Religious Diversity, Walking and the City in Ruins

Mehnaz M. Afridi
Visiting Assistant Professor
Department of Theological Studies
Loyola Marymount University
E-mail: mafridi@hotmail.com

Loyola Marymount University is a Jesuit school in Westchester, Los Angeles where most of the students profess to Catholicism and come from upper and middle class families. In the last three years it has suddenly begun to attract international students. One consequence of this is a notable increase in interfaith dialogue, which is further enlivened by the fact that the university hosts a Bellarmine Liberal Arts conference annually. The latter invites scholars, religious leaders, and professors from all over the world to discuss issues of gender, race, religion, and culture. This forum provides a real awakening for the majority of the student body that has rarely had an opportunity to reflect on any of these issues--especially in the context of Judaism and Islam. As a teacher of religion (Islam and Judaism) at Loyola, for my part, my pedagogy has long been informed by the spirit expressed by the novelist and public intellectual Amin Maalouf in his observations on communities and zones of cultural exclusions: "Those who belong to the same community as we do are 'ours,' we like to think ourselves concerned about what happens to them, but we also allow ourselves to tyrannize over them: if they are thought to be 'lukewarm' we denounce them, intimidate them, punish them as 'traitors' and 'renegades'. As others, those on the opposite side, we never try to put ourselves in their place" (Maalouf 30). As a Pakistani-born Muslim woman educated in western cultures, I have long felt the impact of the demarcations Maalouf addresses and have sought to overcome them.

When I first arrived at Loyola, my students impressed me with their significant work ethic and high academic motivation. At the same time, I recognized immediately that they were greatly sheltered by their class and religious backgrounds, and I felt challenged to overcome this in the classroom. Fortunately, I also learned that these students had the ability to look beyond the boundaries of race, gender, economics, and religion, in spite of their insular backgrounds. I was grateful to encounter this openness, particularly in such a fraught time of strident American nationalism and its alarming tendencies to create reductive binaries such as "civilized" versus "uncivilized," "us" versus "them," "piety versus blasphemy," and "West" versus "East." Whether teaching Judaism or Islam, both have proved to be equally challenging in this Catholic setting. It is significant that my students diffuse and bridge the binaries that blind our vision of hope or optimism.

Teaching religion, especially Islam or Judaism, in America today is challenging, but the exciting aspect for a teacher is whether one can overcome institutionalized images of religion and recreate personal narratives for each faith. My goal as a teacher of religion is to exfoliate, deconstruct, and reconstruct the minor literatures within each religion that lay in ruin due to the dominant voices of major religions and silencing of the less dominant ones. For example, we learned that Orthodox Judaism was much more prominent then Reformed Judaism in Rome through our visits to both synagogues and the services we attended. We wondered whether Orthodox Judaism was drowning the voices of other significant Jewish Movements. Although, my students gave voice to the new and old forms of religion and spirituality, they were essentially giving voice to who they are through the study of religious experience. My vision, therefore, lies in my students' own understanding of who they are and how they see themselves rather than "others" critically. This pedagogical style is one that I was able to fully employ during the past summer in Rome, Italy where I taught a course entitled: "Judaism, Christianity, and Islam: Reconciliation, Faith, and Justice."

I suspect that many professors secretly dream of the opportunity to teach in another country where they might test their core values and assumptions. I, at least, had longed for such a dream until, finally, the opportunity arrived. As a visiting Assistant Professor in the Department of Theological studies at Loyola Marymount University, I was offered the exciting opportunity of teaching a course in Rome for five weeks. Though thrilled, I suddenly realized that I had absolutely no idea what I might teach in Rome that would have any possible bearing on my own specializations in Judaism and Islam and still somehow manage to enter into the historical life of Rome itself. After my initial excitement, I was chagrined that I could not come up with anything I felt would attract my students' interest or even satisfy my own intellectual concerns. Nor did I have much knowledge about Italy as it relates to Judaism and Islam.

