Rabbi's column
Can bridges be built between Jews and Muslims?
As Jews, there are many times when we find ourselves out of
our comfort zone. And though for most of us, living here in New York, our
daily lives are not predicated on this fact, most of us could share at least
one incident, if not hundreds, when being Jewish made us feel different,
uncomfortable, maybe unsafeâ. certainly âother.ââ. Yet the one place you'd
assume to feel the most safe and at home, Jewishly speaking, is here in our
own synagogue, our spiritual safe house, where we call the shots. Yet a few
weeks ago, sitting in the Grant Conference Center, for our sixth Bridges
Session, the zone was alteredâand even though I was sitting at my own table, I
didn't feel quite at homeâ
What is Bridges? It's this year's monthly adult education
offering, focusing on âbuilding bridges between our faith and others.ââ Each
month, we have had a different presenter, mostly clergy from our local
communityâ. Our conversations have been enlightening, respectful, and also
quite comfortable.
But sitting at the table that night, I had the opportunity to
feel not quite so comfortable, and I don't think that this is such a bad
thing. For when Imam Hassanain Rajabali, from the Tawheed Institute in White
Plains sat down next to me and began his talk on what Islam and Judaism have
in common, I found myself listening extra closely. How would this Imam, create
a bridge between two religions- two cultures that, despite their similar
origin, have so much misunderstanding and mistrust between them.
I always find it fascinating to try and view myself from an
outsiders' perspective.âI do it here in our synagogue, when I know that
non-Jews are sitting among us. Suddenly I consider melodies, language, and
ritual that I take for granted and wonder how it feels to be sitting here
among us? What does it sound like? Are our visitors confused or intrigued? Do
they feel alienated and shut out, or welcomed and invited in? And I did it
last night sitting at the table next to Mr. Rajabali because while sitting at
the table were familiar white Jewish faces, sitting around us, making up an
outer circle were very unfamiliar faces, dark, North African faces, young and
oldâchildren, teenagers and adults. The men were in what we'd call âwestern
dress,' But all the women were covered-- wearing black from head to toe. Mr.
Rajabali had asked me last week if he could bring some guests with him. âOf
courseâ I said, âany one you would like to bring along is welcome!â I suppose
I didn't consider what it would feel like to have 20 or so Muslims creating a
circle around us, as we heard their quite articulate teacher share his vision
of Islamâ. and the possibility of building bridges with Judaism .
âRabbi Sirkman asked me to speak about the differences in
our communities ,â he began, â but I prefer to talk about the many
similarities we share.â And so he didâ not only did Imam Rajabali refer
to stories in the Koran which are very much our own, mentioning the Islamic
prophets: Adam, Noah, Abraham and Joseph and the only slightly variant
versions of their lives from what we read in our Torah, but he shared mutual
philosophical perspectives on God, pointing to the fact that both Islam and
Judaism believe in the purity of one deity as opposed to Christianity, which
creates a tri-partite understanding of God's presence- the father, the son,
and the holy spirit. He also shared Islamic philosophy of how we, as humans,
try to categorize or define God through attributes such as mercy, justice and
compassion, but that these explanations are incomplete and only necessary for
us as limited human beings- very Maimonidian. But most amazingly, Rajabali
spoke about the universal need for human beings to always respect the other.
That most people desire happiness as well as peace and tranquility. And that
dialogue is possible as long we âagree to disagree agreeablyâ. It was surreal,
to be sitting next to an Imam (which I admit I have never done before). A
clean cut, handsome man, probably in his mid 40s, sharing perspectives on
Islam that sounded so very familiar and similar to our own perspectives on
Judaism.
Amazing, right?â.So what was missing? There was no real
dialogue. Yes, some challenging questions were asked from those sitting around
the table. And they were all respectfully, if not always satisfactorily,
answered. But all the answers, all the insights, all the perspectives were
shared by Rajabali not by the parallel would-be bridge builders sitting around
us. They, our visitors, were silent, allowing their leader and teacher to
speak for them. Did they agree with him? Or was he sharing the public party
line? Did they look at us and think âwe all come from our father the prophet
Abraham? These are our brothers and sisters. We should find a way to create
connections.â Or did they feel alienated and sit in judgment of our western
liberal ways? Did they come so that their teacher would not be alone, a show
of solidarity? Or did they join him so that they could hear the Jewish
perspective and try to understand how Jewish eyes see the Muslim world.
I'm not sure. But this I do know. Two dozen observant Muslims
were welcomed into our Synagogue last night. They sat with us, listened to
their teacher, heard our questions and stayed after the program, to chat with
our members and have some foodâat our table. Before we parted, I said to the
Imam, ânext time we'll come to you.â He seemed open, even enthusiastic about
the prospect. The thought of an ongoing interfaith dialogue with the Muslim
community of White Plains feels exciting, somewhat radical, and full of
possibility. Rajabali is a moderate, Shiite, Muslim of Tanzanian origin. He is
not a Sunni Arab from Iraq. He is not a Palestinian. But so what? Dialogue is
dialogueâand bridgesâno matter how smallâ.still open pathways to greater
communication and understanding. Rajabali quoted a Islamic saying: â To
save one lifeâis as if to save an entire nation .â Our Talmud teaches: â
To save one soul is to save the world entire. â If we don't start
small, we don't start at all; these parallel teachings seem to be saying. One
conversation can hopefully lead to another, and another, and another.
In the forward to the book: How to be a Perfect Stranger: A
Guide to Etiquette in Other Peoples' Religious Ceremonies Sanford Cloud,
Jr. the President and CEO of the National Conference of Christians and Jews,
parallels Imam Rajabali's shared perspectiveâand calls us into dialogue:
For understanding to increase, our differences need not
disappear. But they must be understood before we come to know that the values
we share are far greater in number and importance than any real or perceived
differences. Without that understanding, perception threatens to become
reality. Unless we find new ways to talk to each other, we'll be left talking
about each other. And we know where that can lead usâ.Religious belief can be
particular without being intolerant,âit can be ferverently held without being
divisive, it can ennoble life with a concern for the common interests of a
society reflective of many different traditions.
So this is what I took away from our interaction with the
Muslim Community of White Plains: We live in this world with so many peoples
who are different from ourselves, yet if we closely examine what each human
being wants in life it is ultimately the same: health, happiness, stability,
greater meaning. Dialogue is not about convincing the other side we are right
and they are wrong. It is as Imam Hassanain Rajabali believes, about âagreeing
to disagree agreeablyâ. I wasn't comfortable sitting at the table that night,
because I wasn't sure what I was going to hear, and I wasn't sure I was going
to like it. It was a risk to have a Muslim leader come and speak to us, just
as it was a risk for him to come and bring some of his community with him.
Yet, imagine the progress we could make, if we were all willing to take these
kinds of risks. Imagine what the world could be â if we could all agreed to
disagree agreeably. May it some day be God's willâ..AMEN.
Rabbi Mara Nathan