My Brother From Another Mother

Why Muslims Need to Stay Engaged in Israeli-Palestinian Dialogue... Even When They Don't Want To

2015-08-31T01:07:00.002-04:00

By Joyce Schriebman

It always strikes me as odd when advocates for change reject talking to those with whom they disagree.

Bilal Ansari, in his recent blog, An Invitation to Decline, characterizes the opportunity he had to participate in the Shalom Hartman Institute's Muslim Leadership Initiative (MLI) as “a free trip to Israel…and a free trip to visit Al Aqsa in the good company of fellow colleagues.”

He spends the next 3,500 words denigrating a program he never attended; disparaging MLI co-founder, Imam Abdullah Antepli; and criticizing the dozens of North American Muslim leaders who have so far participated in the program. Then Mr Ansari asserts that the only viable option remaining to him once he’d said “no” to the MLI program was to say “’yes’ to join[ing] the BDS movement.”

What a bunch of baloney. Here’s the side of the coin that gets lost in Mr Ansari’s rhetoric and the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) supporters:

First, according to its website, the MLI program “…seeks to expand participants' critical understanding of the complex religious, political, and socioeconomic issues facing people in Israel and Palestine…through a rigorous academic curriculum and exposure to diverse narratives.”

It’s understandable that Mr Ansari would reject the opportunity to leave his simplistic black/white view of the Middle East. If Mr Ansari had accepted the invitation he so sanctimoniously refused, he’d have come into contact with a more nuanced picture of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. He’d have had to deal with the realities of Palestinians AND Israelis. And, of course, at MLI he’d have come into contact with ideas that challenged his. It’s understandable, indeed, why he wouldn’t want that. And regrettable.

Next after turning down the MLI invitation, Mr Ansari decided his only option was to embrace the BDS movement. To Mr Ansari, it’s either MLI or BDS. Black or white.

As to BDS: no amount of Mr Ansari writing about, “the successes of the BDS movement” will make success a reality.

What are the successes he refers to? Is the situation better today for Palestinians than it was pre-BDS? Is the establishment of a Palestinian state closer now than before BDS?

BDS isn’t working.

Not only do Palestinians continue to suffer, the more BDS grows the more precarious the Palestinian situation becomes. Each organization that jumps on the BDS bandwagon reinforces the hardline Jewish view that any Israeli compromise or endorsement of a Palestinian state is too risky. If Mr Ansari had attended MLI, he would have learned that the security of Israel will never be traded against economic sanctions. Each BDS movement “success” emboldens the hand of the right-wing Israeli government. While BDS supporters continue to claim victories, the Palestinian suffering continues.

Here’s another problem with BDS: mainstream Jewish organizations in North America that are deeply sympathetic to the Palestinian cause will not join the BDS movement, which results in splintered, ineffective help for Palestinians. Rather than create a coalition of Jews, Muslims, Christians and others who could work hand-in-hand to relieve injustices experienced by Palestinians, BDS-ers divide and undermine peacebuilding efforts. There are many grassroots organizations in Israel, Palestine and the U.S. that would benefit from our combined energies, yet they are are denied the patronage, visibility and assistance wasted on the BDS campaign.

Had Mr Ansari attended MLI, he would have discovered still another reason BDS doesn’t work. It’s one-sided, and the situation in the Middle East is anything but. Rather than backing BDS, Mr Ansari could have experienced, first-hand, the necessity for an Israeli and Palestinian recognition of each other’s complicated, painful histories and for the mutual need for security and self-determination.

The Palestinians are experiencing tremendous injustices; that's a fact. And Israel is an imperfect place; that's also a fact. I don't write this blog with any delusion that my observations are the totality or even a significant representation of the entirety of Israeli-Palestinian hostilities. But I'm deeply troubled when individuals or groups condemn the good-faith efforts of others working to foster coexistence.

I don’t know Mr Ansari, so it’s hard for me to fathom his motives. But his denunciation of a program created to promote Muslim-Jewish understanding coupled with his dedication to a movement whose very nature is divisive and counter-productive, begs the question: What are his objectives?

My challenge to Mr Ansari is for him to engage those people with whom he disagrees rather than separate himself from the conversation. If he feels so strongly about his point of view, I urge him to accept the MLI invitation and state his case. If he used his brain and listened to his heart, as he writes, why would he back away from a chance to share his position with others? Could it be that it’s easier for him to demonize those participating in MLI, those who have followed their own hearts and brains—rather than standing together with them on behalf of Palestinians and a just peace in the Middle East?

You don’t have a monopoly on wisdom regarding the Middle East, Mr Ansari. No one does. The challenge is to stay engaged. When we step outside the conversation, when we resort to simplistic, one-dimensional reactions to complicated situations, everyone loses. And that includes the Palestinians.

My Brother From Another Mother, is an interfaith journey of Muslims and Jews. We're a 501(c)3, too!

Mr. President, You Blew it in Selma

2015-03-14T22:18:00.001-04:00

I’m an Obama supporter. I’ve always been an Obama supporter. I voted for him twice. And I would vote for him again if he was allowed to run for office a third term.

That is, until last Saturday afternoon. All that changed whenI heard his remarks at the commemoration of the 50^th anniversary of the March from Selma to Montgomery.

In his eloquent style, the president spoke of destiny, courage, freedom and civic responsibility. He talked about vindication and justice. He made faith-based references, lauded civic achievements and called on Americans to not squander the privilege of the right to vote. He urged civil disobedience and a willingness to shake up the status quo and spoke of love of country, a not-so-thinly veiled reference to challenges to his own character and patriotism.

And he reviewed the history of our country.

Three quarters of the way through his speech, Obama presented a survey of America—a roster, if you will—of all the immigrants, outsiders, ne’er-do-wells, heroes, and others who made this country the United States we celebrate today.

“Look at our history,” he said. “…who we are.”

“We are Lewis and Clark and Sacajawea, pioneers who braved the unfamiliar, followed by a stampede of farmers and miners, and entrepreneurs and hucksters.” He mentioned Sojourner Truth, Fannie Lou Hamer and Susan B. Anthony.

Cadence flowing, he cited immigrants, Holocaust survivors, Soviet defectors, the Lost Boys of Sudan, strivers who cross the Rio Grande, slaves who built the White House and the economy of the South, ranch hands, cowboys, laborers, GIs who fought to liberate a continent, the Tuskegee Airmen, the Navajo code-talkers, and Japanese Americans who fought for this country even as their own liberty had been denied. He mentioned firefighters who “rushed into those buildings on 9/11,” volunteers who fight in Afghanistan and Iraq, and gay Americans.

