American Muslima Writer -Daring to Work Towards Jannah

Sometimes if you've spent a lot of time in the Middle East you start feeling very anti-Jewish. Boycotting Israeli everything, trying to support Palestinian people's hopes. Especially in Lebanon to praise anything Jewish made you seem like a spy. With good reason, years and years of warfare, massacres, and bombings have made Lebanon and the Lebanese wary of anything Jewish. Although there is a VERY small population of Jews in Lebanon they keep, obviously, a low profile. I was shocked to hear relative family members teaching their kids to chant "Down, down Israel! Those Israelis are bad! They are going to the Hellfires!" To my American ears this smacked of brainwashing. But was it? Over in "good ol' USA" how many times do we hear about "Muslim Arab Terrorists"? Brainwashing? I don't know if you can call it that but it is unfair. I spent many a day teaching my Lebanese Relatives that there are good Jewish people out there in the world. Just as there are good and bad Muslim people. Of course many debates led into the realm of Muslim vs non-Muslim but that's another story.
I have known a few Jewish people personally. I didn't know them too closely but they did leave an impact on my life in some small way.
The first Jews I knew were my father's co-worker's family. Some weekends we'd go to their house and I'd spend time with their daughters. The younger one and I really had fun and she seemed an all around pleasant girl, not corrupted by society. There were trademark Jewish symbolism in their house that I looked at carefully and with a touch of respect for their openly religious beliefs. Later a few years went by and our families drifted apart just by lack of communication and the last I heard about them was the father disowned his older daughter for becoming pregnant outside of marriage. This did shock me, I had heard of such things but had never KNOWN anyone who would do something like that, after all they were what I would call decent people. Although I couldn't comprehend why a man who took the time and patience to raise a beautiful lady would suddenly cast her out because she defied her religious beliefs, I DID have respect for the fact that some people have deeply held religious beliefs and it went deeper than blood.
The next time I ran into a Jewish person I was then Muslim, wore hijab, and knew a bit more about the differences between our faiths. I was riding the local Tucson bus at sunset to a Hotel where the Muslim community had gathered to raise money to build a new Masjid in town. I got on and sat down in the middle of the bus and sitting opposite from me was a young black man around my age of 18. He was dressed in a classy suit mostly white, and on top of his head wore the traditional Jewish cap. Our eyes met and then glanced off quickly. We both sat there not quite staring at each other because we were the only traditionally religious people apparent on the bus. I'm sure if a nun had been present there would have been a three way stare. I felt I wanted to start up a religious conversation with this guy and from his furtive glances he did too. Yet we both held back afraid of the same thing... causing a religious misunderstanding....in public. I saw many of the other passengers looking between us both waiting for something to happen and a silent tension practically hummed through the bus. I saw my stop and pressed the cord button, it chimed and we both stood. We were standing face to face and the temptation to talk grew....
"Salaam," he said smiling.
"Shalom," I replied quickly smiling too. He let me off first and as we stepped off in different directions we were both still smiling. Two simple words conveyed a hope for the future where people could indeed understand the other's beliefs and live in Shalom, in Salaam, in Peace.



The next and last time I ran into anyone Jewish was after I left Lebanon in the summer of 2006, the Israelis had attacked Lebanon and war hit hard. I got to USA really with the fear of Israel in the hearts of my daughter and I. Rockets had hit really close to our summer home and had literally shaken me to my core. Every time jets overflew we flinched waiting for the Boom. Here I was in Tucson, Arizona, USA flinching in my own home. I hated Israel, I even hated Jews right then.
My mom is a crafter and almost every weekend she had shows at various locations around Tucson with the Tucson Arts and Crafts Association. Sometimes they were held at parks or churches or nursing homes, but this weekend I was there they held it at the Jewish Community Center. I had always gone and helped my mom sell and help her put her things on display and help her take the displays down and chat with all her fellow crafting friends. I hadn't seen them for years since I had been in Lebanon and she told me they were all eager to meet me and my daughter. So we went to the car and drove there. As we made a U-turn at the light in front of the JCC I saw the large Menorah decoration and a small shudder went down my back. We parked and I forlornly walked pushing my daughter in her stroller up the black pavement to the main entrance.

