“We are already one. But we imagine that we are not. And what we have to recover is our original unity. What we have to be is what we are.”

                                                                                    -Thomas Merton

Ten short years have marched into the oblivion of time’s passing. For many, ten years was but a blink in the eye of the universe. For many others, ten years crawled and drudged, and in that slow grind we have trampled and tumbled trying to regain our footing, struggling to wash the mud from our brows with the waters of forgetfulness, consumerism, and, occasionally, blind despair.

            Ten years have passed since the events of September 11, and in ten years, we have had platforms and forums to question, challenge, and engage our society – to take time not only for grief, but to contextualize and reflect; to reorient ourselves in a rapidly changing and fearsome world.

And yet, in ten years, we have often lost ourselves in the grip of hatred and isolation, turning our backs on one another, and succumbing to the weight of a terrible burden. The past decade has been tumultuous, and has forced profound reflection on our status as communities of being – personal, national, and global.

            While many aspects of our lives are in question, societal cohesion is a central topic. Recent polls have shown that, while the attitude of Americans towards Islam and Muslims is mixed, there is still a brooding distrust and fear of Islam. While September 11 should not be seen as the crux of the narrative of worldwide Muslims and Muslim Americans, the tragedy undoubtedly brought Muslim Americans to the forefront of a wider national public discourse, and Muslims often do not feel welcomed into this conversation. That public discourse has obviously failed in producing a cohesive dialogue and presentation, and our society is still plagued by distrust and misinformation.

            And while this profound misunderstanding exists, it should not be viewed as the pinnacle of our failure as a people. Islamophobia serves but as a microcosm of the realities of our societies. Our fears, our staunch resistance to altering the definitions and perceptions we have etched into our schemas and systems of organization, and our inability to, with humility, deal with the growing pangs of the 21^st century, have reduced our ability to communally embrace the differences of the “Other.”

In the ten years that have passed, instead of critically and creatively addressing the rising divisiveness, we have been driven further apart from each other, and while there has been many outreach attempts and positive efforts, such as the work of the interfaith movement, these have not had enough effect to enact the drastic, and needed, societal shift towards unity. We are analyzing our relations through the wrong hermeneutic.

What was must foster once again as a key element of our reality is community. It seems that in the past decade, since the event that changed the course of our lives and the direction of world history and progression, we have lost our sense of what it means to be in community, to be a part of something greater than ourselves, to accept the fear – and wonder – of trusting in others, and in letting us be defined in relation, not in opposition, to those around us. What we are missing is a sense of interpersonal, national, and global communities of consciousness. We must foster these relationships if we are to strive for a sustainable future. Without our commitment to embracing community, we have been unable to address the challenges that the first decade of this century has offered, and without fostering community, we will be destroyed by the rapid changes of succeeding decades.

            As the tenth anniversary of the attacks approaches and as another year passes into the frightening, crushing oblivion of a confused past, we must do more than honor and reflect. We must engage. We must question. We must act. We need to begin to take the steps to radically redefine how we approach and value one another. We need to take the time to remember the centrality, the raw necessity, of community in our lives, and the profound sense of failure that will come if we choose to divide ourselves further.

            My prayers and deepest love go out to the families and victims of the September 11 attacks, and I pray that the tenth anniversary does not force a remembrance of the deep pain and divide that was experienced on that day and the years that followed, but calls us all to celebrate the energy of life that so tenderly continues to thrive in our world.

I received strange glances and expressions of doubt when I said that I would be fasting for Ramadan this year. What business does a non-Muslim have in fasting for Ramadan? What is there to gain from depriving yourself of food and water during some of the hottest and longest days of the year? Why should I care?

This month, I will attempt to engage in routine prayer and meditation. I will abstain from food and drink from sunrise to sunset, and a will make an effort to quell violent and hurtful thoughts and speech. I will attempt to read a significant amount of the Qur’an and New Testament and participate in volunteer and charity efforts that benefit the local or global community.

I am presented with an opportunity to grow in my humanity. This past year, I have constantly found myself over-committed and lacking time for proper reflection and growth. I look forward to taking this time to grow consciously – to nourish relationships, reflect on my goals and values, and grow in love, peace, and humility. In starving my senses, I become aware of the beauty of life that surrounds me. Participating in Ramadan is a test of my personal commitment and ability to set aside the year (and years) ahead for long-term and life-long inner transformation.

Ramadan, to me, is not a ritual shrouded in Oriental mystique, but a profound period of spiritual development and ascension that is practiced by dozens of my friends and colleagues, hundreds of Chicagoans, and thousands of Americans. In a society that often sets spirituality in the periphery of life, the chance to engage in a period of reflection and intention is an opportunity not to be missed.

