There are moments in life when recognition does not feel simply like an award, but like a mirror. It asks you to look backward at the road you have traveled, the people you have encountered, the convictions you have defended, and the moments when you chose to speak even when silence would have been easier. Being named one of The Jerusalem Post and Jewish National Fund-USA’s 25 ViZionaries is such a moment for me. I receive this recognition with gratitude, but also with a profound sense of responsibility, because it reminds me why I began this journey and how much work still lies ahead.
I was born and raised in Marrakech, Morocco, a city where the Muslim call to prayer rises from minarets not far from neighborhoods where Jewish families lived for centuries. I grew up Muslim, Arab, and Moroccan, and these identities remain deeply rooted in who I am. But growing older taught me something important, loving our identity does not require us to inherit every prejudice that has become attached to it. For much of my childhood, Jews and Israel existed more in stories than in reality. Like many young people across the Arab world, I inherited conclusions before I was old enough to question the assumptions behind them. Then I began meeting Jewish people, traveling to Israel, listening, reading, and asking questions that challenged some of what I thought I knew. Slowly, the human being replaced the story, and that transformation became the foundation of my advocacy.
When I founded the Moroccan-Israeli Friendship Association, I wanted to create something that went beyond political normalization. Governments can sign agreements, diplomats can shake hands, and airplanes can cross borders, but genuine peace asks something more difficult of us, people must also cross the borders they carry within themselves. Morocco taught me that this is possible because Jewish history is not foreign to Moroccan history, it is part of it. Our music, cities, language, food, traditions, and collective memory carry the fingerprints of generations of Moroccan Jews. Strengthening the relationship between Morocco and Israel is therefore, for me, not simply about creating something new, it is also about remembering and restoring something old.
My writing grew from the same conviction. Through my book, Arab Identity Syndrome, my articles, speeches, interviews, and public advocacy, I have tried to ask questions that are sometimes uncomfortable in Arab and Muslim societies. Why should hostility toward Israel be inherited as part of Arab identity? Why should a Muslim who stands against antisemitism or defends Jewish people be considered somehow less Muslim? Why should recognizing Jewish history, suffering, and connection to Israel require us to abandon compassion for anyone else? Over the years, I have come to believe that identity should be a home from which we encounter the world, not a prison that prevents us from seeing it.
My answer has never been to abandon where I come from. On the contrary, this journey has made me return to my Moroccan and Muslim identity with greater honesty and confidence. I can be deeply Moroccan, proudly Muslim, culturally Arab, and still extend my hand to the Jewish people and stand for Israel’s right to exist in peace and security. I do not see a contradiction between these convictions. I believe that when our identities are secure enough to make room for another person's story, they become stronger rather than weaker. Peace begins when we stop asking people to choose between their identity and their humanity.
That philosophy also inspired Abrahamic Voice, the nonprofit media and educational initiative I recently founded. Its mission is especially close to my heart because it seeks to speak directly to Arabic-speaking audiences about Jewish history, Israel, antisemitism, coexistence, and Muslim-Jewish relations. I want young Arabs and Muslims to encounter these subjects through something other than slogans, propaganda, and inherited hostility. I want them to read, question, travel, meet people, and think for themselves, because I know from my own journey that sometimes one genuine encounter can accomplish what a thousand political speeches cannot.
This is why being recognized among the 25 ViZionaries carries a meaning far beyond seeing my own name on a list. I am grateful to The Jerusalem Post for recognizing the value of this work, and I am equally grateful to Jewish National Fund-USA for helping create a platform that recognizes people who are willing to build, educate, speak, and lead. There is something deeply meaningful to me, as a Moroccan Muslim, about being included among people working in different ways toward a stronger Israel, stronger communities, and a more hopeful future. It reminds me that friendship does not demand sameness and that some of the strongest bridges are built by people who begin their journeys on different shores.
I also receive this recognition with humility because the work is far from finished. Antisemitism continues to poison conversations and communities, Muslims and Jews are still too often taught to encounter one another through fear, and social media has given hatred and misinformation a speed our ancestors could never have imagined. Every day, another generation is being handed stories about people they have never met, and those stories can either become walls or invitations to seek the truth. That is where I believe my work must continue, particularly among Arabic-speaking audiences, where courageous conversations about Jews, Israel, identity, and peace remain urgently necessary.
Recognition is meaningful, but it cannot become a destination. Its greatest value is the responsibility it creates for what comes afterward. Years ago, I began this journey by questioning stories I had inherited, and today I find myself encouraging others to question theirs. Perhaps this is how lasting change happens, through conversations, friendships, uncomfortable questions, acts of courage, and the willingness to see another human being before seeing a label. If being called a visionary means anything to me, it means believing in a future that does not yet fully exist and then accepting the responsibility of helping to build it. For that recognition, I am deeply grateful, and for the work that still lies ahead, I am ready.
This article was written in collaboration with Jewish National Fund USA