Breaching Kerak

The first time I heard of Kerak (الكرك) was through an email correspondence with a potential couchsurfing host.  He told me that the city and its famous crusader castle could easily be another day trip from Amman.

Even though at one point I had trudged through Karen Armstrong's exhaustive account of the medieval crusades in her book Holy War: The Crusades and their Impact in Today's World,  I still wasn't all that interested in checking out the sanctuaries and other crusader ruins.  I think my indifference stemmed from having read the gory details of their slaughter campaign through the Holy Land or was turned off by their general ignorance and arrogance.  To be fair, the Crusaders weren't the first to go on a rampage in the Levant.  Prior to them, Canaanites, Israelites, Moabites, and other tribes went on their killing spree sometimes at the behest of a god or for strategic purposes.

So before arriving in Jordan, I had heard of Kerak, but I had no intention to go until a fellow volunteer living in Kerak, who I ran into while traveling Jordan's shamal (north), suggested that I crash his place. I thought, “Why not?” 

No Loose Change Around

To get to Kerak, I took a bus from the South (janubia) Amman Station and arrived in Kerak about 2 hours later.  I think the fare was about 2.5JD.  I remember upsetting the money collector when I gave him a 20JD bill.  Small bills and coins, like in Morocco, are a prized commodity. 

I still don't understand why change is so hard to come by in these countries.  Is it because the central bank is not minting enough coins or printing only a few small bills?  Are the general banks and central bank forgetting to turn in and replace the bills that have lived out their life-cycle?  For instance, Morocco's lowest denomination bill of 20 Dirham was the grimiest bill of them all.  Sometimes you could barely make out the images on the bill because everything was so smudged.    

However, before I blame the government or the bankers, maybe the root of the problem is a lack of planning and coordination on the part of the local bus companies who forget to keep change in hand.  I remembered not too long ago in Israel giving a bus driver a 50 shekel bill for a trip that cost 12 shekel and getting my change in bills and coinage in a snap without the frustrated look or rebuke.  It just made me wonder why is something like having a proper flow of currency such a big issue as soon as you cross the River Jordan or in Morocco's case as soon as you cross the Mediterranean.   Fortunately, about halfway through my trip after collecting money from everyone that boarded at the station and the stray passengers they picked up on the way, the money-man gave me and everyone else their change back.

The DL on Kerak

The PCV in Kerak told me to get off at the outskirts of the city near a truck stop.  I got out, and he was there a few minutes later.  Lining a major street leading to his house were a few shawarma stands. We went to one that he frequented and were greeted like family.  We had the Jordanian fast-food combo meal of a shawarma sandwich, a small dish of sour vegetables, and Jordan's sweetened black tea.

On our way back to the PCV's home, the PCV shared some tidbits about the make-up of his community.  He told that there were two to three prominent tribes that controled most of the local government and that the family ties were really strong.  In addition to tribal affiliations, Kerak had a significant number of Christians who actively practiced their faith.  In his community, most of the Christians lived on the north side of the city near their churches, parochial schools, and cemeteries.  He said that in general both groups respected one another and shared some of the power in managing community affairs. 

He told me that both Christians and Muslims made wise-cracks about each other.  For instance, when the volunteer visited a Christian family once and felt sick the following day, his Muslim neighbors blamed his sickness on what they said was the Christians' notoriously bad hygiene.  Christians, on the other hand, would joke that Muslims must believe that Allah is deaf so much so that he needs to hear them say 'Allah u Akbar' (God is Great) so many times during their prayers.      

@ the Castle

Kerak Castle

The following day the volunteer and I went out to see the Crusader's Castle.  The City of Kerak itself is perched up on the same hill as the castle.  We took a small transit van that zig-zagged its way up the narrow and congested city streets and dropped us off a few blocks from the entrance.

I paid a small entrance fee.  The volunteer went over to one of the gate attendants and told him that he lived in Kerak, showed his Jordanian ID, and dropped his host father's tribal last name, which immediately brought a smile to the attendant's face. They spoke to each other for a bit, exchanged a few God phrases, and soon thereafter, the attendant told him to proceed without paying.

The views from the castle were quite stunning.  Most of the fields in this dry and hilly terrain were plowed waiting for the winter rains to come.  Off in the distance, one could make out the blue of the Dead Sea and the silvery haze that hovered over it.

View from Kerak Castle-Dead Sea in the distance

The castle was a labyrinth of tunnels with all sorts of nooks and crannies.  We snaked through the tunnels, checked out some of the major halls, rooms, and wells, climbed to the top, and imagined the siege of Salah al-Din's army.

Angry birds at Kerak Castle

I can see why Saladdin had such a hard time conquering the post.  It was nearly impossible to scale it without getting shot at, burned by any type of scalding liquid, or run over by whatever debris was thrown from the top.  The narrow windows on the fortress walls protected the archers very well.  One had to be quite a marksman to be able to squeeze an arrow through such a narrow opening.  Even though I'm no fan of the Crusaders, I had to marvel at the ingenuity of the fortress architecture.

After an hour or so walking through the castle, we made our way down to the city center where we made a small pit stop to refuel on some delicious kenafa--that mozzarella and crunchy filo dough drenched in honey confection that just never seemed to get old for me.

