The Jerusalem Post, June 13, 2008
The Jerusalem Post- International Edition, July 11, 2008
One wrong turn and I am standing alone in an alley in Marrakech, deep inside the medina, the dusty red wall of Palais de la Bahia on one side of me, a row of closed stores to the other.
“You are looking for the mellah?” a young Arab man asks me.
The swastika I saw spray-painted on a wall in Rabat flashes through my mind, and I hesitate to answer, wondering if it’s wise to admit that I am indeed looking for the mellah, the Jewish quarter.
“No, I’m OK,” I reply, puzzling over the map in the Lonely Planet guidebook. According to the map, the mellah should be right here, I should be standing right next to it. But all I see on the empty street is shuttered doors punctuated by a handful of open stalls, bored men sitting in the entryways.
The young man – dressed in a crisp, white polo shirt, a navy blue Nike baseball cap, navy blue Adidas warm-up pants and clean black Nikes – persists. “You are a Jew?” he asks.