I apologize for the length of this post.  It’s just that there were a lot of comments yesterday and I kept my mouth shut for so long and anyone who knows me knows what a huge deal that is.  Apparently, I’m going to make up for it today.

So, let’s talk about yesterday.

I think the problem here is that everyone relies on hatred and intolerance too much as our first defense against what we discern to be oppression.

For most people, hate is a symptom.  It’s just at the surface.

Hate… is a sneeze.

Have you ever been to the doctor because of a cold that has you sneezing incessantly and then had the doctor tell you that you have an acute case of “the sneezes”?  I really, really hope not.

Because the sneezes are not the problem.  It’s the virus or bacteria that’s the problem.

When you’re in the position that I’ve stumbled into at this time in America, it’s not useful to diagnose yourself with the sneezes.  Or being sneezed upon, as this increasingly awkward analogy suggests.

You have to shut up for a minute (or over a hundred comments) and listen for the real problem.

You have too look for the virus.

I’m going to channel my friend Britt, whose therapy speak has for the last year or so been annoying, but, for the first time, is actually going to prove useful to me.

I heard you.

What I heard you say is that you think that Muslims in that area are doing this simply to assert their right to build a mosque wherever they please and that they are, in the exact words of one commenter, “thumbing their noses at us.”

I also hear you saying that you don’t think it’s in good taste to build a mosque so close to the WTC because you feel it offends the memories of those who died there.

This is what I heard.

Or read.  You know what I mean.

I am of the opinion that neither of these sentiments are borne of hatred.  They are the products of mistrust, fear, grief, pain and despair.  You should know, even those of you who beautifully defended not just me yesterday but all American Muslims and maybe as you saw it America itself, that these emotions cannot be subdued with force.

You cannot make someone’s mistrust, fear or grief disappear by using shame or guilt.  And, don’t delude yourself, implying or outright calling someone ignorant or intolerant is an attempt to shame them.  Branding someone as ignorant or intolerant when engaging in a discussion is not only rude, but it’s counterproductive.  It’s not as though you’re going to get a sudden turnaround.

Oh, I’m ignorant?! Really? Well, then I change my mind, please help me be less ignorant.

That?  Is not going to happen.

I think those of us who are actually committed to harmony instead of sticking it to the other guy should dispense with these words entirely.  At least, when we’re speaking to the people with whom we disagree.

Back to grief, pain, mistrust and despair, though… or our “viruses,” if you will.

These are real emotions and the people who are feeling them deserve careful consideration and acknowledgment.  Maybe we should stop trying so hard to get our point across and try to deal with them in a sensitive way?

So, please.  Let me lead the way.

I also hear you saying that you don’t think it’s in good taste to build a mosque so close to the WTC because you feel it offends the memories of those who died there.

I read these particular comments several times in order to get to what I believe is the heart of the matter.

As I see it, this is a choice.

I am unsure of whether it’s conscious or not, so right here and right now, let’s make it clear and conscious.  A person reading this can continue to believe that the presence of a mosque near the WTC is offensive if they choose, but today my aim is that they will walk away being absolutely clear on the choice that they’re making.

Connecting the Americans who want to build this mosque with the terrorists who flew their planes into the Towers based on the virtue of their shared religion is a choice.

It asserts that how long those Americans have lived here, whether they are Democrats or Republicans, whether they are black, white, Hispanic, Asian, or whatever does not matter at all.  It further assumes that they have more in common with the people who brandish radical Islam and murder people  in its name than they do with “real” Americans.

This is a choice to rely on stereotyping and generalities in order to avoid having your heart broken or your body blown up by someone you thought was your friend.  It is a tough choice.  But it is a choice.

You can choose to believe that a stereotype or a generality is a reference point or that it is an unabashed truth.

Either way, you must own it.

You must acknowledge that being offended by a mosque built by Americans is saying that those Americans are more like terrorists who murder Americans than they are like you.  It does not matter to you that they, like you, pay their taxes, vote or put their pants on one leg at a time.  All that matters is that they are Muslim and the people who caused our national tragedy called themselves Muslim.  Everything else is extraneous.

You are choosing the expedience of simplification over the arduous task of getting to know a person before you judge them.

I’m not judging.  I’m just saying you should be clear on your choice.  And clear on what that says about you and your outlook on life.

There is another explanation as to why one might be offended by the building of this mosque that has nothing to do with stereotyping, though.  It might be offensive to some that the building of this mosque is an act of political grandstanding.  That is, that the Muslims building there are doing so because they want to assert that they have a right to do so.  All my information points to the contrary, but if that is the case?

