The ideological relationship between Morocco’s Justice and Development Party (PJD) and the broader current of the Muslim Brotherhood is not accidental—it is rooted in a shared intellectual lineage, strategic doctrine, and political worldview. The PJD did not emerge in isolation, but from a network of Islamist movements shaped by thinkers who saw politics not as a neutral civic space, but as a vehicle for religious transformation. Its gradualist approach —embedding itself within institutions while reshaping society from within—mirrors a model perfected by Brotherhood-affiliated movements across the region. This is not simply about theology or identity; it is about power, influence, and the long-term redefinition of the relationship between religion and the state. To treat the PJD as a purely Moroccan political actor is to ignore the ideological architecture that underpins its evolution and informs its rhetoric.

This connection becomes even clearer when examining the party’s dual language: one calibrated for public consumption within a constitutional monarchy, and another that resonates more deeply with a base shaped by religious exclusivism. This balancing act appearing pragmatic while maintaining ideological continuity, is a defining characteristic of movements influenced by the Muslim Brotherhood. It allows them to operate within democratic frameworks while preserving a worldview that is, at its core, deeply resistant to pluralism when it conflicts with their interpretation of religious identity. Over time, this tension does not disappear; it surfaces in moments of crisis, revealing the underlying convictions that had long been carefully managed.

Those convictions have now been laid bare in the statements of Abdelilah Benkirane, former Prime Minister and current head of the PJD. His decision to describe Jews as “eternal enemies” is not a rhetorical slip—it is a declaration that places an entire community outside the boundaries of legitimate belonging. Even more troubling is his public celebration of the October 7 attacks, an act of mass violence against civilians that shocked the conscience of the world. When such words come from a man who once led the government, they do more than provoke outrage—they redefine what is permissible to say, and by extension, what is permissible to do.

For Morocco’s Jewish community, the impact is not theoretical. It is felt in the quiet recalibration of daily life—in the hesitation before speaking openly, in the unease that replaces what was once taken for granted, in the growing awareness that a line has been crossed. This is a community that has already endured centuries of fluctuation, that has seen its numbers shrink dramatically, and that has relied, in recent years, on a renewed national commitment to its protection and recognition.

When a figure of Benkirane’s stature normalizes hostility, it reverberates far beyond the political sphere. It alters the social climate, giving cover to sentiments that were once pushed to the margins.

And Benkirane does not stand alone. Over the years, other voices within the PJD have echoed variations of the same message, questioning the place of Jews within Moroccan society, conflating local Jewish citizens with distant geopolitical conflicts, and framing coexistence as a form of betrayal. Each statement, taken individually, might be dismissed as political excess. Taken together, they form a pattern, one that gradually lowers the threshold of what is acceptable, until prejudice becomes language, and language becomes atmosphere. It is within that atmosphere that societies either hold together or begin to fracture.

It is precisely this trajectory that has led the Moroccan–Israeli Friendship Association (MIFA) to act. From Washington, the organization has launched an initiative calling for a serious examination of the PJD’s ideological positioning and its alignment with movements that have long been associated with division and radicalization. The argument is straightforward: when a political party tolerates or promotes rhetoric that dehumanizes an entire group and legitimizes violence, it cannot be treated as a normal democratic actor. It must be evaluated through a different lens, one that considers not only its participation in elections, but the ideas it legitimizes and the consequences those ideas produce.

This initiative is already gaining traction among members of the United States Congress and is expected to be formally presented to the White House in the near future. It is not an attack on Morocco, on the contrary, it is a defense of the Morocco that has chosen a different path, one rooted in coexistence, memory, and shared identity. The goal is not to isolate a country, but to isolate a current that threatens to undermine its most valuable achievements. At a time when antisemitism is rising across continents, consistency matters. Principles matter. And silence, more often than not, is read as permission.

In the end, this moment is a test, not only of policy, but of moral clarity. Nations are not defined solely by the values they proclaim, but by the lines they refuse to let others cross in their name. Morocco’s story has long been one of rare continuity, where synagogues and mosques stood not as rivals, but as witnesses to a shared history. To allow voices of division to rewrite that story would be to surrender something far greater than political ground—it would be to erode a civilizational promise. The responsibility now falls on those who understand what is at stake: to draw a line, to defend it without hesitation, and to ensure that the future is not dictated by those who preach permanence of enmity, but by those who still believe in the possibility, and the necessity, of coexistence.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)