I’ve seen this before: When old hatreds find new voices

I was not born carrying hatred; it was placed gently in my hands, like an heirloom no one thinks to question. As a child in Morocco, I inherited stories about Jews long before I ever met one. They were shadows in conversations, warnings disguised as wisdom, conclusions handed to me without evidence. I accepted them the way a child accepts the horizon, distant, unquestioned, and always there. [Mustapha Ezzarghani]