What I felt determined to accomplish in Rome, however, was to introduce my students not merely to new paradigms for thinking about other religions but hopefully to a more difficult concept, namely that living communities dynamically shape what are often mistaken for inert, unbending faiths. As Maalouf observes, "It does seem to me that the influence of religion on people is often exaggerated, while the influence of people on religion is neglected" (In the Name of Identity, 60). This is a tough concept to get across to students accustomed to thinking that religion is static; composed of doctrines set in stone. The Rome program struck me as an environment where I might help students bridge some of these gaps, especially to come to terms with the significance of their own "otherness" once outside their usual homogeneous academic community.

As the time for our departure approached, I became excited by the myriad of opportunities Italy offered to demonstrate to my students just how Judaism and Islam both contributed to what is popularly taken for "Western" culture: Jews had brought with them critical aesthetic traditions, and Arabs had stimulated Rome's architectural forms of arches, circular domes and even its colors. For my purposes, I was particularly interested in introducing students to the recent colorful mix of Muslim immigrants that dwell directly under the canvass of glamour and galore of the Basilica of St. Peter.

After drafting my syllabus, it dawned on me that I knew no one in Rome, especially in the Jewish or Muslim community. The idea that my students would conduct interviews and visit religious sites became essential to my plans, but I was stymied by how to accomplish this. All too soon, I had packed my bags, gathered a few articles on Jews and Muslims and was off to Rome, without much preparation and contacts in Italy; I wished that I had done some more planning. I was uncertain whether this course could actually run as I envisioned it. The truth is, I was uncertain to what extent Muslims and Jews were even a visible community in Italy. Where would I find local Jews and Muslims that might be patient enough to answer what might prove to be very provocative questions, both about their own faith and living as a minority alongside the Catholic community in Rome?

I recall that my flight to Rome, in the economy section of Lufthansa, generated further doubts and anguish, and I was filled with restless discomfort. I felt under-prepared and terrified that my dream of a cross-cultural and interfaith adventure for my students might lead to a complete disaster and disappointment for both them and me.

Plan A: Change the syllabus!
Plan B: Just do a "safe" course on Judaism and Christianity
Plan C: Experiment with what you have and be honest with your students.

I chose Plan C. I still hoped to achieve something unprecedented, beyond my own classroom experience and knowledge. After all, teachers generally complain about teaching and having no time to research, but here I was in the perfect position to accomplish both. I have always believed in my heart that students love empowerment and crave those rare moments when a teacher confesses that: "Kids this is experimental." In Rome, I was guided by my conviction that there are too few occasions when students feel equal, enfranchised, or experience any true measure of freedom in the traditional classroom.

Though it is a city unusually full of historical contradictions, these can be missed as one walks through colossal historical wonders and the modern cafes and sidewalks of Rome. Romans themselves often seem remarkably indifferent to their surroundings as they walk by casually and carry on their ordinary lives, but as an outsider, one cannot help but to gape at the immense beauty around every corner; every piazza, restaurant, statue, fountain, and museum signifies something grand and epic. I did not want my students to be merely mesmerized by the spectacle that would engulf them; rather I wanted them to experience something deeper and more "local." Precisely, I wanted my students and I to learn just how the minority groups survived and adapted to such a resolutely "European" culture that outwardly seemed to have very little sense of their own living presence or historical contributions. In other words, I wanted us to walk in the neighborhoods of Florence, not merely to feast our eyes on the Uffizzi or L'Academia, but to experience the poor alleyways of Muslims and Arabs, and the sequestered Synagogue that has one front entrance. All of this became important to us.

While fully charmed by the grandiose public attractions of Italy, the local sites would become an alternative narrative that had resonance for us long after we returned to the multifarious ethnic life of Los Angeles. To accomplish this, I required that my students devote themselves to recording their experiences and impressions in daily journals that would constitute a significant element in their course grade.

My students were amazed at the laws of segregation when we visited the Ghettos, and the size of the places that housed thousands of Jews. Historically, Jews have lived in Italy since 161 BCE. The oldest known synagogue in Western Europe was established in Ostia, the port of Rome, but after Constantine, Italian Jews face problems that have always made them feel like outsiders and unwelcome. In 1215, the Fourth Lateran Council issued canons for Jews to wear distinguishing marks, no interest on loans was given to Jews, Jews could not hold public office, converts to Christianity must stop Jewish observances, and Jews could not hire Christians. These types of laws were continued and discontinued, depending on who was in power. There are still remnants of churches that were responsible for converting Jews to Christianity. Today, the Jews my students encountered were not at all segregated. Nevertheless, the position of being a Jew in Italy is associated with negative perceptions of Israel's policies vis-ˆ-vis the Palestinians. Unwelcome stereotypes of Jews as uniformly exclusive and wealthy still linger. In light of these perceptions, my students were particularly interested in the number of Jews who were visibly Orthodox. I shared their curiosity over the relation between this tradition and surrounding hostility.

