September 11
Trip Start
Sep 01, 2008
1
5
13
Trip End
Nov 14, 2008
As the Arabic chant rang out from speaks atop the lofty pillars behind us, we stopped in our tracks. Casey and I, in the middle of the Hippodrome between the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, watched the thousands of Muslims break the Ramadan fast as the sun sank behind the horizon. It is a difficult moment to describe--witnessing this significant ritual on such a massive scale. The magnitude of the ritual moment demanded reverence, even for someone of another faith tradition. We sat down on a park bench and watched the crowds eat while waiters ran frantically between tables with steaming trays of meat and soup.
It is September 11th, I told Casey as we sat there.
Seven years after Islam jarringly entered my young and naive world view, I entered the Muslim world by landing in Istanbul, Turkey. Since September 11, 2001 I have been fortunate to gain a richer perspective of this vast global tradition through many Muslim friends, visits to a variety of mosques and prayer services, and courses in religious studies. Subsequently, I feel very comfortable in Muslim settings and I didn't dwell much on the significance of coming to a predominately Muslim nation near the Middle East as an American, even when I booked a flight with a September 11th departure. Since leaving Paris, however, there have been a number of moments, like our first evening during the breaking of the Ramadan fast, when I sensed something profound about our visit to this country.
Within the first hour at our hostel, we met Ahmed, a traveler from Cairo currently living in Saudi Arabia. Outgoing and friendly, he invited Casey and I to grab some chai--or, Turkish tea--with him later that evening after his nightly prayers at the mosque down the street. Naturally, Casey and I took him up on the offer. We ended up spending our first night in Istanbul--September 11th--talking for hours about religion with Ahmed. At 23, Ahmed is wise beyond his years and devout in his faith. We discussed everything from the roles of reason and emotion in religious conversion, to the person of Jesus in both traditions. We talked about what Muslims believe and what Christians believe, and we talked about humanity's search for meaning in life and religion--whatever the circumstances or traditions. At one point in the conversation, I told Ahmed and Casey, with a huge smile, `This is why I study religion, guys. We are sitting here talking about our search for the most important things in our lives. We may disagree about some aspects of religion at the end of the day, but it is beautiful that the subject allows us to share some of the most significant parts of our lives.` As we parted ways that night, I felt an immense sense of gratitude for the conversation, and for the Muslim festival we sat amidst. I couldn't help but think of all the negative and unfair things I have heard about Islam in the past seven years, and how much I wish more Americans could share in the genuine, heartfelt inter-national and inter-religious conversation I had just happened upon.
Still on the flight to Istanbul, I examined a map of our newest destination. I told Casey: `You do realize that we are in a country that boarders Georgia, Iraq, and Iran, right?` `Yeah,` he told me. One of Casey's house mates, Tim, is a soldier in Iraq right now. `I told Tim we are going to be neighbors again.` In many ways I don't feel any closer to Iraq here in Istanbul--I still feel safe and comfortable, and the war and my American accent have not been brought up by those we have encountered thus far. But it feels important that I am here, closer in some ways. It feels significant that I wake up to the same beautiful, Arabic chant that many of Iraq's citizens hear everyday during prayer. That the buildings and the clothes look a bit more like Iraq's than the ones I see at home.
Casey and I will be in Istanbul the rest of the week, then we're off to explore the rest of the country until the beginning of October. As our travels here continue, perhaps the significance of this place, at this time, will become clearer.
It is September 11th, I told Casey as we sat there.
Seven years after Islam jarringly entered my young and naive world view, I entered the Muslim world by landing in Istanbul, Turkey. Since September 11, 2001 I have been fortunate to gain a richer perspective of this vast global tradition through many Muslim friends, visits to a variety of mosques and prayer services, and courses in religious studies. Subsequently, I feel very comfortable in Muslim settings and I didn't dwell much on the significance of coming to a predominately Muslim nation near the Middle East as an American, even when I booked a flight with a September 11th departure. Since leaving Paris, however, there have been a number of moments, like our first evening during the breaking of the Ramadan fast, when I sensed something profound about our visit to this country.
Within the first hour at our hostel, we met Ahmed, a traveler from Cairo currently living in Saudi Arabia. Outgoing and friendly, he invited Casey and I to grab some chai--or, Turkish tea--with him later that evening after his nightly prayers at the mosque down the street. Naturally, Casey and I took him up on the offer. We ended up spending our first night in Istanbul--September 11th--talking for hours about religion with Ahmed. At 23, Ahmed is wise beyond his years and devout in his faith. We discussed everything from the roles of reason and emotion in religious conversion, to the person of Jesus in both traditions. We talked about what Muslims believe and what Christians believe, and we talked about humanity's search for meaning in life and religion--whatever the circumstances or traditions. At one point in the conversation, I told Ahmed and Casey, with a huge smile, `This is why I study religion, guys. We are sitting here talking about our search for the most important things in our lives. We may disagree about some aspects of religion at the end of the day, but it is beautiful that the subject allows us to share some of the most significant parts of our lives.` As we parted ways that night, I felt an immense sense of gratitude for the conversation, and for the Muslim festival we sat amidst. I couldn't help but think of all the negative and unfair things I have heard about Islam in the past seven years, and how much I wish more Americans could share in the genuine, heartfelt inter-national and inter-religious conversation I had just happened upon.
Still on the flight to Istanbul, I examined a map of our newest destination. I told Casey: `You do realize that we are in a country that boarders Georgia, Iraq, and Iran, right?` `Yeah,` he told me. One of Casey's house mates, Tim, is a soldier in Iraq right now. `I told Tim we are going to be neighbors again.` In many ways I don't feel any closer to Iraq here in Istanbul--I still feel safe and comfortable, and the war and my American accent have not been brought up by those we have encountered thus far. But it feels important that I am here, closer in some ways. It feels significant that I wake up to the same beautiful, Arabic chant that many of Iraq's citizens hear everyday during prayer. That the buildings and the clothes look a bit more like Iraq's than the ones I see at home.
Casey and I will be in Istanbul the rest of the week, then we're off to explore the rest of the country until the beginning of October. As our travels here continue, perhaps the significance of this place, at this time, will become clearer.


Comments
Well said...
Thanks for sharing that Jess. Very thoughtful and thought provoking. - Love, Dad
yo
Good trip reports, Jessica
Can't wait to see ya again
Quinn