personal Narrative,” Narrative Inquiry 9, no. 1 (1999): 49–68. Whether this is a recent phenomenon or has always been the case historically remains to be investigated. It would have been highly unlikely for women in Sol’s time to attain a level of proficiency in rabbinic literature, in halakha and in Hebrew. Even men would have had to engage in study well beyond the elementary level to be able to make the rabbinic and Talmudic references in some of these poems, particularly in the one by Haim Haliwa, as will be seen below. 26 Chetrit and et al., Ha- atunah ha-yehudit ha-masortit be-maroqo pirqe iyyun ve-ti ud, 194. 21 22

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gory has been the preferred interpretation of the Song of Songs since the time of R. Akiva.27 So while real women may not have had access to rabbinic education, feminine personas were used by male writers to express these theological and mystical relations. At the allegorical level these texts take the metaphor of Israel as beloved and God as divine lover and personalize it, with Sol standing in for beloved and her sacrifice symbolizing her betrothal to the divine creator. This theme is stressed in the qinot in particular. Sol becomes the virgin bride and any threat to her virginal status or any attempt to seduce her from her divine groom needs to be denounced. Because of this the gender discourse in these texts intersects with the polemical discourse. Closely related to use of male and female personas is their reference to sexuality. The prohibition against exogamy and the reference to sexual violence and deviance in the polemics in these texts show the interrelation of religious debate with gender discourse. One polemic technique designed to prevent defection from Judaism and defend it against the Muslim challenge was the rhetorical use of antithesis, which as stated above, was a poetic device used in both biblical writing28 and in Arabic poetics.29 In these texts the images of the pure and true religion were contrasted with the religion of false testimony. References to tractates from the Mishnah and to biblical villains who committed acts of sexual violence and deviance were also used in some of these texts, particularly in the qinot of Samuel Elbaz and Haim Haliwa. Elbaz’s vehemence in particular could be accounted for by the probability that he may have witnessed Sol’s execution, given that he was from Fez and was alive when Sol was killed. In contrast, the poems of Berdugo and Abuhasera are not so polemically charged. The polemics that do exist in these two poems show a combination of verbal attacks created in a Moroccan Islamic environment on the one hand, and a general polemics against oppressors dating to pre-Islamic times. These polemics overlap with the gender discourse through the conception of God’s relation with Israel as a monogamous marriage and idolatry as prostitution.30 Thus, the interconnection between polemics and gender 27 Daniel Boyarin, “Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 6, no. 4 (1998): 577–627; Chetrit and et al., Ha- atunah ha-yehudit ha-masortit be-maroqo pirqe iyyun ve-ti ud. 28 Carmi, ed. The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse, 78. 29 M.M. Badawi, “The function of rhetoric in medieval Arabic poetry: Abu Tammān’s Ode on Amorium,” Journal of Arabic Literature IX (1978): 43–56. 30 Deut. 31:16.

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roles goes back to biblical discourse. This conception of monotheism as monogamy is evident in R. Akiva’s exegesis of the Song of Songs whereby God is the lover for whom the beloved sacrifices herself. In his interpretation the beloved’s pursuit of her lover, despite public ridicule, is related to the oft-quoted verse, “For Your sake we are killed all day” (Ps. 44:23).31 R. Akiva’s exegesis and martyrdom are important references and intertexts in all of the texts discussed in this chapter. These conceptions of fidelity and filiality were not only expressed in biblical terms, but also in the arena of halakha, rabbinic law. Women’s status in the realm of marriage, and the closely related arena of a father’s rights in his daughter, was determined by biblical and Mishnaic law. In the Bible daughters could be sold into slavery by their fathers. (Exod. 21:7) This biblical practice was slightly modified in Mishnaic times.32 The poetic lament by Haim Haliwa makes reference to this practice and criticizes it. Another issue related to the status of women invoked in these poems is the issue of virginity. For the purpose of bride price virgins were worth twice as much as non-virgins and captive women, as well as slaves, were assumed to be non-virgins.33 This halakhic background probably invoked a great deal of anxiety over Sol’s treatment during her period of captivity and imprisonment. As will be discussed below, polemic images focusing on sexual deviance in many of the texts most probably expressed this latent anxiety over Sol’s treatment and, by definition, over her virginal status. This could account for the need in many of these texts to give her a combatant, even male status in her polemics against Islam and her defense of Judaism. By transforming her discourse into that of a learned male defender of Judaism at the point when she was most vulnerable and most lacking in any Jewish male protection, the fear over her fate could be eased. However this transformation lacks verisimilitude because of the absence of female access to rabbinic learning, literacy and the study of sacred texts. The generally accepted view from the Middle Ages onwards was that the father who taught his daughter Talmud, taught

Boyarin, “Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism.” Wegner’s discussion of the Mishnah’s approach to women’s status points to a lack of personhood in the status of the young dependent female. In many ways her status was closer to that of chattel because she could be sold into slavery by her father, Wegner, Chattel or Person? The Status of Women in the Mishnah, 24. 33 Ibid., 22. 31 32

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her “licentiousness.”34 Yet in many of these texts Sol responds as a learned rabbi, quoting the Hebrew Bible extensively and even using Aramaic phrases and making reference to elements of Jewish law. This transgendered, masculine status always comes at the point when Sol is directly confronted by her captors. At the point when she is most in danger she is masculinized and defends herself as a polemically armed, learned Jewish male. In doing so, she not only saves her virginal status, but also elevates and liberates Jews from their humbled, dhimma status as subordinates to all Muslims. When there is no Jewish male present to defend Judaism or protect Sol, she must protect herself. She does this, as a learned Jewish male in Exile would, not by the sword, but through erudite polemics. However, at the point of her execution, she returns to her feminine, virginal status. This can be seen in the texts by Joseph Ben Naim, Haim Haliwa and Samuel Elbaz. In the gender discourse in the two other qinot by Berdugo and Abuhasera the focus is on the allegorical interpretation of martyrdom as a celestial wedding between the virginal martyr and the divine groom. In Berdugo’s poem in particular the feminine gender discourse is more consistent and traditional female imagery is used throughout the poem. At the point of Sol’s sacrifice the qinot end their narrative and focus on the theological concepts of exile and redemption, and at this point some texts make reference to kabbalistic feminine images of the divine. The kabbalah, and in particular the Zohar, in addition to being a revered text among Moroccan Jews,35 was an important source for imagery in Moroccan Hebrew poetry,36 and incorporated the themes of exile and redemption, which were omnipresent. Practically every poem, whatever its subject matter, returned to these themes in the final stanzas.37 Berdugo’s and Abuhasera’s poems use kabbalistic images related to the feminine divine elements and the doctrine of ten sefirot, the divine spheres, or aspects of the deity. Abuhasera’s poem also makes reference to Lurianic doctrines related to the soul and its effects on the concept of tiqqun olam, restoration or repair of the world. 34 Daniel Boyarin, “Reading Androcentrism Against the Grain: Women, Sex and Torah-Study,” Poetics Today 12, no. 1 (1991): 29–53. 35 Moshe alamish, Ha-Qabbalah bi- efon Afriqah le-min ha-me ah ha-16: seqirah his orit ve-tarbutit (Tel-Aviv: ha-Kibbutz ha-me u ad, 2001). 36 Zafrani, Études et Recherches sur la Vie Intellectuelle Juive au Maroc de la fin du 15e au début du 20e siècle Deuxième Partie Poésie Juive en Occident Musulman. 37 Chetrit, Piyyu ve-shirah be-yahadut Maroqo: asufat me karim al shirim ve- al meshorerim, 41.

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The poem by Elbaz was published by Ratzaby.38 Line and hemistich references correspond to his printed edition. Those by R. Jacob Berdugo, R. Haim Haliwa were published in Qol Ya aqov (1994, 1844) and the poem by R. Jacob Abuhasera was published in Sefer Yagel Ya aqov (1987, 1902).39 Samuel Elbaz Samuel Elbaz (born in Fez, 1790–1844) wrote collections of liturgical poetry, piyyu im and qinot, and commentaries.40 He also was one of the Hebrew poets in Morocco who used poetic rhythms of the North African qa īda. This was a regional genre used by professional lyricists who wrote in a dialect that was intermediary between the normative, standard, written Arabic of the Islamic World,41 and colloquial Moroccan Arabic. In the 16th century it become one of the more important poetic genres in Morocco and was adopted in the 18th and 19th centuries by Hebrew Moroccan poets, including Elbaz and Jacob Berdugo.42 This type of qa īda is different from the monorhymed qa īda of classical Arabic poetry, and in its Moroccan Jewish form would often consist of a strophic poem, similar in form to the Andalusian muwashsha . Its content consisted of a narrative about a historical event.43 Elbaz, “Shimkha Yah Qiddshah,” 83–87. Haliwa, “ Am Asher Niv aru,” 129–131; Abuhasera, Sefer Yagel Ya aqov: . . . shirah adasha. . . 13–15; Berdugo, Qol Ya aqov: ve-niqra shemo be-Yisra el Ma avar Yaboq, 12–13. 40 Josef Ben Naim, Malkhe rabbanan: ve-hu sidra de-rabbanan . . . ayim de-rabbanan. . . (Yerushalayim: Y. Abika i , 1930; Yerushalayim: Impr. Ma arav, 1974), 120b. 41 See Roger Allen, “The linguistic context” for an overview of the history of the Arabic language and the development of diglossia in the Arab Islamic World, in The Arabic literary heritage: the development of its genres and criticism, 17–24. 42 Chetrit, Piyyu ve-shirah be-yahadut Maroqo: asufat me karim al shirim ve- al meshorerim, x. 43 Ibid., 49, n. 75. Also unlike the classical pre-Islamic qa īda, this poem would only consist of one enyan (issue, subject), Avraham Amzallag, “La Musique des Baqqashot” [liner notes] in Chants Hébreux de la Tradition des Juifs Marocains Chantés par Rabbi David Bouzaglo Enregistrés à Casablanca en 1957 par Prof. Haim Zafrani, Beit Hatefutsoth, Musée de la Diaspora Juive “Nahoum Goldman,” 1984. Also Issachar Ben-Ami, “Le Qsida Chez Les Juifs Marocains,” in Le Judaïsme Marocain Études Ethno-Culturelles, Ed. Issachar Ben-Ami, Jerusalem: Edition Rubin Mass, 1975: 105–19. Mu ammad Fāsī, in his study of the Moroccan folk genre al-mal ūn, defines this as a poetic genre that is meant to be sung (29). These are oral poetic works (11), some of which are called qa ā id, which generally speaking have the same subjects as classical Arabic poetry. He gives an example of a qa īda, which has a strophic pattern and alternating rhyme scheme (abab), with the same rhyming couplet in the refrain. Unlike the Jewish qa īda the subject changes with each stanza. Mu ammad al-Fāsī, Ma lamat al-mal ūn: mi at 38 39

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Elbaz’s poetic lament for Sol is a strophic poem consisting of stanzas of four lines divided into two equal hemistiches. In the first three lines the first hemistiches have the same rhyme, in the second hemistiches the first three lines also rhyme. In the second hemistich of the final line of each stanza the rhyme is /kha/, the singular possessive suffix, “You/Your,” throughout the poem. The total length of the poem is 45 lines divided into 12 stanzas with the final stanza containing one line only.44 In addition, the poet used some of the elements of the badi of classical Arabic poetry, specifically tajnīs (paronomasia) and antithesis, and similar morphological patterns. Some examples of tajnīs include stanza 4, line 15 ashaqah (longed) and stanza 5 line 18 she aqim (heaven); and partial tajnīs in stanza 8, line 29 ba aru (they chose) and ba erev (with a sword); and in stanza 10, line 38 mashia (messiah) and line 39 sema im (happy). There is partial tajnīs in other lines as well. Examples of the same morphological patterns include stanza 7, line 26 tishkav (lie down) and tishka (forget), which is also a partial tajnīs; stanza 3, line 11 bire u ah (with a strap) liredotah (to lower her down); stanza 2, line 6 lishanot (to change) line 7 le annot (to torture), line 8 liznot (to prostitute). Some examples of parallelism, a device often used in the Bible, include stanza 4, line 14 “looked and stared”; stanza 6, line 23 “righteousness,” and line 24 “holiness”; stanza 8, line 31 “she didn’t fear, she didn’t loathe”; stanza 10, line 39 “cry, yea, roar.” Some examples of antithesis include stanza 2, line 6 “good for bad”; stanza 9, line 36 “hide”/ “revealed.” The following is a translation of the poem: Refrain: Your Name, Lord, / a virgin maiden sanctified. Now You have taken a wife.45 / The sons of injustice rushed A harsh, false testimony / testifying in folly. They said she loathed / the religion of Your Torah.

[1]

qa īdah wa-qa īdah fī mi at ghāniyah wa-ghāniyah (al-Rabā : Akādīmīyat al-Mamlakah al-Maghribīyah, 1997), 20–22. 44 Elbaz, “Shimkha Yah Qiddshah.” Line numbers are from Ratzaby’s edition. 45 et leqa ttah isha.

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chapter four [2] They said a bride price would be given, / silver and presents To her, to keep their religion, / good for bad to exchange46 If she would do[what] they counseled. / They decreed to torture her47 Like a bride to harlotry, / to say thus is Your Judgments. [3] And they tortured her/ with iron cables.48 Every day to flog her / they summoned the captain49 To chastise [her] with a strap / perhaps she will become confused And exchange in vanity / turning aside from Your Commandments. [4] She was brought to their king / to increase the bonfire. [At] her beauty50 he looked and stared.51 / He said, “turn towards me.52 Lie with me,53 O pleasant one./ My soul longs for you.54 Know, splendid one /that peace is in your tent.”55 [5] And before him she answered / words sweetly, “God forbid me! I will not abandon / the religion of He who dwells in heaven” And she considered him / as one of the vain ones.56 She said, “How, in oppressing, / you imagine all goes well for you?”

46 “A good for bad to exchange,” (Lev. 27 9–10, “And if it be a beast, whereof men bring an offering unto the Lord, all that any man giveth of such unto the Lord shall be holy. He shall not alter it, nor change it, a good for a bad, or a bad for a good: and if he shall at all change beast for beast, then it and the exchange thereof shall be holy.”) 47 Le annot lah means to oppress, and when the object is a woman, to rape. 48 ‘With iron cables.’ (Ps. 105:18, “Tortured by cables on his feet,” reference to Jacob’s being sold into slavery in Egypt and then delivered by God). 49 Rav ovel literally means master or chief flogger, the guard who was designated to whip and torture Sol. 50 “Her beauty,” (Es. 1:11, “To bring Vashti the queen before the king with the crown royal, to shew the people and the princes her beauty”). 51 “He looked and stared,” (Ps. 22:18, “I count all my bones they look and stare at me”). 52 “Turn towards me,” ( Jud. 4:18, “And Jael went out to meet Sisera, and said unto him, Turn in, my lord, turn in to me; fear not”). 53 II Sh 13:11, “And when she [Tamar] had brought them unto him [Amnon] to eat, he took hold of her and said unto her, Come lie with me my sister.” 54 “My soul longs for you,” (Gen. 34:8, “And Hamor spoke with them saying, “My son Shechem longs for your daughter”). 55 Job 5:24, “And you will know that all is well in your tent.” 56 “As to one of the vain ones,” (II Sh. 6:20, “Then David returned to bless his household. And Michal the daughter of Saul came out to meet David and said, How glorious was the king of Israel today, who uncovered himself today in the eyes of the handmaids of his servants, as one of the vain fellows”).

‘as an ewe before her shearers’ Then he was filled with rage. / He was determined to torture her. In suffering his revenge / she did not lose her sanity. Without weapons of war / she stood on her righteousness From her great holiness, / an innocent heart in Your Laws.

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[7] To the city of judgment / she was sent in her loveliness. That she would lie among uncircumcised57 / there she would forget worship. The ear won’t ignore58/ the soul that watches. Therefore she said, / “How great are Your works”59 [8] They chose / to kill her with a sword. She offered her neck / before the enemy lying in wait. She didn’t fear, she didn’t loath / the wolves of the steppe,60 The mob and evening / on sanctifying Your name. [9] Your name she mentioned / in awe and fear. She answered, “Living and awesome / He is the incomparable God.”61 Then her soul quickly departed/ on “One.”62 Nothing is hidden from You. / All is Revealed before You.63 [10] Her merit will be sent/ to redeem those who suffer To bring soon the Messiah / and gather in the exiled.64 He shall cry, yea, roar65 / against presumptuous enemies. From thorns cut off66/save Your People.67

57 “Lie with uncircumcised,” (Ez. 32:19, “Whom do you surpass in beauty? Down with you, and be laid to rest with the uncircumcised.”) In this chapter Ezekiel discusses the ancient Near Eastern kingdoms of Babylon, Egypt, and other enemies of Israel who were defeated and referred to as uncircumcised, meaning lacking in the Covenant between God and Israel, (Gen. 17:9–14). 58 Ve-ozen pen ta lim, (Lam. 3:56) “Hear my plea: Do not shut [Heb. ta lem] Your ear to my groan, to my cry.” 59 Ps. 92:6, “How great are Your works, O Lord.” 60 Hab. 1:8, “Their [the Chaldeans] horses are swifter than leopards, fleeter than the wolves of the steppes.” 61 Deut. 10:17, “the great, the mighty, the awesome God.” Also from the famous hymm for receiving the Sabbath, Lekha Dodi. 62 Deut. 6:4, “Hear o Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one.” 63 Ps. 139:15 “My frame was not concealed from You.” 64 Mic. 4:6 “And will gather the outcast.” 65 Is. 42:13, “The Lord shall go forth as a warrior, He shall stir up jealousy like a man of war: He shall cry, yea, roar; He shall prevail against His enemies.” 66 Is. 33:12, “And the peoples shall be as burnings of lime: as thorns cut off shall they be burned in the fire.” 67 Ps. 28:9, “Save Thy people, and bless thine inheritance: feed them also, and lift them up for ever.”

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chapter four [11] Take pity on us, our Father. / Redeem Your seed. Revenge before us / the blood of Your servants. Render unto our neighbors68 / the wrath of Your nostrils. Then our eyes will see. / We will be glad and rejoice in Your salvation.69 [12] Blessed be He who sanctifies His Name.70

The poem retells the story of Sol’s martyrdom making ample use of Biblical quotes. Given that Jewish education for males began at a young age in memorizing the Bible, practically each Hebrew word has biblical connotations. The more extended quotations, particularly in the seduction scene, in the king’s words in stanza 4, and in the last two stanzas, allow the poet to invoke very economically a whole series of associations for the reader who also had the same education. It is also in this moment of the text that the facts give way to imagination and theology. None of the authors heard the discussions between Sol and the king. Here the king’s dialogue, as in the rabbinic martyrdom tale of Hanna and her sons,71 comes exclusively from biblical quotes. In stanza four the king says, “lie with me pleasantly” recalling the same words Amnon says before he rapes his sister Tamar (IISh. 13:11). In the second hemistich he says, ‘my soul longs for you,” recalling Hamor’s approaching Jacob asking for Dinah’s hand, another biblical rape victim, for his son, her rapist (Gen. 34:8).72 These references to biblical rapes undoubtedly reflect anxiety over what could have happened to Sol while she was in captivity, as well as the Mishnaic assumption (dating back to the Roman Occupation) that all captive females were sexually violated.73 Despite this perceived danger, or perhaps because of it, Sol was declared a virgin at the beginning of this and all the other poems considered in this chapter. This is because as

Ps. 79:12, “And render unto our neighbors sevenfold into their bosom their reproach, wherewith they have reproached thee, O Lord.” 69 Is. 25:9, “And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this is our God: we have waited for Him, and He will save us: this is the Lord: we have waited for Him, we will be glad and rejoice in His salvation.” 70 From the Morning Prayer Service. 71 Hasan-Rokem, Riqmat ayim, 131. However in these rabbinic tales from Lamentations Rabbah, Hanna, unlike Sol, does not use any biblical or rabbinic references in her discourse. 72 “And Hamor spoke with them saying, ‘My son Shechem longs for your daughter.’ ” 73 Wegner, Chattel or Person? The Status of Women in the Mishnah, 23. 68

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God’s betrothed, and as the perfect sacrifice, she could only be in this state. In addition, these two biblical verses raise the issue of the relationship between victim and her attacker. In the case of Tamar, the deed is doubly vile because it involves incest. Tamar and her brother are too close. In the analogy here to Sol and the king, the Jew and the Muslim, the relation is too close, unlike the relationship in Ben Naim’s text, where it remains one of strangers. No doubt the poet used this verse to conjure up the vileness of the seduction, but this secondary intertextual connotation does present an interesting commentary on the relation of Judaism and Islam. In the other biblical rape case the relation is forbidden because they are strangers, and it is also doomed because of the reaction of Dinah’s family to the male would-be suitor’s violation of their honor. While the two biblical victims were raped, Sol was presumed to not have been, despite the assumptions made regarding captive women. Her status as a virgin is affirmed even in the face of these anxieties. The image of the virgin female martyr exists in both Judaism and Christianity. However for the Rabbis, this valorization was not of virginity itself, due to the positive commandment of procreation, but the highly prized virgin bride.74 It is this virgin bride that Elbaz invokes in the first line. In addition, idolatry and prostitution, and its opposites, monotheism and monogamy were interlinked. Thus, the relation between God and Israel as one of bride and groom in an exclusive, monogamous relationship is alluded to in stanza 2 with the phrase “as a bride to harlotry.”75 If Sol had saved her life by converting she would have committed harlotry against her religion and her God. Prostitution, unfaithfulness and idolatry are all invoked in this one line.76 Given the close connection between monogamy, 74 Highly prized because on the marriage market a virgin would fetch the full bride price for her father, Wegner, op. cit. Daniel Boyarin, Dying for God Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999), 69. 75 R. Akiva’s interpretation of the Song of Songs not only established the pattern for interpreting that Biblical book, and the relation between God and Israel, but also was itself an important martyrological text. It ends with the beloved sacrificing herself rather than committing adultery against the divine. It connected the unhappy end of the beloved in the Song of Songs with a martyrological verse from Psalms, “All day for Your sake we are killed.” (Ps. 44:23) Boyarin, “Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism.” Journal of Early Christian Studies 6, no. 4 (1998): 602–03. 76 In the story of the Four Captives from Ibn Da’ud’s Sefer Ha-Qabbalah, R. Moses’ wife is martyred by throwing herself into the sea when she is threatened with being raped. Cohen points out that this story is itself based on a story of martyrdom from the Second Temple Period when Jewish captives were martyred to avoid sexual slavery. Cohen, Studies in the Variety of Rabbinic Cultures, 164.

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monotheism and virginity, the virtue, and faithfulness of Jewish girls and women are all invoked in this highly charged text, and in Sol’s story. While virginity for its own sake is not an ideal, given the commandment to procreate, when Sol’s Jewish identity could not be saved, her sacrifice was the best outcome according to these texts. There is, of course, the story of Queen Esther, which would disconnect the relation between endogamy and religious fidelity. Benjamin’s version gives a reference to her. Here there is only one intertext to the biblical Scroll of Esther (1:11). In stanza four Sol is brought before the king, who stares at her. However, the verse quoted refers to Vashti being presented to the King, not Esther. Vashti, like Sol, and unlike Esther, refuses the king’s advances. Unlike the version of Sol’s story in the Judeo-Spanish journal La Epoka, neither Ben Naim nor Toledano mention the story of Queen Esther. Here Elbaz rejects the analogy of Sol to Esther. In the Abuhasera poem analyzed below there is also a reference to Esther 4:3, “What is your wish?” the King asks Esther. Sol is asked the same question. However she does not answer as Esther did. Instead she rejects all offers made to her and declares her fidelity to her divine lover by quoting from the Song of Songs. So the model of Queen Esther is rejected in these Hebrew texts. There could be a few reasons for this. In a few texts that are not in Hebrew and not from Fez, Meknes, or Tafilalet there is an episode where the Rabbis of Fez are threatened, and so is the Jewish community of Fez, if Sol does not convert.77 They, fearing for their lives, try to convince her to convert at least publicly, invoking the example of Queen Esther. Sol, of course, refuses. The idea that Rabbis would encourage a Jew to convert to Islam under any circumstances could not be tolerated in a text authored by a Moroccan Rabbi. Also, as several of the non-Moroccan Jewish Solika texts pointed out, Queen Esther was not required to convert to marry the king. Thus, she could save her people and still remain a Jew. Sol was not given this option. From the beginning of the story, the issue was not exclusively her marrying the king, but her conversion. Although in this text, and in the eyes of the Muslim characters, the two were related.78

Benjamin (1859), Ashkenazi (1946), Romero (1937), and La Epoka (1901). According to Islamic law a Muslim man can marry a non-Muslim woman, however the children would be considered Muslim. Schacht, An introduction to Islamic law, 132. In an Islamic state, despite the fact that Jewish law defines Jewish identity matrilineally, this would effectively cancel the Jewish religion out, in terms of official legal 77 78

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In some of these biblical verses, particularly those related to Dinah, Tamar and Esther, the gender roles are consistent with Sol’s story. She played the role of the heroines and the king played the role of biblical kings or male seducers. There are two instances in this poem of gender reversal. In stanza four there is a quote from Judges 4:18 where Jael lures Sisera into her tent before killing him saying, elai surah (turn to me). In Elbaz’s poem it is the king who makes this treacherous statement to Sol. Not only is the gender reversed with the King playing Jael, but also there is a reversal of the characters of hero and villain. In the Bible Jael is a heroine because, despite her deceit, she slays an enemy of Israel, but here the king plays her as a villain. The implication is that Sol and the reader are not to believe the king’s words, which sound sweet, but are murderous. In contrast, Sol’s speech is called sweet, but is critical and rejecting of the king’s advances and arouses his anger. Another instance of gender reversal is in stanza 5, ke-a ad ha-reyqim (literally, ‘as one of the empty [ones]’ ). In the poem Sol ignores the king’s speech with a blank stare, as if she was empty. In the biblical verse (II Sh. 6:20) Michal criticizes King David ‘who uncovered himself today in the eyes of the handmaids of his servants as one of the vain fellows [ke-a ad ha-reyqim].’ Michal’s reprimand combines jealousy with haughtiness over King David’s cavorting with his female subjects. Here it is Sol who plays the part of King David, and once again she disregards the words of the king, as David disregarded the words of Michal (II Sh. 6:21–22). This inversion of gender roles is not unique to this poem. There is a whole series of rabbinic stories from the Talmud on the theme of the virgin rabbis in the Roman brothel.79 In these, it is the male rabbi who must preserve his ‘virginity’ and fidelity in the face of attempts to seduce him. He becomes a symbol of the Jewish people in general, now seen as an abandoned woman who waits for her lover to return while fighting off attacks on her virtue. Perhaps one of the reasons why Sol’s story was so compelling was that this role was now played by a real young, virginal girl. However, her being the heroine of the story and taking on this leading role exposed her, like the rabbis, to danger. She becomes a captive

status in the next generation. And given that under Islamic law the punishment for apostasy is death, the children of such a marriage would not be able to maintain a Jewish identity. 79 Boyarin, Dying for God Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism, 67.

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woman, forced to fend for herself, and forced to defend herself “without weapons of war” and with only her words. Another topic that is strongly present in the poem is the image of Islam and Muslims. In the first two stanzas a series of antitheses are used to engage in religious polemics and rhetorical revenge for Sol’s martyrdom. The sons of injustice commit false testimony, and the two religions are contrasted in terms of good and bad (stanza 2). This poetic device in the service of polemics is used in all of the Sol poems that will be discussed in this chapter. Elbaz’s poem used this device, but not as extensively as Haliwa’s (see below). Most of Elbaz’s text is developed using biblical words and expressions to tell the story of Sol’s martyrdom and to comment on and express his emotion over her fate. His polemical commentary is devoted mainly to the use of highly charged intertexts to the biblical rapes discussed above. The image of the (Muslim) king is insinuated as a seducer and potential rapist. In stanza eight, the mob, waiting for her execution, is obliquely referred to, using the biblical phrase ze eve erev (wolves of the steppe, Hab. I:8). According Ratzaby, the poet meant to invoke the homonym arav, Arabia or Arab.80 The intertext to Rabbi Akiva’s martyrdom is also inserted here, in stanza ten, where Sol expires while saying the last word of the shema , “the Lord our God, the Lord is one.” This will be a common feature of virtually all of the Jewish texts, Moroccan, and non-Moroccan, in all of the languages, including Spanish (Laredo) and German (Benjamin). Even some of the non-Jewish texts mention Sol’s reciting the shema (Romero). From this point in the poem on (stanza 9), there is an extensive weave of Biblical quotes and references (stanza 9, Ps. 139:15; stanza 10, Mic. 4:6, Is. 42:13, Is. 33:12, Ps. 28:9; stanza 11 Ps. 79:12, Isa: 25:9). All but one of these verses are taken from Isaiah and Psalms and pertain to the urging of God’s revenge against Israel’s oppressors and the coming of redemption and the Messiah. As Chetrit and alamish have pointed out, these two themes were omnipresent in Moroccan Hebrew poetry and writings in general.81 Particularly after a lament for the death of a martyr, or anyone killed in an attack on the Jewish

80 Y. Ratzaby, Mi-ginze shirat ha-qedem: (piyyu ve- iqre piyyu ) (( Jerusalem): Misgav Yerushalayim, ha-Makhon le- eqer moreshet Yahadut Sefarad veha-Mizra , 1990), 85, n. 31. 81 Chetrit, Piyyu ve-shirah be-yahadut Maroqo: asufat me karim al shirim ve- al meshorerim; alamish, Ha-Qabbalah bi- efon Afriqah le-min ha-me ah ha-16: seqirah his orit ve-tarbutit.