As for Islam, it entered Italy through southern Sicily during the Ottoman invasion and withdrew shortly thereafter. Today the Muslim migrants are mainly from Libya, Morocco, Egypt, and Bangladesh; they are a relatively new migrant group, especially in Italy. As a result of her fieldwork and library research, one of my students later reported that, "despite the fact that the religion is so widespread and expanding, it is becoming less and less accepted by the rest of the world. In Italy alone, Muslims make up about 1% of the population, at numbers of 0.6 million, yet the Catholic based country continues to hold the group back. Muslims in Italy are not given a chance to live a successful life; they are treated as lesser human beings and, most importantly, they are inferior legally and politically as well." This student was particularly fascinated by the disparity between living Muslims and the prominent Oriental images that other Italian citizens typically encounter in treasured artworks as antiquities: "ruthless barbarians-holding bloody swords and fainting white woman from the frightening presence of Arab men." As my student learned, the Orientals attitude towards Muslims is very much alive in Italy. At the same time, all of us were optimistic about the prospects for eventual acceptance, if only because of the dramatic increase in the number of the city's mosques from a dozen to four hundred in merely 16 years. Today, St. Peter's Basilica and Europe's largest mosque are a short bus ride apart.

Prior to our departure from Los Angeles to Rome, I read a large amount of material about the experiences of Muslims living in contemporary Europe as well as the recent alarming rise of anti-Semitism. As a class, we explored two in-depth articles on the rise of anti-Semitism as well as anti-Muslim sentiments within Italy. One of the articles, "Italian Teens Harbor Racist and Anti-Semitic Attitudes," by Ruth E. Gruber (2004) discussed how Italian teenagers were propagating racism towards both Jews and Muslims, and how graffiti of swastikas and Muslim hate crimes were the center of predominantly teenage crimes. My students were both stunned and intrigued, as one student wrote in her journal: "While I found today's continuation of Islamic history interesting, I could not get over the fact of how horrible Jews have been treated in the United States, for example, we had African slaves for a long time before they were freed. Today, Americans interact with Africa Americans with the attitude of "we messed up in the past, but you (blacks) shouldn't judge me." These types of comparisons may seem broad, but, inadvertently, the students were creating a self-critique of their own Christianity or even white-American positions not just in the United States but also in the world. Another article that helped my students find their cultural footing was Sophie Arie's "A Rising Tide of Muslims in Italy Puts pressure on Catholic Culture," which demonstrates that the increasingly visible presence of Muslim immigrants became particularly controversial after a judge ruled that crosses should be removed from classroom walls "out of respect for Muslim pupils" (Arie1 ) . After these readings and ensuing discussions, I could sense my students' growing interest in the fraught cultural dynamics of contemporary Rome. After my initial unease, I felt we were all ready to embark on a mutual discovery that would introduce us to the lives and sacred centers of Muslim and Jewish life in Rome. We, at least, had the right questions to ask about the challenges faced by these "other" communities in the quintessential site of Catholic Europe.

What follows is the course design that I hoped would help satiate my students' concerns:

Theology 398
Judaism, Christianity and Islam in Rome: Reconciliation, Faith & Justice

This course is an introduction to how Judaism, Christianity, and Islam live as neighbors in Rome, the home of the Vatican. How do these faiths reconcile with past, present, and future differences both theologically and politically? What neighborhoods in Rome divide these faiths and how? What type of history lies within the city, and how do Jews and Muslims react to this? Since Rome is a predominantly Catholic city, we will look at Jewish and Muslim communities as minorities, constituted both by immigrant struggle as well as unique opportunity. We will build this course together through interviews, research, discussion, and tours within the city. We will focus on faith and justice as a means of survival for all three faiths.

Research Question:

How do these three faiths interact in Rome, Italy? How does Catholicism play a central role for the other two faiths?

