New York city is divided by Central Park into an east and a west
side. We New Yorkers joke about the cultural differences between the two parts
of town: how society ladies dress up to go grocery shopping on the East Side
while famous writers wear blue jeans to the theatre on the West Side. But there
are other cultural divides that Central Park displays and these can loom much
larger in our imaginations.
I live and work on the West Side of Manhattan. When I travel by
taxi over to the East Side, the 96th street mosque emerges before me. Despite
its starkly modern structure, many are tempted to think it contains a
congregation with a medieval mind-set.
In the weeks before Passover, the imam of that mosque, Shamsi
Ali, travelled with some of his congregants across Central Park to visit us at
the Jewish Theological Seminary (JTS) where I teach. In a short sermon there he
spoke frankly about the issues that divide Jews and Muslims politically but also
noted how much unites us religiously. He was received enthusiastically and with
full attention, as a close neighbour should be.
We reciprocated and in so doing were reminded that the distance
across the Park can be a short walk. Several members of my Jewish community went
to Friday prayers at the 96th street mosque. The imam invited me to stand next
to him in the prayer line and during his Friday sermon, as he spoke from Koranic
texts, he taught his congregation that there is no compulsion in religion and
that each religious community has its own path to god. He preached that Muslims
must reach out in friendship to their neighbours and warmly welcomed us Jewish
visitors.
If I had ever wondered what imams preached in their mosques, I
then knew – this was emphatically not a medieval way of thinking. Instead, I had
just heard a vision for the 21st century, a modern call to brotherhood as
eloquent as any ever preached.
Imam Ali then called upon me, a rabbi, to address the almost
1,000 Muslims assembled. I had just published a historical novel, A
Delightful Compendium of Consolation, Pset in 11th century North Africa. It
is a story about a time when Jews and Muslims lived together in harmony. At his
suggestion, I invoked those halcyon days yet recognised the difficult relations
that Jews and Muslims experience today.
I shared with them how some of their mosque members had visited
our seminary and how Imam Ali had also brought prominent imams from Indonesia to
visit us. And I proudly related that under the auspices of the US state
department our seminary has also welcomed imams from Egypt, Jordan, Kuwait and
Saudi Arabia over the past three years.
I noted how essential it is for neighbours to work together to
help one another since New York is a city with so many needy people. I spoke of
our joint plans to bring together the Islamic Cultural Centre and Jewish
Theological Seminary to work side by side at a local soup kitchen. It remains
clear that there is so much we can do to serve our broader community together.
There are so many ways we can, each from our own traditions, perform god’s
commandments through joint efforts.
When my short sermon and the Friday service were completed
dozens upon dozens of Muslims – black, brown, white and every colour in between,
American and foreign-born – came to shake my hand and welcome me. They
identified with the need to respect one another. They expressed their unbridled
enthusiasm for our joint projects. They spoke of their pride in their mosque and
their happiness that their imam had taken the first step. Mostly, by their
warmth and hospitality they spoke to the common bond between us.
Through such simple acts we were reminded how coexistence can be
strengthened and some small redemption achieved – just by crossing Central Park.