The list was extensive. It was hard to imagine the president left out any group.

But he did.

Where, Mr. President, was your acknowledgement of Muslims?

In 2009 you said, “I also know that Islam has always been a part of America's story. The first nation to recognize my country was Morocco. In signing the Treaty of Tripoli in 1796, our second President, John Adams, wrote, ‘The United States has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion or tranquility of Muslims.’ And since our founding, American Muslims have enriched the United States. They have fought in our wars, they have served in our government, they have stood for civil rights, they have started businesses, they have taught at our universities, they've excelled in our sports arenas, they've won Nobel Prizes, built our tallest building, and lit the Olympic Torch. And when the first Muslim American was recently elected to Congress, he took the oath to defend our Constitution using the same Holy Koran that one of our Founding Fathers -- Thomas Jefferson -- kept in his personal library.”

But you didn’t mention Muslims when you spoke in Selma.

In July 2014 you issued a statement that said, “In the United States, Eid also reminds us of the many achievements and contributions of Muslim Americans to building the very fabric of our nation and strengthening the core of our democracy.”

But you didn’t mention Muslims when you spoke in Selma.

You blew it, Mr. President.

You had a chance to include our Muslim neighbors along with the other groups that make up the fabric of our nation. And you didn’t.

It was a teachable moment, Mr. President, for those in our country who think American Muslims are not Americans. I recognize it wasn’t possible to mention every group that contributed to this country; you also didn’t mention the Irish, the teachers, the Italians and many others. But members of those groups are not currently the object of narrow-mindedness, intolerance and death threats.

In the same way you pointed out other Americans who’ve been the target of hate crimes, prejudice, and discrimination—Japanese Americans, gay Americans, Mexican laborers—you should have mentioned Muslims.

Publically identifying Muslims as Americans and as a part of our history would have made it easier for the woman on the bus who wears a hijab, the physician in private practice who comes from Pakistan, and the child on the soccer field whose jersey reads Muhammad. And it would have made it easier for America as a whole to move beyond seeing Muslims as the Other.

I’m disappointed in you, Mr. President, for ignoring this opportunity. It is estimated that upwards of 30% of the slaves brought to this country were Muslims. And 200 firefighters at the Twin Towers on 9/11 were Muslims. One word strategically inserted into your speech would have educated the entire country.

On the solemn occasion of Bloody Sunday, when you praised the strength of “we” by reminding us of We the People, We Shall Overcome, and Yes We Can, you were Missing in Action for one group of Americans. And when you’re MIA for one minority community in the United States, you’re MIA for the entire country.

The Blind Men and the Elephant

2014-07-09T14:59:00.002-04:00

The Blind Men and the Elephant

It was six men of Indostan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.

The First approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
"God bless me! but the Elephant
Is very like a WALL!"

The Second, feeling of the tusk,
Cried, "Ho, what have we here,
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me 'tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a SPEAR!"

The Third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake:
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a SNAKE!"

The Fourth reached out an eager hand,
And felt about the knee
"What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain," quoth he:
"'Tis clear enough the Elephant
Is very like a TREE!"

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,
Said: "E'en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most;
Deny the fact who can,
This marvel of an Elephant
Is very like a FAN!"

The Sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Than seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a ROPE!"

And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong!

~John Godfrey Saxe (1816-1887)

Courage is a Verb

2014-07-06T14:08:00.001-04:00

Those of us blessed to have friends in faith traditions other than our own are finding some comfort in our solidarity. We are reaping what we’ve sowed and are coming together to share thoughts, voice fears, and pour out our grief.

Those of us who work in interfaith relations acknowledged through our tears that much of the heartbreak is rooted in senseless ignorance of The Other.

One response to these tragedies can be a re-dedication to our work: the work of listening to those with whom we differ in order to obtain greater clarity and empathy; the work of learning from colleagues how to better engage in interfaith understanding; and the work of looking within ourselves for greater compassion and wisdom.

A second response is to join with others who are on the front line of this work.

Several weeks ago, I shared a blog from a Muslim leader who is participating in a program designed to build some understanding between Muslim and Jewish leaders in the US. In an appalling turn of events, Rabia Chaudry’s article entitled What a Muslim American Learned from Zionists generated hateful condemnation, vile blog comments, and worse from Muslims around the world. Jewish participants, too, encountered loathsome professional and personal attacks from within their own communities.

Ms Chaudry writes, “It [the program] was...kept under wraps for the most part because it was risky for all involved. Hartman lost funding, donors, and board members over this program. One of the organizers, Yossi Klein Halevi, lost credibility, friends, and supporters when he wrote this piece along with Imam Abdullah. Rabbi Sharon Brous, one of our lecturers, was destroyed in the Israeli media when she wrote a piece sympathetic to Gazans. Hartman is being accused of hosting terrorist sympathizers and we are being accused of being Occupation sympathizers. This is the cost of trying to work in gray spaces, I knew it, and I accepted it."

She knew it and she accepted it.

If we believe in this work, if we are committed to building bridges of understanding between different faith communities, we must know and understand the cost, too.

Rabia, Yossi, Sharon, Abdullah, and others are putting their money where our mouth is. Their currency is courage. They're taking the risks and making the sacrifices that we who sit in the comfort of our living room dialogue groups and institutional interfaith committees are unwilling to do.

Where are the Jewish voices standing with the Hartman Institute? Where are the Muslims defending and supporting the courage of Imam Antepli's leadership?

Are we only willing to support interfaith engagement when the results are kumbaya and sanitized, or is there courage behind our convictions?

Chaudry writes in a later blog, “This fellowship proves that building relationships between people who fundamentally disagree can uncover empathy and mutual recognition that despite differences, everyone deserves dignity, security, prosperity and self-determination.”

Children are dying. We mourn.

We watch the news. We wring our hands.

We want an end to the violence. What more can we do?

We can support individuals and organizations who are on the leading edge in a profoundly brave way. Just as a fundraising challenge grant doubles the impact of a donor's gift, our support of these leaders increases the impact of their work. And ours.

Last month, Pope Francis said, "Peacemaking calls for courage, much more so than warfare. It calls for the courage to say yes to encounter and no to conflict."

Let us pray for the courage to say yes to the encounter. And, if we cannot find the courage to say yes to the encounter, let us pray for the courage to support those who can.

שלום עכשיו‎
Peace now

Proper Behavior when Encountering Jewish Diversity in a Muslim Gymnasium

2014-03-07T06:30:00.000-05:00

Tonight I attended a Muslim interfaith event and, rather than meeting new Muslim friends, I encountered Jewish diversity like I’d never seen before.