Kerak City - Making haram billboards halal

On the way there, I saw a number of young girls dressed in fairly revealing Western wear.  I pointed them out to the volunteer, and he knew that the families of those young girls were Christians and that in general Christian girls and guys dressed a little more Western than their Muslim counterparts. 

Change of Plans

A few blocks later, the volunteer and I parted ways.  I went to the bus stop in hopes of catching an afternoon bus to Ma'an, which is about 40k from Petra, where I was hoping to crash for the night.  Once at the station, I asked about going to Ma'an or Petra.  I was told that the only thing available even at 3PM on a weekday was one last express bus to Aqaba, the southernmost city in Jordan.  I didn't want to go to Aqaba to then ride up north again to Petra; so I called the PCV, asked if I could crash, and he obliged.  I went north to the truck stop where I was dropped off the first time and met up with the PCV and with a Peace Corps Trainee (PCT) who was sent to Kerak to observe a day-in-the-life of a PCV. 

Later on that evening, we got an invite for tea from a Christian family that the PCV had befriended.  Coming from Morocco where 95% or so of the country is Muslim, our walk through the streets of the Christian neighborhood seeing crosses, parochial schools, and Christian cemeteries in what is still a predominantly Muslim country was surprising.  At the door, we were met by the father of the house who greeted the PCV with the same God phrases I had heard earlier when the PCV greeted his Muslim friends and neighbors. 

We were escorted to the living room where his wife and a couple of young boys greeted us.  Even though the volunteer had told me that most Christian families don't follow the same protocol that many Muslims do in protecting their women from male strangers or segregating male and female interaction with respect to foreigners, I still hesitated when greeting his wife, who was dressed in a simple blouse and casual dress pants with no headscarf.  For some reason, I felt a sense of relief walking in.  I felt that I could probably be more myself in this home. 

The Holy Bible in 3rabia

We had a nice little chat over some coffee and some cookies.  The father spoke English and translated for his wife whenever she had something to say.  It was a very open environment.  A few boys, who happened to be their grand-kids, were playing in the living room.  One of their younger sons came out of his room to greet us, but then went right back inside to continue working on his latest techno-house-rave mix, which served as the background music to our cross-cultural exchange.  The mother half-smilingly told us that he worked as a DJ for private parties. 

The father shared some stories about some of the scuffles some Christians had with their Muslim neighbors, but he said that for the most part everyone respected each other.  He asked if I and the PCT were Christians to which we nodded yes.  I told him that I wanted to take a look at his Bible if he would allow me.  He brought it over and read a few of the first verses of the first chapter of Genesis.  Knowing already how these verses read in English, it was easy to make out Arabic words in use.  He went on to tell us that the Arabic language Bible is a closer translation than the English version because Aramaic is within the same family of Semitic languages.  He added that the Arabic translation is also much older than the English version having been translated all the way back in the 5^th century.  I asked if I could hold it.  I browsed through some of the pages and just sat in awe of it. 

For the longest time, I had associated Arabic with Islam and the Qur'an.  Here I held the very book I had read ever since I was a kid, but in Arabic.  Here was another book, considered sacred by many Arab Christians, that was written in the language many Muslims claim to be the language of God.

From then on, Arabic took on a more multifaceted look.  Not only could this language be the language of Islam, but also Christianity; of not only Muslims, but also Christians.  It was a language for all Arabs no matter what one believed.  They both prayed to Allah, but in different ways.  They both recited scriptures in the same language, but in distinct ways.  Sure, I had heard that there were Arab Christians in the Middle East, but once again just like visiting Jerusalem, meeting various people of different faiths, and seeing the Holy Scriptures in Arabic makes much of what I heard and read much more real.

More Kerak to Come

Before we left though, the father invited us to come back for a special lunch treat.  He asked his wife if she could cook up some maqlouba, which supposedly means upside down, and she smiled and said, “Yes.”  The PCV was super excited to hear this.  The dish was on my list of must-eat, must-try Jordanian meals, but all I had heard was that it was kind of like mansef with more vegetables and different spices.  If it was anything like mansef, it was bound to be delicious.

Because transits to Ma'an only ran in the morning, dining with that family would mean I would have to chill out in Kerak for another full day.  The PCV had no problem letting me crash so just like that I extended my stay for another couple of days.  On our way back, we walked back through the Christian neighborhood and then back onto the surrounding streets leading to the PCV's home.  I thought to myself, “Wow, in just one day I went back in time imagining the days of the Crusaders, had some mouth-watering kenafa again, learned a little about the community dynamics between some Christians and Muslims in this small corner of Jordan, and got to see and hear verses from an Arabic language Bible."

I would have to agree with a quote I read a while back from Saint Augustine that said, "The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page."  I probably got a few pages worth that day.  Even though I was tired, I laid awake in bed as my mind raced to process, categorize, and archive all of the experiences. I finally drifted thinking tomorrow would undoubtedly bring even more surprises.

