"This is not true!! Liars!!
How can you even SAY THAT?! You make my heart cry!"...That’s how I first
interacted with Islam (before then I had spent a good month and a half looking
into Islamic websites, feeling like a traitor as I marveled at the peaceful
logic).
I read that Muslims think that
Jews eat pork, and that they perform unmentionable abuse to baby boys as they
circumcise them. Immediately, as a well-trained media controller from a
renowned Jewish religious youth movement, I contacted the source of these
“lies” I had read. Eloquently yet passionately, I refuted his claim and asked
him for references to the immoral teachings he was spreading, adding what a
“Chillul Hashem” (disgrace to God) he was to the Jewish People. Within days, I
got a reply, as eloquent and well-mannered as the one I had sent out. It
clearly stated where in the Talmud (Rabbinical commentary) and Shulchan Aruch
(Code of Jewish Law, lit. “Set Table”) I could find the sources for his
“accusations”, and a polite invitation to confirm it with my local Rav (Rabbi).
I did. And as I had proudly
marched to his office, thinking he would tell me that the accusations were just
that, instead, he simply confirmed the horrible facts I had read online,
leaving me wandering out of there in a state of disillusion. What had I
believed in?
“Hashem is here, Hashem is there,
Hashem is everywhere”…except in the bathroom, which is why you as a religious
person find yourself reading classic, contemporary literature in there, in an
attempt to save the rest of the house from the “tumah” (impurity) of these
books. Or having a secret milk chocolate bar after eating meat…
I started looking for God. I knew
where He wasn't. I went into a website presenting Islam’s interpretation of
God. In Islam, God is above the 7th heaven & with us in His knowledge, and
always aware of everything that happens to everyone. Content, I agreed and
thought that such is the case in Judaism as well, but just to make sure, since
I wanted to battle it out in a good conversation with non-Jews, I tried finding
a Jewish source that would confirm my beliefs. I could not find this anywhere.
I come from a very varied
background; Jewish, Christian, Atheist, liberal, intellectual and empathic
people line up in my family tree. When I was very young, I chose to bring forth
my Jewish heritage. Since Jews only recognize you as being Jewish if your
mother is Jewish, I had to convert. For me, this involved six years of intense
studies, including everything from Torah and Halacha (Jewish Law) to Tzniyut
(Jewish modesty laws) and Chassidut (mystical, sometimes heretical teachings).
After countless begging and pleading, and even marrying a Jew according to
civil law, I finally converted to Judaism some three years ago.
Converting was such a relief, but
more than anything, my mind was weary and drained, having lived through all the
pros and cons (ignoring the cons however) of Yiddishkeit (religious Judaism)
for such a long time.
Throughout my Jewish life, when
praying, I always had the feeling that mine was the role of a pupil being sent
to the principal's office. I was begging Him to please listen, if just for a
minute. Many times I would spend the whole day in prayer, begging for a way out
of my situation and for Him to keep his people close to Him. Due to personal
hardship, I underwent a series of negative experiences with the Jewish world,
and although I do not hold them accountable for them, I nonetheless lost my
faith in Judaism. This opened up a door to the outside world, which I had shut
closed three years earlier. I started seeing that my perfect people were the
source of other people’s misery.
It got to the point where I
couldn't pray anymore, simply because I didn't think that the Jewish People
were deserving of anyone asking God to keep them safe and "speedily uproot
the wanton sinners". The more senior citizens I saw being denied to see
their home in Palestine one last time before they die, the more traumatized
children crying in the street I saw on TV, the more flyers I saw begging the
public to donate medical equipment and clothes to the Palestinians...while
hearing the Israeli politicians talking about striking back even harder at
them...made it all start to feel a little too much for me to accept, let alone
give my prayers to.
