My husband and I have developed a cordial relationship with a Syrian* man. He runs a local Middle Eastern restaurant. His food is an authentic slice of a small regional specialty and he does it right. As we have enjoyed his cuisine for the better part of a year the conversations that have ensued have been humorous, intelligent and uplifting. I see within this man the tradition of Middle Eastern hospitality. It is not unlike the hospitality that I saw in my own home growing up. My parents taught me to appreciate hospitality and to always extend it to others. Has a friendship begun?
He is not the first Syrian man that I have gotten to know. There was a time when my husband and I somehow were the only non-Muslims to host some ill Syrian* children when they were visiting the United States to receive some much needed medical treatment. Many were shocked that as a Christian family we would be approved by the local Islamic center to do this. When God opens a door, he does so indeed!
Children suffering serious wartime injuries were brought to the United States for treatment by a wealthy and well-connected Middle-Eastern businessman whom I got to know better. He told me that it took him a total of five years working through numerous diplomatic, medical and governmental channels to accomplish this feat. His Islamic Center was interviewed about this story by a local newspaper. Local doctors volunteered to perform surgeries and they were now in the process of identifying host families for the children. As soon as I heard this story, I immediately called my husband at work to ask if we could offer our home. I asked him to think it over but, in the meantime I was already seeking a tutor to see if I could get some language basics.
A quick fact about me. I have always loved languages. I love the history of them (all of them), the etymology and the process of learning basic communication whenever I travel or meet people who speak another language. This was inculcated in me as a child because my own family spoke French and Spanish as well as English. My grandfather, mother and my daughter are polyglots. My husband speaks German pretty decently too. He worked with a number of German-speaking colleagues over the years and was inspired to pursue proficiency. He always studies the Bible with his German Language Martin Luther Bible version. He has made a few new friends who are native speakers in our new hometown and he enjoys practicing German with them.
My love of language is an extension of my enjoyment of people and the biblical role that I have in relation to others (Matthew 5:16-Let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your Heavenly Father.) When you can find a friend, it is nice to be able to understand each other a little better don’t you think? Sometimes, I get complements like when an Israeli once told me that she thought I had a good sense of the pronouncation. Or, when my husband commends me on getting one of the many nuances of German pronunciation right. I still have a long way to go.
As of late, it has crossed my mind to invite this Syrian man to our home for a visit. Zair* worked in his father’s rug business before starting a restaurant. My husband and he started a number of interesting conversations on the topic of rugs. About a year ago, my husband and I started learning to weave. This came about because I wanted to explore weaving in order to teach some lessons about it to my church craft group. My husband, who has never done a craft in his life, did not wish me to go alone to a workshop on weaving before my surgery last summer. I tried in vain to find a woman to go with me but many of them thought it to be a difficult craft to learn and were not interested. So, my husband felt compelled to come along with me but only to look out for me. To his surprise, there were a number of excellent male weavers who drew him in. Among other things my husband has quickly learned the rudiments of weaving and has also mastered the art of making a hand knotted rug. I know that my husband would love to have an opportunity to discuss this and to show Zair the first rug that he made.
As for me, I would love to have a conversation with someone who truly appreciated Middle Eastern rugs and to showcase some of mine. Along with a mixture of Louis XVI antiques and contemporary pieces, I have what I think is a nice array of Turkish and Persian rugs. Oh, and a contemporized version of a Berber rug. Many of my rugs are hand-knotted. When my husband and I left Westchester County New York almost five years ago, I had the fun and excitement of decorating a new home.
I had not redecorated in a while but, I had been reading and studying more on the topic for a long time. I had always admired Middle Eastern rugs but, the time had finally come for me to purchase them. As a result of the COVID pandemic, house prices in Westchester County New York had sky-rocketed. People escaping New York City during the pandemic fled to nearby suburban locations and mine was one of them. With the huge profit that I made in the highly overrated Westchester County market, it was time for me to go shopping. I was lucky to find an Armenian rug dealer who had the sort of antique inventory that I had dreamed of. He had a long family history in the rug trade and the expertise to help me find some special pieces.