Then, I’m offended by the idea of this building.

What I heard you say is that you think that Muslims in that area are doing this simply to assert their right to build a mosque wherever they please and that they are, in the exact words of one commenter, “thumbing their noses at us.”

Muslims are commanded by God not to be arrogant, and I believe that building for the sake of asserting one’s right is an act of arrogance.

It obliterates the sanctity of a place of worship and infuses it with political rhetoric.  Educated American Muslims should be well aware of where this road leads and we should not delude ourselves by assuming that this time it will be different because, after all, we’re Americans and it’s somehow okay for us to politicize our Islam.

If Muslims in this area are doing this simply to make a point and not because there is a viable need for a place of worship and gathering, this is outside the scope of Islamic etiquette and manners.

It’s not a sin, but it’s not looked upon favorably.  The Prophet (pbuh) was reported to have said that we are measured not by our deeds, but the intention behind those deeds.  In other words, one can market interfaith understanding all they like, but if they’re intention is to politicize their identity as Muslims, then, well, God is watching.

And that might not be important to some Americans, but it should be important to Muslim Americans.

To me, building a mosque simply to assert one’s right to build a mosque is misguided and cruel.  It is even more cruel to do so when parents, children, siblings and spouses are asking you with tears in their eyes not to do it.

It doesn’t matter if they’re Muslim or not.

It doesn’t matter if we were responsible for their pain or not.

It doesn’t matter if they are misguided in their assumptions.

What matters is that this action is causing them pain.

What matters is our responsibility to show compassion and mercy.

At the same time, if it is needed and worth it, then build it.

But the Muslims in this area should give proper weight to the price that is being paid not in dollars, but in good will.

So.

If it is needed and it is worth it and the intention is pure and aimed solely to fulfill our responsibility to serve our Creator, then build it.

By all means, then, build it.

***

I received an e-mail from a good friend today who was indignant on my behalf over the idea that I had to address this in the first place.  Why, she wondered, was I put in the singular position of having to comment on this?

I think her point was a good one, especially since I don’t generally use this as a forum for post 9/11 angst.  At least, not on a regularly scheduled basis.  Rest assured, also, that I never will.

The truth is, I wasn’t placed in the position of making a commentary.  I chose to be in this position.

I didn’t have to say anything.  I could have gone along talking about my wonderful husband, my sick kids and all sorts of other topics and nobody would have said a word.

Except maybe my dad who still thinks there’s hope for me to be, at the very least, the first Muslim woman to become Secretary of Defense and wonders why I don’t write about this in every single post and why do I write like Sarah Palin speaks.

But I can’t just not talk about it or not take some measure of responsibility in terms of occasionally speaking up.

I accept this responsibility very willingly.  You betchya I do, gosh darn it, Dad.

I will struggle to put a human face, any face, on these issues,, even if I’m not representative, even if I don’t speak for everybody else who is Muslim in this nation.

I suspect, in fact, that I will most likely spend the rest of my life explaining how I and other people like me are not terrorists.

And that is okay with me because I have a very good reason.

One day, when my children or grandchildren will hear about how there was this big argument.

It was all about where a mosque could and should be built in New York City.

They’ll look at me with glazed eyes the way I looked at my dad when he told me about the British ruling India for 150 years or how trains full of dead bodies came into Pakistan during the partition.

And, like me, they’ll feel a little sad.  And they’ll wish that it had been different.

And then?  They’ll say, “Wow, that must have been rough for everyone.  So.  What’s for dinner and did you see my acceptance letter to MIT/Harvard/the Sorbonne with a full scholarship sitting on the kitchen counter yet or what?”

I say something so this won’t be a big deal one day.

I just don’t want these kids to grow up in a world that simply tolerates them as Muslims, but one that recognizes their contribution as human beings to society and civilization.

I guess, I just say something so they won’t have to.

Everyone needs a dream, you know.

Today marks the first day of Ramadan.

What is Ramadan? you ask.

What am I, your personal encyclopedia?  You’re obviously new here! I respond.

Go read about it here.

Having grown up in the U.S., and having fasted since I was fourteen, I’ve fielded many questions and comments about Ramadan.  All of them were important, none of them were stupid.

Like:

So, you don’t eat or drink for an entire month?

Seriously?  Come on.  Of course I eat and drink.  If I could go an entire month without eating, I wouldn’t be forty pounds overweight.  If I could go all month without eating food and drinking water, I’d be a superhero.  A superhero with a generally useless yet cost effective superpower.  We eat prior to sunrise and after sunset.

I bet you lose a lot of weight.