Never.

We Jews talk about Jewish diversity a lot.

We have our standard Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform Jews. We have the relative newcomers—the Reconstructionist Jews and the Jewish Renewal Jews.

We also have our cultural Jews. Those are the Jews who like bagels with a schmear but don’t hold much with the God-thing.

We even have secular Jews. That’s a Jew who doesn’t believe in God, which is not as strange as it sounds once you understand Judaism is a peoplehood as well as a religion. Babies are born Jewish [in some denominations it’s only the mother’s Jewish-ness that determines the Jewish-ness of the baby. In other denominations it’s the mother or the father.] As that baby grows up, s/he remains Jewish even without a spiritual belief in God.

A few years ago, Tablet Magazine ran an articleabout a non-Jew who wanted to convert to secular Judaism. He asks his Jewish friend, “Is it possible to convert to secular Judaism?” to which his friend replies, “No. You have to convert the usual way and then have a fight with your rabbi.” To my non-Jewish readers, that’s a joke.

In my interfaith work I’m often asked, “What do Jews think about so-and-so?” I’m careful to preface any statement with the caveat, “I can’t speak for all Jews, but…” followed by a recital of “Conservative Judaism holds…”, then, “Some Reform Jews…”, and finally, “Most Orthodox Jews…” Mind you, I often have to do a lot of research, particularly for my Qur’an class, when I’m asked to share a Jewish perspective.

The truth is: Jews are as diverse as any other religion/people/culture/group.

Tonight I learned just how diverse our diversity can be.

Tonight I met the Neturei Karta: the ultra-ultra-Orthodox [if that's what they can be called] Jews who pray for the “dismantling” of Israel.

I won’t go into this group’s practices or beliefs. This blog is not a place for political discussion but rather is a forum for sharing positive interfaith experiences and religious commonality and insight.

Yet what I found so disconcerting sitting at tonight’s interfaith encounter surrounded by well-meaning Muslims and Love Thy Neighbor banners was that the person chosen to speak on behalf of the Jewish community was one of the rabbis from this fringe group.

For sure I, as a Jew, am not aligned with the views of left-wing BDS-supporters [that's Boycotts, Divestment, and Sanctions] who denounce Israel with every breath. Nor am I in step with the right-wing Islamophobes who bash Islam in the name of Israel’s security. While both these groups make a lot of noise and attract a lot of attention, they do not represent mainstream American Jewry.

They do not represent me.

Neither does the black-hatted, religious Jew—who tonight spouted [not-so-subtle] anti-Israel rhetoric in front of a room of well-meaning interfaith activists—represent me.

How does one—a Jew—deal with such a situation? Should I ignore it, confront it, be offended by it, or leave the proceedings? What's the proper interfaith protocol?

At the end of the evening, I approached one of the event organizers and whispered in her ear, “You know, your speaker is not representative of mainstream Jewry. It’s rather like asking a Muslim extremist to speak on behalf of Islam. Perhaps you and I can work together to create more meaningful partnerships and encounters in the community.”

We’re having coffee next week.

If you’ve ever received a personal email from me, you’ve seen the following tag in my signature line:

“Never attribute to malice that which can just as easily be attributed to ignorance.”

It’s not my quote, but I believe in the sentiment 100%.

One of our responsibilities as interfaith activists is to give the Other Guy the benefit of the doubt.

Both Islam and Judaism are diverse. Both contain outliers or people who are far from the spiritual and cultural center of our traditions.

We are at our best when we don’t accept these fringe groups as typical of the larger community.

For the most part, most Jews of different denominations can agree mostly on two things: there is One God and our holy book is the Torah. [Noted exception: secular and cultural Jews, maybe.]

With close to14 million Jews in the world, that’s a pretty big continuum of differences. With 1.6 billion Muslims, the continuum of differences in Islam is staggering.

What do you say we cut each other some slack and agree that the few odd ducks in our flock are not indicative of the whole?

On Becoming a Fig

2014-01-16T01:23:00.001-05:00

It’s a year to the day since my home was filled with standing-room-only Jewish and Muslim friends celebrating the Jewish holiday of Tu b’Shevat.

Even though the Jews didn’t know the Muslims and the Muslims didn’t know the Jews, all the guests were my friends. And all my friends are extraordinary.

Sitting knee to knee in my crowded living room, this amalgam of Strangers and Friends soon became a circle of Friends. We shared stories, ate, and prayed together. It was fabulous.

For most of the Jews (me included) and all of my Muslim friends, this was our first Tu b’Shevat seder.

Yes, the observance of Tu b’Shevat revolves around a seder. You may automatically think of Passover when you hear the word seder, but the word seder simply means order. And there’s an order to a Tu b’Shevat celebration (just as there’s an order to a Passover celebration.)

Today, January 15-16, 2014, is Tu b’Shevat. It's the New Year of the Trees and one of four new years in the Jewish calendar. Think of it as a Jewish Arbor Day. Tu b’Shevat acknowledges the wonders and abundance of the natural world and recognizes—and recreates through the seder—seasonal transitions.

It’s a time to reflect, also, on personal transitions.

A Tu b’Shevat seder traditionally includes three courses of fruits, nuts, and vegetables.

The first course entails an assortment of items that have a hard outer shell and contain an edible interior. On small plates, I served almonds, walnuts, and pomegranates.

The next course is made up of fruits and vegetables that are soft and edible on the outside but have a seed or pit inside. We ate olives, apricots, and dates.

The final course included items that were consumable in their entirety. Berries, grapes, and figs.

Four cups of wine are also consumed during the seder.

The first cup of wine is white wine. It symbolizes winter. The second cup is white wine with a little red wine added. Now we’re starting to see the changing seasons. The third cup of wine is half red and half white, a continuation of the passage of time. The fourth cup of wine is all red marking the arrival of autumn, the fire of the Universe, and that spark of the Divine in each of us. [Since our celebration included Muslims, I substituted white and red grape juice for wine.]

Tu b’Shevat is loaded with symbolism. In fact, I’ve only scratched the surface of the meaning and practices surrounding this holiday. (I expect I’ll be chastised for omitting the seven species, references to the Garden of Eden, or neglecting the blessings and other teachings that accompany the holiday.)

But I want to stay with the courses. That’s what resonates.

For me, the first course of nuts and pomegranates reflects our day-to-day humanity. We’re hard on the outside. Protecting ourselves. Not letting anything in. Our exterior is tough, but, ironically, only the vulnerable need armor. When we crack open that defense, however difficult that might be, when we peel away the outer layer of protection, we find the delightful essence of who we are.

