Tinghir-Jerusalem is a documentary about exile and identity, with an unremarkable Moroccan village at its epicenter. Director, producer, and narrator Kamal Hachkar brings us along, quite literally, on a journey to explore his insecure sense of self while examining a broader narrative about the exodus to Israel of his natal town's Berber Jewish population. With a shared, idealized notion of “home,” Hachkar and his subjects explore what it means to exist liminally, in between both place and time.
The film opens to a choppy view of the hazy Atlas Mountains taken from a moving car. While the dizzying filmmaking lacks finesse, the views of Israel, Morocco, and their respective peoples are striking. While instrumental Moroccan music plays in the background, Hachkar explains his connection to the surroundings, how he has always been traveling between France and his ancestral homeland of Tinghir. His father emigrated to France in 1968, with his wife and baby Kamal joining him some months later; as a result, Hachkar has developed multiple, sometimes incongruous, identities that have forced him to confront many issues as an immigrant. He does not consider himself simply Moroccan or simply French. He talks of being stuck in between places, of always coming from somewhere else.
Recalling visits to Tinghir growing up, the narrator paints a portrait of a magical childhood running through serpentine alleyways amidst crumbling mud brick ruins. At age 16, he becomes curious about the village's many empty homes. He discovers that Tinghir once hosted a sizeable population of Berber-speaking Jews who fled owing to political circumstances in the 60s.
Walking with his grandfather through the medina, Hachkar learns that the communities were very much intertwined: both speaking the Chleuh Berber dialect; working together in the town's commercial center; fighting in territorial battles against common tribal enemies. Contradicting her husband, Hachkar's grandmother's depiction is a stark variance. She diffidently states that the Muslims did not associate with the Jews and that “everyone knew their place.” The grandparents do agree on one matter, though: Tinghir was very much a mixed society that changed when its Jewish families left.
Hachkar decides to visit Israel to uncover the experiences and attitudes of this mysterious Judeo-Berber Diaspora. In Jerusalem he locates a diverse group of people who evoke the old stories of their simple easy lives he heard in Tinghir. A bond is quickly established; the meetings in Israel play out as a reunion of sorts despite their tenuous connection. The Tinghir Jews speak Hebrew, but also retain their colonial French and Moroccan Arabic as well as typical Moroccan costume and unique Maghrebi-style religious celebrations. A few can still converse in Berber. A common sentiment asserts itself: there is an aspect of ownership and pride involved in the relationship; these were Tinghir's Jews, and the Moroccan Muslims are distinct from other Muslims. As Berbers, these new compatriots are connected by their perceived inferior status in their adopted countries.
So, what prompted their departure? Details differ but the larger explanation is consistent. After the 1948 drive to create a Jewish state, there was an orchestrated Zionist campaign to expand Israel's population with Jews from the diaspora. At the same time, Morocco's leadership clearly sided with Palestine and the Arab League in the dispute, leaving its Jews feeling vulnerable and unwelcome. The war changed everything and they eventually all left, not without tears and reluctance. The conclusion is that the Berber Jews had no choice about leaving, facing pressure from both Morocco and Israel to do so. They express sentimental and overwhelmingly positive memories of the place they felt forced to leave.
The film ends with an obvious acceptance that Tinghir's Jewish heritage is fading away. The connections between the Muslims and the Jews in Tinghir are dying off, and a return is unlikely. Each has developed new realties that are not compatible with life in a small mountainous town. Hachkar concludes with remarks that provide some resolution to his earlier identity crisis: he is an amalgam of places and communities, and only through others can we begin to know ourselves. Embracing the new relationships built through his travels, he has discovered that home resides not in a set place but with each other. His new outlook is resigned but at peace as his exile has enabled him to feel at home everywhere.
