Saturday 9/5/2009 Cultures

I had the most wonderful evening last night. An old friend and colleague has been in touch through Face Book for months. He and I have always … clicked. We have the same sense of humor and same passion for life. This man is an Arab-American and about 15 years younger than I am. He has been a great source of comfort to me since I lost my husband… Just a side note, I hate that term and am going to attempt to stop using it. My husband isn’t lost… lost indicated the ability to find…or not knowing where something is. I believe I know where he is and I will not find him for what I trust will be a long time. Anyway, I had not seen my friend in 3 years. Our careers took us down different paths, but our connection has been the same. We send e-mails and texts but very rarely speak on the phone. He does not patronize or coddle me in anyway. If he doesn’t know what to say, he says nothing. He knows great details of my life and I of his. We have often talked of getting together.

We decided to meet for coffee. I live near one of the largest Arab-American areas in the United States. He invited me to meet with him and some friends at what he called a coffee shop in the heart of this neighborhood. I have to say, I’ve never been to a coffee shop that offered valet parking. Maybe in Hollywood or some other place that’s common, where I live… not so much. This wasn’t a “coffee shop” this place was a coffee world. I’m not saying it had lots of coffees but it was a huge gathering spot. A hot bed of Arab-American socializing. When we first met, it was just him and I. He gave me a fabulous hug and I remembered how I had always loved the smell of his cologne. He commented on my perfume. We sat inside and waited for a table out on the patio. The café was beautiful, alive with colors; cobalt, reds, greens. The patrons were infants to elders. I’ll admit I was uncomfortable at first. But the discomfort was all me. No one was looking at me or acting as if I didn’t belong. It was a beautiful night, complete with pre-fall, semi-crisp air and a brilliant full moon. I tend to be a bit blunt and I ask a ton of questions. I asked him how his life was and that opened us up for a candid discussion on where we really were in our emotional well being. He is newly divorced for the 2nd time. We talked about our children. A table on the patio became available. We stepped out into the most welcoming outdoor café I have ever been in. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the night. Heaters were taking off a bit of the chill and people of all shapes, sizes and ages were talking, laughing and enjoying a casual Friday evening. This time of year is very special to this community as it is the middle of the observance of Ramadan. As we settled in to easy conversation, we were joined by a young gentleman. Both men hugged and kissed each other’s cheek. I noticed that this happened over and over again on the patio as friend greeted friend, family welcomed family. I was introduced by just my name, no additional moniker or stipulations as to who I was or am. The conversation was easy, talk of dreams and desires, discussions on current events and future plans flowed. It was so comfortable and relaxing. Coffee was ordered and more friends arrived. These were not people who I had met before but many were childhood friends of my colleague. As each person joined our table, everyone stood, hugged and kissed. I noticed when 3 beautiful young ladies joined us; all the men at the table stood and continued to stand until they had welcomed each girl to our table. It was such a gesture of respect to these girls. It appeared to be such common practice that I seemed to be the only one caught off guard. The age range at our now large table was between 21 and 48, but based on conversation and reaction… I may have been the only one that noticed any age range at all. School, work and family discussions dominated and everyone had such passion and delight in what everyone else had to say. There was no saying things for pure shock value. No rude comments… everyone was treated as though they had something valuable to say. When there was a reference to something I may not have understood, one of the guys on either side of me just casually leaned over and brought me up to speed. No one ever made me feel as if I wasn’t part of the group. They even began to include me in discussion regarding post Ramadan activities.

I’ve talked before about the neighborhood I grew up in and how, while not even close to perfect, it was the catalyst for who I am today. One amazing thing about my street was its diversity. We didn’t use that word then and we didn’t know we were not the norm. What we did know was that we had an opportunity. We had an opportunity to bridge some gaps. I was raised in the 60’s and 70’s, a turbulent and life altering time. Civil Rights issues, the war in Viet Nam and all sorts of other ills were pressing down on America. In my little middle-class corner of the world, I knew what I heard on television but little else. I had no first had knowledge that there should be any issue with someone’s skin being lighter or darker or someone choosing to follow the teachings of one religion over another. I was taught that if someone was a good and kind person, that was all that mattered. We routinely spent the 1st night of Hanukah down the street… I’m one heck of a Dreidel player… We knew all about Passover and our friends spent time with us on Christmas and Easter. We attended church services at our neighbor’s churches. I’ll self disclose this for the world to see… I will put money down that we were the only family in our town who came home from Mass every Sunday to find a Lox Box from the local Kosher Deli on our door step. Talk about cross culture! You don’t know life until you’ve smeared cream cheese with chives on the inside of a still warm onion roll. To get the full effect and complete the cross culture experience, you should actually still have just a hint of Communion wafer stuck to the roof of your mouth.

So with these experiences under my belt, I should not have been so surprised by my pure enjoyment last night. The company, atmosphere and communication were all so satisfying. These people liked me for me. Not because I worshiped the same, was their age or knew their relatives. They looked at me and saw a kind woman, not a widow or a catholic or even an Irish/German American.

Ramadan is observed during the 9th month of the Islamic calendar. During the 30 or so days, fasting is done daily from dawn until dusk. It’s a time to reflect on excess, ill-nature and/or sinful aspects of your life. Doing good deeds and rediscovering your patience, modesty and spirituality are cornerstones of this observance.

Shortly after my husband died, my friend’s father became very ill. My friend asked for prayers. I offered my prayers but asked if it was appropriate for me to pray to my God to help someone who believes in a different God. My friend said, with all the love and kindness he has always shown me, “prayers are answered by whatever God you believe in. Your God and my God are both good Gods. Your prayers will help my father”. I do believe that God, yours, mine and anyone else’s, answers prayers. I believe he puts people or things in our paths for a reason. I also believe he moves people or things out of our paths as well. Maybe someday, we can all walk down the same path, together.
I hope so…