Seasons pass. We become softer on the outside. We’re more trusting. More malleable. But inside, we’re still hard. Like the olive and date, we hold onto an unbreakable center. Nothing’s getting all the way through. We harden ourselves at our very core. Our squishy exterior belies a reinforced, often cynical, interior.

More time passes. Winter becomes spring. Spring turns into summer. We mature. It's autumn.

Life experiences, our own determination, and, for some, the grace of God, bring about a long-awaited confidence and ease. Eventually faith or self-reliance help us open up to a full experience of life. We're on the third course. No pretense. We're authentic through and through.

We're figs.

Our faith traditions embrace figs.

Figs were in the Garden of Eden.

Figs are in the Qur’an. Surah [chapter] 95 is called The Fig.

Buddha was sitting under a Bodhi, a sacred fig tree, when he achieved enlightenment.

At this time of year, as we celebrate Tu b'Shevat, I'm jubilant. I'm reflective. And I'm a grateful fig.

8 Reasons I Love My Muslim Friends

2014-01-13T22:19:00.000-05:00

If you've ever thought about stepping into a community seemingly not like your own, let me tell you how I've benefited by becoming friends with Muslims.

When I wrote my graduate thesis on Jewish-Muslim commonality, I had to find a mosque and a research pool of subjects for interviews. Those interviews turned into opportunities for relationships and those relationships turned into friendships.

Beyond camaraderie and a whole lot of giggles, beyond Torah study and Qur’an study, and beyond exciting interfaith programming, I’ve gained insights over the past five years that I never could have imagined.

Here’s a list of unanticipated advantages I get by hanging with Muslims. Keep in mind, I live in the 'burbs of New York. I’m not chilling with Muslims in Afghanistan. (I did, however, meet a fabulous young woman online who lives in Tehran who shattered my perceptions of Iranian Muslims!)

Most of my Muslim friends are women. They are all observant.They are doctors, engineers, civic leaders, business folk, and artists. Most of them are parents. And while my friends are not representative of all Muslims around the world, I would guess they’re pretty representative of mainstream Muslim communities across the United States.

Here’s why I love having Muslim friends.

8. As a Jew, I don't eat pork or shellfish. For Muslims, pork and shellfish are not hallal (that’s Arabic for not kosher.) That makes it a breeze for me to enjoy a potluck meal with my Muslim friends compared to my would-you-like-that-cheesecake-wrapped-in-bacon friends. (Although, in the interest of accuracy, some Muslims do eat shrimp and prawns.)

7. Since Muslims don’t celebrate Christmas, I have someone to hang with on December 25 besides other Jews and a Chinese waiter.

6. When we go out, I always have a designated driver.

5. I get the straight scoop on Islam without having to rely on third party translators or non-Islamic resources. Sitting with my friends and asking direct questions like, “So you’re in an arranged marriage. What’s that about?” is easy. As easy, say, as asking a Jewish friend for his or her favorite blintz recipe. Probably easier.

4. My friends can provide better make-up tips than any cosmetics counter at Saks or Neiman’s. (Have you seen the gorgeous smoky eyes?)

3. I speak with some authority now when I say Muslims don’t spend their entire day fixated on Israel. My friends are more focused on Muslim relations in the United States and other parts of the world than they are on the problems of Israelis and Palestinians. We share heartfelt compassion for those searching to find peace and reconciliation in the Middle East. But with only 15% of the world's Muslim population in that part of the world, other matters occupy my friends' attention more acutely.

2. It's easier to talk about potentially thorny issues when you're talking with a friend. Friendship enables us to hear another point of view more easily.

And finally,

1. Did I mention I always have a designated driver?

Islamophobia, Strange Bedfellows, and Missed Opportunities

2013-05-11T21:43:00.001-04:00

”Islamophobia is an exaggerated fear, hatred, and hostility toward Islam and Muslims that is perpetuated by negative stereotypes resulting in bias, discrimination, and the marginalization and exclusion of Muslims...” [Fear Inc., Center for American Progress, 2011]

Why is it so hard for us to work together when it comes to dealing with Islamophobia?

Another round of Muslim-hate ads appeared along the metro train line in Westchester County, New York, this week. Within days community groups mobilized to respond to the ads.

In an attempt to neutralize this latest round of anti-Islam propaganda, local social action groups discussed various responses including public vigils, counter ad campaigns, and speaking engagements.

Also speculated upon by some groups were the reasons behind these latest anti-Islam ads.

This recent campaign, which is paid for by Pam Geller’s American Freedom Defense Initiative, appears to be in response to anti-Israel ads that ran on buses in San Francisco, paid for by a group called Muslims for Palestine.

But it’s not as if Islamophobe poster child Geller needs a reason to spew lies or demonstrate her viciousness. We've seen that almost anything is fodder for her twisted agenda.

Less understandable, though, are local organizations' responses that purport to challenge Geller's hate message. I was alarmed, although sadly not surprised, to find a bullet point from one group’s meeting notes that read, “The role of Israel/Palestine.”

What?

Islamophobia isn’t about the Middle East. If a peace agreement was signed in the Middle East tomorrow, would anti-Muslim sentiment stop?

Why do we respond to bigotry with the same tactics used by the bigot? Since when do we let an extremist like Geller define our responses to anything?

With the best of intentions, local social action groups are climbing the ladder of inference to an unhelpful conclusion: anti-Islamic activity is connected to geo-political events in the Middle East. Never mind contributory factors of fear of the Other and ignorance about the religion of Islam. Geller taps into our deepest emotions (and her supporters' checkbooks) when she connects Islam to Israel and Palestine. We plug into her agenda when we make Islamophobia about anything other than bigotry and intolerance.

Unfortunately, the negative endgame, and this works well for Geller and her ilk, is that grassroots peace and co-existence efforts become fragmented when they should be jointly coordinated. When we focus on Palestinians and Israelis, instead of on educating people about Islam, our efforts become undermined by extraneous topics like BDS and foreign aid.

I’m a liberal Jew, often critical of my own community’s reluctance to step forward and denounce anti-Islam rhetoric. But I sympathize with the dilemma that confronts Jews and Jewish agencies when social action groups approach anti-Islam incidents from an Israeli/Palestinian lens that is, for many, a thinly veiled attempt to criticize Israel.

Whenever I can, I express solidarity with American Muslims. For the most part, I have done this individually even though I would prefer to stand with others, combining forces to maximize the impact of our collective outrage.

