Friday, June 5, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Some thoughts.
Do you have a part of yourself that you hide from the world? From your co-workers? Do you live in fear of this secret getting out and how it will affect you or your family? I do too.
I am Muslim, plain and simple. I have been for almost 15 years, so relative to my life, it's still rather new. It's something I grew into, rather than growing up with. I studied Islam for 6 years before making the choice. When I studied everything I could, I went to live in a Muslim country. That sealed the deal. Living among the people who knew what the religion was and made it part of their daily lives, rather than an academic goal, blew my mind. I fell in love. And like any relationship, it has been good and bad.
I spent the end of 1995 and early 1996 in Israel and Palestine. Officially I was there to do research on the Palestinian elections for a book I was helping write, but I was also there to explore. During my those weeks I came to a totally different view of both Israeli and Palestinian, Jew and Muslim, was a few hundred feet from a suicide bombing, lived in a refugee camp in Gaza and spent some time in an Israeli jail.
Towards the end of that trip, I rented a room in the Old City of Jerusalem. One Friday afternoon I found myself staring at the green doors that close the Temple Mount off from the city during prayer. They hadn't closed yet and the doorman was staring at me while I stared at the doors. Another man came up behind me and explained that the doors had to be closed for Friday prayer, so no tourists were allowed in. "Do you belong here?" he asked me. His dual meaning came through even before my brain could think of the translation's affect. "I think I do." I answered.
In I went. I sat and had tea while the services were held at al-Aqsa. Shortly thereafter my friend came back and ushered me up to the steps of the Dome of the Rock. I took my oath with my four witnesses and was shocked when a small crowd behind me cheered and started congratulating me.
"Now," said the Imam of al-Aqsa, "you must do something for me." Intrigued, I stared at him while he worked the translation out in English to speak to me. "You must go home. You must tell people about us, about yourself. You must show them that we are not all Khomeini, not Nasrallah and not Omar Abd al-Rahman. I have never killed anyone, nor do I want to. All I want is to live here and pray here. You understand?" His meaning, both religious and nationalistic was felt. "This," he whispered intently, "this is Jihad. Not what the news shows you, not what the politicians steal from us, this. Show the world." With that, he kissed my cheeks and left.
For the next few years, I did just that. I was proud of who I was. I spoke out when necessary, I taught all the time. I started an organization to teach about the region and its people, all of them, to try and break down the misinformation that was rife, in schools, on the internet, etc. That all came crashing down in 2001.
When the Pentagon was attacked, when the Towers fell, fear took over. Fear of what was to come for the country, but also for myself. Friends called to warn me to stay inside for a few days, lay low. The nightly news became more painful than ever. The hatred that came out of the mouths of people I thought of as friends was alarming (not at me, of course, just the "other Muslims").
What hit more than anything was the guilt. I felt the fear and distress, but I could hide. 6'4", white, green eyes. It was not me that the "terrorist hunters" were looking for (though I still flinch inwardly when I see those bumper stickers). I walked past rallies where people called for me to burn without ever even glancing at me. I watched shops close, communities disband and people struggle with becoming a public enemy overnight. I felt for them, but knew full well that I would have to do none of that. I withdrew in on myself, closeting off a part of who I was. I failed to do my part to show the world who we were.
The years since have been calmer, but still harder. I teach in little ways, and fail in much bigger ones. I hide part of myself, but have let part of myself go. I no longer practice my own religion. I now hide the fact that I am Muslim, even from my kids, out of fear of what the reaction would be that may affect them. I sit by and listen as people, ill educated and illiterate, attack a religion and a people they know nothing about. They glom onto single facts and use them to paint the whole picture. One dot, unconnected to any.
Here’s the deal. I know you’ve heard it, and I know you likely don’t believe it, but the truth is still the truth. Jihad does not mean holy war. It means struggle. Harb al-Ridha means holy war and is a nonsensical construction in Arabic. Jihad is a mission of an individual, a mission to become better, a better Muslim, a better person. Jihad is not a war to spread a religion. The word for that is Crusade. Groups cannot practice Jihad. No one “wages” jihad. Any one who says differently, or thinks otherwise is twisting a concept out of its bounds. It’s not that foreign a concept. Every religion has had its member who abuses its teachings, relies on literal readings of centuries old texts that cannot be adopted in modern times, or outright lies about meaning. Scott Roader is not the model for Christianity, nor is Osama bin Laden the model for Islam.
