Old roots, new name

by Nurit Sahar (Israel)

Making a local connection Morocco

Good evening Madam Nur, do you need anything else? I raised my head and saw a smiling face. Everything is wonderful! shukran Ibrahim, can you sit with us please? And I'm not Madam, just call me Nur please. Nur, he smiled, Nur is light, you are light. And he sat, and magic was slowly woven into the night. He was a young man, but looked older. His family lives on the Atlas mountain, he came to the village to work and send them money. His tribe, his people, they are called Berbers, but they call themselves Amazir. Tea was brought to the table, and he told me about the women of Amazir, they are strong, he says. They are the center of the family, when you have to decide something, you can ask your father, your uncle, your brother, but eventually you will listen to your mother. He laughed, and I said a word in Spanish, his eyes twinkled in the dark, you know Spanish? So I told my story, coming to Morocco to look for my roots, my mother's birthhouse in north Morocco, nobody has been there for 70 years and I promised her I will find her home and my grandfather's synagogue, house of prayers of my people, and my family's graves and light a candle there. And all that, I did, walking through the winding streets of her old hometown, finding the family ancestors' names written on big wooden plates on the synagogue walls, on the moth-covered gravestones in the long-forgotten Jewish cemetary, and her childhood-home, with two smiling women living there now, who invited us to drink Chai and maybe come back to live with their family if we want to. And the younger one, who asked me to send her a postcard from home, and when I asked her to write down the address hugged me and said - you know it, it's your mother's home. His eyes are filled with tears, as are mine, you are a very strong woman he gently said, I miss my mother, I can hardly nod, I do too. Do you know a song about mothers, he asks. I take my phone out, and the tune and words in Arabic started. My Mama, why did you leave me? You are the soul of my life... The moon rose in the dark sky, over the mountains that he calls home. We are both humming the tune, sipping sweet tea, chai, and suddenly he's gone, came back a minute later, holding a thin book, written in English letters but in a language I've never seen before. This is a song book, Ibrahim said, it is in my people's language, Tamazir. I can't utter a word, they are all choked with tears rising up my throat. The first song, I read the word "Ayur". He smiled at me with young eyes set in an older face, Ayur means Moon, do you want more chai Nur? Shukran, I whispered, this is not a coincidence, I truly believe, my family name, which I took some years ago starting a new life, is Sahar. In my language, it means Moon also. So, Ibrahim announced, now, here in my mountains, you will be called Nur Ayur, the light of the moon. He hugged me, Good night Nur Ayur, and he was gone, left me sitting there under his dark skies, high mountains and shining moon, holding a songbook and a new name I will take back home.