Friendship used to be so easy. Now, it seems like the world is at war and people hate each other. What seemed natural just a few short years ago, like visiting a friend in Russia or being invited by an Iranian woman to tea is fraught with anxiety these days. Now that we have established my love of Middle Eastern cuisine and rugs, it’s time to go over some crazy Middle East Relations that I have had in the past. Do I really want to risk that again? Is it even possible for the Middle East and West to meet somewhere in the middle?
Let’s start in University. I did a few side jobs in high school and college and one of them were tutoring fellow students. With my family proficiency in French I found it a rather easy job to tutor some first year students on the side and make some transportation funds the easy way. One of my first students was in my first year French class. She was a Zoroastrian girl from Iran. She was very quiet and sweet. Noticing that I was doing well in class, she asked me if I would consider tutoring her for a fee. I told her that she did not need to pay me since we were in class together. Instead, I suggested that we form a study group. She took me up on this offer and soon she was doing better in her studies.
She mentioned that she had a few Iranian friends who needed some help in French. She also said that they needed some more help then our study group could afford and asked me if I would be interested in doing a tutoring job for them. I couldn’t resist and it was then that I started my little side college gig. No ads necessary, just Iranian word of mouth and the business was steady. I held all of my sessions in a quiet section of our university library. Because of my multi-cultural family, I am always hyper-sensitive to cultural and religious differences and tried to make sure and navigate different groups respectfully. If I was going to be alone with a bunch of Iranian boys, I decided it had better be in a very public place. I went out of my way to made sure that I dressed and acted businesslike and professional too.
I think it’s a rule of thumb that on any job that I have that I will make one or two friends. So, it was that Ali and Majid tried to strike up topics of conversations with me outside of the French curriculum. Being ever so wary I made them say it in French making our conversations part of their lessons. One day Majid invited me to his birthday party (in French). I was quick to say a happy birthday but, I was surprised that he invited me to his birthday party at an off campus apartment. Normally in my university days, I went to a whole lot of parties. They were usually with my girlfriends or on a date with people that I knew or part of my student club’s activities. They was no drinking or drugs involved as I had given my life to the Lord. Somehow Majid’s invitation was a little bit different.
He noted that I was not very quick to respond. He became very sweet and told me that he really wanted me to come to his party and that he was quite grateful that I had assisted him in his studies. He gave me credit for helping him go from merely passing the class to being within sight of a “B.” He further told me that his father was pleased and that I had gotten him out of trouble with his father. He said,”I want you to be my special guest because of all that you have done” He told me that he would not take “no” for an answer. I was a little nervous about this party but since he really strong-armed me, I agreed to go to his party. I very seldom go against my instinct but this is one of the times that I did.
I arrived at the door of Majid’s apartment. I could see nothing of his apartment or I would have fled. I handed him a gift and he ushered me down a long hallway into a large open living space. To my horror, I was the only woman in that room. I felt I was going to die or be raped. As Majid was trying to take my coat, I immediately told him that I was the only woman in the room and that I was not comfortable in that setting. He countered, “you are under my protection.” The men danced, there was good Middle Eastern food but, I was not hungry and I was not going to dance. Why, oh why did I not bring a date? Oh yeah, I wasn’t dating anyone at the time, that’s why. Was I stupid because I thought Majid was cute. Oh no, I thought, I’m gonna die because of a momentary crush! Yet, that night, I was indeed under Majid’s protection and nothing bad happened to me. It was clear to me that Majid, just like me, was trying the best he could to negotiate two world’s and two cultures.
My other student Ali was not so virtuous. At the end of the school year when students have many get-togethers and parties before summer vacation, Ali invited me to lunch before he was heading back to Iran. He told me that he would like to take me to lunch in gratitude for receiving a passing grade in French class. I agreed to met him at local restaurant. At first, we had cordial discussions of summer vacation plans, next year’s coursework and other casual topics of conversations. Then, out of the blue, he propositioned me in the most crude way imaginable. I was shocked and lucky that I did not choke on my food. I said, “Ali, how can you talk to me so disrespectfully? Haven’t I always been professional?” His reply, “ all you American women are like that.” I said,”no we are not. I am a Christian and I am saving myself for marriage.” I finished my meal and I left having very little to say to Ali and he to me. Ali was negotiating two cultures as Majid had been but, one was the good Muslim and one was the bad Muslim. Ali had very little respect for the country or the people where he chose to study. To this day, Ali holds the record for saying the crudest things to me ever. (2Corinthians 6:14- Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?)