It seemed every step made me more uneasy. My beloved husband and in-laws were cowering in fear at that moment across the world in Lebanon and I was stepping on Jewish Territory. I felt like a traitor. We walked in and everywhere was displayed beautiful Jewish made art and decor. Proudly listed names were boldly written telling all their accomplishments but all I wanted to do was scream "My brothers and sisters in Islam are DYING at this moment because of People YOU support!"

Naturally I kept my mouth firmly shut. Few, if any, would understand or sympathise with me. I greeted the crafters with a falsely cheery smile that as time went on relaxed into the real thing. But it was oh so hard. To keep walking. Keep smiling. But I did enjoy the crafts and spending time with my mom.

For those who have been blurking and never commenting because you wish more privacy or would secretly like to ask me questions I've undertaken the initiative to get another e-mail address besides the private one I've had since I was 13 lol. I never felt comfortable giving out my private address online but a few people have asked for it over the past year on this blog so finally I have the need to use it.

americanmuslimawriter@gmail.com

There it is! Simple I know but easy to remember if you want to e-mail me hehehe. Don't forget my "Muslimah" has no H
MUSLIMA

Thanks and I look forward to getting e-mail from those who wish to.

I was laughing and chatting online with my sister-in-law H when she suddenly took me by surprise.
"So what's new in the stories?" she asked. I blanked out a moment while memories rushed to my heart.
I always share my latest pages scribbled about any of the current books I'm writing with this sister. She always listens and gets properly excited about my characters which in turns fuels my writing passion. I haven't been able to write for a very long time now. Her question brought back the hunger. The mad insatiable urge to pick up my sculpting pen and carve out a tale, a tale the likes that have never been told before. My heart wrenched with grief that my pen lay idle.
"Nothing new yet, you know, two kids and all." I weakly laugh trying to rid myself of this burning pain in my heart. I tried to describe to her how much I miss my writing and I know that she knows but does she KNOW MY HEART IS ON FIRE!?!?

Why WHY! am I forsaking my passion? WHY! Sure I have the normal excuses any woman has... 2 kids, a house that needs Arabized cleaning, a big list of to-do. But the sad reality is my writing is no longer even ON the to-do list as it used to be. I really did actually put on a calender before: "Write on *** story". Maybe I don't even know which story to write now if I even wanted to dig out my pen.
It's calling me back to it, the great Sculpting Pen of the ages. Calling me to make my mark on history. Calling me back to my passion of the written word. Calling me back to the days where I'd sit writing a poem and take at least an hour trying to find that elusive perfect word to describe an intense feeling. Calling me back tot the days when I'd manage a good six pages in my latest book while my teacher waxed on about the importance of learning American History. Calling me back to the days when I read for my friends during lunch the latest in my plots.
What agony I am in.
Why do we let our passions fall to the way-side? Why can't we let our sculptors within free? My inner passion has been chained down, tormenting my inner soul with the feelings of being lost without remembering what it was I lost. The distant call of my sister has it all rushing back, and in doing so, has fueled my life back into brilliance.
The soul is happy when following it's passion to the utmost.
I need my soul to be happy again.
It's my torment that I don't know how.
I don't know how to manage the already overwhelming task of taking care of my duties and still have time for the time-consuming task of getting my head back into the writer's mode and my heart to follow the lives of my characters. But if I don't think of a way I'll continue to feel this hollow ache in my chest where my heart is slowly withering.
The beat slows... wash the dishes... slower... vacuum the floors... slower... take out trash...
"So what's new in the stories?"... stutter... ! ... faster... a pen... faster... a blank paper... faster... a story!... Faster... MY STORY! ... BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
THAT is living !~ Feeling your heart pound blood through your body.