Hennaed Drums, Part Two: North Africa

In our last blogpost, we explored the possible evidence for hennaed drumheads in medieval Spain. In the end, while there are many images of decorated drums, the lack of any textual or material evidence makes it difficult to say whether these decorations were in fact done with henna or not.

As we move towards the modern period, however, we come across another chapter in the history of hennaed drums which is much clearer: North Africa.

Musician with hennaed drum (tbal), Algeria,
1880s. Photograph by William Tupper.

Henna For Peace: Body Art of the Yezidis, Christians, and Jews of northern Iraq

With all the terrible news coming out of Iraq these days I thought I’d take a departure from my research on Jewish henna and North Africa to cast a quick spotlight on some of the body art traditions of Iraq’s ethno-religious minorities.

The news is difficult to bear, and it’s especially hard to feel helpless when faced with so much violence and destruction. If you’re moved to donate to aid organizations working in the area, I know that the Foundation for Relief and Reconciliation in the Middle East has been doing amazing work in the refugee camps, as has UNICEF and the Iraqi Red Crescent. Of course, if you feel political action is necessary, you may wish to reach out to your local member of parliament, senator, or other government official. And if you’re looking for some more background, I found these maps very helpful.

A map of ethnic groups in Iraq (purple = Kurdish, yellow = Sunni Arab,
green = Shi'a Arab, and others), by Dr. Michael Izady.

But this is a blog about body art, so I thought I would devote some space to body art traditions in the region among minorities in northern Iraq: Yezidis, Christians, and Jews.

Henna, Hamsas, and Eyes, Oh My: The Eye as Motif in Moroccan Henna

I’ve settled back from Morocco but I’m still going through my henna photos… One interesting thing I’d thought I’d post about is the use of the eye symbol — l‘ayn — in Moroccan henna.

The eye is a well-known symbol of protection across North Africa, the Mediterranean basin, and Central Asia, appearing on jewelry, textiles, ceramics, amulets, and other crafts. It is an ancient motif, appearing on objects and crafts from ancient Egypt (especially as the eye of Horus) as well as Greece, Rome, and other ancient sites throughout Europe and the Levant.

The symbolic idea is that the eye looks back and breaks the stare of the Evil Eye. The Evil Eye, known simply as l‘ayn among Muslims, and as ‘ain hara‘ among Jews, is an ill-defined negative negative energy which can cause problems ranging from financial problems to physical ailments and even death. There are actually different aspects of the eye — a general, powerful negative spirit which exists independent of human action, which is attracted to certain objects or behaviors (which one might term "The Evil Eye"), and a sort of curse or spell which can be placed (purposefully or inadvertently) on someone by another person (which one might term "an evil eye"). People can invite an evil eye with prideful and boastful behaviour, or have an evil eye cast on them by a jealous relative or spurned neighbour.

An eye amulet for sale in a jewelry store in Meknes.

The Eye was feared by all, and people would go to great lengths to avoid being given an evil eye. Both Jews and Muslims have proverbs to the effect that the Evil Eye is the most frequent cause of death (cf. Stillman, 1970, pg. 82, and Stillman, 1983, pg. 487). 

It can be avoided or deterred in a number of ways — amulets, rituals, prayers — and of course, henna is an especially powerful deterrent, especially when depicting the image of an eye.

Westermarck writes: “Besides the fingers of the hand, there is another means of throwing back the baneful power, l-bas, which emanates from an evil eye, namely, the image of an eye. If baneful energy can be transferred by the eye, it can obviously also be thrown back by the eye. The image of an eye, or a pair of eyes, is therefore very commonly used as a charm” (1926, pg. 459). Sometimes even actual eyes — birds’ eyes or fish eyes — were used as protective charms (Stillman, 1970, pg. 89).

Hahiya jat! Lalla ‘Aisha! [She Has Come! Lalla ‘Aisha!]: Henna and the Jnun

It feels strange, but my Moroccan summer adventure is over, seemingly as fast as it begun. I learnt so much and I’m so grateful to have had the opportunity… And of course, I can’t wait to go back! I still have so much to learn. When I said goodbye to the secretary at the Arabic program, I told her, "I hope to come back soon, inshaAllah [G!d-willing]!" She looked at me and said, "Oh, you'll be back." InshaAllah!

