Walk With Me

An American Finds Peace in the Heart of Islam

I wrote this on behalf of Allen Ruppel, the Executive Director of Unity In Motion, a Wisconsin-based non-profit organization that supports and promotes educational opportunities for central city youth. My writing. His story.

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” — Marcel Proust

It’s one of the oldest and most recognizable axioms: You can’t understand someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. For over seventeen years now I have dedicated my working life to doing just that, stepping out of my comfort zone and putting myself in other people’s shoes to better understand and break down the barriers that stand in the way of their success.

When I founded Unity In Motion in 2000, I did so with the premise that all of us, despite our different cultures and backgrounds, have a common core of humanity, one that carries with it a limitless potential to do good and move society forward as a whole to a collective “we.”

I was well aware of the risks and challenges involved with such thinking. I also knew the success or failure of Unity In Motion rested on my believing that it was possible to find common ground where others saw only discord and discrimination. So when I stepped away from the rewards of the corporate life and set out to develop educational programs and opportunities for Milwaukee’s central city youth, well, I had a lot at stake.

It’s a decision I never regretted.

Still there comes a time in everyone’s life when even the strongest beliefs need to be re-validated, when faith needs to be retested — and hope answered anew. That time came for me in August of 2017 when I embarked on a journey unlike any I had taken before, a journey halfway around the world to prove to myself once again I was on the right path with the work I was doing here at home.

That’s when I boarded a 747, with a temporary civil rights work visa in hand, for a flight to Saudi Arabia — the birthplace of Islam and the heart of the Muslim world. Why? For too many of us in the West, the words Islam and Muslim instantly bring to mind fearful thoughts of terror, violence and outright warfare that is reinforced daily in the media. What better place, I thought, than Saudi Arabia to reaffirm that barriers can be demolished, if indeed they really exist at all.

What’s more, I was going there during Hajj, the holiest time of the year in the Islamic faith, when over four million Muslims from around the world make the pilgrimage to the holy city of Mecca. As a private citizen I would be doing what few, if any, Caucasian American Christians are able to do — spend ten days immersing myself in this vast and varied culture to learn firsthand what it’s like to be the proverbial stranger in a foreign land.

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Picture yourself walking down a street in a large city you’re not familiar with, surrounded by people of another faith, all wearing different clothes and speaking a foreign language. How self-conscious, how vulnerable — even fearful — would you feel? Now turn that around. What if you were among the many and you saw someone in strange clothes, speaking a foreign language, walking down your street? How would you feel then?

For years I have seen scenarios similar to that played out with American youth in the central city; fear and blatant stereotypes shutting them out of fair treatment and equal opportunity. And the fundamental question becomes, what can we teach one another about our common selves that will break down the fear and abolish the negative stereotypes that hold us all back?

These were among the many thoughts running through my head when our plane touched down at King Abdulaziz Airport in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia’s commercial capital and second largest city.

“As-Salaam-Alaikum,” meaning ‘Peace be unto you,’ were the first words of greeting from my hosts, and right away any apprehension I may have had started slipping away. Yes, I was a novelty and it seemed everyone in the terminal was taking a quick glance at me. But their smiles and courteous nods said even more. From the outset I was met not with suspicion but with respect and hospitality. And I thought to myself, why can’t we all live more like this?

Almost as reassuring was the fact that the road signs in Saudi Arabia are written in Arabic and in English. English is regarded as a second language here, part of Saudi Arabia’s push toward modernization and increased cooperation on the world economic stage. Further proving the point, familiar American brands and businesses, from Johnson Controls® to McDonalds®, dot the landscape in Jeddah. (Within the next two years that landscape will include the tallest building in the world, The Jeddah Tower, designed by a Chicago-based architectural firm.)

While the hustle and bustle of a cosmopolitan city like this would be nothing new to a Westerner, one unique aspect of Saudi life quickly presented itself. Five times a day every day, all Saudi Muslims are called to Salat, or ritual prayer, and during Salat everything simply stops. From the business district to the shopping malls and coffee shops, everyone drops what they are doing and heads to the nearest mosque or space to pray. It is one of five daily ‘pillars of Islam’ Muslims adhere to in their faith, and it would not be an overstatement to say that seeing such devotional unity is truly a sight to behold.

Indeed, Saudi Arabia is a land devoutly tied to the teachings of Islam. And contrary to the hateful rhetoric of political fringe groups and many media outlets throughout the world, the word of Islam in no way promotes violence, terror and bloodshed.

Everyone with whom I spoke during my stay insisted they had no place in their heart for terrorism or attacks against anyone, including Americans. Each year Saudi Arabia suffers many times more bombings and acts of terror than does any Western country, so these people know firsthand the price paid for bigotry, hatred and ethnic discrimination. Yet most never lose sight of the ideals of respect and compassion put forth in the teachings of their religion. A lesson worth noting.

At the same time, I discovered that Saudi life is, in many ways, no different than our own here in America. I learned this as I was invited into homes for traditional family dinners and listened to parents talk about the worries they have about their jobs, their mortgages, education and futures for their children. I learned this when I attended a soccer game in a stadium full of noisy, joyful fans. I learned this when I joined some kids and adults for a pick-up basketball game in a school playground. At heart they are no different than me or most people I know.

My next stop was the city of Medina, home to Al-Masjid al-Nabawi (also known as the Prophet’s Mosque). Originally built by the Prophet Muhammad in the year 622 CE, the mosque is where his body lies entombed, making this mosque the second holiest Muslim site. It is also, in terms of physical space, home to one of the largest houses of worship in the world, able to accommodate an astounding one million worshippers inside at a time.

Since the purpose of my trip was to discover whether inclusion, not exclusion, was really possible in today’s world, I knew at some point the question would have to be put to the test. That moment occurred when I was invited to participate in a Muslim prayer service inside the Prophet’s Mosque.

Quite frankly, I didn’t know what to expect, even as I dressed in the traditional white thobe, or robe, worn by the Saudis and joined a line of worshippers that stretched the length of city blocks waiting to enter the mosque. But first there is Wudu, the ritual purification and washing of the body one must partake in before entering a mosque. Separate wash areas are set up for men and women to gently wash their hands, feet and face. Then once inside everyone must take off their shoes as a sign of respect. After that I slowly followed the procession of men (women pray from balcony seats) and eventually found my way to the first available prayer space.

While I waited for the Imam, or worship leader, to begin the service, I reflected on the significance of the moment. There I was, the only non-Muslim amongst a million worshippers (including Muslims from Africa, China, Egypt and Kuwait who were here as part of their Hajj pilgrimage) and I was about to take part in a large scale offering of faith few Westerners could imagine, much less hope to witness.

Already anxious, my senses came alive when the Imam began singing the prayer calls from the Quran. I couldn’t translate the words, but then again, I didn’t need to. I wanted to feel the prayer, not analyze it. As his song amplified off the high walls it created what I can only call a force; a spirit force. I let that spirit of the moment flow over me and through me, and what followed was a sense of peace and unity so powerful that to this day I can’t find the words to do it justice. At that moment I knew I had found the answer I was looking for.

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We think we know so much about the world we live in, but in fact we know very little. Too much of what we know is based on biased media coverage and decision makers who discriminate with their own fears and insecurities. To seek a broader truth in my work with Unity In Motion I traveled halfway around the world to a place I had never been. What I experienced there confirmed my belief that there is hope; that if fear and prejudice can be overcome abroad, then it can be overcome in our cities and neighborhoods right here at home.

But to find the true source of peace, respect and goodwill in this world one need not travel so far. It’s much closer than we think. The answer lies deep within ourselves.

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