I have been reminded that I am a non-Muslim. Having been raised in the Catholic tradition, I am familiar with periods of reflection and abstention, and have fond moments of looking forward to Lent as a time to grow closer to God. I still look forward to Lent as a time to focus on the spiritual dimensions of life, but as I grow as an interfaith leader and as I grow to recognize the inherent wisdom in the diverse spiritual expressions of humanity, I see the value in reaching beyond faith divisions and embracing those elements that will guide me on my journey to the Divine.

My decision to fast is also a multi-faceted act of solidarity. In doing so, I am not only standing in solidarity with all the hungry and suffering in the world and with Muslim brothers and sisters. I am standing with all who face persecution based on their religious identities. As we have seen in years passed, Muslims face discrimination and persecution in the United States and elsewhere. As an interfaith leader, I take issue and fight to counter not only this faith-based division, but all acts of faith-based division around the world.

 In fasting, I hope to make a conscious commitment to continue my work in the world. Thousands around the world not only suffer from lack of food and water, but from lack of acceptance, love, understanding, and a place to call home. Let us all, Muslim and non-Muslim alike, take time to remember this reality and remember our power to change the world for the better during this month.

Images of bowed monks, throngs of observers, and a devoutly perched Dalai Lama upon a stage filled my head as I watched a live stream of the Kalachakra from Washington, DC. These were beautiful scenes, and the words that the Dalai Lama offered resonated with deep wisdom. Watching through a computer screen, I felt a pervading distance between myself and the ceremony. And yet, woven through these diverse images, there was a thread of unity and sincerity, as if I was absorbed into the scene, the ceremony, the ritual.

This ritual, the Kalachakra for World Peace, is an ancient Tibetan Buddhist ceremony that has been practiced for centuries, and this is the first time it has been brought to the capital of the United States. The ten-day event includes hours of teachings, powerful blessings and prayers, a spiritual initiation for participants, and the creation and destruction of the iconic sand mandala, dedicated to both individual and world peace and balance. The Kalachakra, open to the public, is attended by those who want to positively influence their own state of being and the state of the world through karmic implications.

I truly appreciate this opportunity for our nation to not only bear witness to this sincere and powerful event, but to grow in awareness of the rich wisdom found in the spiritual traditions of the world. A significant focus of the Kalachakra is the imparting of Buddhist wisdom to initiates and the public. The Kakachakra, for this brief week, is a part of the national and public discourse, and shows that interfaith awareness is a reality and ever-increasing need in our society. Public observers, such as Gabriel Riera, note the increasing desire for cross-cultural understanding, and religious understanding is an essential part of this societal thirst.

In this thirst, I sense a longing to break away from the barriers that our communities have established and so staunchly maintained – perceived dichotomies of the “Other.” In opportunities for dialogue through experience and learning, such as the Kalachakra, we slowly tear away at the illusory barriers that so confine our lives. The Kalachakra’s emphasis on unity – unity of self and unity of the world – embodies the integral realization of the interfaith movement. Breaking down the dichotomies of differentiation is not merely a social act but a wholly spiritual act that embodies a desire for effective change in the world. This theme echoes not only in the prayers of the monks and resounding wisdom of the Dalai Lama, but in the work of those who come together from different traditions to make change in their communities.

Washington serves as an auspicious womb for the service, for “His Holiness is conferring the Kalachakra empowerment in a location where local decisions affect multitudes around the world.” Many believe that the karmic energy produced by the Kalachakra will work to affect policymakers and leaders to bring about peace in the world. Many skeptics in my circles immediately condemned these efforts as mere wishful thinking, as another failed effort among a long list of efforts to reform our approach to governance and global relationships. Yet others are wholly drawn to this effort. How do we explain the mixed responses to the Kalachakra?

For those who cynically dismiss the Kalachakra, I would argue that they, like all others, have suffocated under barriers of division. They have established a clear definition of “reality” that does not bear the wasted time of creative solutions. For those who are drawn to this spiritual response to global crises, I would argue that they are acknowledging the changing role of religion and spirituality at this critical juncture in human history, when so much of how we live – how we think, interact, move, and communicate – has been radically transformed. With such strides in the profane world, many are left wondering how such changes will transform how we embrace and express the spiritual dimensions of the human person.