In fact, I would join with Jewish Voice for Peace, WESPAC [a local activist organization], and other left-leaning groups with whom I have serious differences of opinion on matters of the Middle East, if it meant our working together would increase the chances of delivering a blow to anti-Muslim bigotry.

But so far I have found it unproductive, to say nothing of uncomfortable, to work with groups that insist on bringing Israel and Palestine into the conversation.

Islamophobia is hateful discrimination.

Islamophobia is stereotyping. Scapegoating. Ignorance.

It separates neighbor from neighbor and creates fear and suspicion.

Islamophobia diminishes all of us because it offends our core values of compassion, justice, and fairness.

I urge community leaders to take the Middle East out of these conversations. We don’t need to make Islamophobia any tougher to deal with than it already is.

Peter Pan, Interfaith Role Model

2013-03-20T01:00:00.003-04:00

I don’t know when it happened.

Five years ago I didn’t know a Muslim, hadn’t a clue about Muhammed, the Qur’an, or head coverings. I didn’t have Muslim friends, didn’t know about mosques, daily prayers, Ramadan, or the Hajj.

You could even say, I didn’t know I didn’t know.

And now I do.

How do we go from not knowing—even cluelessness—to knowing?

All my life I’ve had Christian friends. I’ve known about Jesus, rosary beads, eating (or not eating) meat on Friday, and the ordination (or not) of women.

My Christian friendships came about spontaneously—not through religious settings. I didn’t know Christians religiously.

I knew Christians because we went to school together. Sure, when my friends left class early, I learned about Good Friday, and when they showed up in school with a smudge on their foreheads, I learned about Ash Wednesday. But mostly I learned about Christians playing dodge ball, borrowing notes for a Chemistry test, or talking about boys.

I learned about Christians while I was learning about myself. I learned about Christians while I was growing up.

So now that I’m older, and recess is a distant memory, how did I come to know Muslims?

Well, the start of that journey was a graduate paper on the philanthropic practices of Islam and Judaism. I don’t know what prompted me to choose that topic. I had no experience with Muslims. No interest in Islam. I could just as easily have written about Andrew Carnegie or volunteer management. But I didn’t.

My research required I find Muslims. And, once I found them, I talked with them. Well, in truth, I interviewed them, which is different than talking with them. But it was a start.

And then I kept the relationships going. A little bit at first. And then a little more. And somewhere in between five years ago and now, I came to know Muslims.

There was no week when, say, one day I didn’t know and the next day I did. It happened the same way I came to know Christians, but without the swing sets. It happened in the everyday, Dick and Jane process of growing up.

My Muslim friendships came about organically, not religiously, through normal life events, like writing a term paper.

Sure, when my friends decline a morning biscuit, I learn about Ramadan, and when they excuse themselves from a mid-day gathering, I learn about afternoon prayer. And, yes, we regularly share our faith traditions with each other. But mostly I came to know Muslims when swapping stories about our families, exchanging professional best practices, or carrying on about the latest and greatest dime store mascara.

Growing up is a continual process that's highly overrated.

Keep the faith. It’s never too late to not grow up.

Why Friendship is So Darn Important

2013-02-12T09:35:00.000-05:00

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” Rumi

What does it mean to have a friend?

A few years ago I came across a blog on the internet called My Best Friend is Muslim. Relatively inactive now, the site was an online invitation for visitors to share brief stories about their closest relationships with Muslims.

Predictably, most of the posts on the site were about friendships between Muslims and non-Muslims. Although I could write an entire blog on the very existence of such a site [can you image a site today called, My Best Friend is Jewish?], what makes My Best Friend is Muslim remarkable is its lack of remarkability. For the most part, the friendships described are unexceptional. And therein lies the beauty of the site.

The mostly young contributors to the site come from a variety of faith backgrounds. One post describes a friendship between a Muslim and a Greek Orthodox Christian, both with Lebanese ancestry. Another is between a Sikh and a Muslim. Still another is between a non-Muslim and her sister who converted to Islam. Many of the posts describe typical qualities of friendship: support, shared interests, and fun. Not surprising, many of the friendships began in school, and many of the BFFs extend back in time, one for 19 years.

Of all the heartwarming stories of friendship and affection, a story about the BFF friendship between two Muslims, a Sunni Muslim and a Shi’a Muslim, stands out.

Shi’ite and Sunni Muslims have significant differences that stem from the determination of the rightful successor to Muhammad. Core religious precepts are similar [for example, all Muslims would adhere to the same Five Pillars of Islam], but many other beliefs, rituals, and practices are quite different.

"We have a lot in common and our beliefs do not stand in [the way of] our friendship," says the Sunni writer about her Shi'ite friend. "It’s a bit difficult when you have the same religion but a different approach but [we] choose to overlook that."

These BFFs have found a way to focus on what makes a person The Same rather than what makes a person The Other.

Even though very strong religious differences exist in the Sunni/Shi'a friendship—differences that in some parts of the world would result in violence and bloodshed—these BFFs choose to see in each other, first and foremost, a friend.

Each blog post is accompanied by a photograph—an image taken informally in a shopping mall photo booth or with a cell phone camera. These pictures of grinning, goofy, everyday friendships can teach us all something about how to create peace...somewhere out in Rumi's field.

Confront the Scary Words

2013-02-04T15:37:00.002-05:00

If infidel and Muslim/muslim [see earlier posts] are the one-two punch of Islamic misunderstanding for non-Muslims, the next word is the knock-out.

Jihad.

The mere mention of the word conjures images of...well, you know what you're conjuring right now.

But a recent campaign sponsored by CAIR (Council on American-Islamic Relations) is providing clarity about jihad's meaning.

According to a new website, MyJihad: Reclaiming Islam, jihad means "to struggle against barriers & odds in search of a better place." Launched at the end of last year in response to an Islamic hate initiative across the country, MyJihad clarifies the term by offering statements from American Muslims.

"My jihad is to always pursue new ideas and conquer new challenges."

"My jihad is to build friendships across the aisle."

"My jihad is freedom and peace for Syria."

And then the website asks, "What's yours?"

On a deeper level, the campaign invites us to examine our relationship—not just with people and religion—but also with language.

Jihad is an Islamic religious term. When the media or other speakers misappropriate the word jihad for non-religious or political purposes—defining the word in a way that degrades or misrepresents its sacred meaning—our ability to engage each other in a straightforward way is damaged.

The integrity of our relationships is tied to the integrity of our language.

