United in Fear?

A Word to My Fellow Americans

Hi there, Muslim American cousins. How are you doing?

Ancient fights being what they are, this won’t be about what’s happening over there. This is about us. Here.

Beyond college campuses, are you scared to go out wearing something declaring your spiritual practice in public? Do you see the other side’s flag as an attack on your family? When a group is coming towards you, and you don’t know which narrative they’ve thrown themselves into, does panic punch you in the gut? I know, I know, me too.

This piece is a shout out to my fellow Americans who aren’t dueling flags on college campuses—Jews and Muslims, Hindu and otherwise that our racist countrymen can’t tell the difference between. Are you as messed up and frightened as we are? Can we not agree on this one thing? 

In this mess of war in the middle east, rising hatred is networking its way throughout the rest of the world, leaving us all living in fear.

In Vermont, three boys walk along a street. They wear traditional clothing. They speak the language that feels best for them. And they are shot for the privilege. Some asshole thinks a hate crime perpetrated on a six-year-old in Illinois will further their insane and evil agenda.

At Cooper Union Jewish students, wearing their traditional clothing, are cornered inside a library where people chant for their death. Or that poor man in Los Angeles killed by a college professor during a protest. 

No one of us is safe. Not even here.

There are violent demonstrations and genuine concern for a region that has seen a millennia’s worth of war in the last three months. I know where I stand, so I’ll leave it to someone else to mediate and assign blame for everyone else’s victimhood.

That is not what this is about.

I’m suddenly on guard as I get my afternoon coffee because my favorite shop has an Israeli name. Someone I know was punched as he tried to put up signs in support of bringing hostages home, and his house was spray painted because he had an Israeli flag in his window.

What I feel sure of but can’t tell from the news, is, are you scared, too?

This violent spillover to the US is as unconscionable as it feels inevitable. My heart goes out to a community and humanity under pressure, so much like my own in this moment.

There is Hamas and the Israeli right wing, terrorists and trigger happy settlers, but then there are the rest of us trying to find our way through rage and abject horror, far away from the fighting—at least physically. Even those of us with only tenuous ties to the region find themselves soul deep, thrust into the conflict.

The one thing everyone agrees on is that peace is near impossible to achieve.

Many have been devastated by the utter silence in the face of such hate, the loss of friends and well wishes, though those of us who’ve been paying attention aren’t too surprised. Of course, I could be paranoid, but I imagine you might be as well.

Are we not a reflection of each other in this, too? 

I won’t address or compare our feelings, objections, outrages, paranoia, experience or even our grief. The war rages no matter what. There are plentiful TikToks and reels, books and documentaries if you want to dive in. I am talking about our personal safety in the United States—shaken and stirred.

Islamophobia and blind rage at Jews are coming, or have arrived at a town near you. They rise like bitter bile in the back of the throat—a blind, unquestioning hatred that rots even people who have no horse in this race. Mostly those who have never met you.

Who says we have nothing in common?

We worry for our people, we hope for some mercy and a future, and then we try to figure out if and where we can find shelter. The rising tide of hatred is an underwater earthquake we can’t swim through. And there is little shelter on the shoreline.

In the uber progressive town next to me, it feels a bit like an unintentional battle ground.

I moved here because flags went up at town hall for Black Lives Matter quickly, and I proudly saw them raise a Ukrainian one when Russia invaded. And yet, when it was suggested that we put up an Israeli flag in addition and next to a Palestinian one, even the most well meaning council people balked. We’d only be inviting hatred. As if hatred is waiting for an invitation.

I do not blame them. This is uncharted. Like forcing someone to mud wrestle with a stranger when they have no interest in either fighting or dirt.

There is no denying that this war, and its accompanying atrocities have real consequences for the rest of us in ways big and small. People who have questioned my devotion to God and religion my whole life, have found their way back inside the safety of a temple sanctuary.

My liberal family of origin objects to my support of Israel, while others feel I haven’t explained it well enough.

In my 50 something years on this planet, Israel and varying parts of the Arab world have been at war. And yet, my experience has been that when we meet Palestinians in the United States, far from the bloodshed, working towards a better life they fought hard for, the experience has not been one of meeting enemies, but of greeting long lost and well missed cousins.

From medical professionals to fellow writers and moms, there is a bond that goes beyond the hummus—which is strong and should not be discounted. I know you are as diverse a people as we are. Most muslims aren’t Palestinians and not all Palestinians are muslim and few here bothers to try and tell the difference.

It’s a mistake to make any of us a monolith. War is singular and people are so very plural.

As a young, single woman, I traveled to Egypt where I had the great privilege of stepping inside the Mohammed Ali Mosque. Awe and overwhelming holy oneness blanketed me as I stood barefoot beneath its sacred, echoing dome. 

As a child, I spent days with a muslim family around the corner. They were six kids and two parents in a two bedroom apartment. My sister and I slept over nearly every weekend. They made me feel at home, and showed me first hand the beauty and hospitality so much a part of Islam. It was a kindness I do my best to repay to everyone who comes through my front door.

In college I knew people for whom Islam was like a homecoming, a religion that spoke to them when their native one fell silent. I tried to learn from it, to incorporate some of its philosophies into my own practice of Judaism.

Maybe in all this fighting, we can find a way to move forward from the fear with a little hope. Not government to government or religion to religion, but person to person suddenly finding themselves in a crosshairs that has seen hatred of all of us rise exponentially.

Geo politics aside, it may be a long road to peace over there, but here I will stand with you as fellow Americans and pray that you might do the same for me. To better days, cousins.