Many decry that faith has lost any “substantial” significance in the world, that faith and spiritual zeal are mere coping mechanisms. I see the Kalachakra and the wide-ranging interest in the ceremony as defying this perception, and it is an example of the way in which spirituality and interfaith engagement may be an asset in the struggle to radically change our world and perceptions. We must employ our spiritual voice as an effective voice in the national and global exchange of ideas and solutions.

Spirituality, in this century, must not be locked behind the closed doors of chapels and temples, in the quiet and soft confines of our living rooms, our buried in choking libraries. It must be taken into the streets and embraced and acknowledged as a catalyst for change. We must allow our faith and philosophical identities to guide us in an uncertain world. This should not be dismissed as mere good will, but seen as the sheer will of those who are weary of a failing world.

As we simultaneously grow strained in maintaining the boundaries of the “Other” in an interdependent world, we must recognize not only the power of spirituality in uniting us beyond our shortcomings, but also our common desire to change our interactions with one another by engaging the spiritual values of humanity.

While the Kalachakra continues into the week, karmic energy will be released into the world. I embrace this event as a hopeful turning point in how we engage spiritual values not only in the public and global discourse, but realize the power of engaging spirituality – the spirituality of our lives and the spirituality of others – as we work to bring peace to the world.

I thank the Dalai Lama for the wisdom he is imparting and for offering us hope in darkening times. The road ahead is long and uncertain. Let us embrace the power of spirituality and interfaith cooperation as a powerful and transformative essence of our time.

For more information on the Dalai Lama’s visit to the United States and on the Kalachakra, please visit - http://www.kalachakra2011.com/.

I had grown disillusioned. All past achievements seemed but a confused flurry. I had barely stepped off the plane in Chicago, returning from three weeks in Israel and Palestine, when I headed to a week-long training with the Interfaith Youth Core. After spending nearly a month in a region of the world marked by years of deep conflict and stark trauma, I had embraced the call of many skeptics. While interfaith cooperation is great, it does not mend the deep fissures in our world. The burning passion I once had for interfaith work was slowly dying.

I have been involved in interfaith work for several years, beginning in high school and most recently as an interfaith leader at DePaul University in Chicago and a student organizer of DePaul’s 2010-2011 Better Together Campaign. Now, I was on my way to be a mentor to hundreds of college students embracing interfaith action on their campuses. I felt as though my ability to be an honest mentor had been crushed by my pessimism. My thoughts drew me far away from the IFYC offices, but the Blue Line drew me ever closer.

Stepping into the hostel that would serve as our home for the week, I was drained by jetlag and doubt, but was soon refreshed when, on our first night as strangers in cramped hostel dorms, my peers and I shared those elements of our lives that constantly drew us to love, faith and cooperation. The flame stayed strong another night.

During our opening training session, the Coaches shared their personal stories of what brought them to the dream of making interfaith action a social norm.

Then it hit me.

I was in the midst of the true energy and face of this movement. This was the voice of a generation weary of our various histories of ignorance and intolerance. This was the voice of a generation ready to embrace the call to changing our world through respect, cooperation and courage. I recalled what drew me to interfaith work as a student, and why, as a spiritual individual, I was called to embrace a vision for the Kingdom of God on Earth. The flame was rekindled.

As a college student and concerned citizen of the world, I see interfaith cooperation – a respect for the diversity of worldviews and foundational belief systems – as not only an integral facet of what is needed for social action and change, but as a necessary aspect of our evolving world. As a Better Together organizer, I felt an energy that had been missing during my involvement in high school. It was a sense of unity, of pertinence, and of acceptance of a blazing call to action. I found this energy fully embodied once more in my fellow Coaches.

By the end of the week, we became not only well-versed in the methodology of mentorship and our roles as Coaches, but grew confident in our place in the movement. The flame that I had personally rekindled was nurtured communally by my peers. We accepted the call to pass this flame on to the organizers that we will mentor throughout the year.

I am excited and proud to serve as one of the ten Better Together Coaches for this year, and I look forward to spreading the call to interfaith cooperation and action. Our minds will be drawn elsewhere over the course of the year, and our hearts will beat to different rhythms as we continue along our path as students of the university and world, but we can be certain that our mutually inspiring presence and support will nurture and sustain the flame of interfaith service that burns in all of us.

This is a photo with Sheik Ibrahim at his Peace Center on the Mt. of Olives. He was one of the most approachable, loved, kind, and respected men I have known. He welcomed me into his home for the night, shared with me his work with the Jerusalem Peacemakers, and took me and other international volunteers to a benefit concert on the outskirts of the Old City.

The morning call to prayer had not yet resounded through the walls of the Old City when the Interfaith Peace Builders delegation started to pack luggage bags onto the tour bus and offered final goodbyes to those who were staying behind in Jerusalem.