I’m still sorting through the material that I collected this time, so even though I’ve left Morocco you can expect at least a few more Moroccan posts. And of course, if you have any specific questions, ask away!

For my last weekend in Morocco, I took a trip to a few pilgrimage sites around the Fes/Meknes area, including one with particular resonance for henna artists — the mausoleum of Sidi Ali ben Ḥamdush (or Ḥamdouche), the founder of the Ḥamadsha Sufi brotherhood, and the grotto of the jinniyya ‘Aisha Qandisha, the Ḥamadsha’s feared and revered spirit-interlocutor. In this post I’m going to explore the henna connection to ‘Aisha Qandisha and the Ḥamadsha, and more broadly, the relationship between henna and the jnun [spirits] in Morocco.

Candles and henna leaves for Lalla 'Aisha in her grotto.

I obviously only have space here for a very brief introduction; for more fuller treatments of the jnun in Morocco, the definitive early work is Westermarck (1926), and Crapanzano’s work (1973; 1980) is now a classic in the field. Some good contemporary pieces include Pandolfo (1997), Ma‘ruf (2007), Kapchan (2007), and Maréchal and Dassetto (2014). 

I’ll also take this moment to plug a great source for information on Moroccan henna: the definitive work on the artistry, culture, and significance of henna in Morocco, by renowned artists Lisa ‘Kenzi’ Butterworth and Nic Tharpa Cartier — Moor: A Henna Atlas of Morocco (2010). If you’re interested in Moroccan henna this book is a must-have.

Hey Hannaya: A Moroccan Henna Artist in Action

There's only so much information you can get from asking women on the streets about their henna, so I decided to go to the source and find some ḥannayat ('henna artists' — in Fes they use the word ḥannaya rather than neqasha as in other parts of Morocco). In this post I'm going to feature the work of a local ḥannaya whom I spent some time with on Sunday; hopefully I will be able to see one or two more ḥannayat in action.

A— is the “resident ḥannaya” of Café Clock, a popular restaurant and cultural centre in the medina of Fes (with a sister café that just opened in Marrakech). She has been a henna artist for 17 years, and she began working at Café Clock four years ago. She works there ‘on call’ — if you want henna, you can ask the servers to call her for you, and she shows up within about half an hour. The café also hosts her on Sunday evenings starting at 6:30, when it’s not Ramadan.

A working on a fusion piece.

I first met A one Sunday afternoon at the café; she had come in to henna another client and I asked if I can watch. The client (a young woman from the Netherlands traveling with her father) pointed at a photograph showing two hands hennaed with full bildi (‘old-fashioned’) Fassi henna, but A did a more modern khaleeji/bildi fusion with some open space. The client was satisfied, though, and paid 150 dh (about 18 USD) for both hands.

I wanted to see more of A's traditional Fassi work, however, so I returned with a friend from school who had graciously agreed to be my henna ‘wing-woman’ and help me with my research. 

A sat and patiently answered my questions about henna while my friend R— and her boyfriend J— ate lunch, and then she hennaed my friend while I took photo and video.

A doesn’t work at other cafés or public places; outside of Café Clock her henna income comes from private appointments and brides. She told me that she learnt henna art on her own, without a teacher, and that henna artists in Morocco work alone. “We don’t have any associations for henna artists like writers or teachers have,” she told me somewhat wistfully. 

I wanted to let her know about the wonderful networking and camaraderie that we henna artists have in North America, but I wasn’t sure how to tell her, since I was ‘undercover’ and hadn’t told her that I was a henna artist (in Morocco it’s seen as shameful for men to be involved with henna or have elaborate henna themselves). Maybe I should have — I just don’t know how she would have reacted. I think I also wanted the conversation to be about her, not about me; if I see her again, I'll probably tell her.

A looked over some of the photos I had taken of henna on the streets, and identified the different designs for me, classifying them into two types — bildi, referring to the designs I call ‘true Fassi,’ and romi, ‘modern,’ referring both to the few floral pieces I’d seen and to the confusing fusion pieces which were full coverage but not classic Fassi, which she also called mukhallaṭ, ‘mixed.’ As it turned out, one of the pieces that I had photographed was actually her work on a private client! We had a good laugh about that.