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community, the call for revenge and redemption was expected and part of the generic conventions. This call was a psychological comfort for the mourners and part of the polemics used to maintain the faith. It reassured the community that despite the loss of life, God would in the end execute justice for His people. The full Biblical verse that stanza 12 quotes gives the context, “Wherefore should the nations say, Where is their God? Let Him be known among the nations in our sight by revenging of the blood of thy servants which is shed.” (Ps. 79:10) The idea that the humbled state of the Jews proved that God had abandoned them was used in both Christian and Muslim polemics.82 This verse is used to appeal to God, for the sake of His own credibility and glory, to avenge His people. The poet also used it to call for revenge against the crowd that sought, as Ben Naim said, “to destroy the soul as well as the body.” Elbaz probably witnessed the scene Ben Naim described.83 In his poem history, theology, polemics, and generic convention all come together to invoke intense emotion and place Sol’s death in the larger context of Jewish martyrology, theology and liturgy. The polemics against Islam and Muslims are incorporated into a general polemic against oppressors and enemies of the Jewish people and the images used go back to biblical times. The final line of the poem is taken from the prayers for the morning service. Jacob Berdugo Jacob Berdugo, (Meknes, 1783–1843), wrote poetry, biblical commentaries and rabbinic responsa.84 His diwan of religious poetry, Qol 82 For the Christian version of abrogation see Robert Chazan, “Undermining the Jewish Sense of Future: Alfonso of Valladolid and the New Christian Missionizing,” in Christians, Muslims, and Jews in Medieval and Early Modern Spain Interaction and Cultural Change, ed. Mark D. Meyerson and Edward D. English, Notre Dame Conferences in Medieval Studies (Notre Dame, IA: Notre Dame UP, 1999), 179–97. For the Muslim see Sarah Stroumsa, “Jewish Polemics Against Islam and Christianity in the Light of JudaeoArabic Texts,” in Studies in Muslim-Jewish Relations Judaeo-Arabic Studies Proceedings of the Founding Conference for the Society for Judaeo-Arabic Studies, ed. Norman Golb (Amsterdam: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1997), 241–51; Husain, “Conversion to History: Negating Exile and Messianism in Al-Samaw al al-Maghribi’s Polemic Against Judaism.” 83 Ratzaby, Mi-ginze shirat ha-qedem: (piyyu ve- iqre piyyu ), 84; Ben Naim, Malkhe rabbanan: ve-hu sidra de-rabbanan . . . ayim de-rabbanan . . . 126ff. 84 Shufreh de-Ya aqov: she elot u-teshuvot. . . . Jerusalem: Bi-defus S. ha-Levi Tsukerman, [1910]; Qedushat Shabbat: shi ah shelemah u-ve ur ra av al qol masekhet Shabbat, Yerushalayim: Avraham Gabbai, [1992?].

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Ya aqov was first published in London in 1844. In his introduction he stated that he divided the book into qolot, “voices.” Some of these voices include: prayers praising God, prayers of thanks, prayers for the morning service, poems for Jewish holidays, and life cycle celebrations. The third voice, or chapter, is devoted to poems for addiqim, most of whom were deceased rabbis, among them some who died as martyrs. Sol’s poem is the second in this chapter.85 In the notes introducing his elegy for Sol Berdugo explained that his inspiration came from grief over the death of his infant son. The association of Sol’s tomb with fertility and young children explains Berdugo’s connecting her with this son whose death he explicates by stating they were destined to wed in heaven.86 While such a vision could not fulfill the commandment to procreate, it does show that Judaism did not valorize celibacy or virginity as such. It also relieves some of the latent sexual frustration in these texts in that it betroths Sol to an earthly, although equally deceased, Jewish spouse who also met an untimely, premature death. The vision of this celestial wedding shows the more optimistic way Berdugo dealt with this loss. The connection between this elegy, marriage and fertility was furthered by Berdugo’s explanation that he intended his poem to be sung at weddings, specifically during the reception of the bride at the groom’s house. As for the melody, he wrote that it could be sung to a variety of tunes. Like Elbaz’s qinah, Berdugo’s is a strophic poem. Its structure consists of a two-line refrain with the rest of the poem containing stanzas with four lines for a total of 10 stanzas with 38 lines. Of the four qinot considered here it is the shortest. The rhyme scheme consists of rhyming couplets, with the first two hemistiches of the first two lines also rhyming. The end rhyme of the last line of each stanza is /ah/ throughout the poem. This poem also uses elements of the badi , such as tajnīs or partial tajnīs, antithesis, morphological forms, and parallelisms. Examples of tajnīs include stanza 2 ( yahir /miher); stanza 6, la alov, le arev; stanza 10, yosef, tosif. Examples of morphological patterns include stanza 3 avrah, antah; stanza 6 ne elamah, ne emanah; stanza 9 derusah, derushah, gerushah. Examples of parallelisms include stanza 2 levanah (white, also moon) / sahar (moon); stanza 2 wickedness / act

85 86

Berdugo, Qol Ya aqov: ve-niqra shemo be-Yisra el Ma avar Yaboq, 10–11. Ben-Ami, Ha ara at ha-Qedoshim be-Qerev Yehude Maroqo.

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treacherously; stanza 6 to milk / to shear. Examples of antithesis include stanza 2 moon / sun; stanza 4 bulls / princes; man / woman; stanza 9 divorced / wedded. Refrain Happy are you Israel that in your midst was raised A virgin maiden / who was not betrothed87 One day a wicked and haughty man88 / took presumptuously89 The round moon / radiant as the sun90 And coveted to catch / and conquer the queen Called Sulika / but she wasn’t captured.

[1] [2]

[3] He called false witnesses / scoundrels91 They testified that she changed / Religion and committed a trespass.92 She answered with beautiful wisdom, / “Keep away from me evil doers.93 Leave me, because good and pleasant94 / is the religion of Moses [as an] inheritance” [4] Those who didn’t know God rose up. / They did not call His name. To the kingdom they arrived. / The runners came out. She was handed over to the guards. / The bulls surrounded her, Multitudes and princes / men and women. [5] With deceit and fraud / they thought to seduce her. “Return, oh maiden of Shulam.95 / The choice one of her mother96

87 Deut. 22:28, “If a man comes upon a virgin who was not engaged,” the verses continue, “and he seizes her and lies with her, and they are discovered, (29) the man who lay with her shall pay her father fifty [shekels] of silver, and she shall be his wife. Because he has violated her, he can never have the right to divorce her.” 88 Hab. 2:5, “Yea also, the wine dealeth treacherously with the haughty man, and he cannot rest.” 89 Ex. 21:14, “But if man come presumptuously upon his neighbor to slay him with guile.” 90 Song of Sol. 6:10. 91 Deut. 13:13–14, “If you hear it said, of one of the towns that the Lord your God is giving you to dwell in, that some scoundrels from among you have gone and subverted the inhabitants of their town.” 92 Lev. 5:15, “If a soul commits a trespass. . .” 93 Ps. 119:115, “Keep away from me evil doers, that I may observe the commandments of my God.” 94 Ps. 133:1, “How good and pleasant it is for brothers to sit together.” 95 Song of Sol. 7:1, “Return, Return, oh maiden of Shulam. . .” 96 Song of Sol. 6:9, “She is the choice of her mother.”

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chapter four With joy,97 we will rejoice in thee.98 / We will lay thy stones with fair clothes99 And thy hair with every stone.”100 [6] A mute ewe / to be sheared and milked. She answered with a harsh voice, / “Judaism or crucifixion!” As beautiful as the moon / to the sword she was given For a faithful religion, / lovely and holy. [7] Sons of God whispered / your blessings Abraham. The angel Raphael, / a crown of topaz in-laid with onyx101 Placed on her head. / Dressed in splendor102 Suitable to her soul /a high and lofty thrown.103 [8] Rejoice righteous ones, / from your race she came. God will raise your flag / with her merit increased. Her God will be sent. / The cast down will rise up104 The poor, the widow, / and the divorcée will receive compassion. [9] And whoever tells the tale, the Rock105 / will raise you up.106 Her blood spares a ransom / for Your people Israel. The fallen, the trampled / will recite a sermon.107 And the divorced / will be made happy. [10] The Lord strengthens the House of Joseph / the house of Jacob, the House of God. Rise and do not fall.108 / The virgin of Israel, A maiden’s cry / heard and listened Exalted in love / A holy one revered.109

Is. 61:10, “I will greatly rejoice in the Lord, my soul shall be joyful in my God.” From Israel Najara’s poem, “Lekha Dodi,” “He will rejoice in you as a groom rejoices in his bride,” part of the Friday night service welcoming the Sabbath. 99 Is. 54:11, “Behold I will lay thy stones with fair clothes.” 100 Zech. 4:7, “He shall bring forth the headstone.” 101 Ezek. 28:13, “Thou hast been in Eden the garden of God every precious stone was thy covering, the sardius, topaz and the diamond, the beryl, the onyx and the jasper, the sapphire, the emerald and the carbuncle.” 102 Prov. 31:25, “She is clothed with strength and splendor.” 103 Is. 6:1, “I saw the Lord sitting upon a thrown high and lifted up.” 104 Ps. 36:13, “They are cast down and shall not be able to rise up.” 105 Ps. 27:5, “For in the time of trouble He shall hide me in His pavilion, in the secret of His tabernacle shall He hide, He shall set me up on the rock.” 106 Is. 23:4, “I did not nourish up young men nor raise up virgins.” 107 In Hebrew, derusha, in this context meaning a commentary on the Bible. 108 Is. 24:20, “And it shall fall, to rise no more.” 109 Ps. 89:8, “God is greatly to be feared in the assembly of the holy ones, and to be had in reverence of all them that are about Him.” 97

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Like in the other qinot, biblical quotations provide the main imagery, commentary and themes. In this poem the Song of Songs plays an important role. Both narrator (stanza 2, “radiant as the sun”; stanza six, “beautiful as the moon”, Song Sol. 6:10), and the ‘seducers’ (stanza 5, “Return, oh Shulamit” Song Sol. 7:1) refer to Sol’s beauty using verses from the Song of Songs, whose recitation was part of the nuptial chants in Morocco.110 Given that the performative context of the poem is a wedding, it is entirely fitting that these biblical verses are the dominant images. That Berdugo has even the villains quote the Song of Songs, unlike Elbaz, is also probably due to the context of the wedding celebration. Here the seducers and villains are not explicitly identified by tribe and their description is relatively mild compared to Elbaz and Haliwa. Although the issue of sexual violence is referenced in the refrain’s quoting of Deuteronomy 22:28 with the phrase “who was not betrothed.” The connection between sexual violence and marriage is in this biblical verse and the following, “If a man comes upon a virgin who was not engaged and he seizes her and lies with her, and they are discovered, (29) the man who lay with her shall pay her father fifty [shekels] of silver, and she shall be his wife. Because he has violated her, he can never have the right to divorce her.” This connection creates an ambiguity at a number of levels including the identity of the villains and the connection between the martyrdom of the addiqah and the sacrifice of the virgin on her wedding night. The one word that is used to refer to the bearers of false testimony is bnei bliyya al (sons of scoundrels). The word bliyya al occurs six times in the Bible. In two occurrences it refers to members of the tribe of Benjamin who gang raped a Levite wife ( Judg. 19:22; 20:13). In another verse it refers to false witnesses from Samaria that Jezebel induced to testify against Naboth, who was later killed in a royal land grab (1 Kings 21:10 & 13). The other verses (Deut. 13:14; I Sam. 10:17; 2 Chron. 13:7) refer to idolatry and treason against the king. In all of these instances the scoundrels who commit the acts of abuse are Israelites, unlike the biblical villains Ben Naim quotes, or one of the villains Elbaz invokes. These ‘scoundrels’ commit acts of violence against women, and treason against the king and the Lord. It is interesting that Berdugo would use a term for villains that, in the Bible at least, only referred to Israelite villains. It could be that he

110

Zafrani, Deux mille ans de vie juive au Maroc, 88.

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wished to tone down the inter-communal polemics and shift the focus in a more positive direction. Berdugo differed from Elbaz in the way he handles Sol’s alleged apostasy from Judaism and conversion to Islam. Whereas Elbaz defined it as prostitution and idolatry, Berdugo, quoting from Lev. 5:15 referred to it as tim ol ma al (committing a trespass). The Biblical verse states, “When a person commits a trespass, being unwittingly remiss about any of the Lord’s sacred things, he shall bring as his penalty to the LORD a ram without blemish from the flock, convertible into payment in silver by the sanctuary weight, as a guilt offering.” In the context of the poem (stanza 2) “they said she changed religion and committed a trespass,” conversion is not seen as severe a transgression as in Elbaz. The implication is that conversion is a sin which would have been the result of an “unwitting remiss” or ignorance. This could suggest an alternative approach to conversion to Islam, one similar in spirit to Maimonides.111 Instances of Jews converting left their traces in rabbinic responsa and halakhic documents from the 19th century,112 as well as in Makhzen documents and at least one fatwa from Merakech.113 In addition, the history of Sephardim in Morocco and Spain contains two great epochs of forced conversion, one under the Almohads, and the other in 1391 under the Catholic Spanish monarchs. Berdugo may have felt that, given Sephardic history, there was a possibility that forced conversion could have been reversed, or that forced conversion

David Novak discusses the latter’s position on Islam and Christianity. In this account Islam is not strictly speaking idolatry, whereas Christianity is because of the Trinity, Novak, “The Treatment of Islam and Muslims in the Legal Writings of Maimonides,” 233–250. On the other hand, Jews are still committing a sin if they convert. Maimonides counseled similitude and flight to lands where one could practice Judaism openly, even if this meant abandoning one’s family. Moses Maimonides, “The Epistle of Martyrdom,” in Crisis and Leadership: Epistles of Maimonides, ed. Abraham Halkin (trans.) and David Hartman (discussant) (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1985), 15–45. On the subject of the relative merits of Christianity and Islam, while he condemned Christianity as idolatry, he found merits in the fact that Christians, unlike Muslims, also accepted the Hebrew Bible as the word of God. This opened the possibility for discussions of biblical texts with Christians and the possibility of their conversion to Judaism. Any discussion of the Hebrew Bible with Muslims was considered dangerous and pointless given the Muslim doctrine of adulteration and abrogation (Novak, op. cit., 244). 112 Deshen, The Mellah Society: Jewish Community Life in Sherifian Morocco. 113 Imrānī, al-Nawāzil al-jadīdah al-kubrā fī-mā li-ahl Fās wa-ghayrihim min al-badw wa-al-qurā al-musammāh bi-al-Mi yār al-jadīd al-jāmi al-mu rib an fatāwī al-muta akhkhirīn min ulamā al-Maghrib, vol. 3, 99–108; Bouchara, al-Istī ān wa-al- imāyah bi-al-Maghrib 1280–1311 (1863–1894), vol. 4, 1442–52. 111

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to Islam, while being a sin, was not technically idolatry if one accepts the ruling that Islam is not a pagan religion. This could suggest that Berdugo was in fact advocating what Romero had the rabbis of Fez advise, namely that if Sol were to commit this transgression and save her life it would not be a grave iniquity. However, in her reply, Sol denies the charges that she converted and confirms how “good and pleasant” (Ps. 133:1) is the heritage of Moses. The fourth stanza narrates Sol being brought before the court of “bulls and princes” who did not call on God. The fifth stanza describes attempts to seduce her with promises to adorn her with jewels, using verses from the Song of Songs and Isaiah 54:11. Here there is a contradiction between the context of the narrative, with Sol’s seducers using this language, and the context of the biblical verses. Isaiah 54:11 states, “Oh thou afflicted, tossed with tempest, and not comforted, behold, I will lay thy stones with fair colors, and lay thy foundations with sapphires.” In the time of redemption “thy maker is thy husband, the LORD of hosts.’’ In the biblical context God is comforting Israel in exile and promising to rebuild the Temple. In the poem the afflicted one is Sol, and she will be “comforted” by her seducer and would be husband who will adorn her on her wedding day. This could be used in irony or perhaps the performance occasion of the wedding song outweighs the content of the historical narrative. This performative context reinforces the poet’s statement in the introduction that he envisioned a celestial wedding between the addiqah and the poet’s son even if it conflicts with this point in the story. Berdugo also stated in his introduction that the poem tells the story of what happened to Sol, but the narrative is interrupted and complicated by the wedding images. The next stanza refers to Sol’s torture and execution. The opening lines describe it as follows, “A mute ewe to be shorn and milked. She answered with a harsh voice, ‘Judaism or be crucified’ ( alov),114 Beautiful as the moon, to the sword she was given for the faithful religion, lovely and holy.” Immediately after she is dressed up for a wedding by her seducers, the bride is tied up like an ewe, prepared as a domesticated animal this time, and sacrificed.115 Here the parallels between This poem and the next lack vocalization (niqqud). Bracha Serri’s powerful short story “Qri ah” describes the first conjugal night of a virgin bride with her groom from her perspective. In it the bride resists being raped/ sacrificed. While this may or may not represent all first experiences of virgin brides, 114 115

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the performance occasion and the historical narrative offer interesting analogies. Within the wedding ceremony the young, virginal bride is sacrificed in her transformation from girl to woman. Sol too was sacrificed, and as she went willingly to meet her fate for her faith, so too should the young bride. In Fez the average marriage age for girls was 13; in Tangier it was 15.116 Perhaps the message to the young bride is that she too must be brave. A great deal of the rituals of the wedding ceremonies in Morocco were designed to reassure the often very young bride who was moving from her parents to her in-laws home.117 In addition to the performance occasion of a wedding, there is also the theological context of the martyr as bride of God and substitute for the Temple sacrifice. The concept of virginity and sacrifice is also connected because any offering at the Temple needed to be tamim, complete, and without blemish. As a substitute for the Temple sacrifice and the bride of God the value of virginity is not just a moral value, but it is also an aesthetic value, consistent with the theological conception that only the most perfect and complete specimen was suitable for the Lord. The seventh stanza continues the adoration of the bride theme with quotes from wisdom literature and Isaiah. “Sons of God whisper, Abraham is blessed, the angel Raphael, crown of ‘precious stone inlaid with onyx’ (Ex. 28:21) placed on her head, ‘dressed in splendor’ (Prov. 31:25), suitable for her soul, a ‘high and lofty throne’ ” (Isa. 6:1). In Proverbs 31 a mother advises her son to be careful in choosing a wife, and to recognize that a good wife is precious. Sol, as the precious bride being brought to her groom’s house, is seated on

it is unique in that it gives a young, unwillingly betrothed bride’s perspective. (In Lily Rakkot (ed.) Ha-Qol Ha-A er Sipporet Nashim Ivrit, Ha-Sifriah Ha- adashah Hosa at Ha-Kibbutz Ha-Me uhad, Sifre Siman Kri ah, 1994, 35–50.) The connection between marriage and death, with the sacrifice of the virgin bride’s virginity is also explored in Erich Neumann’s analysis of the tale of Eros and Psyche by Apuleius. Erich Neumann, Amor and Pysche The Psychic Development of the Feminine A Commentary on the Tale of Apuleius, Bollingen Series LIV (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1959) 116 N. Bensadon, “La femme juive de Tanger et de Tétouan,” in Mosaiques de Notre Memoire, ed. Sara Leibovici (Paris: Centre d’Études Don Isaac Abravanel UISF, 1982), 134; Doris Donath, L’Evolution de la Femme Israelite a Fes (Aix-en-Provence: La Pensée Universitaire; Faculté des Lettres—Aix-en-Provence, 1962), 30. 117 Ben-Ami states that at certain points during the wedding ceremony both mother and daughter cry. Issachar Ben-Ami, “Le marriage traditionnel chez les Juifs marocains,” in Le Judaïsme Marocain Etudes ethno-culturelles, ed. Issachar Ben-Ami ( Jerusalem: Edition Rubin Mass, 1975), 9–104; Chetrit and et al., Ha- atunah ha-yehudit ha-masortit be-maroqo pirqe iyyun ve-ti ud, 63.

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a “high and lofty throne” (Isa. 6:1), another image from the wedding ceremony, where brides were brought through the streets on sedans to the groom’s home. Here Sol is brought to her celestial groom’s home in heaven. The term for God in this verse is Adonai, a word that is associated in the kabbalistic doctrine with the 10th sefira, or sphere, known as malkhut, kingdom, and associated with the Shekhinah, the feminine divine presence.118 Thus, “I beheld my Lord seated on a high and lofty throne,” refers to the Shekhinah in kabbalistic terms, but the immediate reference in the narrative of the poem is Sol, and perhaps by extension, the young bride who emulates her. The next stanza continues the wedding context. “Rejoice addiqim [righteous ones], from your race she came forth. . .with her merit. . . Her God will be sent / The cast down will rise up/ God will have mercy on the poor woman, the widow and the divorcee.” The joyful wedding guests will be other addiqim, because Sol is ‘of their race’. The merit of her deed, as in Ben Naim and Elbaz, will bring redemption to Israel, and specifically to the most poor and forgotten of Israel, its women, particularly women who lack male protection, the widow and the divorcee. In the ninth stanza Sol’s blood is the atonement for Israel, the fallen and trampled will read a sermon and the divorcee will be wedded. Thus, the most rejected of the dispersed and exiled will be redeemed and wedded. In the final stanza God strengthens the house of Joseph, Jacob, and His own house, which will rise up, never to fall again. Berdugo’s approach to Sol’s story is remarkable in its female imagery. Through the performative context of the wedding, Sol’s story is transformed into an exaltation of the feminine elements of the divine and the earthly. The tragedy of the death of both the poet’s young son and Sol, both having died unwedded and without having the chance to perform the commandment of procreation, is expatiated through the images of the wedding celebration. Even the wicked characters are transformed into chanters of the Song of Songs at the celebration of both earthly and divine unity of the female and her groom on her wedding night. But it is the bride who is the focus of this poem, male characters, given their negative presence in Sol’s narrative, are unnamed, and almost not described. They are dismissed as scoundrels.

118 Gershom Scholem, Kabbalah, New York: Quadrangle/New York Times Book Co., 1974, 108.

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The male patriarchs are named at the end of the poem, but in the last line it is the female virgin bride of Israel who is venerated in her qiddush, her sanctification. Even the most rejected of the dispersed people, the divorcee is given special mention in this poem. Sol is her patron addiqah and she is redeemed through her deed. Female characters, both divine and earthly predominate and are revered in this poem. Haim Haliwa Not much is known about R. Haim Haliwa except that he was born in Meknes and lived in the 19th century.119 Both he and his brother, Avraham have poems published in Qol Ya aqov. Haliwa’s introduction to his lament for Sol retold her story in rhymed prose, following the same thematic structure as the other qinot. He used many of the same biblical and talmudic references in both his introduction and in the poem itself. The quotes from the Song of Songs and Psalms were used to describe Sol’s beauty in the introduction and in the poem, while the talmudic references contrasted Sol’s religion with that of her persecutors in a series of binary opposites. Some examples of these included the analogy of Judaism to the “waters of Dimsith” versus the shallow, stagnant pools of the rival religion.120 This phrase is part of a long invective where Sol responds to the charge that she wanted to exchange a ‘good moral’ for a ‘religion of lies’, whose members suffer from genital discharge, “I have only to deal with purity and not with a web of zavim,” literally masekhet zavim, a tractate from the Mishnah.121 The poem itself consists of 21 stanzas with an average of four lines in 119 Ben Naim, Malkhe rabbanan: ve-hu sidra de-rabbanan . . . ayim de-rabbanan . . . 38b. There are two manuscripts at the Jewish National and University Library that contain his signature. One is a further collection of poems and the other is a question regarding Jewish law. (Qobe , 19th century, Local No. F43621, System Number 0067770 Jewish National and University Library ( JNUL), MSS database Benayahu Library, Jerusalem ade 54; Piyyu im me et payy anim me- efon Afriqah, 1802 Local No. F42414, System Number 0315580, JNUL MSS database, Columbia University X 893 J 5163, New York. 120 Avot d’Rabbi Natan, chapter 14, 24a, “I will go to Dimsith, a delectable spot with excellent and refreshing water. . .” Marcus Jastrow, A dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic literature (New York: Judaica Press, 1971), 296, 300. 121 The reference is to masekhet (tractate) “Zavim” in the Order Tohorot of the Mishnah. “The Tractate is based on Leviticus 15:2–18, 25–30 and deals with the subject of uncleanness or defilement of those suffering from running issues.” Philip Blackman,

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each stanza, with each line divided into equal hemistiches and following a strophic rhyme pattern that builds on the structure of ababaaaa. It does not introduce any new themes, but expands on the descriptions and themes already found in earlier texts, especially Elbaz’s poem. Refrain

[1] A People who was chosen / for renown and praise Generation after generation told,122 / this is the law of the burnt offering.123 [2] Pleasant and awesome124 / in the innermost chambers The princess is led inside.125 / There is neither speech nor words126 Without hearing her voice. / Pure and upright her deed127 Her shouts are graceful,128 / A virgin maiden. [3] Against her there rose and stood / Evil neighbors Who came and declared,129 / [Like] a pack of evil ones, [saying],130 “Behold the Hebrew maiden / Covets a strange religion And broke a covenant / [with the] Rock of the awesome deed.”131 [4] A pure soul / [was] taken and led [by] Bloodthirsty men deceiving,132 / as young lions roar, To the king’s chamber133/ the lady was brought, The descendant of Sarah, / great in merit.

Mishnayoth (Gatehead, NY: Judaica Press, 2000), 697, www.hebrewbooks.org/9674, accessed August 1, 2010. 122 Joel 1:3 “Tell ye your children of it, and let your children tell their children, and their children another generation.” 123 Lev. 7:37, “This is the law of the burnt-offering. . .” 124 Song of Sol. 6:4, “Awesome as bannered hosts. . .” 125 Ps. 45:14, “The princess . . . is led inside to the king.” 126 Ps. 19:4, “There is no speech nor language whose sound is not heard.” 127 Job 8:6, “If thou wert pure and upright. . .” 128 Zech. 4:7, “And he shall bring forth the headstone with shouts of, grace, grace unto it.” 129 Ps. 22:32, “They shall come and declare his righteousness unto the people that shall be born.” 130 Ps. 22:17, “The assembly of the wicked have enclosed me.” 131 Ps. 66:5, “Who is held in awe by men for his acts.” 132 Ps. 55:24, “Bloody and deceitful men shall not live out half their days.” 133 IK 1:15, “And Bath-Sheba went in unto the King into the chamber.”

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chapter four [5] Sinners who plot evil134/ were gathered against her.135 Every unclean man136 / and leper,137 they crowned and surrounded.138 Take advice from him, / “All precious substance you will find.139 Leave a weak religion, / a base kingdom.”140 [6] The rose of Sharon, / the Lily of the valleys141 With knowledge and talent / answered sweetly,142 “How can a dove be separated / Like a rebellious wife Found wedded?”143 [7] Israel, the first born / called to a deceived144 generation. Would he sell145/ His daughter as a maid servant?146 The precious one said, / “I will not be a loathsome thing147 That they would call me bitter148 / A jeweled fiancée.”149

Prov. 12:20, “Deceit is in the heart of those who plot evil.” Mic. 4:11, “Many nations are gathered against thee.” 136 Ish zav. 137 II Sh. 3:29, “May the house of Joab never be without someone suffering from a discharge or eruption or a male who handles the spindle.” 138 Rashi’s commentary of Jud. 20:43, “ ‘They enclosed the Benjaminites,’ they surrounded them like a crown surrounds the head.” Sefer Min ah adashah . . .: meturgam ashkenazi im perush Rashi, vemikhlal yofi, vebi ur, vesippur ha-to aliyot meha-Ralbag . . . (Karlsruhe: Badisch. privilegirt. hebraeische Buchdruckerei, 1837), 161. 139 Prov. 1:13, “We shall find all precious substance.” 140 Ezek. 17:14, “That the kingdom might be base.” 141 Song of Sol. 2:1, “I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.” 142 Song of Sol. 5:15, “His mouth is sweet and he is altogether lovely.” 143 Is. 62:4, “And thy land shall be married.” 144 dor rummah 145 Deut. 21:14, “Thou shall not sell her at all for money.” 146 Ex. 21:7, “If a man sell his daughter as a maid servant. . .” 147 Num. 11:20, “. . . until it comes out your nostrils and becomes loathsome to you.” Also haya lo li-zara, “was repulsive to him.” Avraham Even-Shoshan, ha-Milon ha- Ivri ha-merukkaz: o ar shalem u-me udkan shel ha-lashon ha- Ivrit le-khol tequfoteha, nivim Ivriyim vaAramiyim, muna im benle umiyim, rashe-tevot ve-qi urim Mahad. mur evet u-me udkenet ed. (Yerushalayim Qiryat sefer, 1988), 197, col. 3. This could also refer to foreign gods. (Susan Einbinder, e-mail, 4/8/2010) 148 The term marah appears in the Hebrew Bible four times, in two cases associated with swords and in three with death. II Sh. 2:26, “Must the sword devour forever? You know how bitterly it will end”; Ezek. 27:31, “They shall weep over you with bitter lamenting”; Prov. 5:4, “But in the end she [wisdom] is as bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword”; Job 21:25, “Another dies embittered, never having tasted happiness.” 149 There is a pun on the root dh. Adah means to wear jewels, edah is a female witness. Also kelul has dual meanings invoked. Killul means enhanced and refined, kelulot (the feminine plural form) means betrothal. 134 135

‘as an ewe before her shearers’ “Singular, without peer150 / His Torah is singular I loved my Lord / More than all precious objects. Our God is one / and his prophet is unique151 And we are one / Portion and lot”152

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[9] Rebels against the light / Sodom and Gomorrah They brought to the trial / Lies and liars. The sentence went out / with a mercenary sheath. The sentence of the maiden / against whom they committed an injustice. [10] “Extend your sword /and run as if a hero. I will be killed / and not covert” Sullen and bitter / Ministers of massacre Cut to pieces / the rose between the thorns, Sevah and Havilah.153 [11] Before the unique God, / A dove opened her mouth. Her soul on ‘one’ / exited, a burnt offering. They buried her with Hanna, / A rest of the righteous A corner stone / upon high. [12] For certain she is the dowry/ elevated to heaven. The Dweller of high heaven / she sanctified greatly. Her wedding contract is comfort/ from Shaddai and a coronet, Gold molding around it154 / [with] twenty-four bridal decorations. [13] I will thank God who didn’t /annul a redeemer from us. His flag shall be exalted and raised, / the wise minister Raphael. (The patrimonial minister of the Host of Israel.)/ He gathered the remains [of] a woman in her virginity/ [and] gathered her to her people To the field of the cave of the Patriarchs. [14] Her blood will be accounted / Before You in awe As blood of the bull and sheep / on the altar of atonement Your desire she made good / and will rebuild the ruins [of the] city of Your holiness. Bring close/ the redemption to my soul.155

150 From the hymn Adon Olam, “He is one and there is no other”; literary, “no second.” 151 Meyu ad, a play on the letters mem, et and dalet, which contain the same root letters as in Mu ammad. 152 Deut. 32:9, “The Lord’s portion is His people, Jacob his lot.” 153 Gen. 10:7, “The sons of Cush, Sevah and Havilah. . .” 154 Ex. 25:11, “And you will make upon it gold molding about. . .” 155 Ps. 69:19, “Come near to my soul and redeem it.”