Under the haze of halted sleep and the glaze of a blank itinerary ahead, I departed from the delegation with which I had shared one of the most emotional experiences of my life. As the bus pulled away, I bid farewell to a second family, and as I stood absorbing the sounds of a stirring East Jerusalem, I asked myself: what is it that I took away from my experience?

For a while, I was not able to fully condense my experience into a few words, and I still believe that I am not able to truly express the fullness of this immersion. I came here with a goal; to see the conflict with my own eyes, to listen to Israelis and Palestinians with my own ears, and feel the rhythms of the pain and suffering in this tiny stretch of land with my own heart. I left successfully imbibed with personal truths and core insights that will undeniably shape my interaction with this conflict, and the world, for the rest of my life.

While I an neither Jewish nor Palestinian, I can not claim that this conflict is a separate reality from my daily life. I am integrally and deeply connected to what happens in Jerusalem, Ramallah, Sderot, Bil’in, Nabi Saleh, and the whole of Israel/Palestine.

 I am an American. My tax dollars directly fuel this conflict, and while “aid” is given to both Israel and the Palestinian Authority, the continuance of an unrestricted financial funnel to Israel helps sustain a status quo of failed peace talks and painful Occupation.

I am a Christian. My brothers and sisters in faith, the Palestinian Christian communities, suffer through Israeli Occupation yet receive little support from Christian communities in the United States.

I am a human. I stood by and witnessed the blatant suffering of other beings and saw the pain labeled as a mere political impasse, as a secondhand situation that was the concern of politicians who had enough time and college students shopping for social issues.

As an American, a Christian, and a human, I cannot separate myself from the conflict and continued Occupation.

There is deep pain that exists in the collective ethos and memory of both Israelis and Palestinians, and this pain cannot be ignored, underemphasized, or delegitimized. The mother who lost her daughter in a rocket attack in Sderot is just as broken as the mother who lost her son in a raid in Nabi Saleh. Many Israelis feel deep connections to the memory of the Holocaust and sense that, in one way or another, the pain of the Holocaust is deeply connected to the existence of the State of Israel. The Palestinians feel the deep sorrow of years of exile and hostility from former neighbors and friends. They are continual strangers in continually strange lands, and they cannot return to their homes. This pain must be acknowledged and accepted, and this foundational cooperative recognition has been missing from many political and individual conversations.

More than in any other situation, how terms such as “Zionist,” “Occupation,” and “Resistance” are used takes on the vitality of a brutal murder. There are many definitions for these terms; some true, some false, and there are many associations that accompany such words and ideas. How terms are framed and defined in the context of a particular situation is critical, and a taboo has developed around such words due to the malleability and range of potential associations. Likewise, this malleability contributes to the anxiety and fear of discussing the issue of Occupation. Such open-ended arguments deter those who know little about the situation from pursuing further understanding.

There is a deep and powerful human element of this conflict that is not covered or shared by the media. My most powerful experiences came when sharing a simple meal, drink or game with a young man, a family, or a child. I met both Israelis and Palestinians that I would consider good friends, and while our political opinions were not always aligned, we shared the simple gift of human company. The presence of such humanity serves as a painful paradox. Discerning any potential political solution becomes significantly more challenging, while common human bonds establish a foundation that seems to make the solution as clear as ever.

There is a foundational misunderstanding regarding the “other” among both Israelis and Palestinians. A general and common characteristic among Israelis is a deep-seated existential fear and a constant weariness of the Arab “other,” a general mistrust of the Palestinians that inhabit the land only a few miles from their homes. They are so frozen in fear that no answer seems reasonable other than control and occupation, and any discussion regarding the Palestinians is avoided and snuffed. Likewise, the Palestinians often perceive all Israelis as oppressors, but they do not hear about the efforts of Israeli activists to end the Occupation and fight for the human rights of the Palestinian people.

In any case, a lack of dialogue, caused by both the restrictiveness of the Occupation and a general lack of foundational trust in one another, has contributed to the extended absence of cooperative efforts. While these may be generalizations, and while many may agree with me, these reflect my own personal experience in Israel/Palestine.

There is an obvious disparity of force in the conflict that cannot be ignored or denied. Israel has far more military capability and geographic control than the Palestinian people, and the force exerted from nonviolent or violent Palestinian protestors, Hamas attacks, or rebel extremists is not met equally by the unstoppable Israeli military machine. Nonviolent protests are often met with a hail of teargas, Palestinian children’s sense of safety is breached by night raids and security screenings, and farmers’ lives are halted by denied building permits and unjustifiable road blocks. The Palestinian people are domesticated within their own homeland, and they are not allowed to travel freely even in the entirety of the West Bank. There is disproportionate force, and there are actions Israel executes that cannot be justified for security or safety, but instead, for greed and fear.

