The Lazama Jewish Synagogue in Marrakech, Morocco. Photo: David Berkowitz/Flickr.

Save for Israel, Morocco is probably the place where I’ve heard the most Hebrew. This was likely because I traveled there with a Kippah on my head. Whenever I travel, I always have to make the judgment about where I will wear a baseball hat and where I will proudly display my Kippah. For Arab countries, owing to tensions with Israel, I usually opt for the hat, but Morocco’s rich Jewish history served as my impetus for choosing the latter.

Since October 7, antisemitism has spiked globally, and tensions have grown, especially in Muslim countries. Morocco was no different. Rabat, the capital city, was the site of countless anti-Israel rallies, and Moroccan opposition to the State of Israel spiked. My trip to Morocco, however, proved to be different than expected.

While I was surrounded by “Free Palestine” graffiti and shirts in every market stall I passed — and every synagogue was guarded by police — I rarely felt unsafe. Most Moroccans didn’t bother to ask if I was Israeli; rather, they would simply blurt out words in Hebrew and smile. In Marrakesh, locals even were eager to point me towards the Jewish museum and synagogue.

The question, “You are Jewish?” rang out over and over, and I eventually began replying yes. Muhammed, an antique vendor, spoke of antisemitism and how he hurts from seeing it, and how he misses his Jewish visitors. He sold Judaica and Jewish antiques, including a beautiful Menorah that I bought.

Khalid, the Muslim guard of the Marrakesh Jewish cemetery, who spoke fluent Hebrew, gave me a special tour of the cemetery. This care for Jewish people and respect seemed to be the common theme among Moroccan Muslims that I interacted with. Every antique vendor upon seeing my Kippah was eager to showcase their Judaica, and one even went as far as gifting me a free Falus, an old Moroccan coin emblazoned with a Star of David in the front. These Moroccan Muslims appreciated their country’s Jewish heritage, but most of all, were eager to see Jewish tourists.

I had similarly positive interactions with Jews as well. At the Casablanca Chabad house, the rabbi and his congregation welcomed me with open arms. I marveled at Moroccan liturgy and enjoyed an incredible meal put together by the rabbi’s family. Abraham Cohen, one of the last Jews of Fez, cried and prayed upon seeing that I was Jewish, and insisted on making tea for me. We chatted in Hebrew about life in Morocco, and he told me how his entire congregation left for France and Israel, so Jewish tourists were a rare delight. Gavriel, a Jewish barber in Marrakesh was eager to play a Shofar and show me his Judaica collection, covering the walls of his barber shop — alongside Jewish flyers and posters.

Being Jewish in the Diaspora has never been easy, but it’s rarely been as difficult as it is now. We must not, however, forget the importance of a strong Diaspora. The State of Israel and Jews around the world are intrinsically tied in the deepest way possible, and both need to be strong for Jewish life to survive.

Morocco reminded me that our history in the Diaspora is so strong, and that we have partners willing to help maintain our communities, something we now need more than ever. Having been in a shell of fear and uncertainty since October 7, it took a trip to Morocco, a Muslim country, to restore my faith in humanity and remind me of those willing to fight alongside us for a brighter world. With partners like Khalid and Muhammed, and with people like Abraham and Gavriel in mind, we can and will continue despite any hardship, and must live strongly and proudly as a Jewish people, now more than ever.

Despite everything, there are good people in the world — lots of them. If you ever forget that, make your way to Morocco, where the beautiful architecture and delicious food somehow is outdone by the kindness of the people.

The author is a student, writer, and community activist.