Schedule:

I felt that my 13 students came into the first day of class sharing my own sense of apprehension about the course. They seemed especially hesitant about going into Muslim communities or even visiting Mosques. They raised questions about how we were going to actually carry out the class and whether the immigrants in Italy spoke English (something I had forgotten all about). They also brought up pressing anxieties regarding the war in Iraq and their own American identity, as well as 9/11 and how they might be perceived as intruders into sensitive communities. I felt a bit unprepared for some of these candid questions but, somehow, had a sense of confidence that Italian Muslims and Jews might very well be pleased to discover that at least some Americans in Rome were interested in their religion and culture.

I also assured my students that the course was "experimental," which I suppose to them meant most of all that no textbooks would be required--a relief! Instead, I emphasized that a great deal of writing and field research would be required.

After our first session, I felt that this course might be a success if our attitude--theirs and mine-- was properly oriented toward what we normally conceive of "success" and "failure." For my part, I spent my first few nights in the faculty computer room languishing over dozens of articles about Italy's population, economy, and freedom of religion, healthcare, and immigrant booms largely Muslim. I also spent many hours with my Italian dictionary making phone calls to Muslim and Jewish centers, desperately hoping to find a friendly voice that would welcome my students and me into their community.

By the end of that first painful week, I successfully made contact with a generous Jewish colleague familiar enough with Rome to direct me to Jewish neighborhoods and the historical Ghetto. Thus we set out for the Sabbath service and kosher pizza to follow. Sabbath service was three hours; the women sat upstairs as the men read from the Torah, a similar setting in some of the mosques in North America. The synagogue was beautiful, and the Italian Jewish community was friendly and relaxed. I was also ready to take my students to the Synagogue in Rome, a lavish structure built in 1907 in Assyrian style, which blended into the local Roman architecture. It was easy to see that my students were more excited about a "walking tour" than the prospect of listening to their professor ramble on about the fundamentals and historical backgrounds of each faith.

Initially, my students were surprised by the security outside the synagogue and troubled and discomfited by the strict laws of entering the synagogue. They were also sensitive to what they perceived as a certain lack of enthusiasm on the part of the older Jewish ladies when we entered. But soon they were captivated by the Jewish Museum, which vividly presents the history of Jews in Italy and also displays beautiful artifacts, such as Menorahs and ornate Yads (pointers for reading the Torah) in silver and gold. There was also a section on the Holocaust, and some survivors' belongings that refreshed the memory of my students as they started to piece together how the Jews in Italy were still persecuted long after they were emancipated from their Ghettos in 1870 Rome. As a student later wrote: "Of the entire trip, the item that had the greatest impact on me was seeing the torah with bullet holes that saved a Jewish life, and the ravaged state of the book brings back the fact that people are really being killed, murdered, and persecuted because of their religion, which made the situation more real, and all the more terrible." The students were particularly horrified when they learned that the Synagogue had been attacked in 1982, and a Turkish man killed a seven-year-old child. This encounter proved to be an auspicious beginning that would launch a number of subsequent conversations about anti-Semitism and the controversial role of Muslims: was the latter's enmity faith-based or was it related to the politics of Israel and Palestine? In many of our conversations we learned that most of the anti-Semitism was on the part of Muslims who were opposing the war in Iraq and Israel, and very little to do with faith based hatred.

Later that evening, my students and I walked through the city talking about the past and the Vatican's approach to Jews in the 1500s and the Second World War. I was growing more confident by the hour that such excursions work far better than being enclosed in a soporific classroom. It was readily apparent that my students were asking more demanding questions, and I was particularly pleased that they were now connecting world history to theology in dynamic ways. The students would stop and observe not only Jewish history but how old the Catholic history was comparatively and where it was more prominent than other places. They paused so often that I would have to ask them to hurry up, since class was almost over; on such occasions, they just glared at me in disapproval and carried on their heated discussions as we scurried along the Tiburon River. We took a small water taxi on the Tiber River back to our bus stop, and on this scenic ride I was pleased to listen to my students' animated reflections on their day at the synagogue.

