After whirlwind eleven days that saw me and three members of my family go from the ocean in Rabat to the Atlas Mountains, then in to the boundless Sahara, back through the High Atlas to the consensual mayhem of Marrakesh then on to the peace and beauty of Essaouira, we are back. Morocco has always been a part of my identity. I was born there, in Tangiers. We left in 1957, part of an exodus of over a quarter of a million Jews from that place. A place that many had called home since the expulsion of all non-Christians in 1492. Yes I told people that I was Moroccan, no, I did not say that I was Jewish. That was sad. Given all the death and toxicity in Israel/Palestine I ,,, okay, my wife,thought it was best for the members of my family that were with me.What a country, A man rides a slow moving donkey to town while doom scrolling on his phone. The interface of ancient ways and high tech horizons meet in the chaos and kindness of Marrakesh. Westerners valiantly haggle to bring the price down by a few Dir-ham while countless cats roam the narrow Medina streets uninterested and relaxed. The people were kind, the echoes of a life that my grandparents , and to some extent my parents had lived kept me wondering what would have happened if I had stayed. If a wave of antisemitism and nationalist Arab pride had not swept through the country. Would I ve left for Europe, or Israel for that matter, Would I have stayed. What would I have done. What opportunities would I have had to fulfill my potential. I have done so many wonderful things in Canada. What would have become of me? I'll never know. It was a wonderful trip. I am a lucky man.