No, I don’t.  In fact, I gain about ten pounds every Ramadan.  I think I should get extra credit for that, by the way.

Did you fast when you were pregnant?

No, I also did not fast right after I had both of my children.  Fasting while I’m nursing is optional.  There are several exceptions to who must fast.  Those who cannot fast are required to feed people as a substitute.

You must be sooo hungry.

You have no idea.  I am also thirsty.  Even more excruciating?  I am not allowed to curse, get angry or lose my temper.  I think that part is harder than the fasting, actually.  Honestly, though, this discomfort disappears somewhere around day four or five.

Can I eat in front of you?  Is that offensive?

Of course you can eat in front of me and I am not offended by it, at all.  Just like I’m not offended if you bust out a ham sandwich when I’m not fasting.  Now, if you’re going to go out of your way and pontificate on how lovely your food tastes and oh-my-god-how-can-you-not-want-to-eat-this-it’s-so-delicious-I-think-I-want-to-wash-it-all-down-with-a-nice-and-much-needed-refreshing-sip-of-cool-clear-water?  We may have a problem.

Why do you fast?  (Note that this does not say, “Why do Muslims fast?”  Although, certainly that would cover most of my response, I am not, nor will I ever be, a spokesperson for every Muslim you ever meet.  Most likely, I am far from it).

Ramadan, for me, is a time to develop my God* consciousness.  Most religionists (I’m using that term in the sense of people who beleive in a religion) give a great deal of lip service to how important they think God is.  But, at least as is the case with me, God occupies a small percentage a day of my conscious mind.  Ramadan is always the exception for me.  There is nothing more God-consciousness inspiring than when 6p.m. rolls around and you’re considering gnawing off your left arm due to excruciating hunger, and you stop to remember that you’re doing this because God commanded it.  People offer (accurate) explanations regarding how this time reminds us of those who do not have a choice regarding when they can eat or of the importance of charity, etc.  I personally beleive those are encompassed within the God consciousness reason, though.

* Allah means “God” in Arabic and since I’m writing in English here, you know…

******

So, there you go.  Feel free to ask me additional questions or make additional non-combative comments.

And, oh?

Ramadan Mubarek.

I watched Tupac Shakur: Thug Angel yesterday.

Oh.  I am full of surprises, my friends.

Anyway, this particular documentary chronicles the life of rapper Tupac Shakur (duh) and his cultural impact on society.  One of the interesting things about this particular documentary was that it featured clips from an interview with Shakur at the tender age of seventeen.  This particular interview forces one to reevaluate the terms “gang banger,” “thug,” and mysogynist as they are applied to the rapper.  Often, according to the perspective of these filmmakers, the lines between reality and representation become blurred.  Even to those who are drawing them.

If you even remotely liked his music, I think you should watch it.  Actually, even if you didn’t like his music, you should watch it.

Not just because I’m a fan, but because Tupac Shakur was a significant contributor to American culture as we have come to understand it in 2010.  And, apparently, the Library of Congress think so as well, or, at least, someone who works there.  On June 23, the National Recording Registry deemed his song “Dear Mama” as “culturally significant” along with several other recordings.

For those of you who have never heard “Dear Mama”… SERIOUSLY?! : (FB users, visit my blog for the video).

For those of you who are completely flabbergasted and appalled by Shakur’s inclusion in the Library of Congress’ National Recording Registry, you should watch the following video  where Michael Eric Dyson expounds on the theology of hip hop and Tupac’s role in its creation (FB readers you know what to do).

Go here if you can’t see the last video.

I watched Up in the Air last night which was a great movie.

I wouldn’t qualify this following passage from the movie as a spoiler, but if you’re really sensitive about stuff like that… consider yourself warned.

How much does your life weigh? Imagine for a second that you’re carrying a backpack. I want you to pack it with all the stuff that you have in your life… you start with the little things. The shelves, the drawers, the knickknacks, then you start adding larger stuff. Clothes, tabletop appliances, lamps, your TV… the backpack should be getting pretty heavy now… Your couch, your car, your home….

I was talking to a friend today and in (what I’d like to think is an uncharacteristically exasperated) voice nearly yelled at her, “Why do I have all this stuff… what do I really need this stuff for…”

Why do I need 60 pieces of silverware in my kitchen drawer for only three people?

Why do I need four bathrooms?

Why do I have five sippy cups for one four year old?!!

These sentiments, I know, border on blasphemy in that they probably indicate a lack of gratitude for actually being able to buy that stuff, to have a beautiful place to keep that stuff, and to have been blessed with family who have given us some of this stuff.

That’s not the case.  I am grateful.  Incredibly grateful.