In the days to come, I was pleased to discover that my course was moving well beyond my expectations. I gained greater confidence as I read through Italian press about the Muslim immigrants, mainly from Northern Africa, and their impact on Italians, both religiously and racially. But, at the same time, a recurring image in all the major cities was the troubling spectacle of the Senegalese or Egyptian man selling knock-off Fendi, Louis Vuitton handbags. Another category observed by my students was that of the Bengali dishwashers and cleaners. Altogether, an image of the "other" as poor and helpless seemed unshakeable at times.

Of the experience of material Jewish history, ghettos, synagogues, kosher restaurants and a discussion on Jewish history, one of my student's wrote: "I don't know what I would do if Catholics were treated like the Jews who were forced to live in ghettos? I don't know if could forgive and forget. I do not know if I could go on living in a country that forced my family to live separate and with fewer rights as all the rest of the citizens. I have never been put in that situation, and I am trying to put myself in their shoes."

The next trip that we planned, on an early hot morning, was our trip to the Grand Mosque on the outskirts of Rome. My students were generous enough to split cabs with one another and get up early for the experience that they were anticipating for so long. After speaking with several Italian Muslims about the visit, faxing over a class list, and arranging a tour during visiting hours, my students and I were now ready to visit the Mosque, which sits upon three acres of land a little out of the main city and has a beautiful minaret that still has not been used for the call of prayer. My female students proved very obliging, wearing appropriately loose clothing and headscarves, out of respect; the men wore a nice shirt and pants. Later, one my student's wrote: "When we first got there we put on our veils (scarves). When Professor Afridi did my scarf I was rather intrigued by the feeling I got from it. It made me feel beautiful." Another remarked that, "the day we went to the mosque was very exciting, and it was the first time I had ever been to one, so it was very interesting. I even liked wearing the scarf over my head, although it was very hot, and I felt I should wear it to be respectful."

I made an appointment with the mosque during visiting hours, and we were welcomed immediately. We were given a tour, observed the call to prayer, and enjoyed a generous session with the Imam, who discussed peace with the students as we stood in a library of 40,000 books (with the most beautiful Qurans that I have ever set my eyes upon). My students were so pleased and happy that they could walk around freely and take pictures, and there was no security. Their journal writings for that day expressed how this was the highlight of their entire trip to Rome and how they had never entered a mosque or even a synagogue. As one of my students wrote: "Aside from the building itself, the whole experience was amazing. Everyone was welcoming, and the Imam was wonderful. I really loved getting to be at such a sacred place for Muslim people; I gained even more perspective today." Another student wrote: "Today for class we made a visit to the mosque, and it was easily the best experience I have had. While I enjoy learning about the technicalities and specificities of certain religions, I must admit that having the chance to go out and visit the sights helps my learning style. I feel as if I am actually getting to see something that exists, and I just don't have to read about it in a textbook. The hands on experiences, particularly in a different country, are a once in a lifetime opportunity." I was deeply touched to learn how they somehow experienced a sense of spirituality in the Mosque that they could not feel at the numerous churches and basilicas we visited in Italy. Moreover, I was astounded by the patience and willingness of our hosts to answer all our provocative questions.

While we were at the mosque, we asked our tour guide whether we could interview local Muslims who attend the mosque. We made an appointment for the following week and embarked on our second trip; however, this mosque visit was a complete disaster! The gatekeeper at the mosque would not let us enter, and he told us that he would not allow us to walk in, since the community felt we might be American journalists snooping for information, and they were not interested in our perceptions. I was deeply disappointed and a bit embarrassed about the failure or this scheduled trip, but one of my students wrote: "Although we all felt it was unfair, I can see why the Muslim would be afraid to conduct the interviews. Americans, especially in this time of war, do not reflect many positive feelings about Islam. Because many ignorant Americans assume all terrorists are Muslim, and that they are all conspiring against us, the Muslims may feel that they would be attacked by us. I know that if a certain group did not like Catholics for some reason I would be scared to be interviewed by them. I do not blame them for being scared, because ignorant Americans definitely project a feeling of anti-Islam. It is sad that they feel threatened by the US students who actually want to help figure out the problem and not make it worse." This type of response was representative of the consensus that day, and I learned that my own anger and frustration was seen by my students, but their own resilience in looking at the situation more tolerantly and fluidly taught me that they had truly learned a way of understanding an "other" that I had overlooked. We all regrouped and decided to interview Italians and their perceptions of Muslims; this was even more helpful and reflective on the course than I had imagined.