Back in Jordan: Holy Land Divided and Partitioned

After a few days in Jerusalem, I made my way back to Jordan.  I had to go back the same way I went in by way of the Sheikh Hussein Bridge, but the second time around took a lot less time.  On my way up Bayt She'an, I stopped at the King Hussein crossing, but was told by one of the border guards that I could not cross because I had an exit stamp from Jordan meaning that I would need to pay for another visa to cross into Jordan.  Essentially, Jordan considers the Palestinian held territory to be theirs as well--granted it was at one point--so visiting Ramallah for instance to Jordanian authorities would be as if you had never left their country.  So in order to make it back to the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, I would need to go through either the Sheikh Hussein Bridge or head all the way down south to Wadi Araba.  I knew that a bus headed to Bayt She'an would come around in about 20 or so minutes so I parked my stuff on the west side bus stop and waited for the next northbound bus to pass through again.

Delicious falafel and Hebrew brew to wash it down

Once I arrived in Bayt She'an, I grabbed a falafel sandwich and a kosher beer at a fast-food joint just down the block from the bus stop next to the McDonalds.  The kosher beer was a decent pilsen, but nothing too exciting; however, knowing that I was on my way back to a Muslim country where drinking is haram (forbidden) even though it does happen in tourist areas , I took my time taking in what little scenery there was while I savored the brew.  The falafel was quite good actually mainly because of the tangy yogurt they slathered all over the bread.  After finishing the beer, the restaurant manager asked if I needed a cab to go to the crossing.  I said, "Yes," and within minutes the same cab driver that brought me to Bayt She'an a couple of days ago was there to take me back.  Whaddayaknow, small world!

This time around, though, he said less offensive things about his neighbors on the other side of the river and was mainly interested in how I spent my days in Jerusalem.  Towards the end of the short trip, he gave me his business card and told me to call him next time I pass through so I can dine with his family.  It was a nice gesture to leave on.

At the crossing, I paid my Israeli exit tax (98.50 NIS or roughly $30, ouch!), and on the other side I paid for another Jordanian visa (10 JD or approx $15, ouch again!).  Knowing that I would now have this visa for the next 30 days, I decided that I wasn't going to rush my travels in Jordan.  I called up my Peace Corps volunteer contacts near Irbid.  One of them told me that I could totally crash his pad for another night.  Unfortunately, the only way to get out of the crossing station on the Jordanian side was to pay 19JD or a little over $25 for a 12km ride to the Jordan River Crossing taxi service, which in NYC would be a bargain, but in Jordan, it's highway robbery.

The dispatcher was trying to convince me to go all the way to Amman and pay 35JD for the trip, which was even more obscene knowing full well that a Hijazi bus from Irbid to Amman runs about 2JD, but it was a better value per kilometer nonetheless.  This was one instance when traveling with someone else would have made the trip much cheaper.  A lot of Jordanians at the crossing were already traveling in twos or threes and split the fares to their destinations.  The few Israelis that had crossed over got into a tour bus that was waiting for them.  Finally, the dispatcher gave up trying to convince me to go to Amman and made the call for a taxi for Irbid, and I reluctantly paid the 19JD.

Once in Irbid, my volunteer host told me that he was sightseeing in Umm Qays with another volunteer and some of his Jordanian buddies that I had hung out with on my first visit to his village.  So from Irbid, I took a transit to Umm Qays for 1JD.  Normally, it's about .500 pistares/half a JD for the 15 minute ride, but because it was still Leid Kabir /Al-Adha or the Grand Holiday Feast weekend, the unlicensed, private transits wanted a little extra.

Upon arrival, they told me that we were going on a little road trip. I hopped onto another passenger van, and instead of going back on the road to Irbid, we went the opposite direction, downhill from Umm Qays and towards a military checkpoint.  Our driver and our Jordanian friend asked us for our passports, they handed them to the guards, and then went about asking the guards where they were from, which village exactly, family names, and then told them that we were American tourists passing through.  The guards took a peek in.  Saw all three of us and none of us looked stereotypically American so he asked our guide again if we were indeed American.  He confirmed we were, the guard nodded, and then signaled that we could proceed.

We went another mile or so until we reached another checkpoint.  Now, I was thinking, "Maybe I should have asked where we were going before jumping onto this van." For a moment, I thought that maybe we were headed to Syria, which seemed unlikely, but then Umm Qays is a stone's throw away so it wasn't too far fetched.  At the second checkpoint, our Jordanian friend followed the same procedure, but this time one of the guards mentioned a village that one of our friends recognized.  From there, they went back and forth dropping names of mutual acquaintances.  That guard only glanced at our passports and then handed them back.

After that checkpoint, our driver cranked the car into second gear as we climbed a hill overlooking the Yarmouk River Valley sandwiched between the towering Golan Heights and the Jordanian east bank hills where a few families were there picnicking and watching the sunset.

Golan Heights from Jordan

Our Jordanian friend asked a gentleman who was laid out on a blanket on the hill's edge to point out some landmarks for us.  The man pointed north to the Golan Heights, which is currently under Israeli control, but that he considered to be part of Syria.

He pointed east and said that the olive-tree-dotted hills were part of Jordan and then pointed west and said that the fertile valley extending towards the Sea of Galilee/Lake Tiberias was Palestine.

He then pointed specifically to a certain area in the valley and said that his family had lived there before the war drove them out.

He said that he came to that hill often to gaze into Palestine and he hoped that one day he would be able to go back and live there once again.