Awwadha, Afak [Again, Please]: Arabic Classes and the Music Festival

It seems I may have spoken too soon about the weather… The past few days have actually been much cooler than when I first arrived, mostly in the 20s C (80s F), and there have even been sprinklings of rain! Everyone is very happy about it and hoping that the cool weather will continue for Ramadan inchaAllah [G!d willing], because fasting in 100+ degree is no fun for anyone.

Out of the hundred or so North American students one can see milling about the Arabic Language Institute in Fes (ALIF), it seems that all of them are interested in Standard Arabic. My Darija [Moroccan Arabic] class began with a population of one! Well, there are three people on the list, but I was the only one who showed up for the first few days. Since then, one other student has shown up — an Arabic lecturer from Northwestern. No word from Student 3.

One of the 'nice' classrooms at ALIF,
reserved for the advanced students.

My classes are going well, though, and it’s amazing how much faster I’m learning the language with proper instruction. For example, instead of trying to derive the many complicated and irregular forms of the verb knbghi / bghit [I like / I would like] by hearing them in conversation, I have them all in one handy chart! 

The teachers are excellent — my Arabic is rapidly improving and although I can still only hold a very basic conversation, I’ve managed to communicate fairly effectively with my host family and other Moroccans. Darija is a fascinating language/dialect, and it is quite far from standard Arabic in vocabulary, pronunciation, and grammar. I know that I have some linguistic-y friends so if people want me to write more about it I can.

The Centre is lovely — it has a small café, a beautiful courtyard garden and fountain, and a very well-stocked bookstore with an impressive selection of books on Islamic history and modern Arabic literature, in the original and English. And of course, free Wi-Fi! A very comfortable place to hang out. 

The building itself is a beautiful 19th century villa, with a hidden surprise — among the elaborate plaster carvings and colourful tilework, Hebrew letters! It turns out that the home was originally built by a Jewish family, and according to one of the older gentlemen that I met in the synagogue last week, it even served as a yeshiva in the mid 20th century.

Hebrew inscription, giving the date 5691 (1930).

Adorning the Bride: Henna, Revelation, and the Mystical Marriage of Shavuot

Next week is the Jewish holiday of Shavu‘ot, which commemorates the Revelation of the Torah. In biblical times the holiday was an agricultural festival celebrating the end of the wheat harvest, but in rabbinic literature it was associated with the moment when the people of Israel stood together at Mt. Sinai to receive the Torah.

Traditionally, it is celebrated by studying the Torah and other Jewish texts all night long in a ritual known as tiqqun leil Shavu‘ot, “the tiqqun of the night of Shavu‘ot.” If you’re wondering a) what the heck is a tiqqun, and b) what does all this have to do with henna, hold on to your horses and hopefully all will be explained. I'll first explain why it makes sense, given the symbolic meaning of Shavu‘ot, that there would be a henna connection, and then I'll explore a little-known North African Jewish custom to hold a henna ceremony and mock wedding for children as part of Shavu‘ot celebrations.

So: in mystical Jewish thought, the holiday of Shavu‘ot was interpreted as a kind of symbolic wedding between G!d and the people of Israel. After the Exodus / elopement into the desert, the people and G!d commit to each other at Sinai, a sort of wedding, and so the Torah is a sort of ketubba [wedding contract].

This mystical marriage, in fact, is a moment of cosmic unity, bringing together binaries like the heavens and the earth (through the Torah which descends from heaven and the mountain which reaches up from the earth), the night and the day (which join, through the all-night study, into one dizzying experience of Revelation), and male and female (in the Divine, understood as the mystical ‘groom,’ and the people of Israel, personified as the bride).

Two artists' imaginings of Sinai. Left: Joseph ben David, Altona Haggada,
18th century Germany. Right, Charlton Heston, The Ten Commandments, 1956. 

This idea of bringing together opposites and joining that which was separate is expressed in the idea of tiqqun, which means ‘to return to a state of completion’ or ‘to repair’ (as in the popular social justice slogan tiqqun olam, ‘to heal the world’). Thus the night of Shavu‘ot is a tiqqun, a restoration, a movement towards wholeness and bringing together those things which should be united but are now separate.