My consternation actually emanates from my not realizing a simple truth much earlier: everything you own will own you to some degree. I know I’m not exactly aged, but I really would have liked to learn this somewhere around my twenties.

I probably could have used the money I spent on flatware alone to buy 52 round trip tickets to France.

Every object exacts a price, and not just the one we paid for it.  The price is paid in maintenance, time and effort.  It is critical, then, to evaluate whether that thing’s ownership of us is actually worth the benefit of having it in our lives.

Does it sustain me?  Is it absolutely necessary?  Is it distracting me from what I believe to be life’s true meaning?

As of this moment, I feel like I’m climbing up Mt. Everest with a backpack full of expensive hair products, four digital clocks and 60 serving dishes.

When I get thirsty, hungry or sick, what good are those things going to do me?

Not much.

I need more room in my backpack.  For my family, for my friends, for God.  Those are the things that sustain me and are consistent with nurturing my soul.  Every ounce of strength devoted to carrying the extraneous is an ounce of strength subtracted from the things that I know in my soul are more important than anything.

Do these things exact a price and do they add weight to my backpack?  Of course.

But the difference between them and the digital clocks is that what they give back is much more precious.

Strength.

To keep moving.  To keep going.  And, sometimes, to rest.

In the end, those things make the backpack feel not quite as heavy.  And those are the only things with which I intend to continue my journey.*

So, I’m wondering.

What’s in your backpack?  Everything you want?  Or more silverware?

*And, no, I am not giving away my patio furniture.  So don’t even ask.   You know who you are.

This morning, twitter alerted me to the news that eight people had been shot in downtown Orlando.

Obviously, this news was shocking and bizarre.  And, of course, sad.

It was particularly sad for me to read about it because something similar, if not even more horrific, had happened the day before.

There’s a lot of ways a blog post about this incident could pan out.  We could discuss gun control, mental health, a distressed economy or some permutation of them.

But, really, the only thing that keeps playing in my head has to do with how the people who walked into the Gateway Center’s eighth floor had no clue of what an incredibly bad Friday they were about to have.

It’s a pretty trite perspective, I know, but that’s all I can seem to think about.

Being human is so … hard, isn’t it?

Animals and plants have it easy.  Nourishment, shelter and reproduction.  There are no complicated nuances.  Any complications generally arise as the result of our complications bleeding over into their efficient existence.

But us humans?  We’re complicated creatures.

I keep wondering about the two people who have been reported dead.

Who were they?

And, my God, why them?

Why not you?  Or me?

I don’t mean that it should have been me or you, I mean, it could have been me or you.  Easily.

We lock our doors, look both ways before we cross the street, take our vitamins, eat right… and we think that this is going to make a huge difference.  The truth is that it makes only a little difference.

I’m wondering about those two people… reports are preliminary right now, so we don’t know anything about them.

I’ve got these sappy movie scenes playing out in my head.

Like, a pretty, middle aged woman slams the door shut and makes sure she mutters, “Jerk” in earshot before she gets in her car, pointedly refusing to say good bye to her husband after the argument they just had about who was going to take their son to soccer practice… or maybe she got in the car, put the keys in the ignition, sighed deeply and then went back in the house and yelled, “Hey, I’m mad, but I love you, OK?”

Some single twenty something guy stumbles into the kitchen, makes some coffee and then trudges out of the door feeling a slightly numbed despair as he realizes he hates his crap job… or did he jump out of bed and greet the morning with joy and purpose, knowing that whatever he was going to do today was really going to mean something to him?

And, let me get really morbid and ask, what words spin in one’s head as they lay on the floor bleeding to death because of someone else’s complete madness?

“This can’t be happening… is this really happening… I’m not done here…Oh, God, is this really happ…. “

The End?

I would imagine that it would play out that way.  I don’t think in a situation like that most people are evaluating whether they’ve lived a good and meaningful life.  I would imagine you cling to the hope that this is not it.

There has to be more.  Please let there be more.

I don’t know about you, but I’m done living for that last moment as of right now.

It gets bantered about quite a bit, this idea of “When I die, I want to know that my life meant something.”  I figure we spend the majority of our time and energy trying not to die, so I imagine in that moment, I’m going to be too scared to make sense of anything.

The fact is that every single moment in our lives means something.  Every single second, actually, and we consciously choose what each of those seconds mean.

Or whether they don’t mean anything at all.

In the end, we are not who we are in the last moment of our lives.

We are who we are right now.

It’s not “When I die, I want my life to have meant something.”

It’s, “As I live, I’m making this moment mean something.”