The sun was setting quickly so our driver and friend told us to get back in the van.  We descended down the same hill and got back on the road.  We stopped at another military checkpoint.  We showed our IDs and were flagged through.  We stopped on the side of the road about 2-3K from the last checkpoint to see the Palestinian territory up close and the barbed and razor-wire fences on the other side of the river.

We were told that this was the demilitarized zone and that entire stretches on both sides of the river were lined with land mines.  One of our guides commented that it was like fillaha (agriculture/farming).  Along with the land mine cultivation, there were some fancy irrigation channels with all sorts of tunnels going in and out of hillside.

After getting a few pictures, we made our way back to Irbid.  It took me a while to process what I had seen.  For so long I had heard about the tensions in this region of the world, had read about the Six Day War, and had watched one Al-Jazeera documentary after another about the Israeli occupation while living in Morocco, but now I had met someone, a  Jordanian national of Palestinian descent, who was personally affected by the conflict.  I had seen first hand how decades of unresolved border disputes had led to a buffer of land mines to prevent further incursions from either party.  It was just hard to reconcile the land mines, military checkpoints, razor-wire fencing, every other young Israeli carrying assault rifles, and the animosity on both sides of the river with the messages of peace and compassion that I had read in the Bible, and I wondered whether, if ever, the message to love thy neighbor and to do unto others as you would like to have done unto thyself that is central to all Abrahamic faiths would ever be manifested in the very place where it was preached thousands of years ago.

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I think we are all guilty of dismissing every other beauty queen's wish for world peace.  It seems preposterous in the face of the calamities this world has witnessed and the conflict-ridden state of affairs.  I also dismiss it because it is hard to imagine what that world would look like.  Where and how do you begin?  How do you sustain it?

In a follow up to her Charter for Compassion, religious historian Karen Armstrong talks of reviving the Golden Rule.  She mentions in the TED talk below how doing so has the potential to turn us from an ego-centric mindset to a transcendent state, "an imaginative act of empathy, putting yourself in the place of another", which has the effect of making us value the life of another as much as we value our own life.  Towards the end, she paraphrases a theme in C.S. Lewis's book Four Loves in which the author differentiates between erotic love when one looks deeply into another's eyes and friendship when two people stand side by side gazing out towards a goal.  She says, "We don't have to fall in love with each other, but we can become friends....and when people of all different persuasions come together, working side by side, for a common goal, differences melt away.  And we learn amity.  And we learn to live together and to get to know one another."  It's a thoughtful response worthy of some serious consideration.  See the full TED Talk below:

Jerusalem - On Holy Ground

So much could be said about the Holy City and I guess a lot of what has been said is probably framed by one's religious fervor or indifference. For many Christians, going to the Holy City is not a requirement of their faith, but many dream of going there. For Muslims, it is recommended that they perform a hajj (pilgrimage) to al-Quds al-Sharif (Arabic name for the City of Jerusalem meaning “The Holy Sanctuary”) or more specifically to the Al-Aqsa Mosque and Dome of the Rock to pray at the site where the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, ascended to heaven. For many Jews, it is the site of the Holy of Holies.  

I've never been big on visiting museums, monuments, statues, and other still-life objects; instead, I've always found it more interesting to observe how people interact with one another, the power dynamics, the social structure, to learn a bit about the history and the expectations of the people, to understand the meaning behind their choice of attire and to get a glimpse of what they value most. So when I walked into the Holy City, I wanted to see what made this city so special, so sought after that epic battles were fought to gain control of it with every group believing that they were "in the right", that the city needed to be rescued or saved from the others, and that it needed to cleansed, restored, and revived under the new group's perceived rightly guided leadership. I thought to myself, "What is it about this city that in the process of reclaiming it from another group drove men to slaughter thousands of others? Was it its geographical location, the surrounding natural resources, or commercial or economic interests? Or was it simply symbolic?"

In my reading of The Bible and that of other religious books, I don't recall any passage mentioning how important Jerusalem was in terms of its geographical location. The New Testament does speak of how Jerusalem once was and to some extent still is a major commercial center in the region. As far as natural resources go, Jerusalem doesn't have a large body of water to draw from, is inland about 60km from the nearest port in Tel Aviv, and relies upon the Mediterranean winter rains to restore some green to the countryside after their hot and dry summers. So if I was to launch a campaign to take over the Holy City (not that I ever would, but hypothetically), I wouldn't have much of an rallying call if I based it simply on geography or economic data, and I am pretty sure when the Jews, Crusaders, and Muslims alike called out the troops that none of them yelled out, “Let us march into the city and take over that commercial center and decent, but not all that great geographical location!” Nah, it was all about taking control of a city that was the site of the Holy Temple, the City of King David, and of King Solomon. To Christians, it was the place where the patriarch of their faith preached the gospel truth, and to Muslims, the City of All The Prophets. The history and events that had transpired in that small enclosed fortress city and the close affinity people felt to the stories that had served as a guide for their lives and gave their lives an identity and meaning were the very thing that motivated them to give up everything and risk their lives.

