Understanding interfaith connections

Last month, I took part in a series of interfaith events at this university in which Jewish students joined their Muslim counterparts at Friday Prayer, and the Muslim students attended Kabbalat Shabbat in the evening. It was, for me, the first interfaith event of its kind and left me with a single looming question — what does interfaith really mean?

Most other interfaith events I've been to in college were of one general form — a bunch of people from different faith communities sitting in a room and engaging in a general discussion on faith and its practice. The vast majority of these discussions focus on highlighting similarities between different traditions — that all humans are created equal before God and our beliefs are founded on love and service.

We attempt to present our faiths as ordered houses that fit perfectly together. We spend more time reinforcing the glorified ideals of pluralism, tolerance and dialogue than actually working toward them. In doing so, we produce little more than artificial consensus between the present individuals and fail to build bridges between our communities.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing negative about affirming our commonalities; in fact, that really is step one to better understanding. But it's exactly that — the first step. In order for interfaith events to be effective, we need to move beyond the artificial and into the substantial. We need to dig a bit below the surface and be willing to talk through our differences so we can actually understand each other.

When we do this, discussions can further our own personal growth and prove to be powerful religious experiences in their own right. Interfaith discussions should not leave attendees singing "Kumbaya," but should bring participants' hearts together by helping them better understand themselves and their own religious beliefs.

By far the most influential experience I've had in this context was attending the Kabbalat Shabbat at Hillel. Being in the midst of the Jewish community's comfort zone during their prayer allowed me to learn so much that is implicit in their tradition — things they probably could not articulate, things you can only learn through immersion. I am certain the Jewish students would say the same about attending the Muslim Friday Prayer.

What I also found quite revealing was the discussion we had after the services. Rather than an open-ended conversation on morals and ideals, the discussion was based on a textual comparison of verses from Jewish and Muslim scriptures. We were able to have a meaningful discussion that moved beyond our similarities and brought our differences to light in a way that really humanized each tradition. We shared our passions, customs and differing worldviews. We challenged one another's texts in a way that leads to our collective spiritual growth.

As the dialogue developed, we kept inching toward a particular idea that seemed a bit taboo. Implicit in the fact we observe different religions is a sense of exceptionalism: We inherently have some beliefs and practices that are exclusive to our traditions. And though such a conviction is only natural, its expression is often avoided during interfaith dialogues. But when we are able to embrace the uniqueness of one another's beliefs without temperance or remorse, we experience a sense of liberation that can truly bind our communities together.

Interfaith discussions can lead to powerful internal and external change. We need not trivialize these conversations as a search for our lowest common denominator. Instead, we should find the strength to crystallize who we are, what we believe and how we are, in fact, different. Without such a sincere effort, our dialogues will be nothing more than empty rhetoric.

Osama Eshera is a junior bioengineering major. He can be reached at eshera@umdbk.com.