Columns

OUR COMMON GROUND

by Mark Klempner

While the violence and intolerance in the world seems to be spinning out of control, I am fortified by the peace and harmony to be found in our little Costa Rican village. Not that it's paradise here, but the kind of things that go on are definitely chicken soup for my CNN-besotted soul.

     When we first moved into our current house in Costa Rica's central valley, one of our neighbours saw my very pregnant wife and decided to throw us a baby shower. Entering her backyard patio, we found a bevy of other neighbours gathered beside a pile of gifts. As if this wasn't enough, they also took it upon themselves to pray for us and the baby, a blessing that was enhanced by several of them gently placing their hands on my wife's huge belly.

     Dazed by this unabashed expression of good will and caring, we stayed for rice and beans and some homemade dessert made from condensed milk. The only cloud on my mental skies was the question of whether these good Christian women would treat us the same way after they found out we are Jewish.

     Costa Rica is predominantly Catholic, and those who practice non-Christian religions comprise only about one percent of the population. In other words, most of our neighbours had probably never met a Jew in their lives. We weren't eager to disclose our religious otherness, but when one of them invited us to a prayer service at her home, I decided to take the leap.

     She responded with curiosity and some confusion, but with no reduction of goodwill, and certainly no anti-Semitism. I was gearing up to do a little interfaith education with her when suddenly the neighbourhood became even more religiously diverse.

     A few doors down from us live an older couple who have seven grown sons. One of them became a businessman, took a position in Germany, and fell in love with a Muslim woman from Istanbul. The two of them married and started a family, but after their second son was born --just at the same time that our son was born-- he persuaded her to return with him to his hometown in Costa Rica. A short time later, they all moved into a house almost across the street from us.

     His wife's name is Sukran, and we hit it off right away. Though I assumed from her modern clothes that she was no fundamentalist, she later made it clear by saying, "I don't always follow the religious observances, but I am Muslim in my heart." She didn't tense up when she learned that we are Jewish, but rather was interested to know how we were getting along as non-Catholics in Costa Rica.

     Our neighbourly chats soon led into the best sort of inter-religious dialogue, such as the day I learned a surprising fact from her about Islam, one that had somehow eluded me: Muslims circumcise their baby boys, just as Jews do.

     It makes sense, because both faiths claim Abraham as their patriarch. But I had always thought that circumcision (except when done for health reasons) was an exclusively Jewish practice. Before our conversation was finished, I learned another surprising fact: Muslims --in Istanbul at least-- have coming of age ceremonies for their young teenage boys that are similar to bar mitzvahs.

     How often in our religious education are we given only one side of the story, or are taught to see only the differences between our religion and that of others. Wouldn't it be a holy thing to acknowledge that many of the places on which we stand, theologically and ritually, are common ground?

     One afternoon, as our son David was playing with her son Kaan, I wanted to ask Sukran what she thought about a poll that reported that a significant number of Muslims believe there is some justification for suicide bombings. The story was getting a lot of play in the U.S. media, but I never got the chance to mention it to her that day, because our resident Muslim had other things on her mind.

     "In Istanbul there are such nice playgrounds, and in Germany too," she lamented. "So why not here?" It was true that the little playground down the street was in a sorry state, and needed not only to be cleaned up, but to be fixed up as well. My wife asked around, but it seemed that no one had ever brought up the possibility of doing something about the playground, even though it had been built by some of the elders on the block for a previous generation of children.

     As a result of Sukran's impetus, however, we held a neighbourhood meeting and several people volunteered to figure out what would be involved in fixing up and painting the swings, seesaws, and monkey bars. Soon our neighbourhood became engaged in a true community service project, as over a dozen of us showed up at that first work party to clean the playground and prepare it to be painted.

     We filled large garbage bags with leaves and debris, and hauled them out to the curb. My wife, wearing gardening gloves, carefully picked up the pieces of broken glass that had turned up, along with rusty nails, tangles of wire, and other hazards. A crew of us started sanding the rust off of the structures that would need painting.

     It was a wonderful way to spend a morning, and that scene of the adults working together to make things better for the children, while the children frolicked in the grass helping where they could, is one I'll always remember.

     The playground is looking pretty good now: The seesaws have new seats and the swings have been completely replaced. The municipality has agreed to cut the grass every couple of weeks, and everything has been painted in a rainbow of colors. It's a fun place, and is getting a lot of use these days.

     Everywhere I glance, I can take a bit of pride that I, along with the others, helped to make it what it is. But what really gives me satisfaction is the knowledge that on our little block, Christian, Muslim, and Jew live together in peace.

     Maybe someday more Muslims and Jews will come to reside in our small town. If we can do a decent job now of educating the community about these diverse religious traditions, it just might pave the way for many years of inter-religious concord here.

     What will persuade most powerfully, of course, will be the way we "others" live our lives. It's hard to think someone is damned if they're a damned good neighbour.

     Outside in the hotspots of this troubled world, lies, and enmity still swirl. But sometimes it's best to turn off your TV and look around you to find the goodness that will never make the headlines.

Mark Klempner is a historian, social commentator, and author of The Heart Has Reasons: Holocaust Rescuers and Their Stories of Courage (www.hearthasreasons.com). He is a regular contributor to The Social Edge.