To this day, I believe that much of that religious zeal still remains. Fortunately, when I visited, the various groups exhibited their passion for their faith peacefully through processions and re-enactments, by reciting holy scriptures at the Wailing/Western Wall, celebrating bar mitzvahs, praying at the Al-Aqsa Mosque, paying homage to the various saints and prophets, retracing the steps where Jesus walked, preached, and later carried his cross on the Via Dolorosa, and visiting the many sanctuaries, chapels, churches, and synagogues.

I saw Muslims visiting the Holy Sepulcher, the place where Jesus was laid until he was resurrected, alongside Eastern Orthodox priests and believers. I walked through the catacombs of the Holy Sepulcher. Some of the bling that adorned the walls of the Holy Sepulcher seemed out of place in this sacred temple, but perhaps the Eastern Orthodox and other Christian groups that share responsibility for the upkeep of the church believe Jesus likes a lot of bling.

I went over to the Wailing/Western Wall and uttered a little prayer with many others who were reciting the Torah. Hassidic Jews with their side-burn dreads, black suit coats and pants, and black, thin-brimmed sombreros, and Jews, it seemed, from all corners of the world were there getting their arms strapped and their heads fitted with a custom-made rubber head-bumping protector before their praying marathon would ensue. The wall's many crevices were stuffed full of snippets of paper. 

Opposite of the Wailing/Western Wall, there was singing, clapping, and ululating as young boys and young men carried scrolls to wooden compartments throughout the entire Wailing/Western Wall. Men and women were segregated, but they interacted and celebrated together. Further down the Western Wall inside the tunnel, older gentlemen sat and recited scriptures. There was a small library that had countless volumes of what I presume to be religious scriptures or commentary from prominent rabbis.

I walked from one end of the city to the other, north to south and east to west, going in and out of the Christian, Muslim, Armenian, and Jewish Quarters. There were countless boutiques selling all sorts of artisana from the various communities that inhabited the city. I really liked the burgundy and black used by Palestinian weavers and the Armenian ceramics was exceptional. I found it odd to see Arabs selling Crusader memorabilia, but maybe they were Christians.

Other stores sold a host of Jewish menorahs, horn trumpets, woodcarvings of the manger, Mary and Baby Jesus were on mugs, t-shirts, and anything imaginable.  There were crosses, Stars of David, and crescent moons of all sizes were everywhere. Most of the bazaars were run by men in pretty much every quarter, who displayed their superb linguistic skills when pitching their products and negotiating prices. I heard them switching from one language to another in seamless fashion using Arabic, Hebrew, English, French, Spanish, and even some Russian. The call to prayer was loud and clear and so was the chime of the church bells.

 It seemed like pilgrims from every corner of the world were there. Some were just walking around like me, a lot were in organized tours, and others were deep into their religious procession stopping at different stages of the Via Dolorosa only to be interrupted by kids and other ambulant vendors attempting to sell them postcards and other memorabilia at every stop.

My only regret in coming to Jerusalem is that I only spent two nights there. While I got to walk through the Holy City and to witness the religious passion displayed by the many acts of faith from the various groups, I did not have a lot of time to talk to people or to get to experience the culture of the various groups and sub-groups that make Jerusalem their home. I was fortunate, though, to find an Israeli couple on Couchsurfing that opened their home and allowed me to stay with them for a couple of nights. They identified themselves as secular Jews. Both of them had traveled to various parts of the world and we shared photos and travel stories, but never spoke about the politics or what being a secular Jew meant.

The couchsurfer and the few locals that I spoke to all had a story to tell about how they or their family had come to Israel. My couchsurfing host was a first generation Israeli whose family had migrated from Argentina. From an early age, his family had spoken Spanish to him so he had a very good grasp of the language. We spoke in Spanish as much as possible and switched to English from time to time. He showed me around town a bit. He took me to the main market in the new city where we had some coffee at one of his favorite cafes.

At the market, you could hear a mix of Arabic and Hebrew, salam wa leikums and shaloms were exchanged. The Mediterranean produce was the main supply, but they also had a great variety of imported tropical fruits.  He then took me to a place that was selling all sorts of delicious fruit shakes from a self-professed medicine man. The shakes were awesome. I asked the medicine man if I could take a picture of him and he obliged, but not before spraying my face with one of his all-natural facial rejuvenation toners. It caught me by surprise. He also pulled my host and sprayed his face as well. He told us to massage our face so the potion would be absorbed faster. The spray felt refreshing, but as the liquid seeped into the corner of my eyes, it began to burn. He told me to keep my eyes shut, he pulled my host next to me, and said that I had good energy and that I had the potential to be a great healer. I thought, “Hmm, I'm unemployed right now. I hadn't thought about being a medicine man...new career path maybe.”

I also met an older gentleman who said he was born near Guercif, Morocco, and that his family had lived there almost their entire life before migrating to Israel. He had a lot of fond childhood memories of Morocco and of Moroccans. He asked me if I enjoyed living there to which I answered, "Eeh, mrra mrra (sometimes)." We communicated in a mix of Moroccan Arabic and English. It was quite a thrill to find another maghribi (Moroccan).

