The tragic fate of a Jewish heroine in Morocco

Solica Hatchuel was a Jewish heroine in Morocco. Back in the early 1800s, she refused to give up her faith despite this meaning she would be choosing between riches and a life of leisure or being beheaded.

Her brother, Issachar (Yitzhak), was my great-grandfather.

Solica’s story was one of great sadness, but one that will never be forgotten.

She was a very beautiful young woman. So much so, that a Jewish explorer, Israel Joseph Benjamin, who visited Tangier in the middle of the 19th century wrote of her that “never had the sun of Africa shone on more perfect beauty”.

He said her Muslim neighbours said, “It’s a sin that such a pearl should be in the possession of the Jews and it would be a crime to leave them such a jewel.”

Solica was born in Tangier, Morocco, in 1817, to Haim and Simha Hatchuel. Haim was a trader and a Talmud scholar, and Solica developed her faith in Judaism under his tutelage.

My late father, Albert Isaac Hatchuel’s, Hebrew name was Avraham Yitzchak, in honour of his grandfather, Yitzchak, and his great-grandfather, Avraham, who was known as Haim.

My father often told Solica’s story, and was proud to be the descendant – indirectly – of this revered young woman. And, of course, as is often the case with oral history, the story varies according to who tells it.

A writer and friend of the family, Eugenio Maria Romero, reported that Solica’s friend and neighbour, Tahra de Mesoodi, claimed that she had convinced Solica to convert to Islam after Solica had had an argument with Simha. This claim was false, and vehemently denied by Solica. Solica was brought before the local governor, who ordered her to kneel and declare herself to be Muslim.

The pasha threatened her by saying, “I will load you with chains. I will have you torn [apart] piece-meal by wild beasts, you shall not see the light of day, you shall perish of hunger, and experience the rigor of my vengeance and indignation in having provoked the anger of the prophet.”

Solica responded, “I will patiently bear the weight of your chains; I will give my limbs to be torn [apart] piece-meal by wild beasts; I will renounce forever the light of day; I will perish of hunger; and when all the evils of life are accumulated on me by your orders, I will smile at your indignation and the anger of your prophet, since neither he nor you have been able to overcome a weak female! It’s clear that heaven isn’t auspicious to making proselytes to your faith.”

Solica’s refusal so angered the governor that he ordered her to be incarcerated in chains in a windowless cell. Appeals to the Spanish vice-consul for her release were fruitless, and Solica was subsequently sent to Fez, where her fate would be decided by the sultan. The cost of her journey was to be paid by her father, who couldn’t afford it. A family friend paid the money.

The qadi (judge) in Fez declared that if Solica remained intransigent, she would be beheaded and the Jewish community punished. Elders in the community pleaded with Solica to save herself – and the local community – and convert to Islam, but she was steadfast in her decision.

Her conviction and sentence were handed down. Solica was to be executed. It was ruled that her father would have to pay the costs of her burial. The execution took place in a public square in Fez.

Romero described the event. “The Moors, whose religious fanaticism is indescribable, prepared, with their accustomed joy to witness the horrid scene. The Jews of the city were moved with the deepest sorrow, but they could do nothing to avert it.”

The Jewish community paid for the retrieval of Solica’s head and body, and scraped up the earth on which her blood had fallen, all for burial in the Jewish cemetery. The rabbinate declared her a martyr.

Solica’s tomb is said to be a place of pilgrimage by Jews and Muslims alike. This might sound strange, and in Léon Godard’s book, Description et histoire du Maroc, he explains, “Despite their intolerance, Moroccans, however contradictory this may appear, do in some cases honour the holy people of other religions, or beg the aid of their prayers from those whom they call infidels. In Fez, they render a kind of worship to the memory of the young Sol Hachuel, [sic] a Jew of Tangier, who died in our time of terrible torture rather than renounce the law of Moses, or alternatively renew an abjuration previously made by yielding to the seductions of love.”

The inscription on Solica’s tomb reads (translated from the French):

“Here rests Mademoiselle Solica Hatchouël, born in Tangier in 1817. Refusing to enter into [or re-enter – the French text reads ‘rentrer’] the Islamic religion. The Arabs murdered her in 1834 in Fez, while she was torn away from her family. The entire world mourns this saintly child.”

Oral history varies according to who tells it. Thanks to my father’s research, I have a photocopy of the English translation of The Jewish Heroine of the Nineteenth Century by Romero, found in the library of Emanuel College, Cambridge. It’s a very flowery and, I’m sure, imaginative story of the life and execution of Solica. In his book, Folktales of the Canadian Sephardim Andre E. Elbaz states in his notes to the story of Solica that Romero knew the Hachuel family.

There are many other iterations of the story, ranging from Ripley’s Believe it or Not, to an extract from an article titled “Fez Past and Present” by Glenys Roberts in the New York Times of 4 December 1983.

“Fez’s Jewish quarter is the oldest in Morocco. In the past, women wandered in it unveiled, and Muslim boys, unused to seeing the features of their own brides before marriage, were apt to fall in love with Jewish beauty. Paul Bowles, the American author, has written of one such sad love match in 18th century Fez, sad above all because the Jewish bride couldn’t get used to the Muslim dictate that a woman goes out only three times in her life: once from the womb, once from her father’s house when she marries, and once from this world. Sol Hachuel suffered fatal claustrophobia in her husband’s home.”

I heard the story countless times while growing up. My father claimed that there was a tradition amongst his siblings that their first-born children were named in Solica’s honour, and so I and one of my cousins have middle names that start with “S”. Another cousin’s second name is, in fact, Solica. My son, Steven, was named with Solica in mind.

Like my late father, I’m proud to have this history. I doubt I’d have the courage that Solica displayed, although I did once walk out of a job when my boss at the time, the son of a rabbi, insisted that his staff join a church he had discovered.