The name Thuizal belongs to the vast ensemble of Jewish family names from Morocco, whose richness and diversity bear witness to a history spanning several millennia. Any inquiry into a Moroccan Jewish lineage must first recall the framework within which these names took shape: the coexistence, within Moroccan Judaism, of several strata of settlement. Tradition distinguishes the Toshavim — the indigenous Jews, established in North Africa since Antiquity and deeply acculturated into the Berber world — from the Megorashim, the expellees from the Iberian Peninsula who arrived en masse after 1492, bearers of a distinct Hispano-Jewish culture. This duality shapes, to this day, the onomastics, liturgy, and customs of the Jewish communities of the Cherifian Kingdom.
The reference study on this subject remains the work of Abraham I. Laredo, Les Noms des Juifs du Maroc, published by the Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas (CSIC) in Madrid in 1978 [Les Noms des Juifs du Maroc]. This monumental work catalogues, classifies, and analyses several thousand family names, distinguishing their Hebrew, Aramaic, Arabic, Berber, Spanish, and toponymic origins. It is within this scholarly horizon that the examination of the name Thuizal must be situated — a name whose direct attestations remain rare and whose interpretation demands caution and method. The present work therefore scrupulously distinguishes what belongs to transmitted Memory, what can be established through documentation, and what remains an acknowledged editorial conjecture.
Jewish onomastics in Morocco follows formation patterns well identified by research. According to the classifications retained by Abraham I. Laredo, surnames fall into broad families: names of biblical and talmudic origin, occupational names, nicknames, names drawn from physical or moral qualities, names of Arabic or Berber origin, and finally a category particularly numerous in Morocco — toponymic names, derived from a place of origin [Les Noms des Juifs du Maroc].
This last category is essential for understanding a name like Thuizal. Moroccan Jews, particularly those from rural communities in the Atlas, the Sous, and the pre-Saharan oases, frequently bore surnames referring to their village or region of origin. The relocation of a family from a rural mellah to a major city — Marrakech, Fès, Mogador (Essaouira) — often transformed the name of the place left behind into a surname attached to the family. This mechanism, thoroughly documented for names such as Demnati (from Demnate), Ifergan, Skali (from Skala), or Wazana, provides the most probable interpretive key for surnames with a Berber resonance.
The spelling Thuizal exhibits precisely the phonetic features characteristic of Amazigh (Berber) languages: the initial fricative and the ending in -al or -l, frequent in Atlas toponymy. Caution is nonetheless warranted: without direct documentary attestation linking this name to an identified place, the toponymic origin remains a hypothesis — sound in its logic, but yet to be confirmed. This is why this section, grounded in the established framework of onomastic research, must be complemented by the chapters that follow, which explore its implications.
If we follow the toponymic hypothesis, the name Thuizal would refer to a place-name or a territory in the Berber-speaking regions of Morocco. The morphology of the word evokes the numerous microtoponyms of the Atlas and Anti-Atlas built on Amazigh roots designating geographical realities — springs, passes, valleys, escarpments. In these regions, Jewish presence is attested from a very early date: communities lived dispersed across hundreds of villages, often as craftsmen (blacksmiths, goldsmiths, cobblers), peddlers and merchants, in a relationship of interdependence with the surrounding Berber tribes.
The oral tradition of the Jews of southern Morocco preserves the Memory of these village origins, and it is not uncommon for a family to trace its name to a precise point in the ancestral landscape. Confronting this Memory with the archive is nonetheless difficult: the written documentation of the rural communities of the Atlas is fragmentary, civil registry records are late, and the transcription of Berber names into Hebrew characters, then into Latin characters during the colonial administration, has multiplied graphic variants. A single name may have been recorded in several different ways depending on the scribe's ear and the language of the document.
Thus, Thuizal may have had related forms, and the search for an attestation will need to explore these variants. In the current state of knowledge, without a localized primary source, the precise attribution to an identified toponym remains an editorial conjecture. This chapter therefore assumes its status: it offers a reading consistent with everything we know about the formation of Berber-Moroccan Jewish names, while refraining from asserting what the documentation does not yet confirm.
To give its full depth to a lineage most likely rooted in the Berber world, one must recall what Jewish life was in the south of Morocco. From the High Atlas to the Dadès, from the Sous to the Tafilalet, Jewish families lived for centuries at the heart of Amazigh communities. They spoke dialectal Arabic, but also, in many cases, local Berber languages, and shared with their Muslim neighbors markets, vestimentary customs and a common material environment, while maintaining an autonomous religious life rhythmed by the synagogue, study and the observance of the commandments.