But tiqqun has another meaning: to adorn or decorate, especially in the context of marriage. Thus the night of Shavu‘ot is also a tiqqun in the sense that it is the night of adorning the ‘Bride’ (the unified people of Israel, or the Shekhina, the feminine and earthly Divine presence) before the marriage of Revelation. It is, if I may be so bold, the Shekhina’s henna party.

The Zohar, a central text in the Jewish mystical tradition of Qabbala, explains that the process of studying Torah on the night of Shavu‘ot is how we symbolically adorn the bride (Zohar 1:8a; see also the translation and commentary of Daniel Matt, 2004, pp. 51-53): 

On that night, before the Bride will be under the canopy with Her Husband the next day [i.e. the day of Shavu‘ot], all the Companions of the Bridal Palace [i.e. those initiated into the Qabbalistic tradition] need to be with Her all night, rejoicing with Her in Her adornments [tiqqunha] with which She is adorned, studying scripture, from Torah to Prophets, from Prophets to Writings, and biblical midrashim and mysteries of wisdom: for these are Her adornments [tiqqunin] and fineries.

Later in the Zohar we read that Rabbi Shim‘on would say, on the night of Shavu‘ot, “Let us go and adorn [letaqqna] the fineries of the Bride, so that She may be ready to appear before the King with Her fineries and adornments as is proper” (Zohar 3:98a). Thus, on the night of Shavu‘ot we are invited to take part in the adorning of the bride, by studying Torah and readying ourselves as a community, in preparation for the union of Revelation.

Ketubba for Shavu'ot, Tangiers, early
20th century.

But in some communities, the mystical marriage of Shavu‘ot was enacted in more than just a metaphorical fashion, but included actual wedding customs, such as putting up a huppah [wedding canopy] in the synagogue, or reciting a ketubba [wedding contract] between G!d and Israel during the service. Since henna is a primary symbol of weddings, it is not surprising that henna would appear at Shavu‘ot, and since this is a Jewish henna blog, it is not surprising that I’m writing about it! 

In North Africa, the custom arose to have young children commit themselves to Torah and a life of learning, by having them symbolically ‘marry’ each other and take part in the celebrations in the synagogue on Shavu‘ot. Generally, the children participating were those who would be starting school the following year, so around the age of 5.

This ceremony was known as kittab or kettab, from the Arabic word kuttāb [from the root meaning ‘writing’] used colloquially to refer to primary school (see Simon 2014). It served multiple functions at once: it was a rite of passage bringing the child into the world of schooling, it protected them during this time of transition, it incorporated them and their lifecycle event into the celebration of Shavu'ot, and the symbolic marriage was a good omen for a happy life and a successful marriage later in life.

This ‘marriage,’ like true marriages, had a long process of preparation. It began on the Mimouna (the last night of Passover), six weeks before Shavu‘ot — families with little boys would go to the homes of families with little girls to ask for their hand, bringing henna, a ring, and bowls of candies. They would visit again on Lag ba‘Omer (the 33rd day between Passover and Shavu‘ot), bringing cakes, perfume, and more cosmetics. The following Saturday they would dress up the ‘bride’ and ‘groom’ (the bride got a silk scarf, the groom a gold-embroidered belt) and carry them around the neighbourhood, stopping at each house to receive candy and well wishes (Brunot and Malka, 1939, pg. 313).

The day before Shavu‘ot, the children were taken to the bath and dressed in wedding finery. Their families hosted a feast with musicians and singers; in Algeria, the banquet included roasted goat testicles, which were consumed by all present (Briggs and Guède, 1964, pg. 29). 

A boy dressed and adorned for his kettab (note the facial
decorations in harqus and the amulets strung across his
chest), with a younger child, Ghardaia, Algeria,
mid-20th century.

The children’s hands and feet were hennaed, and their hair was cut (often for the first time — traditionally a Jewish child’s hair is not cut until the age of three). Their faces were painted with ḥarqus [a burnt soot ink] on their forehead, nose, temples, and chin, with a design like a row of crosses (+++++). 

The full intention and meaning of these decorations is unclear (Briggs and Guède report general perplexity regarding them, 1964, pg. 29) but they seem to be protective symbols for the children in their liminal state of transition, as well as part of their general adornment. Whether there is any influence from the similar-looking facial tattoos (washm) practiced by their Muslim neighbours is hard to say.