Does Islam has its failures? Yes, every religion does. Islam is not exempt, Christianity is not, nor is Judaism. Does the Qur’an have passages that can be ill interpreted or are repulsive on their face? Sure, but have you ever read Leviticus? Is Islam a religion that is prevalent in a society of tribal tradition and therefore blended with that tradition, for good or ill? Sure.
Is Islam going through a period of schism and reform, sometimes violent? Yup. On the Islamic calendar the year is 1430. Do you know where Christianity was in 1430? Jean d’Arc was captured and burned as a heretic and witch. The great schism began. The Spanish Inquisition was created and the Hussite wars are waged. Sound familiar? Violence and division, interpretation and abuse. From there, the renaissance was born. Can the same be true for Islam? I hope so. Will it be easy and squeaky clean? Nope.
We are not all suicide bombers. We do not all hate Jews. We do not all marry or rape young girls. You’ll read that we do, and there are those who believe those are universal truisms, but they are as misinformed and ignorant as those they accuse. If you want to be understood and accepted, understand and accept as well. Otherwise, you create derision, mistrust and continue to build the wall between cultures. Those entrapped fools in Brooklyn? Not Jihadists. The dude in Arkansas? Nope, not him either.
So, today, I am proud of my President and what he said. His gesture, no matter how scripted, goes so far to healing some of the damage of the last 10 years. I am proud of who I am. I will renew my mission and I will not be defeated by ignorance or fear, my own or that of others.
I am Muslim, plain and simple. I have been for almost 15 years, so relative to my life, it's still rather new. It's something I grew into, rather than growing up with. I studied Islam for 6 years before making the choice. When I studied everything I could, I went to live in a Muslim country. That sealed the deal. Living among the people who knew what the religion was and made it part of their daily lives, rather than an academic goal, blew my mind. I fell in love. And like any relationship, it has been good and bad.
I spent the end of 1995 and early 1996 in Israel and Palestine. Officially I was there to do research on the Palestinian elections for a book I was helping write, but I was also there to explore. During my those weeks I came to a totally different view of both Israeli and Palestinian, Jew and Muslim, was a few hundred feet from a suicide bombing, lived in a refugee camp in Gaza and spent some time in an Israeli jail.
Towards the end of that trip, I rented a room in the Old City of Jerusalem. One Friday afternoon I found myself staring at the green doors that close the Temple Mount off from the city during prayer. They hadn't closed yet and the doorman was staring at me while I stared at the doors. Another man came up behind me and explained that the doors had to be closed for Friday prayer, so no tourists were allowed in. "Do you belong here?" he asked me. His dual meaning came through even before my brain could think of the translation's affect. "I think I do." I answered.
In I went. I sat and had tea while the services were held at al-Aqsa. Shortly thereafter my friend came back and ushered me up to the steps of the Dome of the Rock. I took my oath with my four witnesses and was shocked when a small crowd behind me cheered and started congratulating me.
"Now," said the Imam of al-Aqsa, "you must do something for me." Intrigued, I stared at him while he worked the translation out in English to speak to me. "You must go home. You must tell people about us, about yourself. You must show them that we are not all Khomeini, not Nasrallah and not Omar Abd al-Rahman. I have never killed anyone, nor do I want to. All I want is to live here and pray here. You understand?" His meaning, both religious and nationalistic was felt. "This," he whispered intently, "this is Jihad. Not what the news shows you, not what the politicians steal from us, this. Show the world." With that, he kissed my cheeks and left.
For the next few years, I did just that. I was proud of who I was. I spoke out when necessary, I taught all the time. I started an organization to teach about the region and its people, all of them, to try and break down the misinformation that was rife, in schools, on the internet, etc. That all came crashing down in 2001.
When the Pentagon was attacked, when the Towers fell, fear took over. Fear of what was to come for the country, but also for myself. Friends called to warn me to stay inside for a few days, lay low. The nightly news became more painful than ever. The hatred that came out of the mouths of people I thought of as friends was alarming (not at me, of course, just the "other Muslims").
What hit more than anything was the guilt. I felt the fear and distress, but I could hide. 6'4", white, green eyes. It was not me that the "terrorist hunters" were looking for (though I still flinch inwardly when I see those bumper stickers). I walked past rallies where people called for me to burn without ever even glancing at me. I watched shops close, communities disband and people struggle with becoming a public enemy overnight. I felt for them, but knew full well that I would have to do none of that. I withdrew in on myself, closeting off a part of who I was. I failed to do my part to show the world who we were.
