“I have a foreign student staying with me.  Can I bring Abdullah along?”

That was the response to an invitation  I extended to a dear friend who happens to not be Jewish.   Now, we’ve had non-Jews at our shabbat table in the past, but never one named Abdullah.

I started thinking of possible complications—our comfort level, his comfort level.   Would he/could he eat at our house?  What if things got uncomfortable?  Then I started to think about what a great opportunity to teach and to learn.  When would this change come again?

“Sure,” I reply. “But I’d like him to call me first and here’s a link to the website muslimmatters.org that he may like to check out regarding halal and kosher.”

I had met Abdullah before in passing.  A twenty-ish student from Saudi Arabia who was studying English in El Paso at the institute I used to own.  I thought of him as very friendly and very focused on his studies.  He was very polite, but we really never spoke of anything substantive and I didn’t know if he knew anything about me.

Abdullah called and thanked me profusely for the invitation and for the website information on kosher.   He told me that he had no problems coming to a Jewish home and even being present for the shabbat ritual.   After researching the  halal versus kosher topic, he said he was comfortable eating kosher.   He hadn’t eaten meat in months and enthusiastically said yes when I offered to prepare a meat dish for him.  

That Friday night, Abdullah arrived bearing a hostess gift of fresh fruits and  he could not have been more pleasant.  All the guest had a lot to talk about and when, it came to kiddush, netilat yadim (hand washing)  and motzi, we slowed it down a bit and  he listened closedly to follow the Hebrew .  He was intrigued by “Shalom Aleichem” and we compared vocabulary that had the same meanings in both Arabic and Hebrew.  

Since our new friend doesn’t drink alcohol, I put a small glass of pomegranate juice in front of him and, though the English word, pomegranate meant nothing to him, he immediately understood what kind of juice it was when I told him “rimon” in Hebrew.  

He sat next to my husband, Norm, who very patiently and appropriately answered dozens of his questions.  It was a real knowledge test for him and, as a teacher, he did very, very well.  Abdullah’s questions sent the message to us that he was looking for commonalities and linkages.     Often, after he heard the answer to one of his questions, we heard him say, “It’s the same.”

At the end of the evening, I was comfortable enough to ask him about some cultural traits among Arabs, and also to ask him to help me understand an incident I’d observed in a hotel workout room some years back.  He answered with candor and good humor.    We didn’t really talk politics, but he did offer the comment that he doesn’t understand people who hate.   I get that.  I’ve seen people like that on both sides. Hatred is easy if you detach and dehumanize another group. It’s easy to hate when you keep your distance, hang out only with others who think as you do.  It’s easier to hate when you chose to only read things that support your viewpoint. When you  meet  people face to face,  and you see them as fellow human beings, stereotypes fade and it’s harder to hate. 

The end of the evening included spontaneous hugs and many smiles–a real feel good for us and for all our guests.  So glad we chose to step out of our comfort zones.   We’re all changed a little, for the good.