Acoustic assemblage. A talismanic sound. The liturgical sonorous. The strange ambigues Maghreb Mysticism. A sound of comfort, a sound of safety and security. A sound of belonging.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tUJ0doAUrYo

                         Music of the Jews of Meknes, Recorded by Paul Bowles At   

                          Meknes, Morocco December 12, 1959.             

I felt an intense rush of palpable memories when I first discovered an audio archive of recordings from different ethnic groups in Morocco, including the Sephardic Jewish communities of Meknes. These recordings, created by American composer Paul Bowles, transported me back to my childhood. Having grown up in a Judeo-Moroccan community, the synagogue was an integral part of our daily life. When I heard these recordings, they evoked such intense feelings, bringing me back to a place and time that now exists only in memory. Despite the lack of visuals, my body instinctively recalled the gestures and settings captured in these recordings—an embodied experience inscribed at a visceral, molecular level. During my recent research trips to Morocco, these synagogue memories became real and vivid again through the prayers echoing from mosques, intertwined with the sounds of street life and neighborhood activities. The recordings stir an undeniable emotional response in me: the deep, sonorous voices of liturgical singing, the distinctive tones, and the background sounds that paint a picture of the gathered worshipers.

I grew up in a North African immigrant village occupied by Judeo-Moroccan immigrants who established their worship and synagogues as a way of continuing their beliefs and North African Jewish worship. Neighbourhood synagogues were very common and spread throughout the village in the form of small spaces. Each synagogue served as a worship space for several family members and had variations of singing prayers based on the region and village they came from in Morocco.

Our community synagogue is attached to our home where the main wall of the synagogue has been shared with our kitchen wall. It became part of our everyday experience, where daily household activities and liturgical voices echoed and reverberated with each other. While my mother prepared and cooked, and as we washed the dishes, the song of the sea, Shirat-hayam, would drift through the wall in the form of a soft humming deep sound while water was running in the sink, and music from a radio show called 'Twilight Time' was heard from the transistor, producing noises from the lack of an antenna signal. For the most part, I have lost the visual memory of these experiences that were a profound part of my childhood - A mixture of sacred and profane sounds intermingled with touch, and movement of sound that is inscribed in me as like a hierophany dwelling.

The many small synagogues scattered around the village served as sacred spaces for the immigrants from North Africa. Each synagogue hosted prayers in different locations throughout our neighborhood, and they were typically attended by close-knit groups of worshippers.

Friday afternoons signaled the start of the Sabbath in our town. The atmosphere would transform into tranquility, with cars passing by silently and the aroma of cooking and cleaning permeating the air. Once the Sabbath siren rang out, the Shechinah, the divine presence, would descend in a tangible and unmistakable way. Prayers would begin shortly after. Although there were slight variations in the singing style among the Tunisian, Moroccan, and Tripolitan synagogues, they all sang the same song.

Prayer services in all synagogues were almost identical, with only slight variations in timing. It was fascinating to hear the chants from multiple synagogues at the same time, reminiscent of intervals in polyphonic singing. Occasionally, there was a noticeable delay, which allowed me to distinguish the unique prayer chants from different synagogues. This memory of the harmonious yet distinct sounds of prayer has left a lasting impression on me.

In my journey of remembering and belonging, I have come to realize that my embodied memory of home is profoundly channeled through sound and smell, rather than visual cues. It is the sound of chanting and praying, the sound of sacred ceremonies, and the sound of the kitchen that holds a deep emotional dimension of memory."