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chapter four Therefore you have companions / a revealed rebuke That you should learn / the fear of God from a virgin. And you shall not profane156 / His holy and exalted name.157 Let be heard Hallelujah / day and night forever.

[15]

[16] Strengthen us and we will be strong158/ in favor of the Jewish faith The defendant to the plaintiff / will be made to pay the finest of his possessions.159 A handmaiden abused,160 / “After me Swarms consumption / fever and panic.”161 [17] Sons of God, / every poor and needy man Shall worship God / upon this mountain.162 Seek her face. / She shall ask for her God And spread her wings / in supplication and prayer. [18] Her will shall be done / Her request will be issued A lofty Rock exalted Because [19] The hills around her /and the heart of man shall feast163 In awe and trembling, / and the supplicant will be rewarded. All good shall triumph / Forever, amen. [20] The entire day I will yearn/ for you is beauty and praise164 High above / A people sunk in deep mire.165 [21] May this be for you a blessed attribute / as before in the beginning Because for you shall be a lofty Rock / Judgment of the redemption.

Lev. 22:32, “Neither shall you profane My holy name.” A reference to the Mourner’s Kaddish, “Gloried and sanctified be His name”; also Ps. 105:3, “Exult in His holy name.” 158 An expression used when a study group finished reading a rabbinic tractate. 159 From the Babylonian Talmud, Bava Kamma 6b, “R. Akiva, however, maintains that [the last clause,] ‘Of the best of his field and of the best of his vineyard shall he make restitution.’ ” 160 Lev. 19:20, “And she is a slave designated for another man.” 161 Lev. 26:16, “I will wreak misery upon you—consumption and fever.” 162 Ex. 3:12, “And you shall worship God upon this mountain.” 163 Ps. 104:15, “And bread that sustains man’s life.” 164 Ps. 33:1, “Rejoice in the Lord, ye righteous, for praise is beauty for the upright.” 165 Ps. 69:3, “I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing; I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me.” 156 157

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The refrain places Sol’s deed in the context of its meaning for the Jewish people as a whole, similar to Berdugo’s refrain, “Happy are you Israel,” in contrast to Elbaz’s refrain, which focused on God and Sol’s martyrdom sanctifying His name. The first four stanzas contrast Sol, who is described as a princess, with evildoers who plot against her. They describe how Sol was brought to the King and the attempts to seduce her to leave a ‘weak religion.’ Much of the biblical quotes come from the Psalms (Ps. 45:14. “The king’s daughter is glorious within,” Ps. 22:23, “They shall come and declare his righteousness”). Stanza six emphasizes the beauty of Sol’s deed, as opposed to her appearance, using references to the Song of Songs (2:11, “The rose of Sharon and Lily of the Valley”). The next stanza combines Sol’s speech with a reference to “Israel, the first born,” asserting Judaism’s primacy in relation to the other religions. Sol’s discourse, as a daughter of Israel, is interesting, with her refusing the offers extended to her by making reference to a father who refuses to sell his daughter. Stanza nine dispenses with the trial and declares it an injustice perpetrated by liars. Sol declares in the next stanza that she prefers death to conversion and is ready to receive the sentence. Stanza eleven compares her execution with that of the sacrifices in the Temple. The images are of the dove being sacrificed, as well as Hanna and her sons. Sol’s final breath is spent on pronouncing the ‘one’ of the shema . The next stanzas develop the theme of the martyr as God’s bride. Stanza 13 makes reference to Raphael arfati, the ‘wise minister of Israel,’ who served as an advisor in the Sultan’s court and had Sol’s remains gathered. Stanza 16 discusses the revenge that will be taken against those who try to take a shif a (female slave) who has already been promised to a divine master. The final stanzas return to the theme of the meaning of Sol’s deed for both God and the Jewish people. By being a substitute for the sacrifices she strengthens the resolve of other Jews, as in stanza 15, “That you should learn the fear of God from a virgin, and you shall not profane, His holy and exalted name,” a reference to the Mourners’ Kaddish, the prayer recited for the deceased. The final line, following the thematic structure, ends with a call for the redemption. The interreligious polemics do not introduce any new themes, but his expanded descriptions amplify themes found in the other texts, especially in Elbaz and Ben Naim. This is particularly true in Haliwa’s description of Sol’s attackers. Here he used antithesis, both in his rhymed prose introduction and in his poem, to contrast Judaism and, covertly, Islam. As in the other poems, the terms “Islam” and “Muslims”

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were not used. Instead he used biblical terms such as Sevah and Havilah (stanza 10), which in Genesis 10:7 refer to sons of Cush and Noah, and which were used in rabbinic literature to refer to Africans and Arabs (Sabeans).166 No doubt the former were included due to the use of African slaves as executioners and soldiers. Other references include Sol’s declaration in stanza eight of the uniqueness of the Torah and God, His unity with His prophet, and His unity with His people. The prophet referenced is Moses, in contradistinction to Mu ammad, the prophet of Islam. Examples of antithesis include the analogy of Judaism to the “waters of Dimsith” versus the shallow, stagnant pools of the rival religion mentioned in the introduction.167 Sol’s discourse is extremely learned in rabbinic references. It is highly unlikely she would actually have uttered these words directly to her Muslim captors, given their clear violation of the Pact of Umar and given the rabbinic prohibition against the teaching of the Talmud to daughters. In both the areas of polemics and gender discourse there is a radical reversal of reality. In the area of polemics stanza four and five continue the invective against Sol’s captors and those who ‘leave a weak religion.’ They are ‘murderous, deceitful, polluted [zavim]’ and ‘leprous.’ On the other hand, they are also given the image of young lions, which can sometimes have a more positive image, as in Ezekiel’s description of the cherubs of the Temple, with their two faces, one of a man and one of a young lion (Ezekiel 41:18). Stanza nine contains more polemics against Sol’s attackers, calling them rebels against light, and officers of Sodom and Gomorrah. The reference to zavim and Sodom and Gomorrah shows the predominance of images of sexual deviants. The emphasis in these derogatory names is on lying and sexual deviance more than idolatry. The possible danger that, if such were true, given Sol’s time in their captivity, she might not have been a virgin is not overtly considered. But perhaps such name calling and repeating of the phrase “virgin maiden” in the beginning of the poem is a latent voicing of such anxiety. This may account for the incensed 166 Joseph Jacobs and Louis H. Gray, “Sabeans” in Jewish Encyclopedia, http://www .jewishencyclopedia.com, accessed 12/1/03. “Sabean” referred to the Southeastern Kingdom of Arabia (“Sheba”) “In Job 4:19 the Sabeans are mentioned in close association with the Temeans, an Ishmaelite stock (Gen. 3:15) that dwelt in Arabia (Isa. 21:14; comp. Jer. 25:23–24).” 167 Avot d’Rabbi Natan, chapter 14, 24a, “I will go to Dimsith, a delectable spot with excellent and refreshing water . . .” Jastrow, A dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic literature, 296, 300.

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polemics and its masculine intellectualism. Given what could happen to a virgin in a den of sexual deviants, Sol is transformed into a learned Rabbi, like R. Akiva, who successfully resists extreme attempts to seduce him while in captivity in Rome.168 The gender reversal used in Ben Naim and Elbaz that has Sol using rabbinic discourse, is expanded on here. This is particularly true in the rhyming prose introduction to the poem, where Sol not only quotes the Bible extensively, but also makes references to the Mishnah and to Avot de R. Nathan. There is also an interesting implied criticism of the status of daughters in the Bible and Mishnah.169 Stanza seven asks if Israel would sell his daughter as a slave. This is a reference to the biblical verse “If a man sells his daughter as a slave she shall not be free as male slaves are” (Exod. 21:7). The first word of the verse is ve-ki (“And if”), but Haliwa substitutes it with the words ha-im (would), implying a criticism of the status of an unmarried daughter in biblical and mishnaic times. Indeed, if daughters are not valued as persons, then their sacrifice is not as valuable either. While the status of daughters, particularly their susceptibility to being sold into slavery was alleviated over time; the prohibition against their learning the Talmud was still not challenged. And so for Sol to adopt such learned discourse involves a gender role reversal. When she is directly challenged and asked to convert, she responds as a male rabbi. Her gender reversal continues in her defiant cry before she is slaughtered. However, once she is dead, she returns to her delicate female status, as a rose and a dove. This helps accentuate the horror of the execution; the rose is cut to pieces by “ministers of massacre.” After death the gender imagery takes on both mystical and martyrological tones. Sol is both the bride and the dowry. She is adorned in heaven and her sacrifice allows for the unity of God according the kabbalistic doctrine of sefirot. Stanza 12 contains several images from the Kabbalah, “her wedding contract [is] succour, from [a] coronet (nezer) and Almighty God, [Shaddai], gold and pestle of laurel, and 24 bridal decorations.” Shaddai or El Shaddai refers to the ninth sefirah, which is united with the tenth or the Shekhinah, the divine presence, referenced in the same stanza by the word shekhen, rest, as in the phrase “there rests over her.” Gold is further associated

168 169

Boyarin, Dying for God Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism. Wegner, op. cit.

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with the fourth sefirah, okhmah (wisdom) and gedullah (greatness).170 The martyrological references are to the dove of the Temple sacrifice and to her soul’s exiting on e ad (one or unity), allowing for the unity of these sefirot. The theme of the martyr as a substitute for the sacrifice is made explicit in stanza 14 where her blood is compared to the blood of the sheep and the bull offered on the altar of atonement. Thus, the poem combines the structural themes of the martyr tale with a dense and compact series of kabbalistic images that transcend the vendetta of the polemics in the earlier stanzas and reaffirm God’s unity and the coming redemption via the atonement of the martyr. Jacob Abuhasera Jacob Abuhasera (1808–1880), who was born in the Tafilalet region of Morocco, is probably the most well known of the poet rabbis discussed in this chapter. Some of his extensive works on Kabbalah,171 particularly the Lurianic Kabbalah, and ethics began being published shortly after his death and continued into the 20th century.172 His gravesite, in Damanhur, Egypt was a place of pilgrimage and a great hillulah is celebrated every year on the 20th of Tevet, according to the Jewish calendar.173 While following Isaac Luria’s system he did not adopt some of its more controversial elements. He modified the Lurianic theosophic conceptions to maintain God’s sovereignty and omnipotence. Evil was God’s way of teaching man moral instruction. Man must be eternally vigilante against the tricks and intrigues of the qelippot, the dark forces of the sitra a ra, the ‘other side,’ the supernatural divine force from which evil emanates.174 The soul exists in a hierarchy

170 Gershom Scholem, Kabbalah (New York: Quadrangle/New York Times Book Co., 1974), 107, 11. 171 alamish gives a bibliographic list of many of his works, alamish, Ha-Qabbalah bi- efon Afriqah le-min ha-me ah ha-16: seqirah his orit ve-tarbutit, 38–39. 172 Sefer Bigde ha-serad: perush al ha-Haggadah, Yerushalayim: Ha-shutafim a.y. ha-mesadder Ben iyon Taragan, bi-defus Moshe Lilenthal, Elhanan Tenenboim, [1888]; Sefer Ginze ha-melekh: ha-Tora be-shiv im panim be-shalosh ofanim p.r.d.s., Yerushalayim: bi-defus Moshe Lilenthal ve-shuttafo Elhanan Tenenboim, [649, 1889]; Sefer Sha are arukhah: . . . musarim . . ., Yerushalayim: [h. mo. l.], 726 [1966]. 173 There is at least one site devoted to R. Jacob Abuhasera on the World Wide Web: http://www.modia.org/tora/abouhatsera.html#oeuvre; there are probably others in Hebrew. Accessed 1/3/2011. 174 Scholem, Kabbalah, 138.

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of five levels, two of which, nishama and ye idah, are mentioned in his poem for Sol. Neshama belongs to the third level, which is associated with binah (intelligence).175 Ye idah is the highest form of the soul and is associated with first sefira, keter, or crown, which is further associated with the soul of Moses. In keeping with the Lurianic system, Abuhasera also saw the important role that human action plays in tiqqun (restoration of the universe) and, in particular, the suffering of the righteous, who will receive their rewards in the hereafter.176 Abuhasera’s qinah for Sol, consisting of 32 lines divided into 16 stanzas, follows the same thematic structure as the other poems, and even uses some of the same words, asheriah—her happiness, bitulah—virgin, ge ulah—redemption, e ad—one, and the animals of the Temple sacrifice, the dove and the ewe. When compared with Haliwa’s poem there is less emphasis on polemics or description of Muslim captors. Instead the poem emphasizes the suffering of the faithful martyr and the merit this brings to her and her people. [1] Great praise for a blessed177 maiden /I will tell how she sanctified her God The daughters saw her and blessed her. / The queens and mistresses praised her.178 [2] An innocent soul in the midst of purity / that merited glorious ascent That the ten martyrs merited179 / And Hanna with her seven sons.180 [3] Cruel gentiles counseled [her] / to transgress a religion that is the daughter of propriety,181 Upon seeing her beauty182 and glorious face. / But a thread of piety drew her.

175 Dan Manor, “Qabbalah u-musar be-khitve R. Ya aqov Aviha ira” (Ph.D., ha-Universi ah ha- Ivrit, 1979), 200. 176 Dan Manor discusses Abuhasera’s conception of the soul and his theurgy in detail. Here I am only concerned with the basic elements as they relate directly to terms from his hierarchy of the soul that appear in his poem about Sol. Ibid. 177 Literally, “her blessings”, in Hebrew ashreha; the same root word, asher, is used in all four of the qinot. 178 Song of Sol. 6:9, “The daughters saw her and blessed her; yea the queens and the concubines, and they praised her”. 179 The ten martyrs of the Hadrianic persecution, including R. Akiba. 180 In reference to the woman who lost her seven sons during the Hadrianic persecution (Lam. R. 1:16, no. 50; Git. 57b). 181 Literally kesharim; the English word kosher comes from the same word, kasher. 182 Es. 1:11, “. . . to bring Queen Vashti before the king. . . to show her beauty.” The verb in the biblical verse and in the line in the poem comes from the same root, r āh (resh, aleph, heh), meaning ‘saw’.

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chapter four [4] Together they agreed to testify falsely. / They said she preferred a religion of vanity. A conspiracy of evil-doers wrote and signed. / No protest was heard from her mouth. [5] They brought her in haste to the king’s court/ They tried to seduce her with all sorts of objects. “What is your wish,183 oh most beautiful of women?184 / Whatever is your wish will be done. [6] We will make for you ornaments that we will add / We will choose for you a man for which your heart pines. Borders of gold with studs of silver,185/ that which your soul craves you will find.” [7] For two months they / tempted her and she said pleasantly, “Why are you doing this? And why are your words thus? / You will walk in darkness in a path without light.” [8] With truth in her mouth the beloved answered, / “Love of the divine name is strong and great. Many waters cannot quench love./ Neither can the floods drown it.186 [9] A house and wealth a man gave and his estate187 / for the love of God contempt will not scorn.” A true law is in her. Pious ones will rejoice.188 / Happy is the one who is sheltered in the shadow of her wings. [10] “Chosen is my lover and he is altogether delightful.189 / He is our Lord and we His servants. Not as a people that chases after winds of fire, / all day in deceit and haughty speech.

183 Es. 5:6, “And the king said unto Esther at the banquet of wine, what is thy petition and it shall be granted thee.” 184 Song of Sol. 1:8, “If you do not know, oh fairest of women. . .” 185 Song of Sol. 1:11, “We will make thee borders of gold with studs of silver.” 186 Song of Sol. 8:7, “Vast floods cannot quench love, nor rivers drown it.” 187 Song of Sol. 8:7, “A house and wealth if a man gave along with his estate for love, it would utterly be contemned.” 188 Ps. 149:5, “Let the pious be joyful in glory.” 189 Song of Sol. 5:15–16, “Excellent as the cedars and all of him is delightful.”

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[11] They sat to judge her, a fool, a brute190 and villain./ With the sword they gave a confused judgment. A soul as a lamb led to the slaughter, / as an ewe before her shearer191 [12] She was given, a sword over her throat/ Her soul left and ascended to the place of rejuvenation To behold the beauty of the face of the Divine presence192 / in the house of her Father as in her youth. [13] Our Rock, look and avenge us./ From Egypt the wicked ones hunt down our souls. For Your sake all day long we are killed193 / over Torah and Your commandments194 [14] Rising before the thrown of Your honor/ the blood of this maiden is Your truth. She gave herself for Your holiness./ Remember her merit for the children of her congregations. [15] Rejoice, oh children of Israel/ You and your children, your women and little ones That this saint stood for you/ in this orphaned generation. Her deed will arrive [16] To the living God. Look on the hand of Your people, below / and favor the remaining refugees Because Israel, despite his sin/ You will decree it195 and her suffering will end.

Most of the emphasis is on Sol’s martyrdom, with intertexts to Hanna and her seven sons and the Ten Martyrs of the Talmudic period. In stanza two, Sol is referred to as neshama, the third level of the soul. It is the neshama that ascends to heaven after death, and its enjoyments are purely spiritual.196 Stanza three begins the narrative of the false

Ps. 49:11, “Likewise the fool and the brutish person perish.” Is. 53:7, “As a lamb brought to the slaughter, as a sheep before her shearers.” 192 Ps. 27:4, “To behold the beauty of the Lord . . .” 193 Ps. 44:23, “Yea, for Thy sake we are killed all day long.” 194 This statement is attributed to R. Akiva. Boyarin, “Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism.” 195 Job 22:28, “You will decree it and it will be fulfilled,” literally, “you [f.] will be avenged.” 196 Manor, “Kabbale et éthique dans l’oeuvre de Rabbi Yaakov Abihatsira”, 200. The word neshama comes from linshom, to breathe, which is also why it is used to describe Sol’s expiration. 190 191

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testimony by “cruel gentiles” captivated by her beauty. Stanza four expands on this with the writing up of the false document and in stanza five she is brought to the palace. Here begins the attempts at seducing her with unnamed villains quoting from the Scroll of Esther and the Song of Songs. Stanza six continues the attempts at seduction with jewelry, gold and silver, and anything else she would want. In stanza seven it states that she was kept in captivity for two months while her seducers tried to induce her to choose a groom from among their men. She responds with verses from Isaiah (50:10) and the Song of Songs based on R. Akiva’s exegesis. Quoting from Song of Songs 5:16 God is referred to as her lover who is chosen, ba or, and full of delights, ma madim. This is a play on the name Mu ammad, given the offer of one of the Muslim men of the palace. Sol replies that she doesn’t need them because she has her own delightful, ma mad, divine lover; an interesting and polyphonic way to reject Islam. The Song of Songs plays a dominant role throughout this poem, from the queens and concubines (6:9), who could do well to take a lesson from her, to Sol’s rejection of her captors’ wealth. “Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: If a man would give the substance of his house in the love [of God] it would utterly be contemned.” (8:7) Most of the biblical verse is quoted, but the words “of God” are added to emphasize that what is meant is divine, not earthly love. This love is based on fear and reverence for Him. It manifests itself in the willingness of the devotee to accept humility and even physical hardship.197 Thus the element of martyrdom is prominent in this poem. It is part of a general theosophy that emphasizes the ideal of accepting one’s fate in love and submission to God’s sovereignty and omniscience. In this same stanza Sol is praised as having a true law in her that will cause the pious to rejoice. The next two stanzas focus on her martyrdom comparing her to an ewe and a dove, and denouncing those who sentenced and executed her. When they sat to judge her, their sentence was confused, but when her fate was divinely decreed, she accepted it. Here she is referred to as ye idah, the highest form of the soul. This word is inserted before a quote from a verse from Isaiah 53:7, “like a sheep being led to slaughter, like a ewe before those who shear her.” The Biblical verse opens, “He is maltreated, yet he is submissive, He did not open his mouth . . .” For Abuhasera this is the ideal expression

197

Ibid., 264.

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of love for the divine. The next stanza continues the description of Sol’s death; beginning with “sword on her neck. . . .” He describes Sol’s execution in two stanzas. The first focuses on her as the substitute for the sacrifice and on the submission of the martyr. The second focuses on the manner of her execution and on the exit of her soul, neshama and its ascent to the heaven. Upon her death she ascends to the place of rejuvenation to ‘gaze upon the beauty’ (Ps. 27:4) of the Divine Presence, the Shekhina, and she returns to the house of her Father, as in her youth, as if she were back in the home of her parents. Romero’s version of the story emphasizes that this was what distressed Sol the most, the separation and pain caused to her parents. This verse provides a consolation and comfort for that pain in the double meaning of the house of her father/Father. The last four stanzas focus on the traditional themes of revenge and redemption. The call for revenge is combined with a reminder of Israel’s plight as “wicked ones” oppress it. Interwoven in this section is an oft-quoted biblical verse in rabbinic martyrdom texts based on R. Akiva’s exegesis of the Song of Songs: “ ‘Because for You all day we are killed’ (Ps. 44:23) over Torah and its commandments.”198 The next stanza is also addressed to God directly urging Him to remember Sol’s blood, which grants merit to her congregation. The second to the last stanza invites the whole ‘congregation’ to sing and rejoice that Sol, the saint, stood for them “in this orphaned generation.” Men and women, young and old are called upon to rejoice in her deed. Here, as in the earlier poems Sol’s gender is a reminder to the rabbis of the existence of women, children and young girls of the people, and of the possibility that merit and righteous deeds can come from them too. Ben Naim, in his narrative, describes the effects of Sol’s deed on the girls of the Mella , who aspired to be ‘women of valor.’ No doubt their inspiration also came from the praise that Sol received from the male leaders, fathers and future husbands’ of their community. As Berdugo stated Sol’s deed lifted the spirits of the women, especially the most down trodden women of her community. In Abuhasera’s poem this tradition is carried on and further endowed with kabbalistic meaning.

198 Boyarin, “Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism.”; Gi in 57; Tosafta Brekhot 86, halakha 11; Lamentations Zuta 21 Aaron Hyman, Sefer Torah ha-Ketuvah veha-Mesurah, vol. 3 (Tel Aviv: Devir, 1973), 31.

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Looking at these poems together, one can see that they all have the same thematic structure. They all start praising the martyrdom of the virgin maiden, describing her beauty using quotes from the Song of Songs and the Prophets. Next they narrate what happened to Sol starting with her false accusers. None of the other events in Tangier, Sol’s fights with her mother, her friendship with Tahra, her taking refuge in her Muslim neighbor’s house, are mentioned here. It is interesting to note that none of these poets were from Tangier. Also the use of biblical references no doubt dictated the orientation of the poems away from a symbiotic approach to Jewish Muslim relations and towards one that was confrontational. This will be particularly apparent when it is compared to the Judeo-Spanish version of La Epoka, as well as when compared to some of the Judeo-Spanish ballads.199 In these poems Sol’s accusers are described and her religion is contrasted with theirs using a series of antitheses. Sol responds to the attempts to seduce her with learned rhetorical weapons, as a rabbi publicly defending the faith in the martyrdom tale. Her sacrifice is equated to the atonement sacrifices in the Temple and the image of the dove and the ewe reoccur, as does her demise on e ad. Next comes the description of Sol’s ascent, the praise of her deed, and the declaration that her merit will bring revenge and redemption. Of the four poems discussed Berdugo’s stands out in several ways. He refers to her captors as scoundrels, focusing on the act of false testimony, but he does not vilify them to the same extent as Elbaz and Haliwa. Unlike Abuhasera’s poem, which also has Sol quoting from the Song of Songs, in Berdugo’s poem it is the villains who speak using its language. They speak not as sexual deviants, as in Haliwa, or rapists as in Elbaz, but as lovers and wedding guests, albeit deceitful lovers and guests. The emphasis is on the performative context of the wedding ceremony and the entrance of the bride. Kabbalistic images highlighting the feminine aspect of the divine are referenced. Sol’s merit has special meaning for the women of the community, especially women lacking in male protection and poor women. Likewise Abuhasera was inspired by Sol’s deed to include young and old, men

199 “Sol la saddika.” Also Chants judéo-espagnols, track 7 “Sol Hatchuel Sol la saddika,” Performers: Sandra Bessis [vocals], John McLean [instruments] Sol Hatchuel Sol la saddika, (Paris: 1995), song.

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and women in the call to praise her and her sacrifice. His poem also refrains from dwelling on the evil of her captors. Instead he focuses on her martyrdom making reference to famous martyrs from the classical rabbinic period. While the content of these poems is devoid of images from Arabic poetry, they still use its forms, particularly the strophic rhyme patterns and balance in syllables between hemistiches of the muwashsha .200 All the poets, except for Abuhasera, which lacks an introductory section, make reference to the la an, melody to which the poem is to be sung, and which gives the poem its rhythm and determines the length of each line.201 While the Arabic poetics lost ground at the level of content, it still was preserved in these poems at the level of form. Their approach to gender discourse is conveyed through the use of biblical and rabbinic quotations. In these texts Sol is given dialogue that transforms her into a learned male and restrictions regarding teaching daughters Torah are disregarded. This begs the question of the nature of the Jewish daughter’s education in Morocco. Accounts from both Tangier and Fez emphasize the home basis of this education and the role played by the mother and other female relatives in the household.202 Jewish girls were taught the dietary laws of kashrut and other home based rituals. Later in the 19th century the Alliance Israélite Universelle did begin to educate girls, mostly in traditional female vocational skills such as sewing. They were given some limited formal Jewish education, but not as much as the boys.203 While none of the texts discussed in this chapter mention any possible implications for girls’ education that might result from the transformation of

200 azan, “Mi-Sefarad le- efon Afriqah—ha-Shirah ha- Ivrit be-Ma avar.” Even while still in Spain Jewish writers and later Muslim writers such as Ibn- Arabī adopted the muwashsha āt to religious themes. The Hebrew muwashsha āt sung in the synagogue preserved the tunes of the secular kharjas that were borrowed and became part of the liturgy. Tova Rosen, “The muwashshah,” The Literature of Al-Andalus, eds. María Rosa Menocal, Raymond P. Scheindlin and Michael Sells, Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2000, 165–89. 201 Abuhasera, Sefer Yagel Ya aqov: . . . shirah adasha . . .; ———, Sefer Yagel Ya aqov he- adash ha-shalem. While the original edition published in 1902 may have included an introduction mentioning a la an the 1987 edition does not. 202 Bensadon, “La femme juive de Tanger et de Tétouan.” Even after the opening of the Alliance Israélite Universelle schools for girls in the 1870s the major preoccupation was finding the daughter a husband and the education given by the mother on keeping a Jewish home was paramount to this. For Fez see Donath, L’Evolution de la Femme Israélite à Fès, 98. 203 Michael M. Laskier, The Alliance israèlite universelle and the Jewish communities of Morocco, 1862–1962 (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1983).

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Sol into a learned Rabbi, the 19th century European Jewish traveler, J.J. Benjamin did. Ironically he used the case of Sol, whom he presumes to have been ignorant and illiterate, to argue against the education of Jewish women in Europe by contrasting her great deed, despite her ignorance, with their frivolity despite their education.204 Yet in spite of this lack of interest in considering the education of living Jewish ‘maidens,’ many of these texts praise not only Sol’s deed, but by extension Jewish females in general and the feminine divine presence in particular. Despite their lack of inclusion in Torah study, they are included in the call to praise Sol, and she gives them special merit. Gender discourse is also interwoven with religious polemic discourse. The most intense polemics involve the charge of sexual deviance and gender reversals by the female potential victim. She represents the point of greatest vulnerability, particularly if, through her martyrdom, she is consecrated as God’s virgin bride. The interweaving of gender discourse and polemics is not unique to these texts. It goes back to the Bible and to R. Akiva’s commentary on the Song of Songs. Monotheism is equated with monogamy and idolatry with harlotry and prostitution. The only defense is the transformation of Sol into a learned rabbi to defend her honor and her faith, and to suffer martyrdom as did R. Akiva and the other Ten Martyrs of the Roman occupation. In addition to expressing religious polemics, the qinot are part of the expression of Moroccan rabbinic Judaism, combining rabbinic exegesis and hermeneutics with the liturgical poetry of the piyyu . They also draw on the legacy of Andalusian Arabic culture, especially at the level of aesthetics. This Arab-Islamic culture also left its influence on this literature in a number of arenas, including polemical responses to Muslim challenges. These polemics were drawn from the Bible and classical rabbinic literature that predated Islam, but were adjusted to respond to it. In the Judeo-Arabic texts this Islamic influence will be seen at the level of linguistic expressions used by both Muslims and Jews. These texts also give voice to Sol’s suffering in a colloquial dialect that was shared by both men and women, creating a powerful verisimilar rendition of a young girl abandoned to the fate of torture and public beheading.

