Mimouna After October 7: What a Moroccan-Jewish Festival Can Teach Us About Coexistence

Most people outside the Jewish world have rarely heard of Mimouna—and with good reason. This lesser-known, joyful festival, celebrated by Jews of Moroccan descent at the conclusion of Passover, traditionally sees doors flung open, tables laden with sweet pastries, and an atmosphere in which both Muslim and Jewish neighbors once came together to share blessings and enjoy a simple, collective pleasure.

Mimouna is frequently cited as evidence of Jewish-Muslim coexistence in an Arab world marked by conflict—a glimpse of harmony amid historical turbulence. I once embraced this narrative. Yet October 7, 2023, when Hamas terrorists and numerous regular Gazans breached the Gaza border to attack Israeli communities—murdering, raping, and setting fire to innocent civilians, including babies, women, and elderly Holocaust survivors—shattered many of our cherished assumptions. That day forced me, and many others, to reexamine what we once held up as hopeful symbols. Mimouna, for all its sweetness, became a focal point of that reexamination.

Let me take a step back.

For centuries, Jews have resided in Morocco—many arriving after their expulsion from Spain in 1492—and over time developed a rich, vibrant culture. They spoke Arabic, Judeo-Arabic, and in families like mine, Haketia—a Judeo-Spanish dialect prevalent in Tangier. They prepared dishes imbued with cinnamon and rose water, wrote liturgical poetry, and composed music that resonated across communities. They even shared sacred sites with their Muslim neighbors. Out of this complex tapestry grew Mimouna—a festival that represented a cultural bridge between Jews and Muslims, between religious and ethnic identity and the local milieu, and between hope and adversity.

That said, life was not uniformly sweet. Like in many lands under Islamic rule, Moroccan Jews were subject to the dhimmi system—a legal framework that, while permitting them to practice and develop close-knit communities, imposed significant restrictions. They were obligated to pay the jizya, a special tax, and were often excluded from holding the highest public offices and many influential positions. This system, with all its contradictions, prevailed through much of Morocco’s history until modern reforms in the 19th century began to dismantle this socio-religious hierarchy. It was a context defined by complex coexistence—a setting where cultural intermingling sometimes flourished even as inequality and hardship persisted.

Nonetheless, Jews managed to thrive. They adapted and preserved their joy. In that sense, Mimouna evolved into more than just a cultural custom—it became a form of defiant sweetness, an assertion that despite adversity, we remain.

Yet October 7 starkly reminded us how fragile that sweetness can be. Hamas’s attack was not merely an assault on Israel; it was an ideologically driven war against the very idea of Jewish life. Its Islamist, jihadist, and genocidal ideology is not an aberration but a manifestation of a broader discourse in some circles of the Muslim world—a discourse that frames Israel not merely as a political rival, but as a religious adversary whose annihilation is deemed necessary. For entities such as the Islamic regime in Iran, Hamas, the Houthis, Hezbollah, Islamic Jihad, and others, the battle transcends territorial disputes; it is about erasing Israel altogether—a perpetual war against the Jews.

Needless to say—but important to note—not every Muslim subscribes to this radical vision. Indeed, Morocco’s King Mohammed VI has been one of the most consistent defenders of Jewish heritage in the Arab world, overseeing the restoration of synagogues and engaging positively with Israeli delegations. His grandfather, whose precise actions remain a subject of scholarly debate, is remembered for his courageous refusal to surrender Moroccan Jews to the Nazis during World War II. Moreover, under the Abraham Accords, countries such as the UAE, Bahrain, and Morocco have taken pragmatic steps toward normalization with Israel.

Thus, the contemporary Muslim discourse contains competing strains. On one hand, there is the extremist, jihadist rhetoric that views the existence of Israel as anathema; on the other, a moderate, pragmatic stance that recognizes the strategic and regional benefits of engaging with Israel.

This is precisely why Mimouna remains significant today.

Not as a naively romanticized vision of an interfaith utopia, but as a symbol of the potential that exists when diverse peoples coexist side by side. It is both a remembrance of a time when cultural synthesis was palpable and, perhaps, a vision of what could be achieved if coexistence were to become secure and enduring.

This year, as Mimouna approaches, I will dip mufleta and honey into my mint tea—a gesture of both tradition and rebellion. But I will also remember those who still suffer under Hamas’s tyranny—especially the hostages still held in terror dungeons. And I will be more honest—with myself, with my Muslim friends, and with the world.

There is a profound difference between mere tolerance and genuine love, between acquiescence and the pursuit of peace on one’s own terms. Mimouna, then, is not just a celebration of our past; it is a prayer for a future where coexistence is not merely symbolic, but real. Sweet, but not naïve. Open-hearted, yet rigorously clear-eyed.