I had a great time in Jerusalem so much so that I hope to return again. I didn't get the chance to couchsurf through Palestine so I hope to do that next time. I think Jerusalem can mean different things to different people and I think a lot of it depends on how closely people feel to their faith. Those individuals that were in the middle of their processions on the Via Dolorosa would squint or close their eyes as they touched every place where Jesus is said to have fallen or stopped, and those that swayed back and forth in prayer in front of the Wailing/Western Wall would probably have a different take on their visit. Possibly during their prayer and recitations they enter a meditative realm that is perhaps giving life to what seems like inanimate buildings, streets and alleys to me. When I showed some of my Jordanian Muslim friends my pictures of the Dome of the Rock, they gasped in admiration. They certainly would tell a different story had they been there. But even if one does not partake of the processions, the energy, the passion, and the devotion of the believers is felt all around. To me, people were the thing that gave the city and all its holy sites their life. Without them, it would be just another city. With them there, I got the sense that I was walking on sacred ground.

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http://www.goisrael.com

There are a few books that I was lucky to read in college and on my own that expand on the three Abrahamic faiths and provide more context on the historical significance of Jerusalem.  If you have the chance, pick 'em up at your local library or add them to your personal collection.

    

In Matters of Faith: Minding My Own

In Morocco, faith and religious practice is intertwined with everyday life.  The call to prayer is loud and clear five times a day and especially noticeable at five in the morning.  Every action, it seems, is preceded or followed by what are commonly referred to as God phrases.  If a Moroccan happens to notice that you took a shower, got a haircut, got new clothes, got done exercising, or finished a meal, he or she instinctively blurts out a bssHa (To your health) to which one must respond with a llah y3tik sHa (May God give you health) .  If you are about to start cooking a meal, eating a meal, about to walk out the door, jump in a car, or go anywhere in particular uttering a bismillah (In the Name of God) is necessary to bless the start of the journey or activity.  If you're grateful about anything, you should throw in a hamdullah (thanks be to God).  When you're about to walk out the door or leaving your circle of friends, you could say bslama, which according to our Peace Corps Darija (Moroccan Arabic) textbook is your equivalent of a goodbye, but a lot of Moroccans combine that with a llah y3wnk or llah yfdk (God help you or God protect you).  Lastly, if one is to mention anything that is likely to happen in the near or distant future, one should expect to be interrupted with a customary inshallah (God willing).

I've gotten so accustomed to using these phrases that now I insert preemptive inshallahs before I start any future tense verb.  Some of my Moroccan friends think that I'm being really considerate of God's will by inserting inshallahs at the start, middle, and end of my future tense sentences, but truth is that I don't really like to be interrupted when I'm speaking :). Who does?

To a foreigner adding all these God phrases can seem quite burdensome and odd if unaccustomed to invoking God in their native language.  There are so many different phrases and using one out of place can get you some chuckles or stares and is a tell-tale sign that you haven't been in the country for very long.  For Moroccans, uttering them is second nature.  They add these phrases effortlessly into their conversation.  The more you use them, the more respectful or pious you come across.  The utterance of Allah (God) is intrinsically tied to their everyday sayings regardless if you're speaking in Darija, Tamazight, Tashelheit, or Tarifit.

During Ramadan, it seems as if people are a bit more devoted to the practice of their faith than is commonly seen throughout the year.  They attend the mosque with more frequency, read the Qur'an, and wear what some consider to be more reverent attire.  More men put on their skull-caps and dust off their ankle-length white tunics.  People turn even more nocturnal than usual as circadian rhythms and blood-sugar levels are thrown out of whack by the sunrise to sunset fast and the late night meals.  The other day as I walked around Rabat just before the break of fast, I was taken aback by how people sat in front of a hot, delicious serving of Morocco's famous harira, fat, juicy dates, sugary fried dough delicacies, and a glass of juice or milk without taking a bite or a sip at least until the imam called out the end of the fast.  It was remarkable to witness this degree of self-control.

Religious traditions also play a role in the family's finances.  For every new child that is born, the father must sacrifice a sheep during its naming ceremony.  For the grand feast of L3id Kbir/Al-Adha, the family takes out the savings to purchase one to two sheep depending on the size of the family.  Every sheep can cost anywhere from 1,000 to 1,500DH or $120 to $180.  This may not sound like a lot in dollar terms, but when the average salary for a day laborer is 50DH or $6.25 p/day; just imagine the effort families have to make to have the money for this must-do religious rite.  Not too long ago, one of my Moroccan friends told me that his wife was  expecting twins.  He was elated, but also somewhat concerned because within a few months he would have to purchase two sheep for the naming ceremony.  I asked him why couldn't just one sheep suffice, but the thought of that was something he'd rather not even contemplate.  He felt a sense of obligation.  

Another ritual that all Muslims should do, according to what is regarded as the five pillars of Islam, within their lifetime is the Hajj or pilgrimage to Mecca, which can run between 50-60,000DH per person for an all-inclusive travel package.  For many Moroccans especially here in the rural and semi-urban towns, having that much cash available is something of a pipe dream; however, that doesn't mean that they don't think about it.  If the economic circumstances would permit it, they would most certainly follow through with it without any hesitation.