204 J.J. Benjamin, Eight years in Asia and Africa from 1846–1855 [Acht Jahre in Asien und Afrika. English] (Hanover [Germany] Printed by Wm. Reimschneider: 1859), 277. For a discussion of Benjamin’s text on Sol, see Chapter One above.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE FALLEN GAZELLE Introduction In addition to the Moroccan Hebrew works, Sol’s story was rendered in Judeo-Arabic. Unlike the works discussed in the previous chapter, most of these texts were never published. While there was a JudeoArabic press functioning in Tunisia and Algeria,1 much of the traditional religious literary output in poetic form remains in manuscript.2 The fate of this press and its dialect was determined, like so much else in the lives of North African Jewry, by the French colonization of the region. After a brief summary of the history of this dialect I will discuss two Judeo-Arabic texts—one redacted in the region of Taroudant at the end of the 19th century, but bearing the title date of 1835 and signed Moshe Ben Sa adon Ben Avraham, the other by David Pinto from Oran and dated around the turn of the 20th century. The date and place of this latter manuscript is significant given the upheavals experienced by the Jewish community in Oran and the rest of Algeria at the end of the 19th century. The crisis the community faced and the lost status of its local rabbinic leadership is reflected in the text itself, where the thematic structure established by the Hebrew texts and rabbinic tradition was torn apart. The Judeo-Arabic dialects have a long history going back to the Middle Ages. They were characterized by being written in the Hebrew alphabet and often contained Hebrew and Aramaic in their lexicon. Classical Judeo-Arabic was used by Sa adya Goan (d. 942) in his translation of the Hebrew Bible, and in his polemical and philosophical works, such as his Book of Opinions and Beliefs (kitab al-amānāt wal-i tiqādāt),

1 Yosef Tobi, “The Flowering of Judeo-Arabic Literature in North Africa, 1850– 1950,” in Sephardi and Middle Eastern Jewries: History and Culture in the Modern Era, ed. Harvey E. Goldberg (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996), 213–25. 2 Joseph Chetrit, ha-Shirah ha- Arvit-Yehudit shebi-khetav bi- efon-Afriqah: iyyunim poetiyim, leshoniyim ve-tarbutiyim ( Jerusalem: Misgav Yerushalayim, ha-Makhon le- eker moreshet Yahadut Sefarad veha-Mizra , 1994), 13.

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as well as by Maimonides (d. 1204) in his Guide for the Perplexed (dalālat al- ā’irīn). These works were written in an elevated language that was close to classical Arabic and served as the literary language for Jews in Arab lands. In North Africa this dialect lost ground from the time of the Almohad persecution.3 From then on local and regional dialects of Judeo-Arabic have gained dominance. These also have their linguistic register levels, with shar , the language of translation and commentary on the Bible, serving as the most elevated. This can be contrasted with the Judeo-Arabic of everyday speech, which is further divided based on its users and their educational levels. Writers of liturgy and poetic works for formal occasions were usually men who were bilingual in Hebrew and their regional dialect of Judeo-Arabic.4 There were also popular songs by women that were often borrowings from their Muslim neighbors and contained references to Islam.5 While texts in Judeo-Arabic were published, including in Europe, in Amsterdam and Livorno,6 much of the literature in Moroccan Judeo-Arabic remained in manuscript form and no complete diwan has survived even in that form.7 In addition, little is known about the authors of these texts beyond what is contained in the works themselves. There are qinot for Tisha B’Av that survive from the 18th century, and researchers have reported possessing manuscripts with qinot for Sol. Some of these contain Hebrew elements while others contain references to Islam, particularly in the dialogues between Sol and her captors.8 Such references were not the result of direct knowledge of the Quran or Islamic written sources, but were acquired through the everyday colloquial language used by Muslims and Jews, particularly in their interfaith interactions.9 Terms

3 Joshua Blau, Diqduq ha- Arvit-ha-Yehudit shel Yeme-ha-benayim, 2nd rev. exp. ed. (Yerushalayim: Ho a’at sefarim al-shem Y.L. Magnes, ha-Universi ah ha- Ivrit, 1980), xxi; Chetrit, ha-Shirah ha- Arvit-Yehudit shebi-khetav bi- efon-Afriqah: iyyunim poetiyim, leshoniyim ve-tarbutiyim, 199. 4 Chetrit, ha-Shirah ha- Arvit-Yehudit shebi-khetav bi- efon-Afriqah: iyyunim poetiyim, leshoniyim ve-tarbutiyim, 30, 199. 5 Joseph Chetrit, “Interférences judéo-musulmanes dans les parlers et la poésie populaire au Maroc,” in Présence juive au Maghreb: hommage à Haïm Zafrani ed. Nicole S. Serfaty and Joseph Tedghi (Saint-Denis: Bouchene, 2004), 425–49. 6 Tobi, “The Flowering of Judeo-Arabic Literature in North Africa, 1850–1950,” 218. 7 Chetrit, ha-Shirah ha- Arvit-Yehudit shebi-khetav bi- efon-Afriqah: iyyunim poetiyim, leshoniyim ve-tarbutiyim, 13. 8 Meir M. Bar-Asher, “Vestiges islamiques dans le parler judéo-arabe du Maroc.” 9 Ibid., 371.

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such as b-ismi-llāh were used as a sign of resignation.10 Other terms used in the manuscripts discussed here include al-khāliq (the Creator) and kathīr al-fa ā il (the Benefactor) to refer to God and Ibrāhīm al-khalīl (friend of God) to refer to Abraham. These terms combine with Jewish references and are mobilized in Sol’s discourse as she defends herself and her religion and resists the temptation to convert. The Tale of Ben Sa adon The manuscript is signed Moshe Ben Sa adon Ben Avraham. The handwriting is from Taroudant.11 It is from a notebook that has been dated to the late 19th or early 20th century,12 however the title bears the date 1835 (5595). While the redactor of this text was from Taroudant, the author may not have been. It has not been possible to uncover authorial information beyond what is in the manuscript itself. I was not able to find a Moshe Ben Sa adon in Malkhe rabbanan, Joseph Ben Naim’s biographical dictionary of Moroccan rabbis, but there were other Ben Sa adons, including Sa adia and Shimon, among others, from Fez, who lived circa 1819 (5579). There were also Ben Sa adons in Tetuan ( Joseph, 5500/1740), Gibraltar (Yom Tov, 5499/1739) and Marrakech ( Joseph b. David 5510/1750).13 While it is not possible to locate the author’s place of birth or residence, from the date one can assume he was a contemporary of Sol’s. In addition, from the refrain, fi zmani [in my time] one can assume he was writing about the incident shortly after its occurrence. The text is part of a collection of tales for the 9th of Av, and includes tales about Hanna and her seven sons, Job, the ten martyrs, among them R. Akiva, of the Hadrian persecutions (r.117–138), and

Ibid. Chetrit personal communication, June 6, 2008. 12 David Benayem, Head of Hebrew Manuscripts, Bar Ilan University, personal communication, 8/12/2009. National Library of Israel Manuscripts http://aleph518. huji.ac.il accessed 12/12/2003, system number 0058954, custodian library catalogue number Bar Ilan 537. 13 Malkhe rabbanan: Sa adia (fol. 100a, col. 1), Shimon (fol. 126b, col. 1), Yom Tov (fol. 56a, col. 2), Joseph b. David (fol. 59a, col. 2), Joseph (fol. 59b, col.2.) Ben Naim, Malkhe rabbanan: ve-hu sidra de-rabbanan . . . ayim de-rabbanan . . . There is a list based on Malkhe rabbanan that, unlike the book, is organized alphabetically by last name. “RABBIS OF MOROCCO ~15th Century to 20th Century,” www.sephardicstudies.org/ pdf/rabbis-morroco1700.pdf, accessed June 25, 2009. 10 11

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the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. As with the Hebrew texts, Sol’s martyrdom is recounted in the context of these other religious and communal disasters and famous martyrs, including the archetypal martyr R. Akiva. The generic term used in the title is the Arabic word qi a, often translated as a tale or short story, but this term can also be used to refer to rhymed prose and popular songs. The qi a by David Pinto was translated into French and called a ‘chanson.’14 These qi as have elements that would place them in a Western generic category of song, including a rhyme scheme. In the text by Ben Sa adon the dominant rhyme is /’a/ (written with an aleph), with some lines ending in /i/ (written with a yod). Except for the last two stanzas the text is in Moroccan Judeo-Arabic, with a couple of words (virgin, the thrown of glory) in Hebrew and two (slaughter, daba , saint, adiqa ) in Aramaic. It follows the thematic structure of the Hebrew qinot: description of Sol’s beauty, the attempts to seduce her, polemical exchanges between her and her captors, her martyrdom, the call for divine revenge against her executioners, an end to exile, and the call for redemption and return of the Jewish people to their historic homeland and the rebuilding of the Temple, galut u-ge ulah. However it relies more heavily on a dialogue between Sol and her captors to tell the story in contrast to the Hebrew texts, which contain greater description and narration in the third person. No doubt the author had a greater freedom in developing his discourse not being constrained by the need to use biblical phrases and vocabulary exclusively. The dialogue tags are qal (he said), qalah (she said), qalu (they said), and wazabtu (wajabtahum in classical Arabic, she answered them), indicating a language register that is less elevated than the Hebrew texts. This use of dialect is very effective in giving voice to Sol, particularly in the early stanzas where she describes her terror and feelings of abandonment. “My loved ones and brothers fled and I remained with the foreign enemy” (stanza 6); “in iron chains they tied me, in foot chains and ropes they put [on] me, they dressed me in a torn abiyya [tunic]; I cried, ‘my brothers have mercy on me!’ ” (stanza 7); “I cried to my mother and father, ‘What compassion and mercy?!’ I fell among the great enemies” (stanza 8). In Sol’s statement, was hadi lm nna ura ma [what compassion and mercy], it is not clear whether the question is directed at her parents or at God, but it is clearly sarcastic. However, the only reference to the events in Tangier are

14

Tadjouri, “Sol, La ‘Sadiqa’.”

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contained in stanza five, “There happened an argument between me and my mother, the Muslim women entered from the neighbor[hood] and said the Jewess returned a Muslim woman.” This is similar to the Hebrew texts, which also do not dwell on scenes from Tangier. This text even less so because there is no reference to false testimony, except for this line. The polemics are not as elaborate as in the Hebrew texts, but Judaism is referred to when the Sultan tells Sol, “your religion is humiliated and your Torah is worthless,” (stanza 11). After insulting Sol’s religion, the Sultan offers to marry her, whereupon she replies, “I will not neglect my religion, don’t try to seduce me like this. I will surrender and shatter my beauty [for] Abraham the friend of God, my beloved. Have me drink the poison of death” (stanza 12). The term ‘Abraham the friend of God’ (brahim lkhalil ) is closer to a Muslim description of Ibrāhīm than a Jewish reference, where Abraham is referred as the Patriarch (Avraham avinu, “Abraham our father”).15 This use of Islamic expressions is a further distinction from the Hebrew texts and no doubt occasioned by the use of Arabic. Such expressions were also used by Jews when speaking in Arabic, as discussed above. The next manuscript to be discussed, a qi a from Oran, uses even more such references. These are employed as part of a defense of Judaism due not only to the language, but also to the identity of the addressee. Jews would use Islamic expressions in their discussions with Muslims in order to show their knowledge of the majority’s religion.16 It could also be used to heighten the impact of their words for their addressees. This knowledge could be deployed to mitigate against the power inequality between the minority group and the majority and between the captive Sol and her powerful captor, the Sultan. It also points out the fact that Islam also acknowledges Abraham, while at the same time stating that he is Sol’s ‘beloved,’ indicating an assertion of a closer relationship that Judaism takes for granted but Islam rejects.17 Whereas the Hebrew qinot employ biblical verses, such as, “Wherefore should the nations say, ‘Where is their God?’ Let Him be

15 Muslim polemics have Mu ammad answer the Jewish claim that “Abraham is better than you” with the following, “Abraham was indeed the friend of God but I am His beloved.” Peters, A Reader on Classical Islam, 188. 16 Meir M. Bar-Asher, “Vestiges islamiques dans le parler judéo-arabe du Maroc,” 292, no. 1–2. Bar-Asher also mentions a Judeo-Arabic text for Sol that he had in his possession that used Islamic references. 17 Quran 3:67, “Abraham was not a Jew, nor yet a Christian, but was a hanif, a muslim, and was not one of the associators.” Quoted in Peters, A Reader on Classical Islam, 40.

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known among the nations in our sight by revenging of the blood of thy servants which is shed” (Ps. 79:10),18 these texts rely on a combination of Islamic references that were known to Jews such as divine names and phrases (B’ismillah a-ra man) and Muslim names for the prophets and patriarchs (a-nabī Mūsā [the prophet Moses], Ibrāhīm al-khalīl ), and Hebrew expressions used in Judeo-Arabic, such as shi ebbud (slavery), shema (Deut. 6:4), and kisse ha-kavod [the thrown of glory], at whose foot Sol’s spirit came to rest. While the Hebrew texts use biblical verses in polemical exchanges between Sol and her captors, this text devotes much of Sol’s discourse to expressing her horror at being held captive. Unlike the biblical references in the Hebrew texts here her invective against her captors focuses on the inevitability of death and her rewards in the afterlife for staying faithful to her religion. The specific Jewish content and moral of the story are mostly given at the very end of text. In contrast to the Hebrew qinot, which are made up of a collage of biblical words and phrases, this text only quotes one verse at the very end of the tale as will be seen below. The description of Sol’s beauty is another area of contrast between the Hebrew texts and these Judeo-Arabic texts. Whereas the former rely on biblical quotations, for example ‘diadem of glory’ (Isa. 28:5), a ‘graceful mountain goat’ (Prov. 5:19–20) in Ben Naim’s description,19 here the reoccurring symbol is that of ‘gazelle’ [g zala’].20 In this tale she is referred to as, “The dear one” and “the beloved gazelle, a saint” who “held on to the true high path [when] a narrow tragedy befell her” (stanza 3). The term saint, adiqa’, is in Aramaic. In the next stanza her beauty is described as complete and esteemed. Unlike in some of the qinot, there is no lengthy description of how the king desired her, beyond stating, he saw her and said, “. . . you will be the most favored wife” (stanza 9). When the king’s attempts to seduce Sol with gold and perfume fail, young maidens are brought in (stanza 14). In the next manuscript these are referred to as Islāmīyāt ( Jewish converts), as will be seen below. In contrast to Ben Naim’s version of this scene, where Sol challenges these converts’ religious status by stating that their mothers’ were impure according to Jewish law,21

Elbaz, “Shimkha Yah Qiddshah.” See chapter four above for analysis. Ben Naim, Malkhe rabbanan: ve-hu sidra de-rabbanan . . . ayim de-rabbanan . . . [127a]. 20 Ben Sa’adon, Qissat Sulika . . . stanza 3, Pinto, Qi a di Sulika a- adiqah, stanza 25. 21 Ben Naim, Malkhe rabbanan: ve-hu sidra de-rabbanan . . . ayim de-rabbanan . . ., first page of “Ma aseh be-ne arah ha- addeqet.” 18 19

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here Sol’s response is to spit at them in revulsion and call down the Angel of Death (malak lmut), and the fire of hell (nar zahnam, in literary Arabic, jahannam). In this text it is unclear whether the young maidens brought before her were former Jews. Her revulsion could be due to them being part of the king’s harem and their trying to seduce her with gold and gems. The king’s reaction is to be ‘stricken with anger’ and to call for one of his ministers, called by the name of Ben Jelloun (stanza 15). In Romero this persona was referred as the “Kaid Mia,” and before torturing Sol he tried to teach her Islam and persuade her to convert.22 In Ben Naim the supreme judge, named ‘Abd al-Hadi was also reluctant to execute her and tried to persuade her to convert. The difference in names is probably accounted for by the different sources from a variety of locations. Romero relied on Sol’s family in Tangier and his information on proper names from Fez was probably not accurate, especially considering that “Kaid” is not a name but a transliteration of the Arabic term qā id, governor. The sources from Fez would probably be the most accurate. Given that this text, although bearing a titular date almost a century prior to Ben Naim, does not agree with him and was redacted in Taroudant, its source is probably not originally from Fez. In this text neither the king nor his ministers express any regret in torturing or executing Sol when she refuses to convert. In the next stanzas Sol is tortured with a sword, fire and explosives ( fg ira ). She is taken in front of a large crowd that surrounds and threatens her and even the hills and mountains are shaking and making noise. Sol makes her final appeal to the heavens as her golden locks fall and her blood pours out, saying, “Oh Great Benefactor (ktir l-f aiil ), you know all matters” (stanza 18). Here she is using an Islamic reference to God, and given the circumstances there is probably a certain irony. Her next speech is addressed to her executioner, commanding that he sharpen his sword and hold it steady and strike with one blow, and if he can’t do this he will be divinely punished. The term used for the first blow of the sword Sol received is daba , an Aramaic word meaning to slaughter, specifically for a sacrifice or feast.23 Here the connection between martyrdom and the ritual slaughter of animals is explicit

Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea, 76. Jastrow, A dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic literature, 277, col. 1. 22 23

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in the use of this verb and in the commands Sol gives. “Sharpen your sword and hold it steady and strike with one blow, and if there is a second, God will punish you.” These are requirements for the kosher slaughtering of animals.24 Unlike animals brought before the kosher butcher, Sol takes charge of her own execution, reversing the power order and ‘happily’ reciting the shema , “looking like a betrothed” as she receives the death blow (stanza 21). The final two stanzas are almost exclusively in Hebrew. They involve a pun on the word eshshe (burnt offering), as in Leviticus 1.17 (‘It is a burnt offering, an offering by fire, of pleasing odor to the LORD’ ) and eisha (woman/wife). The reference to Sol as a woman or wife can be interpreted in a variety of ways. It might put into question whether Sol was either seduced or violated while in the custody of the Sultan. It could also be interpreted as Sol becoming God’s bride at the moment of her sacrifice, further cementing the connection between a burnt offering and the sacrifice of the virgin upon marriage, a theme in Berdugo’s poem.25 These final two stanzas call for God to take revenge against Israel’s enemies, to rebuild the Temple and end the exile. It also affirms that Sol’s martyrdom will earn merit in this direction. This text ends exactly as the Hebrew qinot. Given its early date, there was probably no direct influence in either direction between it and qinot discussed in chapter four. As such it can be seen as yet another independent expression of the thematic structure of galut u-ge ulah in relation to Moroccan Jewish literature, whether in Hebrew or Judeo-Arabic.26 It is significant that when this theme is expressed at the end of the text the bulk of the vocabulary shifts from Judeo-Arabic to Hebrew. There are texts where these themes are expressed in Judeo-Arabic, but key terms such as redemption (ge ulah), Messiah (meshia ) and Temple (beit ha-miqdash) are all expressed in Hebrew.27 All of these words are reli-

24 The description of slaughter conforms with the laws related to she itah (ritual slaughter) in Jewish dietary law. See Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, “Book 5, The Book of Holiness, Treatise 3, Laws Concerning She itah,” Chapter I, sec 14, 19, 21, Yale University Press, 1965, 262–3. 25 See chapter three above. 26 Manor, Galut u-Ge’ulah be-Hagut akhame Maroqo ba-me’ot ha-17–18, 6; Chetrit, ha-Shirah ha- Arvit-Yehudit shebi-khetav bi- efon-Afriqah: iyyunim poetiyim, leshoniyim ve-tarbutiyim, 136. 27 Chetrit, ha-Shirah ha- Arvit-Yehudit shebi-khetav bi- efon-Afriqah: iyyunim poetiyim, leshoniyim ve-tarbutiyim, 139, 143, 144, passim.

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giously important to rabbinic Judaism and carry the weight in Hebrew of being repeatedly invoked in liturgy on a daily basis.28 This text stands half way between the Hebrew qinot and the JudeoArabic tale by David Pinto. The use of the colloquial language gives Sol’s discourse, particularly in the beginning, an added poignancy that the elevated Biblical and rabbinic language of the Hebrew texts doesn’t convey as effectively. Here she speaks in the simple language of a frightened young girl calling out to her family for help. When she finds none forthcoming, she musters enough strength to defend herself verbally and engage in polemical religious debates with her captors. Given the language in which the text is written, the Islamic references should not be surprising. Yet the story maintains the same thematic structure as the Hebrew poems. However, in order to deliver its final message the tale returns to Hebrew and the Bible, the language and sacred text where such a message is most easily expressed. David Pinto’s Tale In contrast to the tale by Ben Sa adon, David Pinto’s story was written at the turn of the 20th century and comes from Oran, Algeria. It breaks with the Moroccan tradition in another way in that it does not follow its thematic structure. After telling Sol’s story and describing her execution, rather than ending with galut u-ge ulah, the text resurrects Sol and gives a sermon in her name commenting on the state of current society. This highly unusual structure is probably a reflection of the rupture that the Jewish community was experiencing in Oran at the end of the 19th century. The colophon on the back page of the notebook states the following, “I the young David Pinto, s y .”29 The title reads “qi a di Sulika a addiqa ,” the qi a of Sulika the Righteous. The name David Pinto appears in at least two published works on the Jewish community of Oran and Algeria as a whole. There is a David Pinto in a list of names of rabbis who made appeals requesting the opening of a religious school

Alan Mintz, “Prayer and the Prayer Book,” in Back to the Sources Reading the Classical Jewish Texts, ed. Barry W. Holtz (New York: Summit Books, 1984), 403–29. 29 Sin, yod, e , abbreviations for sofia yehihe ov, may the end be good, probably a wish for a prosperous and successful life. 28

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between 1898 and 1913.30 In addition, the Dictionnaire Biographique des Rabbins et autres ministres du culte israélite France et Algérie has three entries under the name David Pinto. One was a religious teacher working in Oran who was born in Marrakech in 1834 and died in Oran in 1915. Another was an unauthorized kosher butcher in Oran and a third was an “officiating minister” in Blida active between 1891 and 1903.31 It is difficult to know which if any of these would have been the author of this manuscript. Given the colophon description the first might be ruled out, but the Moroccan connection might indicate otherwise. The other two entries may also have had a Moroccan connection given the fact that the Oran Jewish community was expelled from the city in 1669 by the Spanish while it was under their control. Jews were allowed to resettle in 1732, when the city was recaptured by the Ottomans and some migrated from Moroccan cities such as Tetuan and Tangier and established their own synagogues and communities in the Ottoman port city.32 The date of the colophon does not guarantee that the text itself was written at this time or that it is even an original work. There are two published articles that contain texts almost identical to a large part of this manuscript. One is the French translation published in 1929 in L’Avenir Illustre,33 another is a German translation, with the Judeo-Arabic original published in 1864. The later makes reference to Benjamin’s travelogue and its version of Sol’s story and the JudeoArabic manuscripts the author said he received.34 The refrain, “Happy is one who was present at the death of the maiden who gave her life for our Omnipresent Lord,” contrasts with Ben Sa adon’s manuscript, making indirect reference to that author’s mourning what happened in his time, and indicating the years that had passed between Sol’s martyrdom this author’s contemporary world. In terms of the plot it is similar to the version told by Benjamin and could be a copy of one of the texts he was given in Judeo-Arabic. 30 David Nadjari, Juifs en terre coloniale: le culte israélite à Oran au début du XXe siècle, Editions Jacques Gandini, 2000, 108. 31 Jean-Philippe Chaumont and Monique Lévy, Dictionnaire Biographique des Rabbins et autres ministres du culte israélite France et Algérie du Grand Sanhédrin (1807) à la loi de Séparation (1905) (Paris: Berg International Éditeurs, 2007), 600. 32 Richard Ayoun and Bernard Cohen, Les juifs d’Algérie 2000 ans d’histoire (Paris: J.C. Lattès, 1982), 100. 33 Tadjouri, “Sol, La ‘Sadiqa’.” 34 Benjamin, Eight years in Asia and Africa from 1846–1855 [Acht Jahre in Asien und Afrika. English], 273–77; H.L. Fleischer, “Jüdisch-arabisches au Maghreb,” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 18(1864): 329–40.

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The reason Sol was captured according to this version was that her Muslim neighbors saw a “proper maiden” ( biyya nqiyya ) and said that it would be a loss if she would stay in the Jewish religion (stanza 3). The next stanza simply states, they testified (sahadu) and said that she converted, “Let’s send her as a gift to the Sultan who is captivated by beauty.” None of the Muslim characters in Tangier are named. Most of the narrative takes place in Fez and in this part of the text events are narrated in the past tense. The language level is at a lower register than Ben Sa adon’s text, it has no quotes from the Bible and only a few words in Hebrew. It has one word in French, which is contained in the phrase amlu qunsil (they made a council ), referring to a meeting between the qā id, notaries ( adūl ) and witnesses, who try to convince Sol to convert. When Sol refuses to be persuaded by fine clothes and gems, female converts to Islam (islāmiyyāt) are made to surround her ‘like monkeys’ (stanza 14). When she replies to their attempts at persuasion she also calls them children of monkeys. The text that surpasses such invective against converts and those who advise Sol to ‘leave a weak religion’ is the elegy by Haim Haliwa. When comparing the two texts what stands out is not the level of vitriol, but the linguistic level. The language level of the Hebrew text far surpasses this colloquial tale. In this text another insult is reserved for the executioner, who is also referred to as an infidel and an ignoble son (wld ’arziyya’ ). Sol’s response to her captors’ attempts to convert her is an interesting mixture of Jewish and Muslim references. “If only you knew Allah who preferred us on earth (ali fd lna fduniyya),” a reference to God’s choosing Israel among all the nations. She refers to God as the Creator of the Sun and the Moon, similar to the qur’ānic Sura 21:34,35 and the Creator of sustenance and mortality. In contrast to Islam’s reference to Mu ammad as the guardian of the orphans she states that God is the one who maintains them (stanza 11).36 In the same stanza, she also reminds her captors of the Exodus and its significance for her people, “He is the one who broke our chains from bondage.” The term used for bondage is the Hebrew shi ebbud, a term used in Judeo-Arabic and

“It is He who created the night and the day, the sun and the moon . . .” A.J. Arberry, The Koran Interpreted, vol. 2 (New York: Collier Books MacMillan Pub. Co., 1955), 19. 36 See a ī al-Bukhārī, volume 8 Book 73 Number 34. 35

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Hebrew texts to describe exile in the Muslim World.37 In the same stanza she accepts that God won’t break her chains, “He guides my soul and I walk properly in silence and patience, and intelligence ( aql ), and a closed mouth.” The only other Hebrew expressions used are when Sol says the shema before she is executed and when her soul rests at the foot of the divine thrown (kisse ha-kavod), an hour after her execution (stanza 24). The reoccurring trope of the gazelle returns here with the description of her death, “When she fell there like a grand gazelle, Muslims and Jews cried” (stanza 25). While the part of the text that narrates Sol’s martyrdom follows most of the plot of Ben Sa adon’s manuscript, the second part breaks with its thematic structure. It does not close with an appeal for an end to exile and the coming age of redemption. The most peculiar aspect of the text is that it doesn’t end with Sol’s execution, but continues for ten more stanzas. These are not translated in the Tadjouri text, and unlike the rest of the tale these are told in the present tense and appear to begin telling the tale all over again. “In the name of God, (b-ism Allāh), I will begin to thank God in my language, Lord of the created, judge me for paradise. I myself heard, oh noble people that we need to accept the orders of our unique Lord.” It is difficult to know whether the author is speaking in his own name or in Sol’s. “Every day they try to tempt me and say, ‘be in my religion’ ” (stanza 32). On the other hand he states, “The role of Satan is to tempt me, oh my daughter, go out and see the city, how they break their word, the enemies of our prophets” (stanza 30). In this discourse directed at ‘my daughter,’ or ‘oh people’ ( ya nās, stanza 35) the debate between Sol and her captors continues. “She said, ‘Oh you whose sense has left him . . . nothing will remain except my God above me’” (stanza 33). The tale ends with the same refrain as it opens, “Happy is he who was present at the death of the maiden who gave her life for our Omnipresent God.” The message of the text is contained in the penultimate stanza, which is an appeal to the people to repent and remember that only the true God is eternal. This stanza contrasts with the final theological message of the Hebrew texts and the qi a by Ben Sa adon, which are clearly in the tradition of rabbinic literature with their appeal to the divinely ordained end to exile and the coming redemption. This tale’s final

37 Manor, Galut u-Ge’ulah be-Hagut akhame Maroqo ba-me’ot ha-17–18, 6, 11. See chapter three above on religious polemics.

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message could easily appear at the end of a popular tale for a Muslim audience or in a Muslim cleric’s sermon; there is nothing specifically Jewish about it. In addition, this mini-sermon is interspersed with Sol continuing her debate with her captors in stanzas that come after her execution and final rest and give this text a peculiar structure. The use of the present tense sets this section off from the rest of the tale and distinguishes it from the plot of Sol’s martyrdom, which is narrated in the past. This shift in tense indicates that this section was probably added after Sol’s story was redacted, to allow the narrator to engage in his own theological discourse and discuss the meaning of the story for his time. Ben Naim also continued his text after Sol’s execution, stating he did not want to waste paper, and he used the extra space to add his own commentary. Here Pinto, writing in Oran around the turn of the 20th century, warned against the temptations of assimilation and conversion, and denounced incendiary statements about ‘the enemies of our prophets.’ In order to understand what he might have been referring to specifically it is necessary to consider the situation of the Jewish community in Oran and Algeria in this period. The Jewish Community in Oran and Algeria At the time this manuscript was written the Jewish community in Oran was engulfed in crisis, including a wave of anti-Semitic violence. Beginning May 17, 1897 Jewish shops and synagogues were pillaged, and Jewish homes were vandalized. The violence continued over the next week in Oran and other towns in the province, including Mostaganem and Sidi-Bel-Abbès and did not stop until the end of the month.38 The following year there were anti-Jewish riots in Algiers and throughout Algeria, and the anti-Semitic movement continued to be active over the course of the 19th century until it was put down in the first decade of the twentieth century.39 In the 1880s Oran had become a center of anti-Semitic 38 Carol Iancu, “Du nouveau sur les troubles antijuifs en Algérie à la fin du XIXème siècle,” in Les relations entre juifs et musulmans en afrique du nord XIXème—XXème siècles (1980: Éditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1980), 173–87; Joëlle Allouche-Benayoun and Doris Bensimon, Les juifs d’Algérie Mémoires et identités plurielles (Luisant: Éditions Stavit, 1998), 286; “Les troubles de la province d’Oran,” L’Univers israélite 52(1897): 301–08. 39 Friedman, Colonialism and After An Algerian Jewish Community, 20–22; AlloucheBenayoun and Bensimon, Les juifs d’Algérie Mémoires et identités plurielles, 269.