The “Occupation” can no longer be thought of as a buzzword or political phrase, but as a reality that is affecting the lives of millions of people and claiming human lives, not political points, as its fodder. This calls for a dramatic reevaluation for the repercussions of the continued reality of the Israeli Occupation.

While people staunchly claim that the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is a strictly secular conflict, we cannot ignore the profound influence that religious ideals and organizations can have in the lives of these people. Faith is not alien to Israelis or Palestinians, and these elements cannot be ignored as potential catalyzing agents for peace and social action.

Most importantly, I came to this experience hoping to learn more about the tools for dialogue and building bridges. While this was not a direct result of this delegation, and while I plan to continue to work to build bridges and to establish those foundational conversations that have been lacking in our approaches and evaluations, I learned a great deal about opposition to traditional dialogue.

Dialogue assumes an equal footing when coming to the discussion. Dialogue assumes that both parties are equal participants engaging in a discussion where the outcome may be contingent on this equality. For many opposed to traditional dialogue, Israelis and Palestinians are not assumed to be on equal footing. Dialogue assumes equality of circumstances, and the whole call to dialogue, from many parties, fails to fully embrace the reality that there is a stark inequality.

Similarly, dialogue encourages the process of normalization in which a false sense of security and identity is created and the issues are ignored, as if attempting to paint a portrait over a chipped and cracked slab of aging drywall. The only dialogue that some will accept is a dialogue that is based in the common value of ending the Occupation and ending the human suffering that is a direct result of the Occupation. This insight was new and fresh, and I could fully empathize with this, but as an interfaith leader and as a student committed to fostering dialogue, where was I to go from here?

While I learned and experienced a great deal during the delegation, there were also questions that fatefully developed and brooded over time and continue to do so.

A big concern of mine involves communities of faith. What role do faith-based institutions play in this conflict, and what role should the Christian community play in this situation? As a Catholic and as someone deeply moved by the social justice advocacy of St Vincent DePaul and the Vincentians, how do I advocate for my faith community to take a firmer stance and have a stronger opinion in opposition to the Occupation?

As an interfaith leader, I have grown concerned with the usefulness of interfaith efforts in the conflict. What role should interfaith cooperation and interfaith social justice initiatives play in the conflict, if any? What role would it have in the community and the community ethos? At what point does dialogue turn into advocacy, and advocacy into selfless action?

As a young person, I see great potential in the global connectivity of the youth and the energy of the Arab youth strengthened by the continuing Arab Spring. What role will American youth serve in the alleviation of this conflict? In what ways can we urge the Palestinians and Israelis to peace, to establishing a foundation that only they can construct with their own hands and hearts and words? How can we fully and effectively support Palestinian youth in nonviolent resistance efforts?

Lastly, is dialogue possible? I am returning to campus hoping to spur a long-overdue dialogue around this issue. This is something that has been missing on campus, as indicated by the recent lack of honest exchange in DePaul University’s Sabra Campaign, and has not addressed the real issues and deep core of the argument, as indicated by the dissatisfaction of many students with past efforts. Can an honest, powerful dialogue exist, and can college students and campuses embrace this call to truthful awareness and dialogue that goes beyond simple understanding but seeks to mutually and creatively address, acknowledge, and mend the deep cracks at the core of who we are as beings?

As one can see by the number of questions I pose to myself and the larger universe, I have not become an expert on the conflict by spending three weeks in that corner of the globe. While I have become more informed, more engaged, and more aware and critical, I have not solved, nor do I intend to single-handedly solve, the conflict. What I experienced was deeply personal but reflects several deep realities of the situation in Israel/Palestine.

I now transition back into my life back home in Chicago. While I may fall into the lull of a summer job and while the encroaching academic quarters may loom over me from afar, I know that I will never be the same. The suffering is too real, the complacency, too blatant. I intend to continually improve and shape my own understanding of current events and the ever-malleable future of the region, and I invite you all to be co-adventurers, and co-writers, in and of this profound journey.

Peter Dziedzic

Saturday, June 11, 2011 – Chicago

https://www.cairchicago.org/2011/06/23/controversy-demands-discourse-not-dismissal-the-case-with-israel-and-palestine/

The 2011-2012 Better Together Coaches, working to make interfaith action a priority in the United States.