There is a question that goes around social media as of late, and it says,

What radicalized you?

And so this blog is the answer to that question. And the other stimulus is seeing a whole lot of hate, prejudice and misunderstanding floating around against Islam.

I've spent a lot of time Islam adjacent. I studied it a lot in high school and college, and went to two countries before I celebrated my 21st birthday. that the majority of the population would identify as Muslim. Now, for over 22 years, I have lived in Granada, a city in which for over 700 years was the Shangri la of the Islamic world, full of art culture history medicine and law as a result. Yes, medicine and law as we understand them now, began here.

Finally, my personal group of friends for over 15 years has included men and women from different parts of the Islamic world. No names here, but they have done nothing but enrich my life, and helped me learn more about this world I live in.

So, when I see extreme posts about extreme Islam, I get a little hot under the collar. I have yet to meet an extremist or terrorist. Even after 9/11, when Andrew and I went to a North African country and the men realized we were Americans, they would approach us,put their hands over the hearts (a beautiful gesture of heartful love that Covid tried to adapt and failed miserably at) and say, That madman, he was crazy and we are so sorry it happened to you. I realized how much they wanted peace, even more than maybe we did.

My friends here have left their worlds for different reasons. And some are more devout than others. Or less. But what really matters is that extremism is prevalent in both Christian and Islamic nations, and both serve to repress their people, create power structures that allow powerful and rich men to get more powerful and rich, and create hierarchies so that men and women will bow down to them like the great king Nebuchadnezzar so wanted and got. Neither religion is exempt from these sins and both have produced some of the most potent pain and suffering we can imagine.

Go ahead, try and change my mind. But, I've experienced both sides. Christians who tried to get me to be more demure and mindful just as much as my friends were forced to cover their heads for their passport pictures for their birth country. Christians who now say women shouldn't vote or have body autonomy, just like my friends who are supposed to say quiet and silent and not protest when their girlfriends got arrested for wearing nail polish or not covering up properly.

Christians now saying the women don't need all the education and should just get married and have children, just like the Afghani women who after 20 years of freedom, were told to cover up, stop studying and stay at home and have babies.

Men forced to fight other men's wars over religion, but really it's about property and resources and oil, while either religion shouts about how it's a holy war.

So what made me see both sides like this? My friends. My beautiful amazing friends.

The images in 2015 of the Syrians pouring over the borders, both Christian and Muslims, clutching nothing but their babies and their phones, fleeing horrific civil war. As Andrew and I held each other watching their world dissolve into war and chaos and how so few people who believed the way we did cared, that did. Later, one woman from that world would become our friend and I helped her and her Spanish husband find a home that could hold them and her parents to find refuge.

Being friends and breaking bread with a man who stood up to mutilating women's bodies and was punished horribly as a result. Sitting with him for hours and talking about this part of the world. Weeping of the loss of his family home and his family being killed by civil war. Laughing and crying and dreaming together for the future.

Meeting two young women exiled in the West because this world would never let them live free lives. Hearing their ancient language roll off their tongues like poetry. Crying with joy when their parents were finally permitted to join them.

Telling a man the story of the Wise Men for the first time, even though they came from his own land. Hearing his sad tales of war and torment. Seeing his love spillover as he happily married his bride. Talking late into the night how both religions have tortured us all.

And finally, finally, this summer, crying while I held a kilo of flour in my hands that I had paid 85 cents for, knowing that in Gaza, if flour could be found, it was 85 dollars a kilo. I lost it.

Jesus was a man from Palestine. An immigrant before the age of two. Taken to a country that wasn't his own to protect him from a Mad King. No cute baby shower with blue themed cupcakes to welcome him, but Three Wizard kings to worship Him as God. Smelly Shepherds found him and worshiped him because they had a massive spiritual experience with Angels and shouting and singing. 

And, in spite of the religious crazies, I still believe in that brown man from Palestine. And because I believe, I can't hate those who don't see eye to eye with me. I can't post horrific stuff on the internet about "the others". Because my friends of all faiths two weeks ago poured into my tiny apartment and no matter what they believed or didn't we all thanked God for his provision and food and people and warm blankets and chairs and glasses of wine we clinked to each other. And my two friends realized they spoke Arabic and did so, trying to outdo themselves in teaching me bits and phrases.....and we had a kingdom of heaven moment at a table.

That's what radicalized me.

Go ahead, try and convince me otherwise. Quote the latest crazy whatever about how the religion you don't belong to is gonna destroy us. I've yet to see it happen. It's evil that will, not the people who long for peace. And when we sit at a table, and share the bread and the wine, religion and its evils fade and love remains.