CHAPTER 10

FOSTERING INTERRELIGIOUS EXCHANGE THROUGH TRAVEL

MY FATHER AND mother came to visit me in Washington, DC, for the first time in November 2018. He was 82 years old at the time and didn’t speak English, but that didn’t stop him from trying to talk to random strangers at the mall, the park, and elsewhere.

It was hard to find activities for my parents to do during their stay, since they couldn’t walk long distances, and their lack of English hindered them from exploring on their own. However, my father unexpectedly fell in love with mini golf on his trip. After five minutes, he became a professional. He was skilled enough that he asked the staff at the mini golf course if there was a US mini golf competition he could sign up for.

But nothing could prepare me for the surprise that my father threw at me next. When Friday came, he wanted to go pray at a mosque. I called my friend Fadwa, whose uncle went to pray at the mosque every Friday. She suggested that I send my dad with her uncle so they could visit the mosque together.

I drove my father to Fadwa’s uncle’s house, where they were waiting for us. My dad and Fadwa’s uncle hit it off immediately and sauntered off to the mosque together.

On our way home, I asked my father about his mosque visit and his conversations with Fadwa’s uncle. He said it was great to learn how Muslims live in the United States. I then asked, “How was the mosque—did you like it?” He told me they had tried to go to the mosque, but it was full.

“So what did you do? Pray outside?” I asked, curious. In Jerusalem, when you go to a mosque and it’s full, you normally pray outside. But I was worried because it was the end of November and the temperature was very cold. “I’m sorry,” I added, “I’m sure it was cold outside.”

My father shot me a mischievous glance. “No,” he said. “We prayed at a synagogue.” I turned to him, a bit stunned.

“America is crazy,” he continued. “Muslims actually pray in synagogues here!” As it turned out, the mosque and synagogue were located next to one another—and when the mosque became too full, the synagogue would open its doors for the Muslims to pray there.

This was a man who had spent most of his life with Jews all around him in Jerusalem, but he had never set foot in a synagogue. His first time doing so was in the United States; and he didn’t just visit a synagogue, he prayed inside one. This was one of the last things he would have expected to do in the United States. I asked him what he thought of the synagogue. He said, “It was great!”

The experience was so impactful for him that when we got home, the first thing he did was start calling friends and family back home in Jerusalem. He would start off trying to contain his excitement. “Yeah, America is nice. I miss being in Jerusalem.” But then he would quickly exclaim, “Guess where I prayed?”

Our friends and family would respond, “We assume you prayed in a mosque.”

“Nope!” my father would reply enthusiastically. “In a synagogue!” Our family members and friends were surprised and confused by this answer. “Did they convert you to Judaism?” one of them asked, teasingly. Another asked, “What has Aziz done to you?” My father responded, “No, in America the Muslims rent the synagogue for space and then they go and pray there!”

I have many Muslim friends who have never been to a house of worship that was not a mosque. This is not unique to Muslims: most people around the world have never been to someone else’s house of worship.

While my father’s visit wasn’t during a Jewish service, it was still meaningful; he was able to attend a religious service in another group’s house of worship—and that on its own was powerful enough to help him see “the other” a bit differently.

Be Curious

I grew up in a conservative Muslim family, going to the mosque each Friday. Etched deep into my memory is the sound of the call to prayer echoing through the neighborhood, accompanying my father to the mosque, and greeting people for prayers.

These memories are woven together in the complex embroidery that connects me to my family, my tribe, my city, and my culture. There were no churches or synagogues in my neighborhood, and no Christians in my school; our primary school was all Sunni Muslim. Still, I would discuss with my Muslim friends the differences in our religious cultures: we thought we knew everything about Christianity, when in reality we knew nothing.

My friends and I did express some curiosity about what church was like. What did it look like from the inside and the outside? What was the difference between a mosque and a church? One day, we decided to go see for ourselves.

We walked through Damascus Gate and wound our way through the narrow cobblestoned alleys of the Old City, headed toward Jerusalem’s most famous church: the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This was believed to be the site of Jesus’s Crucifixion, burial, and Resurrection.