Feeling a little uneasy about my
new-found soft attitude to the “Goyim” (the non-Jews) I figured I must have
become a liberal Jew. So I became a supportive member of 'Peace Now', in an
effort to identify with them. At some point, I felt that I was too liberal even
for them :-)
At the same time, I ordered
booklets on Islam, from Kuwait. When I received them, I was taken aside and
questioned by my community. Was I dealing with terrorists? Was I a security
threat? Did I become Muslim? And if so, can I kindly remove myself and my
family away from the Jewish neighborhood?
The turning point was when I saw
a video about the suffering in the West Bank and Gaza Strip. I had seen things
like this many times. Only this time, instead of the usual reaction I would
have had a year ago - sighing and belittling Muslims - instead, I broke down
and cried. For hours.
From then on, a remarkable change
in my prayers started to happen: I remodeled them to suit my own needs. I cut
out 'Am Yisrael' and replaced them with their Islamic counterparts. I started
praying for the welfare of the Ummah. I started praying for the children and
mothers in Palestine, not in Israel. I started directing my heart away from the
Kotel Hama’aravi (the Western Wall). The Kotel became more…like the ruin it is.
To quote a dear friend of mine: “The Third Temple IS rebuilt – it stands there
NOW in front of their eyes, with a roof of gold.”
I went into an Islamic chat room
to see if I would be kicked out when I’d say I was Jewish. At this point, the
term “Jewish” served only to describe my creed. I had removed all the traces of
Jewish religious life from my family and myself and replaced it with a big
empty, anticipating hole.
As I announced my presence, I was
greeted politely by a written choir of “asalam alaikum w/r w/b” to which I
replied, clumsily, “hi”. Curious at the incoherence of basic Islamic greeting
phrases, I was asked if I was Muslim. “Not yet” I replied, and felt life
rushing inside me. “Where are you from?” was the natural follow-up. I folded
and told everyone that I am Jewish. And that was OK. Nobody came to kick me
out, or speak indecently with me. I was respected as I was, but the mere fact
that I had said “not yet” prompted a few people to try talking to me. Most of
the time, I would leave people feeling helpless since I would ask how I could
be a Muslim if I don’t know the Quran very well, and Islamic Law, and
commentary, and new books, and, and, and…everything I used to know in Judaism,
only mirrored into Islam. Most people would tell me that they didn’t know what
to say. Except one.
One night, a man and his wife
from an Islamic country spent hours on end talking to me. Out of all the things
we were discussing, one talk stuck to me:
“Let’s say you admire an author,
he is your favorite one, but he’s only published one book so far. You've read
it over and over and you love it. Then one day, the author announces that he is
publishing two new books. Will you read them? Or will you say that only his
first book is valid and any other works are not worthy of reading? Surely you
would not.”
These words took me off guard. I
remained silent for what seemed an eternity.
As the days went on, a small yet
clear and strong feeling, a kind of gentle energy inside me, called out to say
the words. I rehearsed them over and over. I even wrote them down on paper and
carried with me wherever I went, just in case I would brave myself and go
ahead.
A few weeks later, I decided that
I could not wait any longer, and what was I waiting for anyway? Or who? I was
waiting for myself. And when I realized this, things started making sense to me
again.
So one evening, as I was about to
go online again and talk about talking about Islam, instead, I poured up a hot
bath, and pacing up and down the hallway and while the tub filled, all the
doubts were racing in my mind: “What will my family say? The Jews will think I
have gone mad! There’s no such thing as a Jewish Muslim!” In the midst of my
own little inferno, I could hear my soul gently whispering: “Bismillahi Rahmani
Raheem”. As if it was pushing me in the direction I wanted to go into but
wouldn't dare to. Staring at the image in the mirror, I heard the logic in the
talk I had been part of only nights before. Silently, I slipped into the
armchair by the computer, and contacted the people who had been so patiently
bearing with me as I was talking about talking about Islam. I was ready.
As I said the Shahada, I
trembled, not out of fear but rather from love and the intensity of knowing
that the truth lies in such a misunderstood religion. May Allah guide you to a
life of peace and knowledge, and may He open your heart to the truth, justice
and serenity of Islam.
No comments:
Post a Comment