After graduating and getting my first job in New York CIty, I decided to continue studying French but in a more informal way. I began to take classes at the Lycée Français de New York. It was there that I met my next Muslim friend. This time it was a Muslim woman from Mumbai. She and her husband were both lawyers working tangentially with the United Nations. She was a Muslim woman who went against the wishes of her parents and married the man that she loved. Their road to love was fraught with problems. He was a Catholic Indian whom her parents did not approve of. Clarence was of the highest character. Virtuous in every way. Extreme in intelligence but, he was not a Muslim. Ayesha loved and respected her parents and informed me that she would not have married without her parents blessing. She studied law and went to work. All along she was not interested in anyone but Clarence.. Many years went by and these two remained committed to one another but, living apart in an unmarried state.
In the meantime, they both had successful careers but, Ayesha’s parents knew she was getting older. Her parents finally acquiesced realizing that their daughter would indeed never marry if they did not give her permission to marry Clarence and they did not want her to be lonely in her old age. They finally gave their permission for her to marry. Some have asked why would Ayesha need her parents permission at her age? Yet, I admired and respected her love for her parents and Clarence. What an amazing love story these two had! I even got a chance to meet Ayesha’s younger sister when she visited New York. I was invited to go on a trip upstate New York to Hechscher State Park. I had no idea how many Muslims hung out there until I went on a trip with my Muslim friend and her family. It seems that Ayeshs’s sister scandalized every Muslim at the park that day because she wore a pair of cut-off denim jeans on that hot summer day. I could easily see who was Muslim because they either gave her a disapproving glance or tried to talk to her family to tell them to correct this young Muslim girls’ attire. Note: I was dressed more Muslim than Ayesha’s sister that day. Ayesha was quite embarrassed that day. I told her that her sister was young and she was experimenting with Western garb. She wanted to fit in, she wanted to try western food and read western books too. It wasn’t like her shorts were too short, or that her arms were uncovered. She wasn’t flirting or making a spectacle of herself. From my perspective she looked comfortable, respectable and dressed to effectively cope with the hot weather but, for many that day Samina had crossed a religious line, not mine but theirs.
Another Muslim girl I knew crossed a line. This time it was an Iranian high schools student who helped me learn some Arabic as she was fluent in both Farsi and Arabic. I hired her as a tutor but, she also agreed to work for me after school when I hosted Hamid and Zia, the two young boys that stayed with me before their medical treatment. I loved these two boys and wanted to adopt them but, the program that brought them to the United States did not want any of the children to stay in the United States after their medical treatment and that was a stipulation that the Syrian businessman had agreed to. My boys were going back to an orphanage even though I wanted to give them a better life. Their body stature and shape told me they had known starvation. Their injuries told me that they were in the midst of trouble. Zia seemed in a lot of pain but he still was always helpful to me. Some of my favorite moments with them were: seeing the glee and smiles that came on their faces when I pushed them on a swing or helped them rock on hobby horses. Or, watching them eat meals with gusto. They loved when I prepared tea for them too. They always looked forward to my husband spending time with them when he arrived home from work. My daughter was just a tyke then and completely learned their language quickly in order to get then to play the games that she wanted them to play. They always smiled at me and acquiesced to her.
Special moments continued when I was able to assist the Syrian businessman in the children’s care. Since I was a Westchester Christian Housewife at the time, I was available to assist Fez* with managing the children during daytime events. Fez hired a bus to take all the children into New York City to a Middle Eastern restaurant and to go shopping. I went along as a class mother as I had on many of my own children’s events. Fez even complemented me on my handling of the children and compared me to a Saudi woman. Let’s make this clear, I have no idea what he meant. He thought a lot of my help and assistance and was very kind to me until one day when I went awry according to his sensibilities.