In the classic novel, Alice: Through the Looking Glass, Humpty Dumpty brags, "When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less."

Then Alice challenges, “The question is whether you can make words mean so many different things."

Yes, words can have different meanings. But when a religious term emerges void of spiritual value, I side with Alice.

My jihad is to use words more precisely and, whenever possible, clarify words that deceive and misinform.

What's your jihad?

Israelis & Palestinians Plant Trees

2013-01-28T22:53:00.000-05:00

After an extended hiatus, I'm back with renewed dedication to talking about Jewish-Islamic relations.

And there's no better time to begin than right now because this week is the Jewish celebration of Tu B'Shvat - The New Year of the Trees. A time to rededicate ourselves to being mindful of how we treat the earth.

We celebrate this holiday with a certainty that, despite the evidence outside our windows, the harsh winter will end and spring will appear. Even as branches are bare, we know sap is beginning to rise. Even as ice and snow cling to the trees, we know buds are beginning to form just below the bark.

Our inability to see something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. There are a lot of things happening in the world we can't see.

Sometimes you just need a little faith--in the absence of evidence--to keep moving forward.

And the same is true of interfaith work. There's a lot happening in the interfaith world right now even though we may not see all the outward signs.

Strong roots of community bridge-building between Jews and Muslims are taking hold across this country--even though TV and Facebook posts indicate the opposite. Many of us are developing programs and engaging in conversations with different faith communities. And we know that the frost is thawing and the warmth of interfaith relations is beginning to surface.

If you don't see the proof, have faith--the same kind of faith you have in the dead of winter that tells you spring will certainly come.

In the meantime, if you want a little hard evidence, check this out. Below is a picture from last year's Tu B'Shvat celebration in the West Bank. The men, an Israeli and a Palestinian, are planting trees in an effort to block dust coming from a nearby factory. Their combined efforts benefit the entire community. Here's the complete story.

May we be reminded this wintery Tu B'Shvat that belief in peace and harmony--like belief in the flowers of spring--need faith, mindfulness, and a whole lot of cultivation.


Together Abu-Taled and Mayor Oded Ravivi plant trees in the West Bank, Feb 2012

Don't Look Now, There's a Muslim on the Bima

2012-02-27T08:23:00.000-05:00

Don't you love a question that comes at you like a challenge.

"If the Qur'an says Muslims are supposed to be respectful of other religions," a business associate taunted, "how come I heard an Imam say that all Jews were Muslims?"

It's the Humpty Dumpty language problem again. (Click here for the initial post.)

Muslim مسلم is an Arabic word that means one who submits to the will of God. The word can be used two ways.

With an uppercase M, Muslim carries the commonly understood meaning: a follower of Islam who believes that Muhammed is the final and true Prophet.

With a lowercase m, muslims are followers of other faith traditions who submit to the will of THEIR God. And that includes Jews.

Same word. Different capitalization. Different meaning.

Compare, "Wow. Look at that purple dress! She doesn't have a very conservative wardrobe," with, "Oh, the new folks? I hear they're Conservative Jews."

That's the situation with muslims and Muslims.

Every Friday morning I study the Qur'an with Muslims. On Saturday mornings I study the Torah with muslims.

All of a sudden I have an overwhelming craving for M&M's.

When are Infidels not Infidels? When They're Farmers

2012-02-09T14:17:00.000-05:00

"A word means just what I choose it to mean—nothing more and nothing less."
~ Humpty Dumpty, Through the Looking Glass

That's all fine and good for nursery rhymes, but when we talk in the real world, definitions matter.

The next few blogs will deal with definitions of words we don't know we don't know.

Let's jump right into the deep end with INFIDEL.

Right off the bat there's a problem.

The word infidel does not appear in the Qur'an. The Arabic word kafir كافر is often mistranslated as infidel. But that's wrong. The Arabic kafir has—if you'll pardon the pun—agrarian roots. It means to cover or to hide. In ancient times, kafir referred to farmers who planted seeds and covered them gently with soil.

In the Qur'an, then, kafir is used to reference one for whom the seeds of truth are covered. Not an infidel. The seeds of God are just below the surface, waiting to sprout. While that person is technically an unbeliever, the connotation behind kafir is significantly different than the inference behind infidel.

Or to put it another way...

"Sometimes even religions become ossified. The old encounters that they carry seem hopelessly encrusted by centuries of mindless repetition. But we must nevertheless never forget that spiritual light cannot be extinguished. Only buried. And for this reason every spiritual discovery is but a rediscovery."
~ Rabbi Lawrence Kushner, Honey from the Rock

Looks like Judaism has its infidels, oops, kafir, also.

القرآن The Qur'an - Part Two

2012-02-06T13:41:00.000-05:00

Quick! What are the opening words of the bible? Sorry. You don’t get a gold star for the right answer because the average Joe on the street can turn the phrase, “In the beginning…”

But the Qur'an—even though it includes stories of The Creation, The Garden of Eden, The Flood, and more [read The Qur'an - Part One]—doesn’t start with, “In the beginning…” Instead, it begins with a declaration of praise to Allah [the Arabic word for God] and then continues, “This is the Book: in it is guidance sure…”

Nor does the Qur’an follow the familiar Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus format.

Rather, Islamic scripture is laid out in 114 non-chronological chapters, or surahs. The longest surah is at the beginning of the Qur'an and the shortest is at the end. Each surah has an intriguing title coming from the theme of the surah, the first words of the text, or some other naming device, for example The Bee, The Poets, The Pen, The Glorious Morning Light, The Neighborly Needs.

At times, this non-sequential arrangement of the Qur’an is problematic. It's not easy to simply find the section on, say, Abraham/Ibrahim or Moses.

Here’s text about the burning bush.

Surah 20:10-14 ~ Behold, he saw a fire: so he said to his family, "You tarry; I perceive a fire; perhaps I can bring you some burning brand therefrom, or find some guidance at the fire." But when he came to the fire, a voice was heard: "O Moses! "Verily I am your lord! Therefore (in My presence) put off your shoes: you are in the sacred valley Tuwa. "I have chosen you: listen, then, to the inspiration (sent to you). "Verily, I am Allah: There is no god but I: so you serve Me (only), and establish regular prayer for celebrating My praise.

And here's the Parting of the Red Sea. Notice the first surah below appears earlier in the Qur'an than the surah about the burning bush and the second surah appears after. (My Qur’an has an index, which make it easier to locate passages by subject!)

Surah 10:90 ~ We took the Children of Israel across the sea; Pharaoh and his hosts followed them in insolence and spite. At length, when overwhelmed with the flood, he said: "I believe that there is no god except Him Whom the Children of Israel believe in: I am of those who submit (to Allah in Islam)."