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political parties, newspapers and leagues.40 In addition to these threats from without, the Jewish community itself was divided over how to respond to the decades long project of ‘regeneration’ of its culture and institutions undertaken by the French government and the officials of French Jewry. But in order to understand the genesis of this crisis it is necessary to briefly review the history of this community and the effects of the French conquest of Algeria on it. Prior to 1830, the legal status and economic situation of Algerian Jewry had much in common with its counterpart in Morocco. They were dhimmīs and worked as intermediaries in the trade between Europe and North Africa. Algeria was under the rule of the Dey of Algiers who was nominally under the suzerainty of the Ottoman Empire but had de fact independence. Historically Algeria, particularly the coastal cities such as Algiers, had received its revenue from piracy, but in the second half of the 18th century the European powers had managed to suppress most of this activity. In addition, legal trade between Algeria and its principal trading partner—France was another source of revenue. This trade was interrupted by the Napoleonic War and Algeria, in particular Algiers, suffered an economic crisis in the early 19th century.41 Oran, a coastal city in Western Algeria was part of this trading network, but its history diverged from the rest of the country due to its having been under Spanish occupation for over two centuries. Spain took the city in 1509 as part of a policy of stopping piracy and extending the re-conquest to the other side of the Mediterranean. At first Jews were allowed to stay, despite having been expelled from Spain in 1492. They served as translators, merchants and in the Spanish intelligence service. This exemption to the order of expulsion was due to the unstable situation of the presidio, surrounded by hostile Turkish forces and Berber and Arab tribes. The Spanish tried to form an alliance with the latter against the former and used Jewish translators as intermediaries.42 In 1669 the Spanish expelled the Jews from Oran feeling that they could be replaced with Spanish Christian translators. In 1709 the Bey of Mascara was able to retake and reoccupy the city

40 Leff, Sacred Bonds of Solidarity The Rise of Jewish Internationalism in Nineteeth Century France, 209. 41 John Ruedy, Modern Algeria: The Origins and Development of a Nation, 2nd ed. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005), 40. 42 Hirschberg, A History of the Jews in North Africa, 62.

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until 1732 when it was recaptured by Spain. Jews, who had repopulated Oran under the Bey’s rule, were allowed to stay.43 As the retreating Janissary left the city they pillaged the Jewish quarter.44 However Spain was not able to permanently hold this strategic trading port and was expelled for good in 1792. Prior to this the presidio had suffered an earthquake and was dependent on supplies from Spain, a difficult situation given the rivalry between Spain and Great Britain in the 18th century.45 When the Bey Mu ammad al-Kabīr recaptured the city in 1792 he repopulated it with Andalusian Muslims and Jews from Mostaganem, Mascara, Nedroma, Tlemcen and Moroccan cities such as Tangier and Tetuan.46 It became the capital of the Western Algerian Beylik. Jews were allowed to own homes and gardens in the city and leading Algerian Jewish families such as the Bacri-Bunasch sent representatives there to trade in grain and other agricultural products. The city was also home to rabbinic scholars, such as Mordechai Darmon, whose work Ma’mar Mordekhay, was published in Livorno in 1787 and dayyanim, religious judges, such as Mas ud Darmon.47 In 1805 a rebellion broke out under the leadership of a local marabout and the community was heavily taxed. In 1830 the French began their conquest of Algeria and Jews were threatened and accused of being collaborators with the enemy. The French landed in the nearby harbor, Mers al-Kabir and prevented the Jewish quarter from being sacked.48 The French conquest of Algeria was not undertaken in an atmosphere of consensus, but during a period of strife within France itself. Even after the conquest was underway, debates raged over whether to stay or withdraw.49 The event leading up to it was an outstanding debt between France, the Dey of Algiers and the Bacri-Bunasch merchant house.50 However France had drawn up plans for invading Algeria while it was occupying Spain in the first decade of the 19th century.51 Once on Algerian soil, the question of how and whether to 43 Richard Ayoun, “Les juifs d’Oran avant la conquête française,” Revue historique 267, no. 2 (1982): 386. 44 Hirschberg, A History of the Jews in North Africa, 77. 45 Ayoun, “Les juifs d’Oran avant la conquête française,” 385–86. 46 Ibid., 387. 47 Hirschberg, A History of the Jews in North Africa, 78–79. 48 Ibid. 49 Abun-Nasr, A History of the Maghrib in the Islamic period, 252. 50 Rosenstock, “The House of Bacri and Bunasch: A Chapter from Algeria’s Commerical History.” 51 John Ruedy, Modern Algeria: The Origins and Development of a Nation, 47.

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proceed continued. In the absence of any consensus or clear direction from Paris, the generals proceeded with their own plans for ‘pacifying,’ conquering and populating the country with French and European settlers. In time conflicts would break out between the military, the settlers and the métropole over how to govern the colony. In the process, the native population, both Jews and Muslims were hardly consulted. The lack of consensus over how to govern extended to how to deal with its Jewish population. Many of the generals, such as Bugeaud, who advocated expelling the Jews from the territory, were monarchists, ultramontaines and anti-Semitic.52 They were not happy with the republic, the secularizing program of the liberals and were opposed to the programs designed to ‘regenerate’ the Jews of Algeria advocated by the latter and the leadership of the French Jewish community. Despite the antipathy towards Jews, they were used as interpreters, negotiators with Algerian resistance leaders such as Abd al-Qādir, and as merchants to develop the economy of newly conquered territories.53 As such the French recognized the utility of promoting French culture and civilization among Algerian Jews and thereby using them to promote French interests in the region.54 The military administration allowed the passage of laws that would promote these aims. Jewish religious courts, batay din were abolished, and Jews were placed under French administration. They were also encouraged to send their children to the educational institutions being set up by the French. However when it was discovered that these schools were being used to proselytize Jewish children were withdrawn and separate schools were set up.55 In 1845 three consistories were established, modeled on the Consistoire system in France, but not under its direct control. The purpose of the consistories in Algeria was to regulate behavior in the synagogues, ensure children attended school, encourage Jews to

Under Marshal Bugeaud’s command the French army conducted a policy of total warfare against Algeria’s Muslim population. See Abun-Nasr, A History of the Maghrib in the Islamic period, 259. For Bugeuad’s attitude towards Algerian Jews see Ayoun and Cohen, Les juifs d’Algérie 2000 ans d’histoire, 121; Leff, Sacred Bonds of Solidarity The Rise of Jewish Internationalism in Nineteeth Century France, 127–28. 53 Ayoun and Cohen, Les juifs d’Algérie 2000 ans d’histoire, 120, 122. 54 Zosa Szajkowski, “The Struggle for Jewish Emancipation in Algeria after the French occupation,” Historia Judaica 18(1956): 27–40; Richard Ayoun, “L’émancipation des juifs d’Algérie,” in Politique et religion dans le judaïsme moderne: dès communautes à l’emancipation: actes du colloque tenu en Sorbonne, les 18–19 novembre 1986, ed. Daniel Tollet (Paris: Presses de l’Université de Paris-Sorbonne, 1987), 161–81. 55 Allouche-Benayoun and Bensimon, Les juifs d’Algérie Mémoires et identités plurielles, 55. 52

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take up ‘useful trades’, and supervise charities and endowments.56 In addition, the consistories were to ensure the loyalty of Algerian Jews to France and to represent French interests in this population.57 While the French consistories were not officially in charge of their Algerian counterpart consistories until 1867, they controlled the personnel and monopolized official positions in the community. The Chief Rabbi and most of the leadership of the consistories came from France.58 The leaders of the French consistories, who promoted the ‘civilizing mission’ of France and supervised their coreligionists’ ‘regeneration,’ seeing in it a replay of their own emancipation a generation earlier, did not consider the economic dislocation that the French conquest caused.59 When this was pointed out to them, they dismissed it as the complaints of ‘greedy’ ingrates.60 However, the economic hardship was real. Prior to the French conquest, the elite of Algerian Jewry had served as trade intermediaries between Algerian agricultural producers and European manufacturers. In the interior, Jews worked as itinerate peddlers and as artisans. Both strata suffered dislocation with the French conquest. The elite lost its position as intermediaries in trade with Europe and the vast majority of the lower ranks suffered as a result of the war of conquest itself because their clients and suppliers in the interior were being decimated by the battles, particularly during the periods when whole Hirschberg, A History of the Jews in North Africa, 54. Michel Abitbol, “Tahalikhe ha-moderniza yah ve-hitpat ut ba et ha- adashah,” in Toldot ha-Yehudim be-ar ot ha-Islam ha- et ha- adashah- ad em a ha-me ah ha-19, ed. Joseph Tobi, et al. (Yerushalayim: Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 1986), 386. 58 M. Abitbol, “La recontre des Juifs de France avec le judaïsme d’Afrique du Nord,” in Les Relations intercommunautaires juives en méditerranée occidentale XIIIe –XXe siecles Actes du colloque international de l’institut d’histoire des pays d’outre-mer ed. Jean Louis Miège (Paris: Editions du Centre National de la Recherch Scientifique, 1984), 229–42. 59 M. Abitbol, “La recontre des Juifs de France avec le judaïsme d’Afrique du Nord,” 237. 60 M. Abitbol, “La recontre des Juifs de France avec le judaïsme d’Afrique du Nord,” 231. A Jewish doctor in the French military described Algerian Jewry as follows: « C’est une race exécrable, fourbe, avide. Ils joignent toute la bassesse de l’esclavage, aux vices les plus dépravés . . . j’ai interrogé plusiers d’entre eux, et des notables, pour savoir si sous le gouvernement français ils étaient plus heureux que sous le régime des Turcs. Ah ! Monsieur, me répondient-ils, dans ce temps-là, tout le commerce était à nous . . . tout le monde gagnait sa vie, tandis qu’aujourd’hui il y a beaucoup des misère parmi nous . . .” [This is an appalling race, cheating, greedy. They combine all the lowness of slavery with the most depraved vices . . . I asked many of them, and the notables in order to know if under the French Government they were happier than under the Turks. Oh! Sir, they replied, in that time all of the commerce was in our hands, everyone made a living, while today there is a lot of misery among us.] 56 57

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populations were being subject to unrestrained warfare on their persons, their crops and their flocks.61 In the aftermath, massive amounts of lands were transferred from the Muslim population to European settlers.62 The Jewish communities of Algeria also suffered economic dislocation and the majority lived in poverty for most of the 19th century.63 For both the elites, or former elites and the masses of Algerian Jewry, the only salvation lay in getting a secular French education and becoming professionals. This road was long and fraught with disruption as a result of settler anti-Semitism. There were a number of sources for this anti-Semitism, some of it came from the military administrators and some of it was brought by the ‘petit blancs’ settlers from Spain, Malta and Italy who arrived in increasing numbers in the second half of the 19th century.64 This latter group was collectively given French citizenship almost two decades after Algerian Jewry was naturalized. They nevertheless felt entitled to call themselves French and to call for the revoking of Algerian Jewry’s citizenship. The process of Algerian Jewish naturalization was long and drawn out and decreed after decades of legal limbo, whereby the community saw its own legal system dismantled and not replaced by a definitive application of the French civil code, particularly in matters of personal status and inheritance.65 In order to put an end to this legal mess Algerian Jewry were declared French citizens en mass in 1870. European settlers were naturalized in 1889. This left the majority Muslim population with the status of being ‘French subjects’ without the rights of French citizenship, unless they applied to the French authorities, renounced their personal status under Islamic law and were granted such citizenship by the authorities. In the same year that Algerian Jewry received French citizenship, the military regime ended and Algeria came under civilian control. From then on Algeria was dominated by the ‘colons,’ who were determined to maintain their

61 Morton Rosenstock, “Economic and Social Conditions among the Jews of Algeria, 1790–1848,” Historia Judaica 18(1956): 3–26; John Ruedy, Modern Algeria: The Origins and Development of a Nation, 64. 62 John Ruedy, Modern Algeria: The Origins and Development of a Nation, 83. 63 Allouche-Benayoun and Bensimon, Les juifs d’Algérie Mémoires et identités plurielles, 60, 64. 64 Iancu, “Du nouveau sur les troubles antijuifs en Algérie à la fin du XIXème siècle.”, 175. 65 Leff, Sacred Bonds of Solidarity The Rise of Jewish Internationalism in Nineteeth Century France, 212.

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control over the province and tried to exclude Algerian Jewry from participation in the life of “French Algeria,” as will be seen below. While anti-Semitic attitudes had long standing, the trigger was frequently elections and electoral campaigns, which were often ruckus and fraught with corruption.66 The first anti-Semitic political propaganda in Algeria began in 1871, after the Grand Kabyle revolt, which the settlers and the military blamed on the Cremieux Decree that granted Algerian Jewry citizenship. Later inquiries showed that the reason for the revolt had to do with the dislocations and economic plight of the region’s population, especially in the 1860s after a series of natural disasters forced leaders such as Al-Muqrani, who had been collaborating with the French and was promised greater political autonomy, to support the masses of indigents with their own resources.67 They were promised reimbursement and when this was not forthcoming they instigated a revolt that quickly spread and engulfed the whole region and threatened the colonial regime. After it was put down the leaders of the revolt, including al-Muqrani testified that granting Algerian Jews citizenship was not what sparked it.68 Nevertheless this claim was repeated in the Algerian French press. Even while Algerians Jews were blamed for the revolt they were also wooed as potential voters. Accounts from the French Jewish press of the period stated that prior to elections, Jews in Oran and other Algerian cities were courted by various candidates running for municipal offices.69 Jews constituted a significant part of the electorate in some cities.70 After the elections were over, the losers would invariably blame the Jewish vote for their defeat. Jews were accused of voting as a block and voting according to the directives of the Consistory leadership.71 However, after the rise of blatantly anti-Semitic politicians and press, it is hardly surprising that they would refrain from voting for such candidates. In addition, Edouard Drumont’s book, La France Juive, published in

Ibid., 209. Abun-Nasr, A History of the Maghrib in the Islamic period, 267; John Ruedy, Modern Algeria: The Origins and Development of a Nation, 77–78. 68 Richard Ayoun, “Hit’ezra ut ha-qoleq ivit shel yehude Aljirya vehahitqomemut ha-muslimit be-1871,” Shorashim ba-mizra 1(1986): 11–35. 69 B.M., “Le véritable grief,” L’Univers Israélite 52, no. 38 (1897): 357–61. 70 Leff, Sacred Bonds of Solidarity The Rise of Jewish Internationalism in Nineteeth Century France, 209. 71 Michel Abitbol, “Tahalikhe ha-moderniza yah ve-hitpat ut ba et ha- adashah,” 414–416. 66 67

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1886 and becoming a best seller first in Algeria and later France, devoted a whole section to Algerian Jewry and the Crémieux Decree, which Drumont described as a Jewish plot to take over France. Drumont, who was elected to the National Assembly from Algeria, stated that anti-Semitism, by which he meant the modern race based antiSemitic movement that was organizing leagues and coalescing into a movement in the 1870s in Central Europe, would be introduced into France via Algeria.72 By the 1890s anti-Semitic candidates had won municipal elections in cities such as Oran, Algiers, and Constantine. Jewish municipal workers were fired and Jewish patients were expelled from hospitals. Jews were attacked on the streets, in bars and cafes and Jewish businesses were sacked in 1897 and 1898.73 The local police, often in sympathy with the anti-Semites, refrained from stopping the violence and in some cases intervened on the side of the rioters.74 The press played an important role in inciting the violence and throughout Algeria a variety of anti-Semitic newspapers was published.75 The image of the Jew in both the press and popular literature was similar to that of the Arab, and thus disqualified the former from citizenship according the settlers.76 Both racial anti-Semitism and a sense of racial superiority to the native Muslims were a constant of Algerian colonial mentality.77 Among the settlers anti-Semitism existed among all ethnic groups, social classes and political parties and the descriptions of both Muslims and Jews often degenerated to the “zoological.”78

Leff, 218. Pierre Birnbaum, “French Jews and the ‘Regeneration’ of Algerian Jewry,” in Jews and the State Dangerous Alliances and the Perils of Privilege, ed. Ezra Mendelsohn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 95. 74 Allouche-Benayoun and Bensimon, Les juifs d’Algérie Mémoires et identités plurielles, 268. 75 Birnbaum, “French Jews and the ‘Regeneration’ of Algerian Jewry,” 94–95. 76 Emanuel Sivan, “Sinat-yehudim be-Algeria ke-toldah shel ma av koloniali,” Pe’amim 2(1997): 95. 77 Genevieve Dermenjian, La crise anti-juive oranaise (1895–1905) L’antisémitisme dans l’Algérie coloniale (Paris: Éditions L’Harmattan, 1986), 41; Joseph Kraft, “Settler Politics in Algeria,” Foreign Affairs 39, no. 4 (1961): 591–600 http://www.jstor.org/ stable/20029513 30/01/2010. 78 Dermenjian, La crise anti-juive oranaise (1895–1905) L’antisémitisme dans l’Algérie coloniale, 38; Iancu, “Du nouveau sur les troubles antijuifs en Algérie à la fin du XIXème siècle,” 176. “Zoological” was a term Franz Fanon used to describe the colons’ representation of the native Algerian Muslim population. In her review of the settler press’ description of the Jews she found a number of examples of this; “Les descendants du bouc, exhalent l’odeur de leur ancêtre; leur excréments mêmes sont crochus. Dieu a fait le Juif un jour d’ivresse et de honte. Il l’a façonné de fiente et de vommi [sic], 72 73

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At first Muslims were encouraged and even paid to participate in the riots.79 However the authorities realized that things could easily get out of hand and a full-scale rebellion could be reignited. As such both Muslim and foreign European rioters were given prison sentences, while the municipal instigators were at first ignored.80 It wasn’t until these politicians, such as Max Regis, the anti-Semitic mayor of Algiers at the time, began promoting secessionist ideas that the government in the métropole decided that direct intervention was necessary.81 The anti-Semitic decrees passed by the Algerian municipalities were annulled and the riots were put down. The reason for this can be seen in the statements of a Republican Deputy at a reunion of their party while the riots were occurring. “Peu m’importe qui a commencé, a-t-il dit, qui a été cause de ces troubles; ce qui est inadmissible, c’est de tolérer une guerre religieuse dans les rues, à la fin du dix-neuvième siècle, aux portes de la France. et cela surtout au moment où les événements qui viennent de s’accomplir en Orient paraissent avoir leur contre-coup dans tous les pays musulmans, ou on commente fort les victoires turques.”82 [It doesn’t matter to me who started it, he said, who is the cause of these troubles; what is inadmissible is to tolerate a religious war in the streets, at the end of the 19th century, at the doors of France. and certainly at the moment where the events that happen in the Orient could have their counter-strike in all the Muslim countries, where the Turkish victories are strongly commented on.] Relations between Jews and Muslims went through profound changes during the period of French colonial rule. When asked to compare the situation under a decade of French colonial rule versus Turkish rule the response was, “Under the Turks, we were not well treated, but business was good.”83 Jews had served as intermediaries

maçonné d’urine, pétri de crachats; ensuite il le passa au diable qui, par délicatesse, le lécha . . . A l’égout les charognes!” (Iancu, 176.) [The descendants of a goat, exhaling the odor of their ancestors; their excrement itself was hook-nosed. God made the Jew a day of intoxication and of shame. He made him of droppings and vomit, built of urine, filled with spittle; then he gave him to the devil, who, as a delicacy, licked him . . . with the sewer carrions!] 79 “Les troubles de la province d’Oran,” 306. 80 Ibid. 81 Allouche-Benayoun and Bensimon, Les juifs d’Algérie Mémoires et identités plurielles, 269. 82 “Les troubles de la province d’Oran,” 308. 83 Abitbol, “Les Relations intercommunautaires juives en méditerranée occidentale XIIIe–XXe siecles,” 232.

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between Europeans and Algerian Muslims and continued to do so during the early years of the conquest, but as the settler population increased and Algerian Muslims lost control over their lands and traditional livelihoods, the need for such intermediaries was diminished. While Muslims resisted militarily and later culturally to the colonization, Jews were incorporated into colonial society through the loss of their legal and religious autonomy and through the educational system. Yet they were never fully accepted by French colonial society and by the end of the century they were being rejected and attacked by this society, despite, or perhaps because of their French acculturation. During this time many Jews, particularly in the rural areas and among the lower classes, which constituted the vast majority of the Jewish population, maintained ties with their Muslim neighbors and shared their material culture and popular beliefs. This was especially true in the area of cuisine, costumes, jewelry and beliefs in the evil eye and the intercession of addīqīm and marabouts, who had their adherents in Algeria as they did in Morocco.84 In addition, Jews continued to find that the majority of the clientele for their shops and artisan products, such as jewelry, were Muslims, especially after the European boycotts. During periods of settler anti-Semitic violence, which were renewed in the 1930s, many Jews reported that their Muslim neighbors protected them, even during a Muslim anti-Jewish riot in Constantine in 1934 when 25 Jews were killed.85 In addition, the Muslim leadership, as reported in the French government report on the 1871 rebellion, stated that they saw the Crémieux Decree as an act of justice and a way of opening the path for the possibility of the indigenous population to achieve citizenship and equal rights.86 During the 1930s when Nazi propaganda began entering into Algeria, Muslim leaders such as the Cheikh El-Oqbi and Abdelhamid Ibn Badis emphasized Islam’s affirmation of the inherent equality of humanity and history of religious

84 Allouche-Benayoun and Bensimon, Les juifs d’Algérie Mémoires et identités plurielles, 126–28. 85 Allouche-Benayoun and Bensimon, 274; Joêlle Bahloul, The Architecture of Memory A Jewish-Muslim household in colonial Algeria 1937–1962 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 23; Robert Attal, “Un témoignage inédit sur le pogrom de Constantine (1934),” Revue des études juives 148, no. 1–2 (1989): 121–42. 86 Ayoun, “Hit’ezra ut ha-qoleq ivit shel yehude Aljirya vehahitqomemut ha-muslimit be-1871,” 23.

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tolerance.87 However, among the adherents of Messali Hadj’s party, L’Etoile Nord-Africain, there was a split between those who supported France’s stance against Nazi Germany and those who supported the Germans.88 There were Algerian Muslim newspapers that rejoiced at Vichy’ revoking of the Crémieux Decree in hopes that it would create a Muslim—settler alliance against the Jews from which Muslims would benefit.89 When it became apparent that there would be no Muslim benefit Ferhat Abbas, who had been on cordial communication with Petain stated, “. . . your racism goes in all directions, today against the Jews, tomorrow against the Arabs.”90 As Joëlle Allouche-Benayoun and Doris Bensimon have pointed out, historians differ on the Muslim response to the Vichy regime; with some saying their responses were negative, while others point to instances of support.91 However, their informants stressed that the colons were the source of antiSemitic propaganda.92 In her interview with Jewish former residents of a shared Jewish-Muslim residence in Sétif, Joëlle Bahloul found that while there were tensions with Muslims who were strangers, relations with their Muslim friends and neighbors were close enough for them to have confidence that they would have been protected if the worst events of the Holocaust had reached their shores.93 Relations seriously began changing in 1950s when the interests of the two communities diverged as a result of the Algerian war of independence and the violence between settlers and Muslims, and as a result of the Arab Israeli Conflict. Nevertheless most Algerian Jewish informants interviewed in the 1980s stated that the source of the anti-Semitic propaganda was the colons.94 This was also true during Vichy, whose regime the settlers supported enthusiastically.95 87 Yves C. Aounate, “Les Algériens musulmans et les mesures antijuives du gouvernement de Vichy (1940–1942),” in Les juifs de France dans la seconde guerre mondiale, ed. André Kaspi and Annie Kriegel (Paris: Cerf, 1992), 189–202. 88 Michael M. Laskier, North African Jewry in the Twentieth Century The Jews of Morocco, Tunisia and Algeria (New York: New York University Press, 1994), 57. 89 Aounate, “Les Algériens musulmans et les mesures antijuives du gouvernement de Vichy (1940–1942),” 189. 90 Ibid., 191. 91 Allouche-Benayoun and Bensimon, Les juifs d’Algérie Mémoires et identités plurielles, 293. 92 Ibid., 275–277. 93 Bahloul, The Architecture of Memory A Jewish-Muslim household in colonial Algeria 1937– 1962, 84, 90. 94 Allouche-Benayoun and Bensimon, 275, Bahloul, 48. 95 Abitbol, “Tahalikhe ha-moderniza yah ve-hitpat ut ba et ha- adashah,” 433.

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In addition to affecting relations between Muslims and Jews, the French conquest of Algeria had a profound effect on the Jewish community’s religious life and on its religious leadership. As a historian and rabbi from the community put it, “At first sight the Jews left darkness for a great light, but in reality in the area of Torah study there was real decline and withdrawal.”96 Within the first two decades of the French landing in Algiers the rabbinic courts were disbanded and the official leadership was in the hands of appointees from France. The attitude of these appointees towards Algerian Jewish culture was none too flattering. Their appraisal of traditional rabbinic education was disapproving and patronizing. “Celui qui sait un tant soit peu lire le Talmud et le Zohar, celui-là est réputé chacham . . . . leur mémoire est meublée d’une grande quantité de midrachim . . . on pourrait croire qu’à leurs yeux la Bible n’est composée que du Pentateuque puisque des Prophètes ils ne les connaissent que par les haphtaroth . . . tout ce qui concerne la grammaire hébraïque leur est inconnu . . .”97 [ The one who knows how to read the Talmud and Zohar even a little has the reputation of being a akham (sage) . . . their memory is furnished with a great quantity of midrashim (biblical commentary) . . . one could believe that in their eyes the Bible is composed only of the Pentateuch since they only know the Prophets from the haftarot (weekly portion from the Prophets read in the synagogue) . . . all that concerns Hebrew grammar is unknown to them.] As a result of these attitudes the consistories and the positions of chief rabbis were dominated by appointees from France from the 1840s until the Crémieux Decree of 1870 when Algerian Jews gained the right to vote for members of the boards of the consistories.98 Until that time the existence of “Algerian consistories without the Algerians” meant that North African Jewish religious leaders were for the most part cut off from the official leadership positions of their communities and the salaries that accompanied such functions, given that these were under the supervision of the colonial administration from 1845 and

96 Eliyahu Raphael Mar i ano, Sefer Malkhe Yeshurun: toldot ha- akhamim ve-rashe am qodesh za al me-Aljiryah mi-yemot rabbotenu ha-ge onim zal ve- ad dorenu u-reshimat iburehem she-ra u or bi-defus (Yerushalayim: Mekhon ha-Rasham, 1999), 16–17. 97 Abitbol, “Les Relations intercommunautaires juives en méditerranée occidentale XIIIe–XXe siecles,” 240. 98 Ayoun and Cohen, Les juifs d’Algérie 2000 ans d’histoire, 126–27.

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the Central Consistory in Paris from 1867.99 This resulted in the rise of a “rabbinic proletariat.”100 At least one David Pinto mentioned above was an unlicensed kosher butcher who caught the attention of the French authorities.101 In Oran and other places, in addition to having unlicensed kosher butchers, the community continued to recognize its own rabbis, resisting the encroachment of the Central Consistory in Paris. However, given that until 1905 the office of rabbi, as was the case with Christian clergy, was a salaried state employee, the ‘unofficial’ rabbi who lacked the means to make a living in another profession lived in economic insecurity. As Nadjari points out, religious teachers were extremely mobile, moving as the number of pupils changed, indicating the precarious and unstable state of religious instruction and the economic insecurity of the instructors.102 Algerian Jews, both traditional leadership and lay worshipers resisted the imposition of French “israélite” culture and officialdom. They continued to visit the tombs of their revered saints, shop in unlicensed kosher butchers and some continued to send their children in the afternoons to traditional religious instructors, although elementary education was compulsory after the 1880s and most Jewish children received their education in French public schools. After 1870 Algerian Jews gained the right to vote for the boards of the province’s consistories, as stated above, thus allowing them for the first time since the French Conquest to regain some control over their communal organizations. However, the chief rabbis still came from France. This led to conflicts between those the French called ‘vieux turbans’ and ‘évolués’ and such conflicts split Algerian Jewish communities and caught the attention of the European settler population, especially in places such as Oran.103 The effects of these changes also split the traditional rabbinic

99 Quoted in Birnbaum, “French Jews and the ‘Regeneration’ of Algerian Jewry,” 101, n. 5. Miriam Hoexter, “Les Juifs français et l’assimilation politique et institutionelle de la communauté juive en Algérie (1830–1870),” in Les Relations intercommunautaires juives en méditerranée occidentale XIIIe–XXe siecles Actes du colloque international de l’institut d’histoire des pay, ed. Jean Louis Miège (Paris: Editions du Centre National de la Recherch Scientifique, 1984), 154–62. 100 David Nadjari, Juifs en terre coloniale Le culte israélite à Oran au déput du XXème siècle (Nice: Éditions Jacques Gandini, 2000), 99. 101 Chaumont and Lévy, Dictionnaire Biographique des Rabbins et autres ministres du culte israélite France et Algérie du Grand Sanhédrin (1807) à la loi de Séparation (1905), 600. 102 Nadjari, Juifs en terre coloniale Le culte israélite à Oran au déput du XXème siècle, 105, 09. 103 Dermenjian, La crise anti-juive oranaise (1895–1905) L’antisémitisme dans l’Algérie coloniale, 48.