They were dressed in colourful turbans and gold-embroidered velvet coats (Briggs and Guède record that the boys’ shirts were also embroidered with a multi-coloured hamsa and an Hebrew inscription, ‘Long Life and Peace,’ 1964, pg. 29), and weighed down with silver chains, amulets, and protective jewelry. 

The youngsters, now fully adorned, were taken to the synagogue on the day of Shavu‘ot, where they were received with much joy. The rabbi wrote a ketubba [wedding contract] on paper with honey and handed it to the children, who licked off the honey to the sounds of ululation [“yu-yus”] and celebration (Brunot and Malka, 1939, pg. 314; Zafrani 2000: 56). “And if it is so decreed in Heaven,” the Moroccan woman recorded in Brunot and Malka concludes, “when those children are grown, they will be married to each other” (1939, pg. 314).

Children at their kettab, Ghardaia, mid-20th century.

The honey ketubba is not only the sealing of the symbolic marriage, it also represents the official entry of the child into the world of learning, and the ingesting of the words of Torah. This is not unique to North African Jews; there is a similar custom among Ashkenazi Jews that when young children first begin to learn to read, the teacher smears honey on the first page of the book, or on a page with the Hebrew letters written on it, and the child licks the honey off the letters, so that the words of Torah will always be sweet for them (Goldberg, 2003, pp. 85-87). This ceremony was often paired with the occasion of a child’s first haircut, known in Yiddish as upsherin or opshern (Marcus 1996).

Sienna family opsherns! Left: getting my first haircut (and
apparently not happy about it), 1992. Right: my brother Micah looking happy at his
opshern ceremony (probably because he sees candy coming), 1997. 

Unlike the opshern, which is still practiced, the kettab ceremony appears to have fallen by the wayside. Even in the late 1930s, Brunot and Malka already reported that “this custom is not followed except by certain families originally from Fes, of the middle class. It is disappearing rapidly. The people enamoured of modernity, who are numerous, reject this custom” (1939, pg. 314). In rural areas of southeast Morocco and southern Algeria, it appears to have continued into the 1960s. However, it is not widely practiced in contemporary Israel to my knowledge, although Shlomo Bar, the Moroccan-Israeli singer of HaBreira haTiv‘it, has a very well-known song about the ceremony (Etzlenu biKfar Todra, see lyrics here) which has become an iconic song of nostalgia for the lost ways of North African Jewish culture.

The kettab is a beautiful ceremony, and if any of my readers have small children who would like to revive this tradition or incorporate henna into an opshern: contact me and we’ll make it happen! And even if you’re not entering school for the first time, Shavu‘ot is a time for all of us to ‘renew our vows’ and recommit ourselves to the lifelong educational project. 

As a henna artist, I love the idea that tiqqun is both ‘adornment’ and ‘repair’ — that somehow, our work as henna artists can help bring the world closer to a sense of wholeness. I will be leading a henna ceremony in Toronto to prepare for Shavu‘ot, and I encourage other Jewish communities to think about how they can “rejoice with the Bride in Her adornments” and celebrate the joyous union that Revelation brings.

Hebrew letters in henna and ink, Noam Sienna, 2014

Bibliography

Briggs, Lloyd Cabot, and Norina Lami Guède. No More Forever: a Saharan Jewish Town. Cambridge: Peabody Museum, 1964.

Brunot, Louis, and Elie Malka. Textes judéo-arabes de Fes [Judeo-Arabic texts of Fes]. Rabat: École du Livre, 1939.

Goldberg, Harvey. Jewish Passages: Cycles of Jewish Life. University of California Press, 2003.

Marcus, Ivan. Rituals of Childhood: Jewish Acculturation in Medieval Europe. Yale University Press, 1996.

Matt, Daniel Chanan. The Zohar, vol. 1: Translation and Commentary. Stanford University Press, 2004.

Simon, Rachel. Kuttāb. Encyclopedia of Jews in the Islamic World (ed. Norman A. Stillman), 2nd ed. Leidon: Brill, 2014.

Zafrani, Haïm. Two Thousand Years of Jewish Life in Morocco. Jersey City: Ktav Publishing House, 2000.