Surah 26:63-67 ~ (Moses) said: "By no means! My Lord is with me! Soon will He guide me!" Then We told Moses by inspiration: "Strike the sea with your rod." So it divided, and each separate part became like the huge, firm mass of a mountain. And We made the other party approach thither. We delivered Moses and all who were with him; But We drowned the others.

Since the story is scattered throughout the Qur'an, it’s sort of a Holy Land Where’s Waldo.

[Note: The exception to this carved-up storytelling is Yusuf, or Joseph in the Hebrew bible. Although Prophet Yusuf appears in several places in the Qur’an, the complete story—from the dream of the stars and moon and brothers bowing low to their brother to the family’s ultimate reconciliation in Egypt—is told in Surah 12.]

Even though the Moses story is divided throughout the Qur'an, if you unpack the text carefully, you’ll find most of the details familiar to a Jewish audience: the infant Moses being cast into the river and then rescued, his growing up in Egypt and slaying an Egyptian soldier, brother Aaron, the plagues, wicked Pharaoh, and even the speech impediment.

There are some additions, too. The Islamic story of Moses includes a conversation between God and Moses' mother:

Surah 28:7 ~ So We sent this inspiration to the mother of Moses, "Suckle (your child), but when you have fears about him, cast him into the river, but fear not nor grieve: for We shall restore him to you, and We shall make him one of Our Messengers."

With enough flipping back and forth through many pages of text, you can get the gist of the story. [Students of the Qur’an often use an iPad or similar electronic device to make this process simpler!]

Imagine, from a Jewish point of view, taking a biblical narrative, breaking it into a dozen pieces, and distributing the verses throughout the Torah. You'd have to do a lot of sleuthing to reassemble the fragmented text in a meaningful way. And you’d have to make darn sure you found all the pieces. A missing section could significantly alter the story!

Think of the Garden of Eden without the serpent. Noah without the rainbow. The exodus without Mount Sinai. The desert without manna.

Interpreting an isolated passage of the Torah or the Qur’an without scriptural or historical context is risky. It's like building a NASA spaceship using Star Wars as a blueprint. You think you have it figured out, but you'd be wrong...and wouldn't know it for a long time. And you'd never get to where you wanted to be.

If you want to understand the Qur'an, take a class. Contact your local mosque. Find a Muslim to study with. Keep in mind: in the same way that not all Jews are Torah scholars, don’t expect all Muslims to be Qur’an scholars.

If you're interested in finding places in your city where you can study, let me know. I'm putting together a list of resources and hope to have that info for you soon.

In the meantime, visit your library or buy an inexpensive paperback to see what a Qur'an looks like. Or click here for an online version. (There's an audio link on the website so you can hear parts of the Qur'an recited aloud.)

And please refrain from making assumptions about Islam or any other "The Other" without an appropriate framework for understanding.

Knowledge is power. But a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing.

Out on a Limb with Dr. King

2012-01-16T10:40:00.000-05:00

Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase. ~ MLK, Jr.

Every once in a while the weekly Torah portion—called the parashat in Hebrew— shouts its message across the ages and lands smack dab in the middle of contemporary headlines. This week we have one of those portions.

On the same weekend that our nation began celebrating the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday, Jews around the world began the annual reading of the book of Exodus—the seminal Jewish narrative of liberation from Egyptian oppression.

In the first verse of Exodus, we learn that Joseph’s descendants [remember him and his Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat?] thrive and prosper in the land of Egypt.

The next verse fast-forwards through generations to

A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph. He announced to his people, “The Israelite people are much too numerous for us. Let us deal shrewdly with them, so that they may not increase; otherwise in the event of war they may join our enemies in fighting against us and rise from the ground.” (Exodus 1:9-10)

What follows is the familiar Cecil B. DeMille Moses-burning bush-parting of the Red Sea narrative and the genesis (if you will) of the Jewish Passover holiday.

But it's all in the timing and, this year, because Exodus 1:1 coincides with MLK Day, we find exceptional meaning in the opening verses. The overlapping icons of prejudice, injustice, slavery, equality, and liberation are obvious.

But this chapter also reminds us of the importance of getting to know our neighbor.

Think about it. If Egyptians and Israelites were friends, would the story have evolved as it did? If Hakim and Hal were on the same bowling team and shared a snow blower (or a sand sweeper?) or if Fatima had invited Fanny over for tea and shared baby clothes and falafel recipes, would the events have unfolded as they did?

Unfortunately the Egyptians and the Israelites were separated people. They lived together, but they didn't know each other. When injustice and discrimination occurred, it was a short step for the Egyptians to relegate their Israelite neighbor to the status of The Other.

If you're reading this and you’re Jewish, how well do you know your Muslim neighbor? When you hear the word Islam do you think religious inclusion? You should. And if you're Muslim, how well do you know your Jewish neighbor? When you hear the word Jewish do you think social justice? You should.

As you spend today in service to the memory of the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., reflect on your neighbors—those wearing yarmulkes and those wearing hijabs—who are also spending the day in soup kitchens and gathering blankets for the homeless.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., said, "In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."

Begin a conversation today with your friends about commonality. Let's start the dialogue. If that's too much of a stretch, just entertain the possibility that we might have more in common with each other than it appears.

And if you don't get it right away, have faith in that first step. You don't need to see the whole staircase.

القرآن The Qur'an - Part One

2012-01-06T12:48:00.002-05:00

Ever looked at a Qur'an? If you’ve never explored Islam or seen a Qur’an, you might approach with an expectation of something quite unusual. Don't. The Qur’an is more similar to a Torah—or a bible—than you'd expect.

But first things first.

The Qur'an contains the laws, teachings, and moral code of Islam. It is the central holy book of Islam. Its equivalent in Judaism is the Torah.

My Qur'an

The Qur’an I use for research and study is a small paperback book loaded with neon Post-Its! My Qur'an is all-English. Many of my friends use dual-language, Arabic-English translations that are like the Plaut or JPS Hebrew-English Torah texts I have siting on my bookshelf.

But contemporary influences have a way of creeping into even the holiest traditions. Several weeks ago half the students in my Qur'an class were reading our weekly lesson from their iPads! I'm so jealous. I still had to find the proper Genesis verse by manually flipping through pages of A Women's Commentary!

And while we're talking about flipping pages, keep in mind Arabic reads from right-to-left, like Hebrew. Thus, a Qur'an, like a Torah, opens and is read from right-to-left (although my English only Qur'an opens traditionally, left-to-right.)