The status of these Jews often rested on bonds of protection (sebbiba or customary pacts) with a tribe or a local notable, who guaranteed their safety in exchange for artisanal and commercial services. This integration explains the recognized specialization of the Jews of the south in goldsmithing, metalwork, caravan trade and lending. The great commercial routes linking the Sahara to the Atlantic ports passed through their hands, making certain families indispensable economic intermediaries.
From the nineteenth century onward, and even more so under the Protectorate (1912–1956), a powerful movement of rural exodus progressively emptied the villages of the Atlas in favor of the great coastal and inland cities. Families carried their names with them — and it is in this movement that many toponymic surnames became permanently fixed. Then came the great emigration of the mid-twentieth century, toward Israel, France and Canada in particular, which scattered these lineages across the world. A family bearing a name such as Thuizal belongs, in all likelihood, to this collective history of rural rootedness followed by dispersion.
The question of graphic variants deserves a chapter of its own, as it touches the very heart of the transmission of the name. In Moroccan Jewish families, the name was transmitted above all orally and through ritual use — it appeared in marriage contracts (ketubot), religious documents, and calls to the Torah. Its fixation in writing using Latin characters is, for many lineages, a relatively recent phenomenon, tied to colonial administration, emigration, and the establishment of official identity papers.
This transmission generated a plurality of forms for a single name. The passage from Hebrew to Arabic and then to French, the absence of a stable standard, and the individual choices of civil registry officers produced divergent spellings within a single family. It is therefore methodologically necessary, for anyone researching the Thuizal lineage, to consider all phonetically close forms and to cross-reference sources: communal registers, colonial electoral lists, consistorial archives, and specialized Sephardic genealogical databases.
This part of family history belongs largely to transmitted Memory rather than to the constituted archive. The account that each branch preserves of its origins — the village left behind, the founding ancestor, the ancestral trade — constitutes a precious source, to be gathered and patiently compared against documents when they exist. As long as this comparison has not taken place, these elements remain transmitted traditions, worthy of being recorded as such, without being confused with established facts.
The rigorous reconstruction of a Moroccan Jewish lineage rests on a proven approach. The starting point remains scholarly onomastics: consulting the work of Laredo, which allows one to situate a name within its linguistic family and to identify the historical attestations recorded therein [Les Noms des Juifs du Maroc]. This first step directs the inquiry toward the appropriate regions and communities.
Next come the genealogical sources proper. Religious records — ketubot, registers of births, marriages, and deaths kept by rabbinates — form the most reliable documentary foundation when they have been preserved. To these sources are added, for the colonial and post-colonial period, administrative archives, emigration lists, and the holdings of major Sephardic diaspora institutions. Sephardic genealogy today has access to significant documentary resources, which should be systematically mobilized.
Finally, oral family memory, gathered from elders, remains irreplaceable for establishing recent filiations, identifying the geographic cradle, and reconstructing migratory itineraries. The method consists in bringing these three orders of sources into dialogue — onomastics, the archive, and tradition — while always indicating the degree of certainty of each link. For the name Thuizal, given the state of knowledge assembled here, this approach leads to a measured conclusion: a probable toponymic and Berber-Moroccan origin, which awaits confirmation through localized records.
At the close of this inquiry, the name Thuizal yields more to approach than to definition. Its morphology links it with plausibility to the Berber-speaking world of Morocco and to the great family of toponymic surnames so characteristic of Moroccan Jewish onomastics, as established by Abraham I. Laredo [Les Noms des Juifs du Maroc]. Everything in the structure of the name and in the history of the communities of southern Morocco argues for a lineage rooted in the Atlas or its margins, long embedded in the rural Amazigh fabric before the exodus toward the cities and diaspora dispersion.
Yet the historian's honesty demands that we not venture beyond what the sources allow. In the absence of direct documentary attestation locating a precise place and linking an identified family, the toponymic origin remains a strong hypothesis, not a certainty. The present Great Book thus offers less a completed genealogy than a methodological framework and a horizon for research: it indicates where to look, how to read, and what precautions to observe. To descendants and researchers falls the task of continuing the inquiry, summoning the ketubot, the communal registers, and the memory of elders, so as to transform into established History what today still belongs to enlightened conjecture.