The first positive visit to the Mosque as Americans in Europe under the political climate of 9/11 and anti-Americanism was essential in my students' generous perception of Muslims and their own sense of protection as an Islamic community. The act of walking freely in a Mosque, talking with the imam, and other workers in the mosque, made an impact that even I fail to make sitting in a classroom showing a video of a mosque or even showing them how to pray as a Muslim. The architecture, colors, the Qu'ranic scriptures became the tools that the students related to as part of their Islamic experience. At this stage, I felt a confidence that I never thought I would enjoy: this class had become an experience that I now feel all professors should try to emulate in their own ways. The learning that teachers can experience in a foreign city and with its people is simply invaluable, especially in the way the students are so receptive and captive to their surroundings. This type of excitement proved to be an exceptional lesson about their learning potential. These young Americans, who were also in another country, were willing to learn about others and themselves.

My student's biggest gift in Rome was to experience how minorities are treated because of religion and race, not only in Italy but, as they would tell you, in America. For the first time in their lives they were directly confronted with anti-Americanism, and nakedly hostile graffiti that indicated the hatred towards the American Government and war. None of this was from Muslims or Jews, but from Italians. The Jews and Muslims of Italy, it seems, are simply too busy trying to survive in an overwhelming environment of Catholicism and European racial attitudes to bother themselves with enmity toward outsiders.

So even if I did not know anything about Jews and Muslims in Italy, my thirteen students and I discovered that you can learn anything if you have the persistence and openness to others, even if they reject you in another country. I feel very strongly about my own learning experience in Italy, but I feel that pedagogy has so much potential, and we, as professors/teachers, should experiment more. On a technical note, I should add that my students compiled 20 pages of journal writing each, 20 page interviews for both Jews and Muslims, two 5-7-page papers on the history of Jews and Muslims in Italy. Their work was a promise of continued sympathetic interest in Judaism and Islam. Reading their journals has taught me that the most important lesson in this course was how stereotypes can paralyze learning about, and interacting with, others. Of equal importance is the evidence that my students left Italy with a sobering sense of how their own identity is seen by other countries and nations. Students will be open when they are given the opportunity to think critically about themselves, their identity, race, and rules of faith. In the course of five very challenging weeks, my young students rewarded my confidence in their capacity for challenging themselves to come to terms with their identities and the greater world in unprecedented ways. As one student would later write: "The theological beliefs of Islam are what I think amazed so many people in our class. I am so glad to be taking this class, because I have always known that the Qu'ran does not preach violence, and I know it has been extremely manipulated for political beliefs; however, I never had the proper information to combat those negative images. I know many of us were so excited that some were even thinking of converting to Islam."

Finally, I should add that it is my great hope that this short reflection might prove to be an inspiration for teachers to take greater risks in their pedagogy, and perhaps feel more confident when it comes to working directly with cultures outside the traditional classroom environment. Moreover, teachers should be courageous enough to allow themselves to experience such learning as a mutual experience; one in which teachers and students share and contribute to a process. I feel that my students and I were empowered not only by experiencing ourselves as a genuine learning community but by having the opportunity to explore our own individual identities in relation to "others." It seemed to us that the presence of Judaism and Islam in Italy stirred a consciousness within the Catholic Church, an institution that seems to be reevaluating itself with the monuments of both good and bad memories. And, correspondingly, it seemed to me that my students' own understandings of their relationship to faith also seemed to have undergone profound changes that would, in turn, influence the lives of others and perhaps, ultimately, the institutions they worshipped in.

Our experiences of being Jewish, Christian, and Muslim were ones that we could see equally as transforming faiths but, more importantly, changing institutions by people, and this lesson attracted my students to a whole new manner in seeing and believing in their own faiths. In this respect, these words of Jalaluddin Rumi grew to have striking resonance:

References

Academic Exchange Extra invites reader response to any writings in this issue--especially articles advancing the scholarly debate of issues raised.

------------------------------ Page Citation Reference:
Afridi, Mehnaz M. (2005). AE-Extra. January. Available Online.
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Created: 25 January 2005. Updated: 21 February 2005. Accessed: ]