One afternoon, Fez decided to take the whole group of visiting children to a McDonalds restaurant for a quick meal and to play in the playground. I happened to pass a television screen depicting the latest massacre of Jewish people in a synagogue and I made the mistake of showing shock and saying a word of support for the Jews. Fez immediately lite into me and starting yelling at me. He told me some terrible things about the Jews and a vein in his neck started popping out. I felt I was in some movie, where something bad happens to a woman. Even when I am afraid I will try to bring logic and my faith into the forefront of even a deeply heated argument hoping for a good outcome. In this case, Fez was having none of it. In fact, I went from being close to being a good Saudi woman to a “stupid American” who “has no culture.” Ouch. Plus, he told me he had thousands of years of history and I didn’t. I gently pointed out to Fez that I would not be talking to him if I did not have thousands of years of ancestry and culture too. Did I just arise on a shell out of the ocean or could this new country have integrated the experiences of the past into a new matrix? However, Fez was not going to let logic get in the way of his argument. I tried to stay cordial for the sake of the children and even called him about a year after the children went back to the Middle East to see how he was. The children’s hometown was again embroiled in bloodshed. I told him that I regretted not adopting the boys. He asked me not to remind him how he asked me not to adopt them for the sake of the medical exchange program. Sadly, the program ended soon anyway because people who were not connected to Fez took over regional government.* The program was unceremoniously dropped after that.
As to their Iranian student who assisted me, as soon as she turned 18 years of age, she stopped wearing her hijab. Again, a clash of cultures. As she explained it to me, she told her mother that if she wished her to wear the hijab, she should have kept her in Iran. When she took off her hijab in my backyard one day, she asked me did she look American? She did indeed with her blue eyes and black hair. She almost looked like the black Irish!
Since all my previous experiences, I think the rift between the Middle East and the United States has only gotten worst. Should I wade into the waters of another Middle Eastern friendship or should I leave it alone? Is it even possible to bridge the huge divide that exists in our religious beliefs, culture and politics? There always comes a time when friendship grows with each Muslim person that the topic of their beliefs and mine comes up. It is inevitable that when you get to know someone and grow closer that you share your thoughts and your beliefs on a deeper level. Every single Muslim wished to share the Koran with me and I wished to share faith in Jesus Christ with them. I describe the moment when I first felt God’s presence. I talk about the direction my life has taken after I have decided to follow Jesus and the grace and mercy of Jesus. I talk about the times that I have failed to follow God and the forgiveness that is always available from the most high.
As a Christian and as an American what sort of friendships should I pursue? My husband always thinks that my conservatism naturally draws Muslim friends to me and he is probably right. There are some points of intersection that exist but, there will be limits as to how far the relationship can go too. Will we have a disagreement when a new Middle Eastern development occurs that we might see differently. If Zair comes to my house he might innocently peruse my bookshelves. He might enjoy looking at books that I have about Middle Eastern rugs but, what if he sees the book,”Hostage” by Eli Sharabi about October 7th told from the perspective of a man held hostage?
Here is one of the problems that I always run into with my Muslim friendships: can I ever truly be myself or must I watch what I say all the time? Should I take some books off my shelf, should I make sure that I take down my front door wreath before our would-be friend comes for a visit declaring,”He Is Risen” that I put up every Easter? I love the handcrafted wreath that I made in my church craft class and I keep it up until my daffodils fade and summer is on the way. I love the meaning behind it, Jesus is alive and he is present. Will I compromise my faith, will I succumb to temptation to not follow God? Will my friend feel the same way?
What is very interesting is that while I find myself holding back on my faith at times in these circumstances I always feel my Muslim friends have always been the first one to bring up the topic of what it means to be a Christian. They want to know if I believe in many gods as the trinity makes them think I do. How can God have a son? And is Allah the same God that I believe in? Every single one of my Muslim friends in a way has forced me to do what I should and plant a seed of understanding into what the Christian faith and the road to heaven is. (2Timothy2:24-And the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome but must be kind to everyone, able to teach, not resentful.) Lord, help me to be a blessing to all whom I meet.
* the names and some details have been slightly changed to protect privacy. The stories are true.
