A Message from Rabbi Bellows

November 9, 2025 /18 Cheshvan 5786

Dear Beth Am Friends,

Kyle and I had an amazing trip to Morocco. Please stay tuned for information on our Beth Am trip to Morocco! I hope you will consider coming with us! Here is an edited version of the sermon I gave on Friday about our trip:

Shabbat Shalom! Early this morning, I returned home from a 10-day trip to Morocco.  I had the privilege of joining a rabbinic mission to visit and explore centuries-old Jewish quarters, standing in once-vibrant synagogues, and meeting the few remaining Moroccan Jews who have chosen to remain in their ancestral homes. What struck me most was their deep sense of belonging in this 98% Muslim country. 

The story of Moroccan Jewry is unlike the one we, primarily Ashkenazi Jews, typically learn or hear. When the Jews left Morocco in the 1950s and 60s, many did so by choice, not expulsion. And when they left, they left behind neighbors who still remember them with affection — and sometimes with tears. 

In every city we toured— Casablanca, Fez, Marrakesh, Essaouira — we were welcomed not as strangers, but as family. The Jewish story is intertwined with the Moroccan story: Jews and Muslims lived as neighbors and friends, in peace and with mutual respect. The Jews were seen for the richness of their faith, culture, and tradition. 

And this week’s Torah portion, Vayeira, offers a striking parallel. It’s the story of seeing — of Abraham lifting his eyes to greet three strangers, of God revealing divine presence through hospitality. Vayeira elav Adonai — “God appeared to him.” But how did God appear? In the faces of others, in the encounter, in the courage to open the tent flaps wide.

Perhaps that’s the gift Morocco still holds out to the world — a model, however fragile, of coexistence built on seeing. Jews who once lived there continue to bless that land in their memory, and Muslims who remain there speak kindly of their Jewish neighbors. In a region too often marked by fear and separation, Morocco reminds us that vision matters: that to see one another’s humanity is the beginning of holiness.

May we, too, lift our eyes and see as Abraham did — to notice what’s possible when we choose not exile or indifference, but the hard and holy work of seeing one another anew.

With Blessings,

Rabbi Bellows