My grandmother tells this story about how a relative of hers who lived in Israel asked her, quite intensely, whether she was an American or a Jew. She didn’t know what to say; why couldn’t she be both?
For many American Jews, including me, this question is ridiculous. I have no problems with the intersecting parts of my identity. I can identify as Jewish, as American, as a college student, as a Cleveland Indians fan, and a whole host of other things without any problem.
But for those who fight for their identities and the validation of them, it is not so easy. When your life is full of uncertainty and fear, it makes sense to desperately cling to the identifying factor that you are fighting for. That thing begins to define every aspect of you.
So, the question posed to my grandmother by a man who lived in a place rife with conflict was not so preposterous for him.
It is impossible for Jews anywhere in the world to ignore events in Israel, and it is foolish to turn a blind eye on the violence – from both sides – of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. There is a deep and rich history of conflict, and thus hatred, between Muslims and Jews.
But that hatred is not inherent. Each and every Muslim and Jew has the ability to love rather than hate. Each and every Muslim and Jew has the ability to hug rather than hit. Each and every Muslim and Jew has the ability to chat and laugh rather than yell and fume.
And the decision to love and laugh is exactly what happened at Grand Valley State University. On March 14, the GVSU Hillel hosted its second annual Shabbat dinner welcoming the Muslim Student Association (MSA) in honor of Avi Schaefer, a young advocate for peace between Israel and Palestine who was killed by a drunk driver in 2010. Though West Michigan might not be known for its religious diversity, the GVSU students decided to put aside any differences, perceived or real, for an evening to come together for conversation and a meal.
The evening began like any other Shabbat dinner, with Shabbat prayers recited by those who knew them. We all shared some grape juice and challah, and then we grabbed plates of Mediterranean food and sat down at the same table.
I sat across from two young women from the MSA and asked how their Islamic Awareness Week was going, and they were happy to report that it was turning out well. We then chatted about the normal college things: our majors and our classes, then groaned about those professors who never stop talking.
We also talked about our shared struggle when the rest of our class understands a New Testament reference and we do not.
About halfway through the evening, one of the girls from the MSA I had been chatting with leaned forward in her seat and said, “Okay, I have to ask. Are you married?”
Taken aback, I said no, then asked why she had thought so. Apparently, she had heard that Jewish women wear wedding rings on their middle fingers, so assumed that the simple ring I wore on the middle finger of my left hand was a symbol of marriage.
I laughed and explained that it definitely wasn’t a wedding ring and that I had never even heard that Jewish women wear wedding rings on a different finger from everyone else.
From there, we spoke of all manner of things, from how difficult it is to get ready in the morning at the same time as your roommate to my impending trip to Israel and all the food I needed to try while there.
The evening wound down and we said our goodbyes. I quickly slipped into the role of the typical Jewish mother, demanding that everyone leave with plates of leftovers. We parted ways, with smiles on our faces and a renewed appreciation for our new friends.
It was so wonderful to sit down with the members of the MSA and talk about trivial human things. Not once did it cross my mind that I was talking to anyone other than a fellow college student.
Too often, I think, particularly in the age of anonymous online commenting, we forget that behind every tweet, every news article, and yes, every stereotype, there are people. Just people, like you and I, with feelings and emotions. It is important in every community that we take the time to get to know not only one another, but people on the outside as well. We must imagine people, and thus the world around us, more complexly than we often do if we are serious about living peacefully with one another.
I must admit, I didn’t know what to expect going in to the Avi Shabbat dinner, but I came away from the evening with a full belly and a few new friends. What more could I really want from life?
Audra Gamble is a student at Grand Valley State University.