The years since have been calmer, but still harder. I teach in little ways, and fail in much bigger ones. I hide part of myself, but have let part of myself go. I no longer practice my own religion. I now hide the fact that I am Muslim, even from my kids, out of fear of what the reaction would be that may affect them. I sit by and listen as people, ill educated and illiterate, attack a religion and a people they know nothing about. They glom onto single facts and use them to paint the whole picture. One dot, unconnected to any.
Here’s the deal. I know you’ve heard it, and I know you likely don’t believe it, but the truth is still the truth. Jihad does not mean holy war. It means struggle. Harb al-Ridha means holy war and is a nonsensical construction in Arabic. Jihad is a mission of an individual, a mission to become better, a better Muslim, a better person. Jihad is not a war to spread a religion. The word for that is Crusade. Groups cannot practice Jihad. No one “wages” jihad. Any one who says differently, or thinks otherwise is twisting a concept out of its bounds. It’s not that foreign a concept. Every religion has had its member who abuses its teachings, relies on literal readings of centuries old texts that cannot be adopted in modern times, or outright lies about meaning. Scott Roader is not the model for Christianity, nor is Osama bin Laden the model for Islam.
Does Islam has its failures? Yes, every religion does. Islam is not exempt, Christianity is not, nor is Judaism. Does the Qur’an have passages that can be ill interpreted or are repulsive on their face? Sure, but have you ever read Leviticus? Is Islam a religion that is prevalent in a society of tribal tradition and therefore blended with that tradition, for good or ill? Sure.
Is Islam going through a period of schism and reform, sometimes violent? Yup. On the Islamic calendar the year is 1430. Do you know where Christianity was in 1430? Jean d’Arc was captured and burned as a heretic and witch. The great schism began. The Spanish Inquisition was created and the Hussite wars are waged. Sound familiar? Violence and division, interpretation and abuse. From there, the renaissance was born. Can the same be true for Islam? I hope so. Will it be easy and squeaky clean? Nope.
We are not all suicide bombers. We do not all hate Jews. We do not all marry or rape young girls. You’ll read that we do, and there are those who believe those are universal truisms, but they are as misinformed and ignorant as those they accuse. If you want to be understood and accepted, understand and accept as well. Otherwise, you create derision, mistrust and continue to build the wall between cultures. Those entrapped fools in Brooklyn? Not Jihadists. The dude in Arkansas? Nope, not him either.
So, today, I am proud of my President and what he said. His gesture, no matter how scripted, goes so far to healing some of the damage of the last 10 years. I am proud of who I am. I will renew my mission and I will not be defeated by ignorance or fear, my own or that of others.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Chivalric Spin
Wow, not a post in 9 months. I'm so hip I forgot my own blog...
So, I found myself wondering recently if the revolving door is one of the final nails in chivalry's coffin.
I hold the door for everyone, gender neutral, but generally at least get a comment or thank you from women.
The revolving door, however, flumoxes me. Do you a) go in first and push the door for the person, or b) let them go in first and push from behind? Either seems to have a rude content, neither has the same effect as holding the door for someone.
Meh.
So, I found myself wondering recently if the revolving door is one of the final nails in chivalry's coffin.
I hold the door for everyone, gender neutral, but generally at least get a comment or thank you from women.
The revolving door, however, flumoxes me. Do you a) go in first and push the door for the person, or b) let them go in first and push from behind? Either seems to have a rude content, neither has the same effect as holding the door for someone.
Meh.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Lost Opportunity
There is a missed opportunity at the end of Shrek 2, when everyone is singing that wicked little ditty 'la vida loca.' Instead of "skin the color of mocha," they could have substituted okra and tied the whole thing together.
Please wire me my consulting fee now. kthx.
Please wire me my consulting fee now. kthx.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
You learn new things...
It's funny the little things you pick up on when you have a wife. Today, I was walking to my office in Manhattan and noticed that the girl walking in the opposite direction can't walk in heels.
Never would have noticed before...
Never would have noticed before...
Thursday, December 7, 2006
Someday
Someday, theoretically, someone is going to read this. I wish I could remember all the goods things I was going to write that made me start it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)