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leadership and made debates over religious law (e.g. dietary laws) all the more rancorous.104 Algerian Jewry was going through a profound crisis when David Pinto wrote his homage to Sol, suffering from splits within the community over how to deal with the French cultural challenge and program of forced acculturation, as well as anti-Semitic threats from outside. One can see the frustration at the loss of traditional culture expressed in Judeo-Arabic in the final ten lines. Sol’s martyrdom is an example of the ultimate resistance to attempts at forced conversion. The contrast between her death and the current state of affairs is repeated in the refrain “Happy is he who was present at the death of the maiden who gave her life for our Omnipresent God.” In addition the line, “The role of Satan is to tempt me, oh my daughter, go out and see the city, how they break their word, the enemies of our prophets” (stanza 30) can be seen as a reference to the wave of anti-Semitism taking place in cities like Oran and a protest against the destruction of traditional Algerian Jewish culture and attacks on its religious leadership. Conclusion In comparison with Hebrew texts the dialogue in these Judeo-Arabic qi as is more poignant due to the authors’ freedom to use a colloquial language register. Ben Sa adon’s manuscript still uses the structure of the Hebrew texts and rabbinic Judaism incorporating Sol’s story into the archetypal martyrdom tale and the theological framework of galut u-ge ulah. David Pinto’s tale breaks with this structure and uses Sol’s story to comment on the threats the community was facing and delivers a sermon warning against the temptations of the city and extolling people to remember the eternal God and remain faithful their religion. His refrain is an ironic intertext to Ben Sa adon’s earlier work, responding to the latter’s sorrow over what happened in his time by saying that there was greater happiness in being a witness to Sol’s sacrifice than to live in his own time. This appraisal can be seen as more than mere hyperbole given the profound crisis that the Jewish community was experiencing in Oran and the rest of Algeria at the end of the 19th

104 Yossef Charvit, “L’Élite Rabbinique d’Erets Israël et Celle D’Algérie au XIXème siècle—corespondance et consultations,” Revue des Études juives 166, no. 3–4 (2007): 520.

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century as it was faced with forced assimilation into a culture that was rapidly rejecting and expelling it from public life. In the next chapter we will consider another version of Sol’s story from a Jewish community on the other side of the Mediterranean that was also experiencing profound change around the same time, the Sephardic community of Salonica in the dying days of the Ottoman Empire.

CHAPTER SIX

THE SACRIFICED LOVERS: SOL’S STORY IN THE JUDEO-SPANISH NEWSPAPER LA EPOKA Introduction In 1902 La Epoka, a Judeo-Spanish newspaper in Salonika, published a ‘folioton’1 edition of Sol’s story,2 a testimony to the fact that word of the event had spread throughout much of the Sephardic Diaspora. How this occurred precisely is difficult to determine, but there were several possible points of diffusion. A Sephardic trading network had existed in the Mediterranean since the Middle Ages;3 and these communities shared a common Iberian origin and many common last names (e.g. Benvenisti, Toledano, Abravanel, Hatchuel ).4 There can be no doubt that after the Expulsion branches of the same extended families settled in different parts of the receiving lands of the Southern and Eastern Mediterranean. In addition, many merchant families had relatives with import and export offices in different ports.5 Another source of connection was the Land of Israel, a place of settlement for Jews from both the Ottoman lands and Sharifian Morocco.6 A

1 The ‘folioton’ was, like the French feuilleton, a literary supplement to the newspaper. 2 “Sol La addeket,” Folieton Numero 2, Folieton de La Epoca, Salonika, 1902, BenZvi Institute, no. 1315–L. Another Judeo-Spanish newspaper printed a version of Sol’s story, but this text was printed after the fall of the Ottoman Empire. “Sol La addikah, Eiroina Judia Del Maroko,” El Tiempo Anyo 57, Numero 17 (5689 [1929]): 170. 3 On Salonika see S.D. Goitein, Vol. I: Economic Foundations, A Mediterranean Society The Jewish Communities of the World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza (Berkeley: University of California, 1967), 52, 58, 214. 4 Jane S. Gerber, The Jews of Spain (New York: The Free Press, 1992), 162. Sarah Shalom, whose family came to Israel from Greece, discusses how she was related to Sol Hatchuel in her book. Sarah Shalom, Hagu el: o, ha-Sipur al Sulikah ha-yafah ([Giv atayim]: Masadah, 1995). 5 Schroeter, The Sultan’s Jew: Morocco and the Sephardi world, 127. 6 For relations between Moroccan Jewry and the Land of Israel see Henry Toledano, “Yahadut Maroqo ve-Yishuv Ere Yisra’el: Toldot Ha- Aliyyot Ha-Shonot shel Yehude Maroqo me-ha-me’ah ha-shesh esre ve- ad reshit ha-me’ah ha- esrim,” in Hagut Ivrit be-ar ot ha-Islam, ed. Menahem Zohori, et al. (Yerushalayim: Ho a’at Berit Ivrit olamit, 1981), 228–52; for the Jewish community of Salonika see David

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final possible path of diffusion could have been via the works about Sol published in European languages that were becoming increasingly more accessible to broad sectors of Sephardic Jews. While the version of Sol’s story in La Epoka preserves the major events of the plot of the other Solika texts up until it reaches a melodramatic finale, its worldview differs significantly from that of the Hebrew and Judeo-Arabic texts from North Africa and this difference is a reflection of the divergent historical and cultural changes that took place in the 19th century in these two communities living in different empires of the Muslim World. Prior to this period the two communities shared many similarities. Like Morocco Jewish existence in Salonika dates back to pre-Islamic times, with records going back at least to the Roman Empire, however it was the Sephardic exiles from Spain who made the city the “Jerusalem of the Balkans,” bringing their Judeo-Spanish culture. By the turn of the 20th century almost half of the city’s population was Jewish.7 Economically the Sephardim engaged in trade and manufacturing and could be found in all rungs of the social hierarchy.8 In the 16th and 17th centuries they prospered along with the Ottoman Empire, providing valuable information about European diplomacy, commerce and technology and acting as intermediaries between European powers and the Sublime Porte.9 Their fortunes declined along with those of the Empire and by the beginning of the 19th century much of the community was in poverty.10 Towards the end of the century Salonika experienced a revival as a result of increased trade and commerce with Europe. Its

Benvenisti, Mi-Saloniqi li-Yerushalayim: pirqe ayim, vol. 2 (Yerushalayim: Ho a’at Va ad ha-Sefaradim ve- edot ha-Mizra , 1981–1982), 109–110 on the traditional rabbinic emissaries who came to Salonika to collect donations for the Jewish religious communities of Jerusalem, Hebron, Tiberias and Safed. 7 J. Nehema, “The Jews of Salonika in the Ottoman Period,” in The Sephardi Heritage Essays on the history and cultural contribution of the Jews of Spain and Portugal, ed. R.D. Barnnet and W.M. Schwab (Grendon, Northants: Gibraltar Books, 1989), 203–42. 8 Paul Dumont, “The Social Structure of the Jewish Community of Salonica at the End of the Nineteenth Century,” Southeastern Europe 5, no. 2 (1978): 33–72; Donald Quataert, “The Industrial Working Class of Salonica, 1850–1912,” in Jews, Turks, Ottomans A Shared History, Fifteenth through the Twentieth Century, ed. Avigdor Levy (Syracuse, N.Y.: Syracuse University Press, 2002), 194–211; Daniel Goffman, “Jews in Early Modern Ottoman Commerce,” in Jews, Turks, Ottomans A Shared History, Fifteenth through the Twentieth Century, 15–34. 9 Goffman, “Jews in Early Modern Ottoman Commerce.” 10 Mark Mazower, Salonica City of Ghosts Christians, Muslims and Jews 1430–1950 (New York: Vintage Books, 2004), 236.

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Jewish community participated in this revival, which was not confined only to men. Young Jewish girls worked in the city’s tobacco and textile factories, helping to support their families and earning money for their dowries. Upon marriage the vast majority of them disappeared from outside employment, but adverse circumstances, such as death or disability of a spouse, would force them to return to the factory.11 This phenomenon of female labor outside the home was an example of the process of modernization that Salonika and its Jewish community was undergoing in the 19th century as part of the reform efforts of both the Ottoman government and Western Jewish philanthropic organizations, in particular the Alliance Israélite Universelle.12 Before discussing this reform process it is worth considering the legal status of Jews in the Ottoman Empire. Unlike Morocco, the Ottomans had a number of other non-Muslim, Christian minority groups, including Orthodox Greeks and Armenians. Before the 19th century reforms, all non-Muslims were defined as dhimma and subject to similar restrictions as in Morocco; they had to pay the jizya tax,13 they were prohibited from riding horses, their testimony, if it was against a Muslim defendant, was not admitted in Islamic courts.14 However, in exchange for these restrictions, the non-Muslim millets had autonomy and freedom to control their own communal institutions and their lives and property were protected.15 In addition, the Ottoman authorities, who had invited Sephardim expelled from Spain to settle in their lands, combated the Christian and French blood libel accusations that had erupted during the Egyptian occupation of Damascus

11 Quataert, “The Industrial Working Class of Salonica, 1850–1912”; Donald Quataert, “Ottoman Women, Households, and Textile Manufactures, 1800–1914,” in The Modern Middle East, ed. Albert Hourani, Philip Khoury, and Mary C. Wilson (London: I.B. Taurus, 2004), 255–70. 12 Yitzchak Kerem, “The Effects of the Enlightenment on the Jews of Salonika: Political or Socioeconomic Advancement,” in International symposium on Sephardi Jews in south-eastern Europe and their contribution to the development of the modern society ([Romania]: Federation of the Jewish Communities in Romania; Craiova University, 1998), 72–84. 13 Wout van Bekkum, “Jews in the Ottoman Empire and Modern Turkey,” in Turkish-Jewish Encounters: Studies on Turkish-Jewish Relations Through the Ages = Türk-Yahudi Bulu maları: Tarihte Türk-Yahudi İli kileri Ara tırmaları, ed. Mehmet Tütüncü (Haarlem: SOTA, 2001), 101–06. 14 Mazower, Salonica City of Ghosts Christians, Muslims and Jews 1430–1950, 152. 15 Halil İnalcik, “Foundations of Ottoman-Jewish Cooperation,” in Jews, Turks, Ottomans A Shared History, Fifteenth through the Twentieth Century, ed. Avigdor Levy (Syracuse, N.Y.: Syracuse University Press, 2002), 3–14.

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in 1840.16 Furthermore, the restrictions associated with dhimma status were gradually annulled during the period of Tanzimat reforms of the 19th century. In 1856 the Hatti Humayun firman reaffirmed the freedom of religion of Ottoman subjects and outlawed forced conversion.17 The first to take advantage of these reforms were members of the Christian millets who were able to rely on their contacts with Europe, their European education, and their being under the protection of the European powers. In contrast, most of the Sephardim had lost contact with Europe and European relatives in the 18th century as a result of the economic decline of the Ottoman Empire. In consequence Salonika lost its place to Amsterdam as the preferred destination of resettlement for crypto-Jews escaping the Inquisition. The only Jews who were still able to take advantage of their on-going European connections were those from Livorno, who represented a closed elite.18 It was the opening of the Alliance schools in 1873 that allowed more Jews to begin the process of modernization and Westernization.19 This process was not achieved without opposition. When the Alliance reformers arrived in Salonika they found traditional Jewish educational institutions in operation. Publishing houses continued to print rabbinic musar literature at least until the end of the 19th century.20 The city had been a center for rabbinic publications and learning since at least the 16th century and Joseph Karo, author of one of the most important codes of Jewish law, the Shul an arukh, taught there. However by the early 20th century the process of secularization resulted in a shift in publication from rabbinic literature to the modernizing Judeo-Spanish press.21

16 Moshe Ma’oz, “Changing Relations between Jews, Muslims, and Christians during the Nineteenth Century, with Special Reference to Ottoman Syria and Palestine,” in Jews, Turks, Ottomans A Shared History, Fifteenth through the Twentieth Century, ed. Avigdor Levy (Syracuse, N.Y.: Syracuse University Press, 2002), 108–18. 17 Yitzchak Kerem, “The Effects of the Enlightenment on the Jews of Salonika: Political or Socioeconomic Advancement,” in International symposium on Sephardi Jews in south-eastern Europe and their contribution to the development of the modern society ([Romania]: Federation of the Jewish Communities in Romania; Craiova University, 1998), 72–84. 18 Nehama, “The Jews of Salonika in the Ottoman Period,” 225. 19 Kerem, “The Effects of the Enlightenment on the Jews of Salonika: Political or Socioeconomic Advancement,” 79. 20 Matthias B. Lehmann, Ladino Rabbinic Literature and Ottoman Sephardic Culture (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2005), 7. 21 Aron Rodrigue, “The Ottoman Diaspora: The Rise and Fall of Ladino Literary Culture,” in Cultures of the Jews A New History, ed. David Baile (New York: Schocken Books, 2002), 863–86.

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The Judeo-Spanish Press The rise of the Judeo-Spanish press and the popularization of secular literature were important parts of this modernization process. This press carried news about events in the Jewish Diaspora and the world at large. It provided information about scientific developments, inventions, the arts, and improvements in education.22 It also developed the genre of the Judeo-Spanish translated, serialized novel (romanso). From the 1870s to the 1930s, the Judeo-Spanish press, including newspapers such as La Epoka, published serialized Judeo-Spanish versions of some of the major works of French and other Western literatures, including works by Dumas, Emile Zola and Shakespeare. Often these translations would be rewritten and changed, sometimes significantly, to appeal to their Sephardic readership. Changes were made to dechristianize material, to simplify and shorten the plot and make it more entertaining, and to not offend local morality. Often such changes resulted in a change in the message of the novel as well.23 The Judeo-Spanish press shared the liberal, modernist outlook of the Alliance schools, including the ideals of the French Revolution in combination with a secularized Jewish messianic belief in the progress of Western civilization and the important role that emancipated Jews could play in it.24 The publisher of La Epoka shared this outlook.25 Beginning in 1830, with Sultan Mahmud II’s declaration of equality between Ottoman subjects, and continuing throughout the 19th century with the series of Tanzimat reforms, the Ottoman Empire moved in the direction of increasing political secularization and modernization annulling most of the traditional dhimma restrictions.26 With this

22 Yitzchak Kerem, “The Influence of European Modernizing Forces on the Development of the Judeo-Spanish Press in the 19th Century in Salonika,” in Hommage à Haïm Vidal Sephiha, ed. sous la direction de Winfried Busse et Marie-Christine VarolBornes, Sephardica 1 (Berne: Peter Lang, 1996), 581–94; Sarah Abrevaya Stein, Making Jews Modern The Yiddish and Ladino Press in the Russian and Ottoman Empires (Bloomington: University of Indiana Press, 2004). 23 Olga Borovaya, “The Serialized Novel as Rewriting: The Case of Ladino Belles Lettres,” Jewish Social Studies 10, no. 1 (2003): 30–68. 24 Ibid. 25 Kerem, “The Influence of European Modernizing Forces on the Development of the Judeo-Spanish Press in the 19th Century in Salonika,” 588. 26 For a discussion of the Jewish Community and the Tanzimat reforms see Kerem, “The Effects of the Enlightenment on the Jews of Salonika: Political or Socioeconomic Advancement;” Aron Rodrigue, French Jews, Turkish Jews: The Alliance Israélite Universelle

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process well underway by 1875, the founding year of La Epoka, its editors and those of other Judeo-Spanish newspapers were confident that Jews would become fully integrated into Ottoman society and be able to play leading roles in its development. This orientation found its expression not only in the press, but also in the publishing of some Judeo-Spanish historical novels, whose purpose was to entertain and educate the readership about both Sephardic and Ottoman history.27 Sol La addeqet It is possible to see all these trends expressed in La Epoka’s version of Sol’s story. For the most part this version is based on Romero’s work.28 In fact in many passages, particularly in the beginning, there is almost a verbatim copying of Romero. The fact that the anonymous writer chose to use Romero instead of Jewish sources is indicative of the Westernizing orientation of La Epoka as well as the generic conventions of the Judeo-Spanish romanso. However, also in keeping with this genre, Romero’s message was changed to reflect a more specifically Jewish sentiment. As was often the case with these serialized, translated novels, Romero’s work was used, but not acknowledged.29 Instead the editors presented the story as the work of ‘mues ro koresponden e del Maroko,’ our correspondent from Morocco reporting from ‘this curious country’ and investigating who was this ‘san a muchacha’.30 This was undoubtedly meant to convey the idea that the event was not fictional, like the translated Judeo-Spanish romanso, but based on historical fact. Despite its factual basis this text has the major elements and the Politics of Jewish Schooling in Turkey, 1860–1925 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990). 27 See Kerem (op. cit.) on the Ottoman Reforms, see by the same author, “The Influence of European Modernizing Forces on the Development of the Judeo-Spanish Press in the 19th Century in Salonika,” (581–594) on the modernization role of the Ladino press and the political orientation of La Epoka’s editors. See Borovaya, “The Serialized Novel as Rewriting: The Case of Ladino Belles Lettres,” (57–60) for a discussion and analysis of one historical novel on Ottoman Turkey. 28 Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea. 29 The text does make reference to documents, including documents ‘en lengua arabe’ (La Epoka, 1), but not to Romero. In the first paragraph after the preface, the writer informs his audience that Sol’s story is part of the memory of Moroccan Jewry and was turned into theatre pieces. In addition the author stated, “El es rekon ado en livros estampados en Espania.’ [ It is recounted in books published in Spain.] 30 Ibid.

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of the romanso genre, including the anonymous authorship, the unacknowledged foreign, in this case, Spanish source, which was partially reproduced verbatim, but whose message was frequently changed. Desharemos por un momen o á la afliida Sol en el palasio del governador, arodiandha de la muzher y delas nueras de Arbi Ezibo ke le havlavan con mucha dulsur, casi con respe o. Vayamos a ver el es ado en el kual se opavan sus dezgrasiadhos parien es. Sim a, komo ya lo savemos, avia visto su hizha par ir acompaniyada del soldado ke se la yevava en kaza del governador elya no avia en endido ni suspechado la cavsa de es a yamadha.31 [Let us leave for a moment the afflicted Sol in the palace of the governor, surrounded by the wife and daughters in-law of Arbi Ezibo who speak to her with much sweetness, almost with respect. Let us go to see the state in which her unfortunate parents found themselves. Sim a, as we already know, had seen her daughter leave accompanied by the soldier who brought her to the house of the governor. She did not understand or suspect the cause for this.] Aquí dejaremos por un momento á la afligada Sol, para contemplar un poco sobre el estado en que se hallaban sus padres con su ausencia. Habíala visto partir su madre hacia la casa del Gobernador con el esbirro Mahometano, sin haber podido comprehender la causa que lo habia motivado.32 Here, for awhile, we will leave the afflicted Phoebe [Sol], to see the state of her parents in her absence. Her mother had seen her led by the Mahometan soldier to the house of the Governor, without being able to learn the cause. . . ”33

The writer in La Epoka adopts the same methods of abrupt transition and change of scene (‘Here, for awhile we will leave. . .” in Romero; “Let us leave”, “Let us go” in La Epoka), invoking the reader as his collective accomplice, as does Romero. He does make a few significant changes. For Romero’s “esbirro Mahometano” [Mohamedan henchman] he simply substitutes the more neutral ‘soldier.’ This is consistent with the political orientation of La Epoka and a good number of Sephardic Jewish leaders at the time, who were grateful for the

31 32 33

La Epoka, 5 Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea, 22. —, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact, 23.

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historical acceptance of their refugee ancestors,34 as well as for the 19th century Ottoman reforms that eliminated the dhimma political status. In La Epoka, Sol’s neighbor is referred to as a “Marokina” who proposes that Sol convert to the “Marokina religion.”35 All references in Romero to Islam and Muslims are avoided in this text, and the Moroccan Sultan is referred to as an emperor.36 While direct reference to Islam is avoided, there is an oblique reference to Christianity that is not contained in Romero. When Tahra runs to the governor’s house to announce that there is a ‘Hebrea’ in her house who wants to become a “Marokina,” she tells the governor that he has a chance to “salvar una alma.”37 Such an expression is more reminiscent of Christian rhetoric than Islamic. While Romero does turn his version of Sol’s story into a plea for religious tolerance and a diatribe against tyranny he does not make such direct references to Christian forms of tyranny, but confines his direct attacks to ‘Mohamedan barbarian legislation.’38 La Epoka takes the opposite approach, being written in reformed Ottoman Salonika, it completely omits Romero’s references to Islam and its prophet.39 Often the writer in La Epoka, while following the basic content of Romero, simplifies the language and even substitutes words (e.g. “para contemplar un poco sobre el estado en que se hallaban sus padres con su ausencia” [to contemplate a little the state in which her parents found themselves in her absence] in Romero,40 “vayamos a ver el es ado en kual se opavan sus dezgrasiadhos parien es” in La Epoka [Let us go see the state in which her unfortunate parents found

34 For a historical survey on relations between the Ottoman Sultans and the Jews of Salonika from the time of the Expulsion until the end of the Empire see Kerem, “The Effects of the Enlightenment on the Jews of Salonika: Political or Socioeconomic Advancement.” For an examination of these relations as they were expressed during the Sultan’s visit to Salonika in 1911, see Julia Cohen, “The Jews of Salonika and the Sultan’s Visit of 1911,” 36th Annual Conference of the Association for Jewish Studies, Hyatt Regency Chicago, Chicago, Ill., 2004. 35 La Epoka, 3, 6. 36 Ibid., 9. 37 Ibid., 3. 38 Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea, 116. 39 “. . . el hizo pregun ar a Sol si agi aba a abjorar su fey por conver irse.” [he asked her if she was agitated enough to abjure her faith in order to convert.] (La Epoka, 9) Romero adds, “para abrazar la Ley de Profeta” [in order to embrace the Law of the Prophet] (49). 40 Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea, 22.

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themselves]).41 In some cases these are simply synonyms, but in others the changes are clearly made for cultural and religious reasons. In the scene where Sol is resting in the garden of the Sultan’s palace both Romero and La Epoka describe the flowers, their scents and colors, the sound of the birds, and Sol herself. Whereas Romero calls Sol ‘la Diosa de la virtud’ [the Goddess of Virtue],42 La Epoka substitutes ‘la reina dela vir ud’ [the queen of virtue] in order to not offend the readers with the pagan connotations of Romero’s romantic idiom.43 Expressions such as these, being foreign to Jewish culture and religion, are substituted in La Epoka for ones more acceptable (e.g. ‘queen’ for ‘goddess’ ). This is also the case for the term for God used in the two texts, “Dios” in Spanish, or “El Dios” in Romero.44 In Judeo-Spanish the final ‘s’, which could be seen as referring to the plural form (i.e. Gods) is dropped so as not to imply that there is more than one.45 In La Epoka, God is referred as “El Dio.”46 In other cases such changes also change the message of the discourse itself. In the scene where Haim, Sol’s father, laments the fate of his daughter and the Jews in general, La Epoka, while following much of the structure of Romero’s argument and using many of the same images, changes the content of the message significantly. In Romero’s text Haim states: “Desgraciados son los hombres,” decia, “á quien la casualidad ha condenado á vivir en este pais de desventura. Nosotros que, del mero hecho de ser Hebreos, nos tratan como esclavos, nos mofan, y aun se reusan de vivir con nosotros en un mismo barrio, como sucede en Tetuan;47 ¿que felicidad podremos tener en medio de esta desventura . . . ? Solo en esta parte del mundo es en donde los Hebreos son tratados con un rigor

La Epoka, 5. Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea, 77. 43 La Epoka, 13. 44 Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea, 90. 45 Rodrigue, “The Ottoman Diaspora: The Rise and Fall of Ladino Literary Culture.” 46 La Epoka, 14. 47 It is curious that Haim complains that non-Jews refuse to live with Jews on the same street in cities like Tetuan, given that in Tangier Jews and Muslims did live on the same street, as Romero himself acknowledges, (op. cit., 3–4) and given the fact that it was this very proximity, and Sol’s easy access to her Muslim neighbor’s house, that facilitated the incident that led to her downfall. Perhaps this was as much a commentary on the Jewish ghettos of Europe as it was on the mella s of the Moroccan interior. 41 42

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chapter six indecible. En Francia, Inglaterra, Italia y otros puntos que he recorrido,48 disfrutan de las consideraciones debidas á los hombres que están sometidos á las leyes del pais, y las cumplen como los demás cuidadanos; pero en Berbería no es así; aquí nos apalean, nos insultan, nos desprecian, y nos juzgan como de diferente especie que los demás . . . . ¿A quien apelaré, pues, para salvar á mi querida hija . . . ? Moysés, Moysés, vé al pueblo escogido cual arrastra la cadena de la servidumbre; mira á los descendientes de Jacob maltratados por los sectarios del falso Profeta; ya es tiempo que se cumplan las predicciones en que fundamos nuestra fé, y llegue el dia en que acabe de suspirar el pueblo errante de Israel que, á pesar de las vicisitudes de los siglos, ha permanecido fiel á tu Ley.”49 “Unfortunate are those men,” said he, “whom fate has condemned to live in this wretched country; we, merely because we are Jews, are treated as slaves; we are scoffed, despised; they will not even live in the same street with us. What happiness can we experience under such persecution? “Only in this part of the world are Jews treated with such indescribable rigour. In England, France, Italy, and other places they enjoy the consideration due men, who submit to the laws of the country, and fulfill the duties of citizens; but in Barbary it is otherwise; here we are bastinadoed, insulted, despised, and considered a species different from the rest of Mankind. “To whom shall I appeal to save my daughter? Moses, Moses, see the chosen people whom, by the command of the Almighty, you led from the House of Bondage! Look on the persecution the descendants of Jacob receive from the sectarians of the false prophet; it is time that the predictions on which our faith is founded, should be fully accomplished, and that the day arrives to terminate the sufferings of the wandering people of Israel, who, not withstanding the vicissitudes of ages, have remained faithful to thy law!”50

Here is La Epoka’s version: —Dizgrasiados de akeyos, disia el, ke son kondinados a sumpor ar an a desven ura. Mozotros Ebreos, en todhos los lugares somos ra ados komo

48 Spain is pointedly omitted. At this time Jews were still not allowed to enter Spain, which was going through battles between Carlist conservatives, Liberal monarchists and republicans who were fighting over the very issues of rights of citizenship, religious freedom and freedom of the press and thought. In 1837 many Spanish liberals were in exile in England and Gibraltar. In fact, it was in Gibraltar that Romero met Sol’s brother Issachar and first heard her story. On the political situation in Spain see Vicente Llorens, El Romanticismo Español (Madrid: Editorial Castalia, 1979), 233. On Romero’s meeting with Issachar see Romero, 1837, ix. 49 Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea, 42–44. 50 Romero, The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century: a Tale Founded on Fact, 37–39.

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esklavos, como jen e sin impor ansa; mos aborisen, mos mal ra an sin piedad. No enemos dinguna pro eksion. Ke felisidad puedemos ener en es as kondisiones? Aki mos inflien, ai mos insul an, en o ro lugar mos zhusgan komo una raza diferen e de la delos o ros ombres. Ah kien demandar la salvasion de mi kerida hizha? Es o esklamaba el malfadado Haim ay el no veah dingun mediyo de salvar a Sol. —Aokh! Dio! Con inuava el en su dolor. Hecha un ozho de piedad sovre u puevlo eskozhidho ke aras a la kadena sobre de la servidembre! Mira los desendien es de Ya aqov [in Hebrew] mal ra adhos y dezechados!51 No es aende iempo ke mues ras sufriensas se a emin? No aliyego el dia ande mues ro puevlo kede de susperar y liyorar? No se van ah eskapar los males ke yevamos por aver kedado fieles a u ley y a u fey?52 [Unfortunate are those, he said, that are condemned to suffer so much misfortune. We Hebrews, in all parts, are treated like slaves, like people without importance; we are hated, we are maltreated without pity. We don’t have any protection. What happiness can we have in these conditions? Here we are afflicted, there we are insulted, in another place we are judged like a different race than other men. To whom can I appeal to save my dear daughter? This is what exclaimed the ill-fated Haim and he did not see any means to save Sol. Okh! God! He continued in his pain. Look in pity on Your chosen people who dragged the chain of slavery! Look at the descendents of Jacob maltreated and shattered! Hasn’t the time come when our people cease to sigh and cry? Hasn’t [the time come] to escape the bad things that we carried because we remained faithful to Your laws and Your faith?]

