THE KING, THE DREAM AND THE CHICKEN CAGE // LEEOR OHAYON

This essay is an on-going first chapter from a long-term project, which follows Mizrahi Jewish communities since the first wave of departure from the Arab world in 1949. A two millennia old civilisation that stretched a diverse linguistic and cultural space, from Morocco to Iraq, from Yemen to Libya, numbering a million souls, which has dwindled to an estimated 8 or 9,000 souls today. The project serves to be a reflective portrait of the former Jewish communities of the Arab world at the turn of the 21st century, what has changed and where are we going, what have we lost and what have we gained. To create a comprehensive catalogue of work that allows for future Mizrahi Jews to identify with, in a world that leaves little room for their acknowledgement. Newer generations find themselves caught between the contradictions of the Middle East conflict and its strive for homogenous identity blocs of “Arab” or “Jew” on one hand, and the Ashkenization of mainstream Judaism on the other. Creating an irreversible havoc on the ancient indigenous Jewish identities of the Middle East and North Africa. 

The King, the dream and the Chicken cage serves as a portrait of Moroccan-Jewish identity in southern Israel today, nestled in the development towns of the periphery. An identity still zealously guarded, flaunted with pride but subject to the cultural hierarchy anchored into the Israeli environment, which has undoubtedly moulded and transformed Moroccan identity within a generation. Soon-to-be-brides sit patiently as the last link to Morocco, a grandmother or mother, presses henna into her psalms to signal her transition to married life. Men in Chinese made Fez hats sipping Coca-Cola in a community hall, code switching between Moroccan Arabic, Hebrew and French. Signs of an identity refusing to give way to a wider Western –Israeli identity, but one that is ultimately waning with each generation that knows only the Eurocentric education system in which he or she was raised, and that system’s definition of what it means to be Moroccan.’

MET IN SIN // GHAZI BALUCCI

 
photo by @chebmoha

photo by @chebmoha

 

 

"فتى فتن في فتاة فتاه"
"فتى فتن في فتاة فتاه"

Lord forgive me for I have sinned…

Like a bird beating against the cold wires of a cage; trapped behind the frozen bones that bend and curve into these young ribs, my old heart hums melodic poetry inscribed in the back of my eyelids; metaphors that rhyme with a name that is yours, form overrated similes that underrate the magnificence of your design.

All I ever wanted was to make you mine. All I ever wanted was to make you mine.

Tonight I’ll rattle these bones in bags of skin, dance to melodies that sing stories of where we’ve been. I loved you in the name of god but since then, you and I have met in sin. See I loved you in the name of god but since then, you and I have met in sin.

I loved you in the name of God رب العالمين

(اغفر لي و ارحمني يا ارحم الراحمين)

I loved you in the name of God

but since then, you and I have met in sin.

I loved you in the name of God…

ROSARY MEN // SHAHD FADLALMOULA

Introduce me to a God
That does not love looking at the bare ankles of angry men
More than he does
The sharp turns between a woman's waist and her thighs

Introduce me to a God
That is not more disturbed by the sound of art
Echoing out of a guitar's belly
Than he is by the pyramid of skeletons building up on Syrian soil

Introduce me to the one
That loves loaded metaphors and coffee stained lips so much,
He wrote 604 pages of perfected poetry...
To carress peace into the frail thing behind your ribcage

Dear Rosary Men, 
Pace your bead-strokes and murmurs to the speed of your heartbeats
And pour me a cup of religion
That does not taste like the metallic flavor
Of bloodlust and dynamite hymns of Haram
Chanted in trance, over and over and over again...

Dear Rosary Men,
Stop telling me to carry you around my wrists
And chant your names like grace for blessings.
When you are nothing more than strung beads
Made of woodwork carved out of the tree
That was Adam and Eve's first undoing.