Although the Qur’an is the primary religious text of Islam, it is not the only religious text. Just as we Jews have the benefit and wisdom of the Talmud and the writings and teachings of scholars over time, Muslims, too, employ other Islamic books and commentary to guide their day-to-day lives and clarify their spiritual practice. [More on this in a future post.]

Islam, like Judaism, began as an oral tradition. Jabril (Gabriel to Jews) revealed the Qur'an to Prophet Muhammed over a 23 year period of time beginning in 610 CE. The word Qur'an, in fact, is Arabic for recitation.

Muslims believe the Qur'an is the direct and ultimate word of God in the same way many Jews believe the Torah is the word of God given to Moses in its entirety at Mount Sinai.

The Beginning of Yusuf [Joseph]

Arriving thousands of years after the beginning of Judaism and centuries after Christianity, Islam embraces many earlier faith traditions. For Muslims, Islam is the apex—the culmination—of the best principles and teachings of what came before. When you read the Qur'an, you'll encounter Abraham, Noah, Moses, Jesus, Buddha, and many other familiar holy figures.

I once heard someone compare religion to a tall mountain with many paths to the top. I'm thinking it's more like we're all on the same path on that mountain, sometimes looking in the same direction as we climb, and sometimes just enjoying the view.

NEXT BLOG: القرآن The Qur'an - Part Two

Chanuk-onnection ~ Think You're Singular? Think Again

2011-12-20T11:30:00.001-05:00

Chanukah is a holiday of contrasts.

A small cruse of oil. The giant miracle.

A tiny Maccabean army. The mighty Hellenistic forces.

The flickering lights illuminating the darkness.

Day-to-day living is often a journey of differences—differences that distinguish and separate rather than connect and unify.

We notice another season, rather than the cycle of nature. We talk about the boundaries of states, rather than the history of civilization. We observe the distinction of a head covering, rather than the beauty of a fabric.

I want to create a culture of seeing the similarities between people—starting with Isaac and Ishmael, Jew and Muslim—because when we see what we have in common, it's easier to talk about the things we don't have in common.

The watchwords of our faith declare שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵינוּ יְהוָה אֶחָד "Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God. The Lord is One." Muslims affirm their faith with لا إله إلا الله there is "no God except Allah."

Even when we think we're different, we're not. As you settle around the chanukiah tonight, try to imagine a world with fewer differences.

Darkness and light are not all that distinct. They are interdependent. One does not exist without the other. When you put them side-by-side, light and darkness don’t fight to maintain their other-ness. Their distinctions vanish when they come together.

This season, I pray for imagination that blurs the lines of our differences. May we recognize that candles reach their full potential when brought into the night and that darkness is transformed in the face of light.

May we come to see the holiday shadows that dance on our tabletops and living room walls for the next eight nights as yearlong reminders of our marvelous interdependence.

I wish you a happy and interconnected holiday. Chag Sameach.

Back to Basics - Islam, By the Numbers

2011-12-08T17:17:00.034-05:00

Never attribute to malice that which can be just as easily attributed to ignorance. ~ Hanlon's Razor

Population Compared to Other World Religions*

Christians               2.3 Billion
Muslims           1.6 Billion
Hindus               955 Million
Buddhists                   494 Million
Jews              15 Million
* November, 2011, The World FactBook (US CIA)

Five Pillars of Islam

Shahada Declaration of Faith
Salah           Establishment of Daily Prayer
Sawm        Fasting During Ramadan
Zakah     Charity and Care of the Needy
Hajj        Pilgrimage to Mecca

Three Ways of Charity

Zakah         Mandated giving within the community
Sadaqah Voluntary giving, acts of kindness
Waqf          Institutional giving that builds community sustainability

Ground Rules, or "Hey Lady, That's a Pretty Big Brush You're Painting With...!"

2011-12-05T07:18:00.007-05:00

You can be upstream. You can be downstream.

This blog is about being mainstream.

I’m part of mainstream American Judaism. That means, I don't support or agree with views expressed by radical Jews. (Yes, even though they're in the minority, there are radical Jews.)

The Islamic community where I study, socialize, and pray is part of mainstream American Islam. That means, my friends don't support or subscribe to views expressed by radical Muslims. (Yes, even though they're in the minority, there are radical Muslims.)

Notice I used the word mainstream, not moderate. To be mainstream is to be part of prevailing culture. American Muslims are often incorrectly characterized as moderate even though moderate means "something limited in scope or degree." American Muslims are no more moderate or limited Muslims than American Jews are moderate or limited Jews. Would you describe a pregnant woman as moderately pregnant. Uh, no. She's pregnant. I'm a Jew. She's a Muslim.

RULE #1 Choose your words carefully.

RULE #2 Don't assume a small sample represents the entire population.

My Muslim friends don't judge me by the actions of other Jews like, say, Bernie Madoff, and I don't judge them by the actions of other Muslims like, say, Mike Tyson. It's irrational to paint all members of any religious, cultural, or ethnic group with the same brush. Don't do it.

RULE #3 Seek commonality.

First and foremost, this blog is about commonality. There are differences, yes. (See About this Site) But my interest, and thus this blog's focus, lies in the overlap of cultural and religious values, traditions, and practices.

RULE #4 Keep it real.

This blog deals with American Muslims and Jews. Let's not talk about Islam in Indonesia. I’m writing about my direct experience--our neighbors at the dry cleaners--not the guys in Saudi Arabia.

Rule #5 If you can't say something nice

Be curious. Ask questions. Contribute to the conversation. If you post derisive, divisive, or contentious remarks, you'll be directed to websites where those posts are more welcomed.

NEXT BLOG: Back to Basics ~ Islam, Part I

In the Beginning

2011-11-24T23:21:00.006-05:00

The hardest part of writing a blog is starting a blog.

Today is Thanksgiving--a providential day for a new undertaking.

I've been writing about Islamic/Judaic commonality for several years. First I wrote academically as part of my research at the University of San Francisco. Then I moved to NY and started writing personal observations about my Islamic experiences in the 'burbs.

Now after more than four years of noting, coding, journaling, and analyzing, I've decided to go public with my aha moments about connections between Judaism and Islam.

If I'm lucky, you'll find the similarities as intriguing as I do. If I'm really lucky, you'll feel inspired to comment and contribute to what happens in this space.

For the opportunity to share this journey, I am truly thankful.

UP NEXT: Ground Rules, or "Hey Lady, That's a Pretty Big Brush You're Painting With...!"