Sometimes people's religious fervor can also be in-your-face, literally.  During our pre-service training, we were warned that many people would approach us to speak to us about Islam with the goal of converting us.  According to our cross-cultural facilitators during our PC training, he stated that the Qur'an speaks of a reward in paradise for those that bring someone into Islam.  Most people have been cordial when speaking about Islam while some, perhaps by nature are belligerent and judgmental, speak about their faith in a forceful and absolutist way.  Others are really sly and attempt to convert you by having you repeat the shahada, the declaration of faith, without explaining to you what you're about to say--I think most volunteers have probably unintentionally converted, but supposedly according to Muslim scholars, if one does not say the shahada knowing fully what one is saying and in earnest, then it doesn’t count. Most everyone asks if I fast and how many times I pray. When I tell them that in my old church we were not required to fast and that we did pray during church services and before meals, some have said that they like the prayer before meals idea, but found it odd that we were not asked to fast.


Any response about my former religious practices were met with comparisons. If I said that some Catholics fast for Lent for a week or up to a month, I was reminded about how much Muslims fasted. If I said that my family used to pray before meals, traveling, and before going to bed, I was reminded about how most Muslims pray five times a day. If I told them that I would go to church service twice per week, I was then told that most Muslims go to the mosque at least five times per day. Every answer was met with a response showing how much more devoted Muslims were in terms of all the things that they did.


What was absent from most of our conversations was the question of what I believed. In the U.S., there are so many denominations branching out from Christianity that often what one believes is central to one's religious or spiritual identity, but in Morocco, only a handful of people asked me what exactly did I believe. When I read Seyyed Hossein Nasr'sHeart of Islam, I began to understand the questions or the absence of some questions from my Moroccan friends and colleagues. He said that Muslims are not concerned with orthodoxy, but rather orthopraxy. It's not about what you believe, but what you do. Hence, what they say throughout the day, what they wear, the number of times they pray, the slaughtering of the sacrificial lamb, complying with Shari'a law, fasting, making the pilgrimage to Mecca, and zakat (almsgiving) are a daily demonstration of their devotion and submission to God.

Having worked with previous volunteers, my tutor knew that I would be confronted about my Christian faith.  He gave me some phrases that would help to diffuse the tension and would call to question the actions of the often self-righteous and presumptuous proselytizer.  Basically, he told me to do the following: first, one shouldn't be speaking about Islam with complete strangers so one can call out people for being impertinent; second, once the person has apologized and invited you and your friends over for lunch or tea, but should they persist, one should tell them that should one decide to become a Muslim, one need not only to hear about the faith, but also to see living examples of the faith where the principles (mabadi), values (qiyam), and manners/behaviors (axlaq) are in full display; thirdly, if that doesn't prompt the proselytizer to reflect on their own lives and conduct, one can appeal to them to respect (Htrm) one's faith or call them out for being judgmental, which according to the Qur'an should only be God’s prerogative. 

With religion being ever-present, it is hard not to think about one’s beliefs.  Seeking to understand where people around me were coming from, I read a number of books that gave me some insight into my neighbors’ faith and how that faith shaped their values.  I went through Karen Armstrong’s History of God, which chronicled the evolution of Abrahamic faiths.  Ms. Armstrong’s detailed account of the birth, expansion, inner struggles, outside influences, and future challenges of each of the three Abrahamic faiths helped me understand the context in which the divine scriptures were written and how over the centuries different people in different regions with different influences read or heard the scriptures, which helped them determine a course of action for their lives and the lives of others.  Several years before coming to Morocco and before I even applied to the Peace Corps, a dear mentor of mine recommended Ms. Armstrong’s Holy War: The Crusades and Their Impact on Today’s World, which documented the interaction between East and West and Christianity and Islam crusade by crusade.  These two books gave me a lot of great insight and also gave me more of an impetus to continue learning.  

I followed Armstrong's books with Nasr’s Heart of Islam.  This book was written shortly after 9/11 in the hopes of creating an interfaith dialogue and to counter the media’s negative portrayals of his faith.  It’s a contrast to Armstrong who as a religious historian attempts to remain objective in her narrative.  Nasr makes no excuses about what he believes and has little regard for the work of Enlightenment scholars who first attempted to describe his faith.  In fact, in his preface he goes on to say that the Age of Enlightenment was “an age of the darkening of the soul and eclipse of the intellect”.  Like Armstrong, he compares and contrasts various passages in the Torah, Bible, and Qur’an to show how the scriptures resemble one another.  He counters the media critics who allege that Islam is a violent religion or that it supposedly endorses violence by pointing to other verses in the Qur’an that speak of tolerance, forgiveness, and peace.

Later on, I came across a copy of Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s Infidel, a book that supposedly is banned in Morocco and in many other Islamic countries because of what some consider to be a poor depiction of Islam, but probably most importantly because she is a Muslim turned atheist.  Ali’s struggles in war-torn Somalia, her brief stint in Saudi Arabia, living as a refugee in Ethiopia, her courageous escape to Europe, and her spiritual transformations make for a riveting read.  Even if one objects to the characterizations about Islam, her life story is a remarkable journey.  I found it insightful to read about how different people with distinctive cultural and socioeconomic backgrounds from the various countries she lived in, within and outside of the Abode of Islam, interpreted the scriptures and then applied them to their daily lives.  Throughout most of the book I believe she is intending to demonstrate how someone's culture can frame the faith, but then towards the end, she seems to forget that point and resorts to making similar generalizations about the role of the faith in various aspects of Muslim society.  She picks and chooses verses to show that the Qur'an endorses oppression and calls out some Muslism for not being true Muslims because they don't adhere to a literal interpretation.  It's almost as if she turned into the very thing she despised.