We struggled to find our way to the church: we didn’t have Google Maps in those days, and although we were from Jerusalem, we had never been in the alleys of the Christian Quarter. This area of the Old City was a mysterious place to us.

We eventually stumbled upon the Holy Sepulchre and cautiously walked up to admire its complex and beautiful exterior. We were told in school that a Muslim family holds the keys to the gates of the Holy Sepulchre and has held on to those keys for almost 1,000 years. Depending on whom you speak to, there are various stories behind why a Muslim family would hold the keys to one of the holiest Christian sites.

Some see it as a symbol of tolerance and the unique relationship between Muslim and Christians in the Holy Land. Others see it as a form of control, representing a Muslim takeover of the city. And still others believe it’s because the denominations sharing the church couldn’t decide among themselves which should keep the keys.

We walked into the church, afraid but curious. We didn’t know how we should act in a church. Was it like a mosque? Should we take off our shoes? We looked around and noticed that the churchgoers still had their shoes on inside. We thought that was bizarre. For us, if you enter a holy site, you must take off your shoes to not dirty the space.

We walked in with our shoes still on but didn’t think about our hats. As soon as we stepped in, a religious man dressed in black with a large cross on a chain hanging all the way down to his belly—we didn’t know what a priest was at that time—walked up to us and did not look happy.

“He knows we’re Muslim,” we all said to each other at the same time. We were not supposed to be there, and we had been exposed. But instead, the man ordered us to take off our hats. We complied, relieved that we had made it through the entrance without raising too much suspicion.

Inside, we found scores of worshippers touching and kissing a large rock on the ground. There were large, intimidating murals and flickering candles. It was very different from what we were used to at our mosques. But there were also aspects that were similar. I’ve seen people enter the Dome of the Rock—located in the Al-Aqsa Mosque compound—and touch the site where the Prophet Muhammad is believed to have ascended into heaven. In the church, I saw Christians doing the same thing—lining up to touch the surface of the stone, believed to be the rock on which Jesus was anointed for burial.

We walked around the church, in awe of the paintings, architecture, and rituals. However, despite taking the first step in visiting a church for the first time, I felt that something about the experience was still lacking. I wasn’t able to fully understand what it was like to be Christian, or how Christians connected to God. I saw Christians and learned a few things, but our whole visit lasted just a few minutes. We visited a few more times after that, but we never stayed long enough to understand how Christians practiced their faith or rituals.

It was just several years later when I attended church with an American girl in Jerusalem that I began to experience more of the Christian faith. I only went because I thought this cute blond woman was inviting me on a date; with my limited English at the time, I thought she had invited me to a concert (she had mimed something about singing). But instead, she had invited me to come hear her sing in the church choir!

I walked down the aisle of the Jerusalem YMCA (a common venue for both church services and concerts) and searched the room for her. Suddenly, however, the service started, and everyone began singing in Arabic and English a song: “I Have Decided to Follow Jesus.”

The minister confirmed my fears, as he welcomed everyone to the church. I thought to myself, “This must be a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here.” But I was too embarrassed to leave, so I stayed for the entire service. This was the first time I had truly taken part in a Christian ritual—and it was an unbelievable experience. I loved the music and the sermon, which was titled “Love Your Enemies.”

Suspend Judgment

Since that day, whenever I travel, I try to learn more about other faiths and even attend religious services when appropriate. I’ve joined Buddhist, Jewish, Christian, and Hindu services. Most of the time, I don’t understand the language (in Ireland, for instance, people were praying in Gaelic). But there’s something very special and humbling about experiencing other people’s rituals and understanding their faith.

So how do we approach other religious faiths in a way that is appropriate and respectful? A few easy steps we can take are to be curious, suspend judgment, and set aside what we think we know about the group we’re visiting. Curiosity is important, but if we approach a community thinking we know everything about them (the way I approached the Christian church I visited), we’re far less likely to walk away having learned anything.

Suspending judgment is especially important, since we all grow up with entrenched ideas about who “they” are and what “they” believe. I grew up as a Sunni Muslim (almost all Palestinian Muslims are Sunni). Our educational system taught us nothing good about other Muslim sects. I still remember watching news coverage of the Iran-Iraq war on television as a boy, and rooting for the Iraqis because they were real (Sunni) Muslims, while the (Shia) Iranians were infidels.

When I started traveling, I decided to visit a Shia mosque for the first time. In the back of my mind, I still believed they weren’t real Muslims. But to my surprise, the Shia mosque was very similar to a Sunni mosque. The differences were so small, and the similarities between Sunnis and Shias were greater than I had ever imagined. I realized that the anti-Shia propaganda I was fed growing up had nothing to do with facts. (Today, my Shia friends tell me they grew up hearing similar anti-Sunni propaganda.)

In the summer of 2019, I also had the chance to experience a completely different kind of Muslim ritual: a Sufi dhikr. I was visiting Sarajevo in Bosnia and Herzegovina. My friend Ziyah contacted a local Sufi order and asked if our group of Americans could attend a service. In the ritual, Sufi Muslims chant about God using verses from the Quran, punctuated by heavy breathing and back-and-forth swaying and bowing movements. I grew up in a Muslim family, but I had never seen anything like this. It was educational, moving, and spiritual.

Overall, if we approach other religious communities with the same spirit of humility, respect, and learning that we extend to others, we’ll discover both a world of diversity and surprising similarities. But we have to be willing to suspend judgment and approach the existence of others with different beliefs as a learning opportunity, not as a threat.

Have a Q&A with a Devotee

When I went to Vietnam in 2016, I visited many Buddhist and Confucian temples. I was transfixed by the carved wooden interiors, the gold-decorated lacquered-wood statues, and the devotees lighting incense and folding their hands in prayer before the altars. But after visiting almost a dozen temples, I began to feel something was missing.

I never understood the varying religious views in Vietnam or how the people practice these beliefs. I tried reading about it, but the meaning of the strange rituals still made no sense to me. Buddhism is different than the Abrahamic faiths, which I am much more accustomed to. I learned very quickly that I can’t use the Abrahamic faiths as a reference point for learning about the practices of Eastern religions.

When I returned to Vietnam, I decided to try to understand more about the way the Vietnamese practice their faith. So, I contacted a friend of mine and asked if she knew a Buddhist monk who would be willing to host me and a few friends at a temple. I explained that we were not interested in a temple where tourists congregated but a neighborhood temple where locals went to pray.

My Vietnamese friend found us a temple off the beaten path, on a dirt road in the middle of a cluster of houses. When we walked into the temple, a Vietnamese woman with a shaved head, dressed in a long robe, came out to greet us, and from that moment until the time we left, she never stopped smiling.

She was excited that we wanted to visit her temple and were interested in hearing her story. She sat down with us and began offering us water, juice, and fruit. The entire time we were with her, she constantly asked us, “Is there anything you guys need? Can I get you anything?” Even though I had come expecting a lot of differences between our cultures, I thought that this culture was actually quite similar to Palestinian culture. They will do everything possible to be hospitable and honor their guests.

The temple was a space for female monastics, and we spent several hours learning about the temple, seeing how the monastics practiced their faith, and meeting young people studying to become monks. We heard the woman’s story and how she had decided to become a monk. She said that when she was a teenager, she realized that she wasn’t interested in “normal life.” She wanted a life focused on spirituality and learning. She invited us into her life and described her rituals each day, which involved waking up before sunrise to pray and garden. She studied, read, and meditated throughout the day. She also provided counseling to the people in the area for their daily challenges and supervised new students who wanted to become monks.

Owing to this experience, my appreciation and understanding of a Buddhist temple is now completely different. I had been to dozens of Buddhist temples before with skilled tour guides, but this was a totally different experience. I reached out and got to experience the Buddhist faith in a way that wouldn’t have been possible by just touring a temple. Now when I walk into a Buddhist temple, I can really feel the site and understand its deep spiritual context. I also learned that Buddhists are generally open and welcoming to outsiders joining in their rituals.

Because of this experience, today I encourage travelers to try to arrange a Q&A session with a monastic, priest, imam, or rabbi (or ask their travel company to arrange a meeting). Religious clergy are often happy to host groups and answer questions and are used to fielding difficult questions. But by meeting with someone dedicated to the faith, you have an opportunity to see religious practice through someone else’s perspective—and that is an experience guaranteed to make you see religious sites with new eyes.

Attend a Religious Service, Holiday, or Festival

I always find it fascinating to attend a religious service (if one is open to the public). However, if you do not feel comfortable doing so, or if no public service is available, check the calendar or ask some locals if there are any religious celebrations or festivals you can join. Religious holidays are often less threatening for first-time visitors and can be a great way to connect with people of different faiths.

In June 2019, I had dinner with my Turkish friends Berna and Onur, and they told me about one of their most impactful travel experiences. While they were visiting a friend in Spain, their friend told them, “You’ve come at the perfect time.”

It was time for the Romería de El Rocío pilgrimage (held just an hour’s drive from Seville). The small town numbers fewer than 1,000 residents, and its streets are mostly unpaved gravel or dirt; but every year, this Catholic celebration of the Virgin of El Rocio transforms the small town, as almost half a million people flock there to participate in the procession marking the second day of Pentecost. As Berna and Onur recalled, women wore traditional flamenco dresses and men wore cordovan hats, short jackets, and riding pants. Some pilgrims arrived in horses and carriages. Carrying candles, the devotees walked to the churches, the candles flickering in the night sky like stars. They were playing music, singing about the Virgin Mary, and praying.

Looking back, Berna and Onur ranked this festival as one of the best travel experiences they’d ever had. Even though they had been raised Muslim, they were moved and affected by the Catholic festival, and by talking to the pilgrims who had come from all over Spain for the celebration.

As Berna and Onur’s story shows, attending religious services can be a beautiful and moving educational experience, which can deepen one’s appreciation for other faiths. Your intent in participating in a religious service abroad is probably not to reconsider your belief system. But learning more about the religions of other cultures is important for understanding the emotional and spiritual life of others.

During Ramadan in Washington, DC, I commonly meet Christians, Jews, and atheists attending iftar dinners. They wait for food with the Muslims, asking questions about the tradition, making sure that they don’t inadvertently do anything disrespectful toward the Muslims attending. These people don’t come because they are practicing Islam; they come as friends. Most are respectful and don’t eat or drink before the call to prayer.

These types of exchanges are important; I’ve similarly had many Muslim and Christian friends who have attended Shabbat dinners with Jewish friends. Meals and holidays are fun and a great way to connect with others.

Filiz, another friend of mine, whose family is from Turkey and who also grew up in a Muslim family, told me about her experiences of connecting with other people’s rituals. She told me that as a child, she had wanted to celebrate Christmas. She grew up in the United States, and all her friends had Christmas trees; it was all they talked about at school every December. She wanted to experience this event that everyone spoke about, but because she was Muslim, her father would not allow her to put up a Christmas tree in the house. She would, however, smuggle a very small Christmas tree into her home. Her mother became complicit in her rebellion and would help her hide it. She would then excitedly, but secretly, decorate the tiny branches of the tree.

I laughed hearing Filiz’s story; as I told her, when I was about 16 or 17 years old, I had a similar experience. I thought the Christmas tree looked really cool and was curious about it. So I went out and found a small tree; it wasn’t a Christmas tree, but basically a fallen branch of a pine tree. I brought it back home and erected the tiny tree in our home and called it a Christmas tree.

I’m lucky to have a mother who is open to other cultures. She’s deeply religious, a conservative Muslim, but she is not threatened by other people’s faiths and does not mind being exposed to them. My dad, on the other hand, was not so thrilled to come home and see a makeshift replica of a Christmas tree in his home.