While the general message remains the same, there are some important differences. La Epoka lacks any reference to European countries where Jews are treated better, and any references to the duties of the citizen. Instead the assertion is that in all parts of the world Jews are treated as slaves. This is a surprising assertion given the Alliance background and outlook of much of the newspaper publishers and writers.53 It is, however, a consistent theme of internal Jewish discourse, and is particularly fitting when recounting the fate of martyrs. Another

Romero adds, “por los sectarios de falso Profeta,” op. cit., 44. La Epoka, 8. 53 Rodrigue, French Jews, Turkish Jews: The Alliance Israélite Universelle and the Politics of Jewish Schooling in Turkey, 1860–1925, 48. 51 52

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difference is that La Epoka lacks any reference to the ‘sectarians of the false prophet.’ This is consistent with its general avoidance of any reference to Islam or Muslims. Also Haim’s appeal is directed to God and not to Moses. There is only a general appeal to end the suffering of the Jews and not a specific appeal to fulfill the prophecies and ‘fully accomplish’ the divine promises. No doubt Romero’s appeal and demand for the imminent coming of the messianic age was probably best avoided in a community with a memory of the upheavals of the period of the infamous false messiah, Shabbetai Zevi.54 The message conveyed in La Epoka does contain some contradictions. On the one hand, the conception that Jews are persecuted throughout the Diaspora is maintained. On the other, by changing the religion of the persecutors from Islam to the religion of the “Marokina” and by avoiding any reference to Muslims and the Sultan, La Epoka is implying that the conditions that led to Sol’s martyrdom were specific to Morocco and not generalizable to conditions in the Ottoman Empire at the time. Thus, Jewish persecution, rather than being a general phenomenon throughout time and throughout the Diaspora, is specific to particular times and places.55 This latter message was consistent both with the political outlook and perspective of the Alliance and of the editorial direction of La Epoka. The vacillation between the two messages is consistent with the generic elements of the Judeo-Spanish romanso, which, on the one hand based itself on Western sources, on the other, changed these sources to suit local sensitivities, still very much accepting of the Jewish conception of history. In comparison with the Moroccan Hebrew and Moroccan JudeoArabic texts, La Epoka takes a more secular approach, following Romero, who changed Sol’s rhetoric to advocate religious tolerance, rather than following the Moroccan rabbinic polemics. Unlike La Epoka and Romero, the latter had her argue for Judaism’s pre-eminence as God’s preferred religion, the proof of which was the descriptions of God’s commitment to the Jewish People, whom He saved from bond-

54 Gershom Scholem, Sabbatai evi: The Mystical Messiah 1626–1676, Bollingen series, 93 ( Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973). 55 La Epoka, repeating an explanation Romero gives in a footnote (1837, 56), stated that the custom in ‘Afrika’ was that the family of the convicted needed to pay his jailer and his executioner (La Epoka, 10). Unlike in Romero, this is explained as a custom specific to “Afrika” and not to Islam.

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age.56 These differences can be seen in Sol’s speech to the ladies of the harem. La Epoka’s version is much shorter than Romero’s, but the basic message of religious tolerance is preserved without the long descriptions of different religions that are contained in Romero.57 odas las relizhiones son buenas, respondiyo Sol, i kada de una es ovligado de guadrar de sus avuelos. Ni yo engo culpa de ser Hebrea, ni vos de ser Marokina. Las kreyencias relizhiones non deven ser cavsa ke la umanidad sufre.58 —Non es ance, disho la dama. Yo no puedri amar e si i non e convier es a mirelizhion. —Es o es para mi una fa alidad, una gran dezgrasia, el Dio que vos adorash non puede avirvos impues o el comandamien o de aboreser el que non es de vues ra fey. Vos y yo somos creyensas, odas dos bushcamos al pa ron delos sielos, aunque por diversos kaminos, la provedensia siendo la encargasion dela jus ia. Ella non puede avermos kondenado a des ruirmos kon la animosidad; kon la aborasion y kon ver ir sangre.59 [All religions are good, responded Sol, and each one is obliged to guard [what they received] from their ancestors [lit. grandparents]. It is not my fault I am a Hebrew nor is it your fault you are Moroccan. Religious beliefs don’t need to be a cause for human suffering.] [This is not so, said the lady. I cannot love you if you do not convert to my religion.]

This argument was used in the Judeo-Arabic texts. Another rhetorical strategy used in the Judeo-Arabic texts that would have been more familiar to Arab Muslims was the use of images and ideas from zuhd poetry. “This world [dunya] is only as one who closes his eyes and sleeps and then wakes up. I will suffer this hour, it will pass quickly, that which my God granted is accepted,” Pinto, Qi a di Sulika a- adiqah. For the historical development of this genre of Arabic poetry that stresses the fleeting moments of this world and the inevitability of death see Reynold A. Nicholson, A literary history of the Arabs (Cambridge: Cambridge Unversity Press, 1953), 296–302. 57 Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea, 86–91. La Epoka, 13b. 58 In Romero, it is the princess who asks Sol if she is saying that all religions are good, after Sol’s ecumenical speech describing different religions and their believers and ending with the Jewish religion. In Romero, Sol states that it is not the Jew’s fault he is born a Jew and continually hears the elegy of the ‘dogma of Moses.’ (Romero, 1837, 87.) See chapter one above. This part of Sol’s speech in Romero’s text is omitted in La Epoka. In the former Sol does not say that all religions are good, but claims that religion does not have to be a reason for tyrannizing humanity. Here Sol does say that all religions are good, and differences between them shouldn’t be a cause for human suffering. 59 This part of the speech does not change the meaning of Romero’s text. See chapter one above. La Epoka, 13b. 56

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chapter six [This is for me a fatality, a grand disgrace. The God that you adore could not have imposed a commandment to abhor he who is not of your faith. We are both created we both are looking for the Patron of the heavens, even if in diverse ways. Providence demands justice. It cannot have us be condemned to destroy ourselves with animosity, with abhorrence and with spilling blood.]

This ecumenical and secular approach can also be seen throughout the narrative. Unlike the Moroccan Jewish texts, there is very little mention of theological issues or the afterlife. Even after Sol is executed, the reference to the fate of her soul is confined to one ecumenical reference to her spirit dwelling in a heavenly, eternal paradise.60 There is also no reference to ge ulah (redemption), the concept that ends all of the Moroccan texts.61 There is one episode that is unique to La Epoka and not found in any of the other versions of Sol’s story I have run across in European languages or any other Jewish language text. Like the entire narrative from La Epoka, it too is based on Romero, but instead of being an abridgement, it is an expansion. In the latter work, Haim persuades an anonymous Jew to follow the soldiers and Sol on the overland journey from Tangier to Fez. In Romero’s version this character disappears once the escort arrives in Fez. La Epoka, on the other hand, makes of him almost equal to Sol from the moment he enters the narrative. He is given the name David Salama, a young Yeshiva student, and is described as one of the “many brave men among the Jews.”62 This description in and of itself contradicts both Romero’s description of the general humiliated state of the Jews in “Barbary,” as well as the general descriptions in European travelogues of the 19th century, which also emphasized the public meekness and humiliation of Jews in Morocco.63 According to La Epoka, Salama agreed to take on this dangerous mission because of his love of God and compassion for Sol’s fate without any thought for monetary gain. The Hatchuels La Epoka, 16. These concepts also encompass the end of Exile, the return of the Jewish People to their historical homeland and rebuilding of the Temple. For the concept of Exile and Redemption in Moroccan Judaism see Manor, Galut u-Ge’ulah be-Hagut akhame Maroqo ba-me’ot ha-17–18. For these concepts in Moroccan Hebrew poetry see Chetrit, Piyyu ve-shirah be-yahadut Maroqo: asufat me karim al shirim ve- al meshorerim. 62 La Epoka, 11. 63 Drummond-Hay, Western Barbary: Its Tribes and Savage Animals, 1. Arthur de Capell Brooke, Sketches in Spain and Morocco (London: Henry Colburn and Richard Bentley, 1831), 338–339. 60 61

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agreed to allow him to do so because they were on good relations with his family and because they knew him to be intelligent and good hearted.64 Later on we learn that he had another motive for accompanying Sol and trying to safeguard her, he had been in love with her from a far for many years.65 When he discovered that she was in trouble the emotions that laid dormant in him were awakened and he went to Sol’s father to insist that he be given the dangerous mission of discreetly accompanying her to Fez. After following the escort on foot for three days he is allowed to join them when the soldiers stop by a river and see that he has a sack full of food and provisions that they lacked. They order him to share his provisions with them, which he does. While the soldiers eat, drink and smoke among themselves, David is able to talk to Sol for the first time. He tells her that he hopes she will be pardoned by the Emperor. He says that once they get to Fez he will go talk to the ‘sages and rich Jews of Fez,’ who will do everything they can, with their money and their influence, to save her.66 Sol’s response is despondent. She knows that her destiny is to be martyred and she submits herself to this fate. David proposes that they try to flee and she rejects the idea and advises him to return to Tangier and tell her parents that she is resigned to her fate and that they should put their hands in God.67 David vows that he will not abandon her and if necessary he will share her fate if he can’t save her. Sol reacts with emotion and begins to cry anew. David takes her hands and tries to comfort her. They pass the night together discussing their parents, inventing a thousand plans for the future and trying to forget the terrible tragedy that awaited these “innocent hearts . . . made to love each other.”68 When they arrive in Fez, Sol is taken to the palace and David goes to the Sages of Fez and tells them her story. However the Jews of Fez, who are mistreated and scorned, lack the power to save her. David becomes insane, he runs through the streets like a “loko,” trying to appeal to anyone to save Sol, and when that fails he resolves to console her and die with her.69 He is present when Sol is visited by the Sages. They try to convince her to convert and he

64 65 66 67 68 69

Ibid. Ibid., 11b. Ibid., 12. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 14.

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disagrees with them. He tells her that she deserves to be adorned as a saint, and that he knows her conviction will be the cause of her death. He vows to die with her, and vows that their souls will be united forever in paradise. At the moment of Sol’s execution, David ‘roars like a lion,’ rushes towards the executioner and is stabbed in the chest. His blood mingles with hers as they die together. According to La Epoka their remains are gathered and they are buried together side by side in the cemetery.70 Historically speaking there is no other source to verify the veracity of this episode, and there is no tombstone for a “David Salama” next to Sol Hatchuel’s tomb in Fez. However, from a literary, cultural and even psychological point of view this episode is very interesting because there are a number of possible sources of inspiration. Given the popularity of translated, serialized novels from European literature, the motifs of the tragic love story, of lovers torn apart by fate, of a chivalric hero who desperately tries to save his beloved and refuses to abandon his beautiful, ill-fated heroine are all represented in both melodrama and in high literature. We find them in works by Shakespeare, Walter Scott and Abbé Prévost.71 Another possible source of inspiration could be the theme of the persecuted lovers in both Spanish and Judeo-Spanish romanceros.72 In addition to these European and Jewish literary sources, there are also ones from Jewish history. Toledano, in his history of Moroccan Jewry, narrates an historical event that took place in 1820. It involves the family of Don Yehuda Abravanel, who was placed in jail and killed for allegedly plotting against the Sultan. All his assets were seized and when the guards came across his daughter, who was engaged to be married, they tried to kidnap her as well. Her fiancé intervened by killing her and getting himself killed. Before killing her he declared, “Innocent and pure soul, flee from these cruel savages and come with me to heaven where we will indulge together in our love.”73 While this event took place in Morocco, Ottoman Jews also suffered violence in Ibid., 16. Prévost and Shakespeare, along with Dumas were turned into Judeo-Spanish romansos. Borovaya, “The Serialized Novel as Rewriting: The Case of Ladino Belles Lettres.” 72 “El conde Niño”, Samuel G. Armistead et al., El romancero Judeo-Español en el Archivo Menendez Pidal (Catálogo-ídice de romances y canciones), vol. 1 (Madrid: Catedraseminario Menendez Pidal, 1978), 344–51. 73 Toledano, Ner ha-ma arav: hu toldot Yisra’el be-Maroqo, 255–56. 70 71

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the form of pogroms committed by Christians (e.g. Smyrna in 1872 and Constantinople in 1874). These acts of violence were eventually put down by Turkish police. In these cases, the Christian minority attacked the Jewish minority and the Ottoman government and the Muslim population in general condemned such attacks and rejected Christian justifications for them.74 While the circumstances were very different in these two regions of the Sephardic Diaspora, the common denominator of violence against Jews could have provided local historical source material for the David Salama episode. Another Jewish source to consider is rabbinic attitudes towards virginity, marriage and procreation. In Judaism, unlike Christianity, virginity was not valued in and of itself, but as a prerequisite guaranteeing the purity of the bride before marriage.75 Wegner points out that in the Mishnah the bride price for virgins was twice that of nonvirgins.76 The importance of marriage and procreation can be seen in the following saying from the Talmud: Ben-Azzai says: Anyone who does not engage in procreation is a murderer and diminishes the Divine Image, for it says, “One who spills blood of the human for the sake of the human his blood will be spilt, for in the image of God He made the human, and as for you, be fruitful and multiply.”77

While Sol’s virginity was commented on in virtually all the Moroccan texts, particularly in those that saw her sacrifice as a substitute for the rites of the Temple or saw her becoming God’s mystic beloved and bride,78 it was not mentioned in La Epoka. During the meeting between Sol and the rabbis David Salama takes Sol in his arms and declares her to be his bride. The David Salama episode transforms Sol’s story from one of the sacrifice of the virgin martyr and her union with God, as it is portrayed in the Moroccan Jewish texts, to one of persecuted

74 Barnai further states that one of the factors that increased the frequency of blood libel accusations was the intervention of European powers in the Ottoman Empire. Another factor he cites was the war for Greek Independence. Jacob Barnai, “ ‘Blood Libels’ in the Ottoman Empire of the Fifteenth to Nineteenth Centuries,” in Antisemitism Through the Ages, ed. Shmuel Almog (Oxford, New York: Pergamon Press, 1988), 189–94. 75 Boyarin, Dying for God Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism. 76 Wegner, Chattel or Person? The Status of Women in the Mishnah, 22. 77 Quoted in Daniel Boyarin, “Internal Opposition in Talmudic Literature: The Case of the Married Monk,” Representations, no. 36 (1991): 87. 78 Elbaz, “Shimkha Yah Qiddshah.”

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lovers reunited in death. While this episode does not solve the problem of lack of procreation, it does alleviate it somewhat in that it shows intent to fulfill this divine commandment. R. Ben-Azzai saying that those who fail to procreate are guilty of murder and will have their blood spilt provides another kind of divine explanation for the spilling of both Sol’s and David’s blood. It also provides some release of the latent sexual tension inherent in Sol’s story, in the tension between her beauty and desirability and the lack of her being coupled to an earthly spouse. The mingling of the lovers’ blood and their dying together substitutes for the sexual act and intensifies it in that such fatal mixing of bodily fluids promises that they will never be parted. Gender Discourse in La Epoka As this episode progresses there is a shift in focus from the heroine Sol to the hero David. His addition to Sol’s story partakes of the larger cultural and literary influence from Western Europe that was sweeping over the Ottoman Jewish community at this time. Both the Alliance and the Judeo-Spanish press promoted this influence. Politically it was also in keeping with the reform movement, started in the 1830s, of the Ottoman Turks, in their determination to modernize and ultimately Westernize their Empire and later the Turkish Republic. That David Salama was brave, committed, and able to make the ultimate sacrifice for what he loved, bode well for the Jewish male’s ability to become the brave soldier and citizen of a modern, Westernized state. By the end of the text, David’s character becomes less of an addition and practically takes over Sol’s story, shifting the focus from ‘the heroine of the 19th century’, as Romero called her, to this new Jewish hero who unsuccessful tries to rescue his damsel in distress. While Romero’s text emphasizes Sol’s heroic status through her discourse and her willingness to be sacrificed for an ideal, La Epoka portrays this added in hero through his deed. When comparing Sol’s discourse with David’s even in La Epoka her speech still predominates. The author of this text is relying on Romero for most of the story where Sol’s discourse dominates. However this does not mean that she maintains the central heroic role at the end of the story. In La Epoka David’s presence is conveyed not through his speech, but through descriptions of him and his deeds. Six paragraphs are devoted to introducing this character to the reader and explaining how this “intelligent Hebrew” was able to accompany Sol’s military escort, even engaging

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the soldiers in conversation, without arousing their suspicion. However Salama is not a hero of rhetoric, but of action.79 There is a precedent for gender shift from the feminine to the masculine even in the Moroccan Hebrew narratives where the David Salama character is completely absent. In those texts it is Sol herself who, when she is confronted face to face with Muslim males who try to convert her, adopts the voice and discourse of a well-educated Jewish male rabbi.80 In this text, however, we get a more realistic approach, in keeping with the growing realism of the 19th century novel. Here the heroine Sol is practically supplanted by a male hero, David, who makes the active choice to follow the fate of his beloved when all his attempts to save her fail. This addition has an ambiguous effect on the nature of Sol’s character as ‘saint.’ On the one hand, she does not die alone, on the other, her destiny as God’s bride is hijacked by David’s interference. The religious idea that the martyr would become God’s bride was a spiritual, mystical and divine ideal that was being supplanted in the 19th century with an increasing secularization of Jewish education and the Jewish press in Salonika. This episode, because of its very melodrama, has a number of sources of inspiration in both Jewish and Western European cultures. It makes reference to the motif of martyred lovers in the Spanish and Ladino romansero. In David’s attempt to save Sol it provides a folkloric male hero trying to rescue his ‘damsel in distress.’ While there is no evidence of direct European folktale influence on this text, European melodramatic and high literary works that were translated and serialized in the Judeo-Spanish press could have been influenced by these folk motifs and general themes of the male hero rescuing the beautiful, endangered female. While it may not be possible to trace all the exact influences of the David Salama episode, it is clear that this text is a product of the intellectual and literary developments of the Judeo-Spanish press, including increased European influence and

La Epoka, 11–12. This is particularly true in Ben Naim’s prose narrative and in Haim Haliwa’s preface to his lament, Ben Naim, Malkhe rabbanan: ve-hu sidra de-rabbanan . . . ayim derabbanan.; Haliwa, “ Am Asher Niv aru.” There is earlier precedence for transgendered transformation in Jewish writing, in the allegorical interpretation of the Song of Songs as a courtship between the Divine Groom and his bride, Israel. Boyarin also discusses the emasculation and feminization of Jewish males that rabbinic literature expressed with the loss of the Temple and Jewish sovereignty. Boyarin, Dying for God Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism, 68. 79 80

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Westernization, and the geographic location and cultural space of the Salonikan Jewish community at the turn of the 20th century. Conclusion The version of Sol’s story in La Epoka represents a liminal text between the Moroccan Jewish versions of her story and the European Christian versions, including Romero’s. Although it is based on an historical event that took place in Morocco, and not in Salonika, and although it narrates an episode in Jewish history, this text shares the generic elements of the ‘Ladino serialized translated novel’ as described by Borovaya,81 namely it is based on a Western source, which is paraphrased, but unnamed. Often the Judeo-Spanish version is simplified in its use of language or in the plot and the moral message is sometimes changed to suit the cultural and moral sensibilities of the local readership. La Epoka’s version of Sol’s story paraphrases Romero’s work, but simplifies the language and sometimes changes it and the message to suit its audience. It alters the plot of Romero’s version of Sol’s story by creating a fictional episode with the addition of the David Salama character. The whole text itself, and especially the David Salama addition, epitomizes this transition from a traditional Jewish worldview to an increasingly Westernized and secular one. This addition of Salama becomes an episode that satisfies a psychological and theological lack in the source text, namely the lack of Sol’s espousal to an earthly Jewish male suitor, the lack of consummation of her beauty and desirability, and the lack of procreation, all values that are rooted in Jewish theology and culture. In addition, in the context of Western modernist, nationalist ideology, there is a historical and cultural lack, which is felt both in relation to Jewish history and in relation to European, modernizing notions of Jewish ‘regeneration,’82 and that is the lack of a Jewish male chivalric hero. David Salama fulfills these gaps. 81 Olga Borovaya, “The Serialized Novel as Rewriting: The Case of Ladino Belles Lettres,” Jewish Social Studies 10, no. 1 (2003): 30–68. 82 See Ronald Schechter’s discussion of François-Louis Couché’s engraving, Napoléon le Grand rétablit le culte des Israélites, le 30 mai 1806, depicting Napoleon’s invoking of the Grand Sanhedrin as a regeneration and return of a languid, feminine, medieval Judaism, the “Synagoga” equipped with broken sword, to its ancient, armed former glory. Ronald Schechter, Obstinate Hebrews Representations of Jews in France 1715–1815 (Berkeley, CA.: University of California Press, 2003), 207–08. French Jewish leaders, such as Ber

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Such a transformation from the feminine, virgin saintly bride of God and from a focus on the afterlife, to a focus on the world of history, of men, deeds, and Western education and literature was probably to be expected given the cultural changes taking place, including the increased exposure to European secular literature and the rise of nationalist ideologies of the modern state with its citizen soldiers. The addition of the David Salama character filled a need for both the writers of the Judeo-Spanish press, and their mostly male readers.83 His bravery and his chivalric sacrifice for his beloved made the transition from Sol’s sacrifice for God as a traditional Jewish, pre-emancipated, feminized martyr to the changing world of Salonikan Jewry at the turn of the twentieth century. While the most significant cataclysmic events for this community lay in the future, by 1902, a year of draught and earthquakes, the city had already witnessed the effects of the loss of European Ottoman territory and rising ethnic tensions. The following year there was a serious of terrorist attacks by the Bulgarian comitadjis.84 In 1912 Salonika became Thessaloniki and passed into Greek hands. 1917 saw a fire that destroyed Jewish neighborhoods that were never rebuilt. In 1942 with the exception of some hundreds of survivors, the entire Jewish community was exterminated by the Nazis and the oldest Jewish cemetery in Europe was dug up to build the Aristotle University.85 In retrospect, David Salama’s inability to save Sol poignantly resembles the failure of the Ottoman Empire to survive as a modern, multiethnic, multireligious state. It also invokes the inability of Ottoman Jewry, and in particular Salonikan Jewry, to survive the breakup of this Empire with the rise of extreme nationalism and calamities of the 20th century.

Isaac Ber, who had appeared before the French National Assembly in October 1789, accepted Napoleon as a modern Cyrus. Ber feminized pre-Emancipation Jewry when he stated, “the more they wanted to remain Jews, the more they ceased to be men” (Ibid., 212). 83 This text, as was the convention in the Judeo-Spanish press until the 1920s, was written in Hebrew Rashi script, a writing system not taught to Jewish females. Isaac Papo, “Consideraciones sobre la evolución histórica de la prensa judeoespañola en Turquía y en los Balcanes,” in Jewish Studies at the Turn of the Twentieth Century Proceedings of the 6th EAJS [European Association of Jewish Studies] Congress Toledo July 1998, ed. Judit Targorona Borrás and Angel Sáenz-Badillos (Brill: Leiden, 1999), 567–83. 84 Leon Sciaky, Farewell to Ottoman Salonica ( Istanbul: Isis Press, 2000), 44, 67, 77. 85 Esther Benbassa and Aron Rodrigue, The Jews of the Balkans: the Judeo-Spanish community, 15th to 20th centuries. Jewish communities of the modern world (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995), 266–70.

CONCLUSION The spectacle of a young girl being publically beheaded because her neighbors testified she had converted was indeed shocking and sparked a whole corpus of texts dedicated to recounting the event. When these works are looked at closely it is possible to find variations in the story, both in the events narrated and left out and in the significance given to Sol’s martyrdom. A review of the earliest historical texts shows variations regarding what Sol said to her neighbor and whether she gave any indication that she had an interest in converting. Another important variation in the European texts is that the earliest consular document written shortly after her execution showed a hostility towards Sol, her family and community, while later European texts written at the end of the 19th century were more sympathetic to her plight, with some even inventing French attempts to save her. While the European texts equivocated over the question of whether she actually converted or not, the Jewish texts were unanimous that she did not. They all stated that she remained loyal to her faith and people and died a martyr. Throughout the Sephardic world Sol served and continues to serve as an important role model and heroine whose story is relevant to contemporary Jewry, especially in times of distress. Her executioners are condemned for committing an injustice. Yet it is important to not lose sight of the differences among these texts and between them and the European versions of her story. Even within the same linguistic and religious tradition there were differences among the authors, with each retelling her story in a way that made it relevant to his readers and expressed his sentiments and religious perspective. Despite the invective of some of the Jewish texts, they also expressed a complex relationship with the larger Muslim community and with Islam. Even the most polemical texts are part of the “sociocultural and linguistic landscape of the Islamic West and the old Hispano-Maghrebine world.”1 The Judeo-Arabic texts show the influence of Arabic and Islam to an even greater extent, containing qur’ānic references that had become part of the local dialect and were used by both Muslims and Jews. On

1

Zafrani, Two thousand years of Jewish life in Morocco, 288.

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the other side of the Mediterranean the internalization of the Ottoman reform program shaped the Judeo-Spanish text from La Epoka to such an extent that it refused to refer to Islam at all, but redefined the villains as “Moroccan”—Sol was not commanded to convert to Islam, but to an unreformed “Moroccan” religion. All of these texts show the variety of ways relations between Muslims and Jews were perceived and the effects of individual worldviews, language, and historical and political contexts. The status of Jews in Morocco prior to the Protectorate was complex and involved the promise of protection in exchange for acceptance of social inferiority as dhimma. One of the most significant restrictions that affected Sol was the inability to contradict a Muslim’s testimony in court. Other legal issues that were raised by Sol’s case included the question of conversion and capital punishment for apostasy. In the case of a Marrakech Jew who converted and recanted this punishment was not immediately enforced, given that the accused was imprisoned and not executed, an indication that the law was not always followed to the letter in every instance. If one accepts Sol’s version of events, the original violation of the law was her Muslim neighbors’ testimony that she had converted, given the qur’ānic affirmation that there is no compulsion in religion. However, once a disagreement between a Muslim and a Jew occurred the status of the latter as dhimma meant social and legal subordination, the expression of which meant that Jews could not contradict Muslims or testify against them. Yet despite this prohibition there were indications that the Sultan wanted to return Sol to her family. His ability to do so and ignore Muslim public opinion and the advice of the ‘ulamā’, who insisted on enforcing the dhimma restrictions, was dependent on how secure he sat on his thrown. Historically the prohibition against elevating Jews to positions over Muslims was at times violated by the Sultans who used Jewish advisors and merchants as intermediaries with European powers in order to acquire weapons and needed revenue. Ironically their very status as dhimma made Moroccan Jews attractive as advisors and intermediaries because it reinforced their complete dependence on the Sultan and guaranteed that they would not engage in any court intrigues. European consulates also used Moroccan Jews as representatives and translators in their dealings with the Moroccan authorities, both because of their language skills and because of the risks involved in dealing with the Sultan’s court, particularly in the period prior to the 19th century. In this period they lacked effective power to impose

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their will and stop corsair activity and impose free trade agreements. The early 19th century was a period of transition when the balance of power was shifting. After the French conquest of Algeria, the Muslim community felt threatened and relations between Muslims and nonMuslims deteriorated. Any perceived challenge to Islam was seen as a threat and had to be put down. This had an adverse effect on Sol and provides the historical explanation for the statements referring to the mood of the Moroccan Muslim public at the time of her imprisonment and execution. The wrath of this public against the French was directed at a young Jewish girl whose Muslim neighbor took advantage of a domestic dispute. It was for this reason that Mawlay Abd al-Ra mān could not ignore Muslim public opinion and the advice of the ‘ulamā’ as prior sultans, such as A mad al-Man ūr and Mawlay Ismā īl, were able to do. As European power increased in the course of the 19th century the Sultan’s legitimacy was damaged, the Moroccan economy deteriorated and its society became destabilized. While European powers were able to successfully interfere to prevent other Jews from suffering Sol’s fate, in the second half of the 19th century attacks against Jews who lacked consular protection gained greater attention in the Western press.2 This increased instability combined with natural disasters, epidemics and revolts had adverse effects on the Moroccan population, both Muslim and Jewish.3 The destitution of Sol’s family in the second half of the 19th century is another indication of this. In addition, the changing relations between Morocco and Europe had an impact on the stories about Sol written by Europeans in the years prior to the Protectorat, with Spanish and French accounts using her story as an illustration of the need for outsider 2 Hirschberg, A History of the Jews in North Africa, 318. The following is a partial list that appeared in the London Times and New York Times reporting incidents of violence against Jews between 1876 and 1912: “Morocco, Assault on Jews by a Moorish Barber,” London Times, June 29, 1876 (7, col. e); “The Jews in Morocco,” London Times, Feb. 7, 1880 (4, col. e, on violent attacks against Jews in Fez, including an elderly Jew who was burned alive) “Jews Persecuted in Morocco,” New York Times (1857–1922), Sept. 25, 1894; “Jews Massacred In Morocco,” New York Times (1857–1922); Nov. 17, 1903; “Moorish Jews’ Plight, London Times— New York Times Special Cablegram,” New York Times (1857–1922), Jan. 25, 1904; “Persecution Of The Jews,” Henry S. Morais, New York Times (1857–1922), Aug. 18, 1905; “10,000 Jews of Fez, Homeless, Starving, Special Cable to the New York Times,” New York Times (1857–1922), Apr. 26, 1912. http://www.proquest.com.proxy1 .nku.edu. Accessed June 17, 2010. 3 “New Revolt In Morocco,” New York Times (1857–1922), Apr 16, 1906. http:// www.proquest.com.proxy1.nku.edu. Accessed June 17, 2010.

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intervention to protect both minorities and women. These versions, written in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, projected back a humanitarian European concern that did not exist at the period Sol was imprisoned in Tangier and executed in Fez, as is evident by consular records from this time. In contrast, the North African Jewish accounts do not mention any positive European intervention, or any European presence whatsoever.4 Instead these texts tell Sol’s story within a Jewish context, and in reference to the contemporary challenges faced by the community. The Moroccan Sulika stories were written within the framework of the concept of galut u-ge’ulah and used the traditional literary genres of the ma aseh and midrash, in addition to the chronicle that provided the historical data for the longer prose and poetic forms. Sol’s story was subsumed under the archetypal martyrdom tale and followed its plot, which was embedded in the polemic challenges faced in the pre-Islamic and Islamic periods. In this tale the martyr defends Judaism from attack before death and with his/her sacrifice brings merit to the Jewish people, paying for their sins by serving as a substitute for the Temple sacrifices and paving the way for the coming redemption. Yet despite this interreligious debate, the Moroccan Sulika texts show the influence of popular religious practices of saint veneration that are examples of a shared “Maghrebian personality.” While it is important to not lose sight of the different political and religious conceptions in which popular Moroccan Islam and Judaism practice saint veneration, one can nevertheless see similarities in some of the saint legends, particularly regarding female saints, and in some of the pilgrimage rituals. Another area that expressed this shared culture was the elevated role of poetry in the literary traditions of both Moroccan Jews and Muslims. For the former this was expressed particularly in religious poetry, which represented the highest aesthetic value within the rabbinic literary tradition. In the Maghreb it drew from classical rabbinic literature of the Talmud, midrash, ma aseh and the classical Arabic poetic tradition. This tradition can be seen at the level of form and is most clearly evident in the Hebrew, which makes it difficult to render in translation. While classical Arabic images and themes were abandoned after the Expulsion from Spain, the strophic structure of the

4 La Epoka does recount the episode with the Spanish Vice-Consul, following Romero. La Epoka, 10; Romero, El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroina Hebrea, 53.

