Morocco and my dad

This post has no video or interesting pictures-- I'm sorry, a video is forthcoming, I promise, I just have to finish my homework first-- BUT it contains VERY BIG NEWS for those of you who know me and know my history with my dad and my desire to go to Morocco.

For those of you who don't know me very well, quick update-- my dad is a Moroccan Jew, born and raised in Marrakesh, older than the average dad of a 20-year-old, and remembers how badly the Arabs in Morocco treated the Jews while he was growing up. France occupied Morocco until '56, I believe, and after that, the Moroccan government would not let Jews leave Morocco until... sometime in the mid-60s. In the early 60s, my dad joined an underground movement to help Jews escape their 'horrible' (according to my dad) lives in Morocco, by sending them on secret ships to Paris. One day, one of these large secret boats drowned, and many people (Jews) perished. Obviously this event did not go unnoticed, and an investigation followed. My dad was shortly tipped off by a friend that his name had been connected, and he had to flee or risk imprisonment and/or torture (which had happened to several of his friends in the group). Without a chance to say goodbye to his family or friends, he packed a suitcase and got on a tiny boat to Paris, which he said nearly drowned itself. Thus began his 11 years in Paris as a student, a teacher, and an artist.

I suppose it's not surprising, therefore, that my dad has absolutely no desire to return to Morocco. He still views Morocco as a Jew-hating Arabic country, and he knows that barely a fraction of the large Jewish population remains there (I believe I heard that there are far less than 1,000 Jews in Morocco... or maybe in was just in Marrakesh). Fine, it's his life. However, he has no right to tell my Mom and I that we can never go to Morocco, that it is a horrible country with nothing to see, when he fills our house with beautiful paintings about his childhood in Morocco and writes books about his childhood in Morocco and comes to my elementary school classes to teach my friends Moroccan games and throws me a Moroccan-Jewish style "mock wedding" for my 5th birthday that was on the front page of one section of the LA Times. He has no right to raise me up to be proud of my heritage and deny me the pleasure of going to this fascinating country where he passed the first twenty-something years of his life. We have argued bitterly and massively over this subject, and many, many, MANY tears have been shed and voices have been raised to deafening heights. I was finally accepting the fact that (as morbid as it is to say this), I would have to wait until after my dad's passing to go visit Morocco for myself.

And then recently... things started to change. When my dad was in Paris in September, we saw an advertisement in a travel agent window for a trip to Morocco for ridiculously cheap. "Wow, if it's really that cheap for you then maybe you should go" he commented. I couldn't believe my ears, so I didn't say anything. Just a remark. He then brought it up again at a dinner conversation with some of his friends. I, again, brushed it off. But tonight, at dinner at the house of one of his childhood friends, who moved from Marrakesh to Paris 10 years ago, he mentioned that his daughter and his wife passionately want to go to Marrakesh, and that we should all go together, and when does his friend think is the best time of the year to go?

WHEN IS THE BEST TIME OF THE YEAR TO GO?!?!?! wait... what. just. happened? when did my dad SUDDENLY change his mind?! did I mention the passionate arguments? did I mention the strong Arab dislike? did I mention the comment that 'there is nothing to see in Morocco because all the Jews are gone'? I mean, he was even offered a FREE trip to Morocco last year to give a lecture on his research into the Jewish community and he TURNED IT DOWN because he refused to go back to Morocco. SO again, WHAT. ON. EARTH. JUST. HAPPENED?!?!

I'm just going to leave it at that. I don't want to get any hopes up. But, after the little "horrible host room" and "indecent cafe" episode the night before I arrived in Paris (see my post "My overprotective dad"), I should have realized how quickly my dad is apt to changing his mind these days.

On verra (We'll see)... now back to homework

(in other news, I miss New England fall A LOT, and I miss Halloween. They only started celebrating Halloween about 10 years ago here in France, and since it's condemned by all the religious groups for being Pagan, and by all the French for being too commercial, it isn't a big hit. I want to see pumpkins and I want apple cider and pumpkin bread and I want to watch cute French children trick-or-treat. Is that too much to ask for?)