“Why is this branch here?” he asked me. “This is our Christmas tree,” I gleefully told him. “But we are Muslim,” he responded. I retorted simply, “Yes, I know. But it’s Christmas!”

“Christmas is for Christians,” my father said. “But wasn’t Jesus a Muslim prophet?” I retorted (very proud of myself for the comeback). My father looked at me with his typical about-to-argue-with-me face, but he decided it wasn’t worth the effort; my mom’s taking my side also pressured him to back down. “Fine. Keep the tree. But don’t go around telling people we have a Christmas tree in our house,” he said.

We are all curious about other people’s identities, religions, rituals, and cultures. Expressing this curiosity to friends or locals while traveling, or joining in a local holiday or religious festival, is a great way to learn about someone else’s life. Participating in someone else’s ritual is a lot more real and intimate than just visiting a cathedral or mosque, where the architecture is impressive but the human meaning behind the site is often missing.

We all have different practices. Most Muslims, for instance, do not sing in their mosques. But in a church, singing echoes throughout the walls. That’s what makes these experiences unique. In some cases, the differences might make us feel a bit uncomfortable, but it’s this lack of comfort that helps create a meaningful experience and embodies the heart of exploration and travel.

Exploring Religious Traditions

Regardless of your beliefs regarding religion, we should all consider exploring, and even participating in, the rituals of others. It is perhaps one of the most difficult forms of travel (since religious beliefs are such a strong part of our identities). There is something unique and important about joining a religious service, even when you don’t speak the language or share the same faith. Taking part in these events teaches us respect and tolerance. It might be hard when we encounter traditions we disagree with, but it also creates an opportunity for a respectful conversation.

I suggest that these types of religious exploration can begin with a few important steps:

• Suspend judgment.

• Approach other faiths with a spirit of humility, respect, and learning.

• Ask if a priest, pastor, imam, rabbi, or monastic is willing to engage in a Q&A session, or ask your travel company to arrange a meeting for your group.

• Invite a friend of a different faith to your holiday services, celebrations, or meals (a Christmas or Easter service, a Ramadan iftar, a Shabbat or Passover dinner), or ask a friend if you can attend one of his or her services.

• Ask locals if there is a religious service or festival you can attend.

Importantly, joining others’ rituals can also be a way to unite people in the face of growing xenophobia. Showing the world that we can coexist and not see others’ practices as a threat to our own is the only way to create peace between different cultures. As travelers, we can lead the way, by demonstrating how learning about or attending another faith’s religious services can be a powerful experience.

As religious divides grow around the world, I am always inspired by acts that show coexistence and tolerance, even in the least likely places. In various Arab countries (including Jordan, Lebanon, and Palestine), Christians stand in the streets during Ramadan, giving water and dates to Muslims stuck in traffic who can’t make it home on time to break their fasts.

In June 2019, Christians, Yazidis, and Shabaks in Iraq distributed roses to Muslims for the Muslim holiday Eid al-Fitr (celebrating the end of Ramadan).¹ A few months earlier, young Iraqi Muslims in Mosul helped clean and restore the church of Saint Thomas the Apostle, which had been ransacked, damaged, and used as a prison by ISIS. The young Iraqi Muslims also joined their Christian neighbors in attending Mass.

We don’t always have to travel far to experience other faiths, because in most places in the world you can find unique rituals right next door. In the United States, Jews and Muslims have started encouraging neighbors to visit synagogues and mosques, meet with them, and learn about their traditions as a way to counter anti-Semitism and Islamophobia. All you have to do is call and let the mosque or temple know you are coming, so that you can discuss what activities would be appropriate for you to attend.

These programs—which I would argue are a form of travel— are important for building bridges in our divided world. In a similar way, tourism can be an opportunity to build bridges, learn about other faiths, and participate in interfaith exchanges. By connecting to the human side of the impressive religious monuments that appear on most travel top-10 lists, we can contribute to improving religious understanding both in our own communities and in the communities we visit.