Here’s something you may not know: my biological family is Muslim, but my godmother’s family is Ashkenazi Jewish, so Jewish that they fled Eastern Europe to escape persecution, many of them running from the Holocaust itself. I grew up spending multiple afternoons a week in her house, learning important life lessons that I still carry with me. She taught me quintessential Jewish values, like treating people with respect (derekh eretz), fixing the problems of the world (tikkun olam), and pursuing justice (tzedek).
Given this strong Jewish influence on my life, I celebrated my first Passover before I celebrated my first Eid. As a kid, I cooked latkes during Hanukkah and samosas during Ramzan. At that age I considered myself Jewish and Muslim. I never thought I would need to prove that I was Jewish.
As I got older, I saw how difficult it was for me to live both parts of my upbringing. I was told verbatim over and over again that Jews and Muslims were supposed to be enemies. It was completely counterintuitive to me, but I heard that messaging so often that at a certain point I decided to focus on what I would always be perceived as: Muslim. I’m a bit ashamed to say that I wouldn’t even acknowledge my part-Jewish childhood.
One thing you do probably know about me is that I speak Russian. I taught it to myself starting in middle school, but as my passion for languages ramped up in high school, my intensive Russian study led me to tap into my Jewish culture again. My godmother’s family was all from Eastern Europe, so my simple language learning gave way to an unexpected connection to the Eastern European Jewish community that I held so dearly in childhood.
But then, October 7 happened. I was floored. That day and the ensuing week, I saw Jewish-on-Muslim and Muslim-on-Jewish violence and racism. It was a disgusting and emotionally exhausting week for me. To make things worse, I said something about how upset I was and I got an incident report for it. I’ve experienced multiple instances of Islamophobic repression in my many years at Parker and this was my last straw. My Muslim side had seen enough of being repeatedly silenced.
From the double standard between Muslim and non-Muslim victims to the narrative about religion in general, I hope people realize how poorly Islamic and Muslim countries are represented. Why is it that Israeli “children” are “murdered” but Palestinian “minors” are “killed”? They’re both human, aren’t they? Why is it that in seventh grade I had a unit about the entire religion of Islam, but all I remember we learned about was Malala Yousafzai getting shot by terrorists? Are Muslims not worthy of the same kind of holistic journalism?
Don’t get me wrong, I am very happy that Parker is taking things like antisemitism seriously. My issue is just that we can only seem to protect that identity. For example, we had a moment of silence for the Israeli victims of the October 7 attacks. I was grateful for that, but disappointed that we didn’t have a moment for the 40,000 Palestinian civilians (at the time) who were also killed in the past year. It sent a very clear message about which communities the institution is publicly willing to support.
But I refuse to pity myself.
This is my last year at Parker, and it’s my mission to live as authentically as possible. Yes, I am Muslim. Yes, I was at a time culturally Jewish. I have been shamed out of that identity for years, as American society continues to pretend that Jews and Muslims are natural enemies. Especially in the past year, Jews and Muslims have been pit against each other, but I am living proof that the two religions can coexist.
On a smaller level, let’s think about the Parker mission. We’re supposed to be a place where differences can live in harmony. Why, then, can I only represent a Muslim point of view? Why should my opinion not be taken simply as a scholarly argument, regardless of my religion?
Consider that I have more in common with Eastern European Jews fleeing the Holocaust than I do with Arab Muslims (because I’m not Arab but I grew up around Eastern European Jews). That doesn’t mean that I wholeheartedly support everything Israel does. Yes, they have the right to defend themselves. No, that doesn’t excuse the fact that over 70% of casualties in Gaza have been women and children. Yes, we can be deeply saddened and scared by Hamas’ attack on innocent civilians on October 7. No, it wasn’t okay to massacre Palestinians starting in 1948.
As we collectively rejoice at the news of a ceasefire, I urge you to reflect on what side you’ve stood by during this past year. Did you choose a single side or did you evaluate the conflict as a nuanced issue? Did you support a group that you have a religious or racial affiliation to, or did you support unequivocally pacifist and humanitarian groups?
Think of derekh eretz, tikkun olam, and tzedek. If we don’t treat this conflict with nuance and treat ALL victims with dignity, then we are betraying our faith. Your view of any conflict should not simply be based on what religion you follow. For those of us with multiple faiths, we have to use common sense and ethical values to form our opinions. I encourage everyone else to do the same.