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muwashsha and the poetic devices of the badi were preserved. This form was combined with the content of the meli ah to create a multilayered web of intertexts between the event narrated, biblical events and rabbinic exegesis. This abundance of connotations is also difficult to render in translation, but some of its elements have been referenced in the footnotes and analysis. The poetic content was also embedded in a gendered discourse that is closely related to interreligious polemics. This discourse existed at both the symbolic and sociological levels. The reality of women’s lack of access to Hebrew religious texts renders the dialogue written for Sol in these texts unrealistic from a sociolinguistic point of view. The problem is solved through the separation of biological gender from symbolic gender. This is accomplished through the metaphor of God as groom and Israel as bride, with the martyr embodying the virginal sacrifice of the bride on her wedding night, a motif that is emphasized in Berdugo’s poem. While all four poems follow the same thematic structure and use the same images, particularly the animals of the Temple sacrifice and verses from Isaiah, Psalms and the Song of Songs, each poet had his own unique perspective. For all the poets, Sol’s gender was an inspiration to recognize the women and girls among the people, for she withstood the challenge to the faith and made the same sacrifice as the archetypal martyrs and greatest sages of rabbinic Judaism, in particular R. Akiva. The Judeo-Arabic texts provide the verisimilitude that the Hebrew texts lack. In these texts the voice of a frightened girl abandoned by her family is poignantly conveyed, particularly in Ben Sa adon’s tale, which is narrated almost entirely in the first person up until the coup de grace of the executioner’s sword. This text preserves the thematic structure of the Moroccan Hebrew texts and delivers the theme of exile and redemption at the end of the tale by shifting from colloquial Judeo-Arabic to Hebrew, thus reinforcing the connection with the Hebrew qinot. In contrast, David Pinto’s tale breaks with this thematic structure in the second half of the text. Instead of ending his tale with galut u-ge’ulah, he launches into a popular sermon calling for his audience to repent and remember that only God is eternal. While this message is commendable from a generic religious perspective, there is nothing specifically Jewish in it. The use of the present tense and other statements making reference to those of the city “who spread lies about our prophet” show that the author wanted to use Sol’s story to denounce events that were occurring in his time; a period he contrasted unfavorable with the ‘happy times’ of those who were alive

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to witness Sol’s execution. In order to understand what the author was denouncing it is necessary to consider the situation of the Jewish community in Oran at the end of the 19th century. This period saw a wave of anti-Semitic violence that came on the heals of over half a century of upheaval and forced assimilation as a result of the French conquest of Algeria and the efforts to convert Algerian Jewish culture into a copy of the French ‘culte israélite’. As a result the religious leadership of Algerian Jewry was put into a crisis and internally divided over how to respond to these challenges. This can be seen in Pinto’s homage to Sol where the traditional rabbinic structure is shattered; what remained was nostalgia for the times of those who witnessed her execution for her fidelity to her faith. Like the tale by David Pinto, the story in La Epoka represents a rupture with the rabbinic tradition. Here the break is more complete given that the source for this Judeo-Spanish text is not Jewish, but Romero’s book. This is in keeping with the genre of the romanso, where a Western source text is serialized, paraphrased, but not credited. Its message is altered to suit both the Jewish sensibility of the readership and the changed circumstances of the Ottoman Empire in the period of reform. In this version of Sol’s story the villains are not Muslims, but Moroccans who try to force Sol to convert to their “marokina” religion. Another alteration that is unique to this text and not found in any other is the addition of the David Salama character. By the end of the story this “brave man among the Jews” has supplanted Romero’s “heroine of the 19th century.” When compared with the Moroccan and Algerian texts we see the transformation from the feminine virginal martyr dying as God’s bride, to the modern male hero who dies trying to rescue his damsel in distress. Such a transformation is consistent with the political and literary changes that occurred in the Jewish community at the turn of the twentieth century, which saw the rise of the Alliance Israélite Universelle network of schools and the modernizing Judeo-Spanish press. While the final destruction of Salonikan Jewry laid forty years in the future, David Salama’s failed rescue and tragic demise was an eerie foreshadowing of both the collapse of the Ottoman Empire and the disappearance of the “Jerusalem of the Balkan.” In addition to the different versions of Sol’s story written in European languages, the texts from Morocco, Algeria and the Ottoman Empire written in Jewish languages show that there were a variety of ways Sol’s story was told and interpreted. Each writer had his own unique

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version that made the story relevant to his time and place. One thing that all these accounts have in common is that all of the writers were men. Women also told Sol’s story and passed on their versions down the generations. Most of these were part of an oral tradition, however there have also been published accounts of her story by women within the past few decades.5 The meaning of Sol’s death also varies among these works, but they all point to the unprecedented importance of Sol in the collective memory of the Sephardic community and her valorization as a role model from whom moral lessons can be drawn. Yaelle Azagoury points to the role that Sol plays in the collective memory of Moroccan Jewry as a moral lesson for the horrible consequences that can occur when the boundaries between Muslims and Jews are transgressed. In Ruth Knaffo Setton’s novel, Sol’s story is interwoven with that of a young Moroccan Jewish woman raised in America who travels back to Morocco and makes the transition from young girl to woman. Juillette Hassine traces the development of Sol as a cultural hero from the earliest texts to Erez Bitton’s 1979 poem. Here the emphasis is on Sol as a heroine who dies in the tradition of the martyrs of the Hadrian persecutions, defending her religion, accepting her fate and thereby becoming a woman of valor worthy of emulation. In the texts by both men and women Sol’s martyrdom was a tragic episode in Moroccan and Sephardic Jewish history. Her story is returned to particularly in times of transition and distress. Her fidelity and self-sacrifice continue to be an inspiration. While her life ended tragically and prematurely, the hagiography and rituals around her tomb, which emphasize procreation and the healing of sick children, show a resilience and capacity for renewal from generation to generation.

5 Nehama Consuelo Nahmoud, “La Solíca,” The Jewish Woman’s Outlook 2, no. 3 (1981): 27–28; Shalom, Hagu’el : o, ha-Sippur ‘al Sulikah ha-yafah; Knafo Setton, The road to Fez : a novel; Yaelle Azagoury, “Sol Hachuel in the Collective Memory and Folktales of Moroccan Jews,” in Jewish Culture and Society in North Africa, ed. Emily Beichou Gottreich and Daniel J. Schroeter (Indiana University Press, 2010); Hassine, “Le- i uv demutah shel gibborat tarbut al pi eqs im harugat ha-malkhut Sol Haguiil mi-maroqo.”

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INDEX

Abbas, Ferhat, 183 Abdallah, Mawlay, 54, 94 Abd al-Qādir, Amīr, 70, 71, 74, 176 Abd al-Ra mān, Mawlay authority of, 213 in Ben Naim’s account, 104–5 on Pact of Umar, 42–43 rebellion against, 73–74, 94 as Sultan during Sol’s time, 51 Tlemcen’s oath of allegiance to, 52–53, 71–72 in Toledano chronicle, 95–97, 114 Abelsam, Sidi, 20 Abensur, Isaac, 60, 64–65 abid military force, 54n42 Abraham, 109, 165 Abravanel, Don Yehuda, 55, 94, 204–5 Abuhasera, Jacob gender discourse and, 125 polemics in qinah of, 123 qinah of, 37, 126, 152–59 refers to Queen Esther, 132 Adonai, 143 Akiva, Rabbi martyrdom of, 8, 87, 134 Sol and, 151, 215 Song of Songs and, 123, 124, 131n75, 156, 157, 160 in tale of Ben Sa adon, 163, 164 Al-Andalus, 28, 58 Algeria French conquest of, 71–78, 213, 216 Jewish community in, 173–86 Ali (Tahra’s brother), 27, 30, 33, 101, 103 al-Kabīr, Bey Mu ammad, 175 allegiance oath, 52–53, 71–72 Alliance Israélite Universelle female education and, 159 Judeo-Spanish press and, 193 La Epoka support for, 5 Loeb and, 38n107 reform movement and, 191–92, 206, 216 submission of Jews and, 199–200 Allouche-Benayoun, Joëlle, 183 al-Man ūr, A mad, 213

Almohad Dynasty, 47, 140, 162 Al-Muqrani, 179 Amnon, 130–31 Andalusian poetic tradition, 4, 100, 118–20 animals, sacrificial, 167–68 anti-Semitism, in Algeria, 174, 178–83, 186, 216 antithesis, 118, 123, 134, 137, 149–50 apostasy, 49–51, 212 Arabic, Jewish use of, 165–66 Arabic poetics, 118–20, 159, 215 Ashkenazi, Shelomoh, 34, 96 Assayag, Ben, 38, 64 Assayag, I.J., 37 Attal, Jacob, 64 awliyā , 89–93 Ayache, Germain, 42–43, 77n157 Azagoury, Yaelle, 217 Azariah, 110 badi , 119, 127, 136, 215 Bahloul, Joëlle, 183 Bar-Asher, Shalom, 44 B’Av, Tisha, 162 bay a oath, 52–53, 71–72 beauty, of Sol Hatchuel, 101–2, 166 Ben Abd al-Hadi ( judge), 104, 167 Ben Abdallah, Mawlay Mu ammad, 64 Ben-Ami, Issachar, 91, 142n117 Ben-Amos, Dan, 86 Ben-Azzi, Rabbi, 205, 206 Benison, Amira, 58n57 Benjamin, J.J., 31–34, 114, 132, 160, 170 Ben Jelloun, 104n93, 167 Ben Labrat, R. Dunash, 75 Ben Mamon, Moshe, 64 Ben Naim, Joseph conclusions on, 114, 115–16 execution account of, 167 Fez and, 75 gender discourse and, 125, 207n80 overview of, 37, 81 polemic elements in, 88 qinah of, 99–113, 173 Benoniel, Judah, 65

234

index

Benot iyon (Grayevski), 34 Ben Sa adon Ben Avraham, Moshe, 1, 35, 161, 163–69, 186, 215 Bensimon, Doris, 183 Ben Sumbol, Samuel, 64 Ben Tsevi Grayevski, Pinchas, 34 Ben-Ye ezkiel, Mordekhai, 34 Ben-Zvi Institute, 38 Ber, Isaac, 209n83 Berdugo, Jacob gender discourse and, 125 overview of, 36–37 polemics in qinah of, 108, 123 qa īda and, 126 qinah of, 135–44, 158 son of, 91 Toledano and, 95 Bible education in, 121–22 in Judeo-Arabic texts, 166 in poetic elegies, 101–3, 108, 118–21, 130–35, 139 Bitton, Erez, 217 bliyya al, 139–40 Bonaparte, Napoleon, 208n83 Borovaya, Olga, 208 Bouchara, Mustapha, 48 Boutet, R., 13n18, 26, 27, 28–29, 33–34 Bowles, Paul, 39, 49 British consulate French invasion of Algeria and, 76–77 Gibraltarine Jews and, 68–69 intervention of, 26–27, 50 Bugeaud, Marshal, 176 Burton, Richard D. E., 33n88 Cardozo brothers, 64 Central Consistory in Paris, 184–85 Chatwil, Solomon, 31 Chetrit, Joseph, 121n18, 134 children, healing of, 91 Christians/Christianity conversion and, 140n111 French invasion of Algeria and, 72 in La Epoka account, 196 in Moroccan society, 46n15 in Ottoman Empire, 191, 192 violence against Jews and, 205 chronicles, 85–88, 93–99, 113, 214 Cohen, Gerson D., 33n88, 88n29 consistories, in Algeria, 176–77, 184–85 conversion apostasy and, 212

in Ben Naim’s account, 105–7 in Berdugo elegy, 140–41 to Islam, 48–51 in La Epoka account, 201–2 in Pinto’s tale, 171–73 Queen Esther and, 132 courtiers, 64–67, 212 Crémieux Decree, 179, 180, 182–83, 184 Darmon, Mas ud, 175 Darmon, Mordechai, 175 daughters, sold into slavery, 124, 151 David, King, 133 de la Martinière, Henri, 73 de Nesry, Carlos, 50n27, 57–58, 100n82 dhimma as court officials, 54 in Moroccan society, 41–43, 46n15, 47–48, 212 in Ottoman Empire, 191–92 Dinah, 133 Divre ha-yamin shel Fas, 85, 86, 88, 95, 98, 109 Donath, Doris, 50n27 Douglas, James, 65n88 dress code, 68–69 Drummond-Hay, Edward William Aurial, 22, 26, 60, 65n89, 69 Drummond-Hay, John, 27n60, 50, 68, 69 Drumont, Edouard, 179–80 education of Algerian Jews, 176–78, 184–85 gender discourse and, 121–25, 150–51, 159–60 in Salonika, 192 Elbaz, R. Raphael Moshe, 85, 95, 114 Elbaz, Samuel, 37, 75, 90, 123, 125–35 elections/electoral campaigns, in Algeria, 179–81 elegies. See qinah El Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroína Hebrea (Romero), 8–18. See also Romero, Eugénio Maria El-Oqbi, Cheikh, 182 Em Ha-Banim, 113n112 Em Ha-Banim Museum, 113 Emperor, 14–17 endogamy, 132 Ennaji, Mohammed, 53 Epoka, La. See La Epoka Esibo, Arbi, 12

index Esther, Queen, 132–33 European texts Boutet’s account, 28–29 British consul diary account, 26–27 Christian, 29 conclusions on, 38–40 execution accounts in, 33–36 introduction to, 8 Jewish, 29–33 Jewish persecution and, 213–14 Macé’s account, 27–28 Rey’s account, 18–26 Romero’s account, 8–18 variations in, 211 Europe/European consulates appeal to, 22, 26 conclusions on Moroccan society and, 79 French invasion of Algeria and, 73, 76–79 interference of, 50, 53, 57–61 Moroccan Jews and, 66–70, 212–13 relations with Morocco, 39–40 execution in Abahusera qinah, 157 in Ben Naim’s account, 107–9 in Ben Sa adon’s tale, 167–68 in Berdugo elegy, 141–43 in Haliwa qinah, 151–52 overview of Sol Hatchuel’s, 3–4 in Pinto’s tale, 171–73 in Rey’s account, 24–25 in Romero’s account, 17–18 variations in accounts of, 33–36 exile. See galut u-ge ulah exogamy, 123 family of Sol Hatchuel, 11, 18–19, 106n98 Fanon, Franz, 180n78 fathers, rights of, 124, 151 France, conquest of Algeria, 71–78, 174, 175–85, 213, 216 France Juive, La (Drumont), 179–80 French consul, 70 galut u-ge ulah gender discourse and, 125 Jewish identity and, 4 in Jewish polemics, 83 in Judeo-Arabic texts, 34, 168, 186, 214 martyrdom and, 26, 39 in Moroccan Hebrew texts, 34, 113–14

235

in qinah, 81, 120 in Ben Sa adon’s tale, 164 Geertz, Clifford, 90 gematria, 118 gender discourse in La Epoka account, 206–8 overview of, 4 in qinah, 117, 121–26, 159–60, 215 gender reversal, 133, 151, 207 Germany, 182–83 Gibraltarine Jews, 68–69 Gimple, Mordechai, 110n105 Goan, Sa adya, 161 God relationship between Israel and, 122–23 revenge of, 134–35, 168 Godard, Léon, 28 Goldin, Simha, 87 Goldman, Bernard, 110n105 Goldman, R. Isaac, 110n105 governor, 12–13, 20–21, 195–96. See also qā id Grand Kabyle revolt, 179 Grayevski, Pinchas Ben Tsevi, 34 Hadj, Messali, 183 halakha, 124 alamish, Moshe, 134 Ha-Levi, Judah, 83, 100n80 Halévy, Jacques Fromenthal, 27 Haliwa, Avraham, 144 Haliwa, Haim biblical references and, 122 female saints and, 90 gender discourse and, 125, 207n80 qinah of, 36–37, 123, 144–52 on selling daughters into slavery, 124 Hammoudi, Abdellah, 53, 56 Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, 110 Hanna, 130–31, 155 haquetía, 19n41 harem, ladies of, 201–2 asan-Rokem, Galit, 87 Ha-Sarfati, Raphael, 107 Hassan I, King, 109 Hassine, Juliette, 217 Hatchuel, Haim, 13, 19–20, 22, 197–200 Hatchuel, Issachar, 29, 198n48 Hatchuel, Jousouah, 18–26, 74 Hatchuel, Simha, 11–12, 19 Hatchuel, Sol beauty of, 101–2, 166 overview of study, 3–5

236

index

tomb of, 7–8, 9 visual representations of, 111–13 written and oral accounts of, 1–3, 8–10 Hatti Humayun, 192 healings, 91 hillulah/hillulot, 92–93 Hirschberg, H.Z., 60, 75 historiosophy, 111n109 Ibn Badis, Abdelhamid, 182 Ibn Dahan family, 85, 86 idolatry, 131–32, 160 Idrīs I, 71 Idrīs II, 75 Imrānī, Mu ammad al-Mahdī ibn Mu ammad, 49–50 instinct, 110–11 Institute of Microfilmed Hebrew Manuscripts, 35 Islam conversion to, 140–41 in Elbaz elegy, 134 Jewish legal status under, 41–52 Jewish polemical responses to, 82–85 in Judeo-Arabic and Judeo-Spanish texts, 211–12 marriage under, 132n78 non-Muslims under, 3–4 Islamic expressions, 165–66 Ismā īl, Mawlay, 53, 54, 66, 75, 213 Israel relationship between God and, 122–23 revenge against oppressors of, 134–35, 168 “I will begin to write qi at Lala Sulika’,” 36 Jael, 133 Jewish polemics in Ben Sa adon’s tale, 165–66 conclusions on, 115 gender discourse and, 123–25, 160 Haliwa qinah and, 150–51 introduction to, 81 Jewish historical memory and, 82–85 in poetic elegies, 120 of Sol Hatchuel, 103–4 Jews Ben Naim’s writings on, 99–113 European consulates and, 60–61, 66–70, 77, 212–13

in Fez, 75–76 French invasion of Algeria and, 72 in Moroccan society, 41–52, 56–57, 79, 212 in Oran and Algeria, 170, 173–86 in Ottoman Empire, 190–92, 194 persecution of, 197–200, 204–5, 213–14 in Tangerine society, 63–68 Toledano’s writings on, 93–99 use Islamic expressions, 165–66 virginity and, 205 jizya taxes, 43–44n7 Judeo-Arabic dialects, 161–62 Judeo-Arabic texts Ben Sa adon’s tale, 163–69 conclusions on, 186–87, 211–12, 214, 215–16 introduction to, 161–63 overview of, 4–5 Pinto’s tale, 169–73 zuhd poetry in, 201n56 “judeoespañol,” 19n41 “Judeo-Maghrebian personality,” 81, 116 Judeo-Spanish press, 193–94, 207–8, 216 Judeo-Spanish texts. See La Epoka Juive, La (Halévy), 27 kabbalah, 125 Kaid Mia, 15, 104n93, 167 Karo, Joseph, 192 Kenbib, Mohammed, 47 Kisse Malakhim (Elbaz), 114 kosher butchers, 185 La Epoka account of, 194–206 conclusions on, 208–9, 216 gender discourse in, 206–8 introduction to, 189–92 Judeo-Spanish press and, 193–94 overview of, 5 La France Juive (Drumont), 179–80 la an, 159 La Juive (Halévy), 27 “Lalla,” 108, 109, 116 Laredo, Isaac, 37–38, 64, 96–98, 100n82 laws of nature, 110–11 Leibovici, Sara, 29 Levi, Eliahu, 65n90 Levi, Hanna, 93n55

index Loeb, Isidore, 29, 38, 106n98 Luria, Isaac, 152 ma aseh, 85–86 “Ma aseh be-ne arah ha- addeqet” (Ben Naim), 100–113 Macé, Dr., 27–28, 30, 33 Macnin, Meir, 64–65, 66–67 “Maghrebian personality,” 214 Mahmud II, Sultan, 193 Maimonides, Moses as citizen of Fez, 75 on conversion, 140n111 Jewish polemics and, 82, 83, 84 Judeo-Arabic and, 162 Moses and, 103n88 Malkhe rabbanan (Ben Naim), 99–100 marabouts, 23n52, 89–90 marah, 146n148 Marinide Dynasty, 47 marriage under Islamic law, 132n78 under Jewish law, 106–7 sexual violence in, 139–40 virgin brides and, 131, 141–42, 205 women’s status in, 124 Martinière, Henri de la, 73 Martirio de la joven Hachuel o la Heroína Hebrea, El (Romero), 8–18. See also Romero, Eugénio Maria martyrdom in Abahusera qinah, 156–57 Ben Naim and, 110–11 in Ben Sa adon’s tale, 164, 167–68 in Haliwa qinah, 151–52 Jewish response to, 39 myrrh and, 109 pain and, 33n88 in Rabbinic Judaism, 26 tales of, 85–88 mawsim, 92–93 Megorashim, 57 Mellah, 107–8 Memorias de Un Viejo Tangerino (Laredo), 96–98, 100n82 merchants, 66, 76 Mesmudi, Tahra de, 12–13, 20–21, 50, 102, 196 Messiah, 134–35 Michal, 133 midrash, 81, 85–88, 110–11, 115, 214–15 Miège, Jean-Louis, 66 Miller, Susan G., 44n7

237

Mishael, 110 modernization, 5, 191–94, 206, 208–9 monogamy, 131–32, 160 monotheism, 131–32, 160 Montefiore, Moses, 70, 77 Moroccan Hebrew texts of Abahusera, 152–57 of Ben Naim, 99–113 of Berdugo, 135–44 conclusions on, 113–16, 157–60, 214–15 of Elbaz, 126–35 gender discourse in, 121–26 of Haliwa, 144–52 introduction to, 8, 81, 117 Jewish polemics and, 82–85 overview of, 4–5 poetic tradition and, 85–88, 118–21 published, 36–38 saints and pilgrimage in, 89–93 of Toledano, 93–99 Moroccan society conclusions on, 79 European influence on, 57–61 French invasion of Algeria and, 71–78 introduction to, 41 Jews in, 41–52, 56–57, 212 overview of, 3–4 political legitimacy in, 52–57 separation in, 102–3 structure of, 56–57 Moses, 82–83, 103, 115 Moshe, R. David U, 92 Mu ammad, Mawlay, 94 Murray, Elizabeth, 68 muwashsha , 119, 159, 215 myrrh, 109–10 Nadjari, David, 185 Na mias, Solomon, 60n66 Napoleon III, 57 naskh, 82, 83, 115, 120 natural laws, 110–11 Nazi Party, 182–83 Nebuchadnezzar, 110 Ner ha-ma arav (Toledano), 93–99 neshama, 153, 155, 157 Neshe Yisra el bi-gevuratan (Ashkenazi), 34 Nesry, Carlos de, 50n27, 57–58, 100n82 niddah, 106–8 notarikon, 118 Novak, David, 140n111

238 oath of allegiance, 52–53, 71–72 oral traditions, 1–3, 217 Oran, Algeria, 161, 170, 173–86, 216 Ottoman Empire, 191–94, 205–9, 216 Oudaya rebellion, 74, 94, 114 Ovadia, David, 75 Pact of Umar, 41–43, 47, 73, 103–4, 115 parallelism, 127, 136–37 paronomasia, 127 Pennell, C.R., 56 pilgrimages, 92–93, 116 Pinto, David as kosher butcher, 185 Tajdouri and, 30 tale of, 36, 161, 169–73, 186, 215–16 yisl amiy at and, 105n95 Pinto, Jacob-Isaac, 29 Pinto, R. aim, 92 piyyu , 118, 126, 160 poetics, Arabic, 4, 215 poetic traditions, 118–21, 214–15 polemics. See Jewish polemics Prévost, Abbé, 204 prince, 31–32 procreation, 205–6 prose genres, 85–88 prostitution, 131–32, 160 qā ī, 15–17, 23–24 qā id, 21 qa īda, 126 qedosha, 106 qedusha, 106 qinah of Abahusera, 152–57 of Berdugo, 135–44 conclusions on, 157–60, 214–15 of Elbaz, 126–35 gender discourse in, 121–26 of Haliwa, 144–52 introduction to, 81–82, 117 overview of, 4 poetic tradition and, 118–21 references for, 88 qi at, 36, 164. See also Judeo-Arabic texts Qol Ya aqov, 135–36 Queen Esther, 132–33 rabbinic education of Algerian Jews, 184–85

index gender discourse and, 121–25, 150–51, 159–60 rabbinic law, 124 Rabbis of Fez, 15–17, 26, 203–4 rape, 130–31 Ratzaby, Y., 134 Read, James, 60n66 redemption. See galut u-ge ulah Regis, Max, 181 religious poetry, 214–15 religious tolerance in Islam, 182–83 La Epoka account and, 200–202 Macé and, 27–28 Romero and, 196 revenge, against Israel’s oppressors, 134–35, 168 Rey, M., 10, 18–26 Rico, José, 13n18, 70 ridda, 49–51, 212 Riley, James, 43–44n7 Romanelli, Samuel, 65, 65n90, 66 romansero, 207 romanso, 5, 193, 194–95, 200, 216 Romero, Eugénio Maria account of, 8–18 La Epoka account and, 38, 194–98, 200–202, 206, 208, 216 Loeb and, 29–30 travel and research of, 60–61 Rosen, Janice, 93 Sabeans, 150n166 sacrificial animals, 167–68 addiqim, 89–93 Sages, 15–17, 32, 203–4 saints, 89–93, 116, 214 Salama, David, 13n19, 202–7, 208–9, 216 Salonika, 5, 189–92, 209 arfati, Avner Yisrael, 85 arfati, Raphael, 67, 75, 149 Schely-Newman, Esther, 93n55 Scholem, Gershom, 111n109 Scott, Walter, 204 Sefer ha-ma asiyot (Ben-Yehezkiel), 34 seli ot, 88n29 Sephardic Jews, 57–58, 108, 140, 189–94, 217 Serri, Bracha, 141n115 Setton, Ruth Knaffo, 217 sexuality, 106–8, 123–24 shahāda, 20–21, 48, 103, 115 Shakespeare, William, 204

index

239

shar , 162 sharī a, 47, 52–53, 67, 72 Shtober, Shimon, 82 slavery, daughters sold into, 124, 151 Sodom and Gomorrah, 150 Sol Hatchuel Melodrame en IV Actes (Macé), 27, 30, 33 Solika, 1n1 Song of Songs in Abahusera qinah, 156, 157 in Berdugo elegy, 139, 143, 158 in Haliwa qinah, 144, 149 as martyrological text, 131n75 monotheism as monogamy in, 124, 160 in qinah, 215 Sol quotes, 132 soul, hierarchy of, 152–53 Souvenirs d’un Voyage au Maroc (Rey), 8–10, 18–26 Spain, 174–75, 198n48 Spanish consulate, 70 Spanish language, 19n41 Stillman, Norman A., 90 submission Biblical predictio of, 84 under Islam, 83 in Moroccan society, 42–45, 54–55 Sol’s rebellion against, 103–4 Sufi lodges, 90 Sufism, 90 “ ‘Sulika’ La Vie De Sol Hatchuel ” (Boutet), 27, 33 Sulīmān, Mawlay, 67 Sultan authority of, 52–57, 212–13 in Ben Sa adon’s tale, 165 Gibraltarine Jews and, 68 healing of, 91 Jewish courtiers and, 65, 67 in Rey’s account, 21–23 in Romero’s account, 13–14 in Toledano chronicle, 95–97, 114 tujjār al-Sulā n, 56

Talmud, education in, 121–22, 124–25 Tamar, 130–31, 133 Tangier European influence on, 57–58 European travelers in, 60–61 integration in, 11–12, 102–3 Jewish community in, 63–68 Tanzimat Reforms, 5, 192, 193 taxation, 43–44n7, 76 Tlemcen, 71–72 Toledano, Jacob Ben Naim’s account and, 38 chronicle of, 1, 81, 88, 93–99 conclusions on, 114–15 La Epoka account and, 204–5 Tangerine Jewish history and, 63–64 tomb(s) pilgrimages to, 92–93, 116 of saints, 89 of Sol Hatchuel, 7–8, 9, 91, 109 Toshavim, 57 tujjār al-Sul ān, 56

tabdīl, 82 Tadjouri, R., 30, 36, 91, 172 Tahra (neighbor), 12–13, 20–21, 50, 102, 196 tajnīs, 118, 119, 127, 136

Zafrani, Haïm, 57, 61, 82, 86, 116, 118 Zevi, Shabbetai, 200 Zohar, 125 zuhd poetry, 201n56

Umma, 46, 53, 72, 76 Vichy regime, 183 violence against Jews, 205, 216 in Moroccan society, 54–56 sexual, 123, 130–31, 139–40 virginity, 124, 130–33, 136, 141–42, 205 weddings, 121n18. See also marriage Wegner, Judith Romney, 106n97, 205 westernization, 5, 191–94, 206, 208–9 widows, 93n58 Yassif, Eli, 87 Yazīd, Mawlay, 55, 64 ye idah, 153, 156 Yerushalmi, Yosef Hayim, 85–86, 88n29 yissore ha-Golah, 44–45