The history and culture as Ali shows are key in the exercise of an individual, community, or a nation's faith, but I can't help but think about the socioeconomic factors at play that have put oppressive governments in power. Just recently, I read a blurb on a recent copy of The Economist magazine about the curse of oil.  According to the author, one of the reasons why the U.S. has made strides in gender equality is partly due to world events that prompted change.  World War I & II forced women to the workforce and in the process they gained skills and political clout in the dynamics of the family.  Also, in our market-driven economy, we are constantly seeking new and innovative ways to generate domestic demand; therefore, ignoring the needs, aspirations, and ideas of 50% of the population would be bad for business.  On the other hand, oil-rich countries, which also happen to make up a significant portion of the Islamic World, are export driven, mostly state-controlled, and have steady cashflows that makes it less of an imperative to diversify their economy.  Also, men in some of these countries earn enough to feed the family; thus, women, aside from consumption side of an economy, are nearly absent in other areas.

I think that logic rings somewhat true in Morocco.  Because they lack the oil deposits, they have a much more diversified economy where women play a much bigger role in government and business.  The dynamics in a family where the wife is an income contributor is remarkably different.  When our CBT group asked a cooperative about gender expectations relating to work within Islam, they reminded us that the Prophet's wife, Khadija, was the head of a large caravan trade business.  The women of the cooperative did not feel at odds with their faith for pursuing a profitable trade or career.  Like Ali showed the environment in which Islam is practiced will differ and in turn so will the laws, gender roles, and expectations.  Socioeconomic policy can certainly influence the societal structural.  I'm not saying that petrodollars are the sole cause for why for instance women in Saudi Arabia are not allowed to drive, but they can certainly prop a ruling class that may have a very rigid interpretation different from those of the women's coop I worked with and from that of other Muslim countries.

After reading the Heart of Islam and Infidel, I felt I needed to formulate my own opinion about the Qur’an so I started reading it.  As of November 5, I am only about a quarter of the way through it.  It’s a tough book to read with a lot of complicated passages that I believe are lost in translation.  Other passages are quite clear especially when speaking of the Five Pillars of Islam and I can see why many Moroccans feel comfortable telling me that I’m going to hell because I decided not to fast, but then again from what I have read, Surah 5 v. 47 of the Qur’an also states, “Let the People of the Gospel judge by that which Allah hath revealed therein.”  Mid-way through verse 48 it adds, “Had Allah willed he could have made you one community.  But that He may try you by that which He hath given you.  So vie one another in good works.  Unto Allah ye will all return, and He will then inform you of that wherein ye differ.”  The first sentence of Surah 2 v. 256 says, “There is no compulsion in religion.” These passages I’m sure could be interpreted in a number of ways and should be read with as much historical context and commentary.  For me, given my background, limited knowledge, and my limited capacity to understand religious scriptures, they mean that Allah has revealed Himself in different ways, He alone is the judge, and people should stop forcing others to do something in the name of religion. But don't take it from me.  Read it for yourself!

Be mindful that even after reading through several Surahs, these were the verses and passages that stood out to me.  Why did they stand out? Because these were the verses that my innately biased mind searched for.  Back in college, we had a name for this bias.  It was called selective attention.  We all practice it, but few acknowledge it.  My selective attention derives from growing up in an all-women household in Latin America under tough economic conditions in a conservative Christian environment.  I also moved around quite a bit, and every time we moved, I heard from a different pastor who quite often focused on different passages of the Bible or interpreted various verses in his own peculiar way.  Different people with different backgrounds read the Qur'an and other scriptures, and it speaks to them in different ways.  Others pick out various religious scriptures that give them meaning or justifies their behavior and sometimes overlook or place less emphasis on other passages that may run contradictory to their absolutist or legalistic ideology.  Some people are aware of their biases, but others are not.  In an ideal world, I would have any would-be interpreter of religious scriptures add a disclaimer, similar to the pharmaceutical commercials, about their cultural and socioeconomic background and even the natural environment he/she grew up in before he/she utters one word of interpretation or offers a selection of verses.  This would provide much-needed context to the individual's deliberate and unconscious biases when reading religious texts.        

Like I said, I’m only a quarter of the way through the Qur'an.  I’m still making up my mind about what has been said.  At the same time, I don’t think I will ever get to the point where I’ll have a clear understanding of anything written in any of the Divine Scriptures.  Armstrong tells stories of scholars of the Abrahamic faiths who gave up trying to make sense of the Scriptures and just began to recite and sing them believing that their meaning was beyond human comprehension.  I would agree with her. 

Unfortunately, many are not humble enough to accept that.  My prayer is that those who are aware of their inability to fully understand the Divine Scriptures will have the fortitude to stand up to those that claim to know it all or purport to carry out God’s will.  As for now, when it comes to matters of faith, I'll continue to mind my own.

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Here's a recent speech by Karen Armstrong on TED on her Charter for Compasssion: