Acts of Faith by Eboo Patel

Author:Eboo Patel [Patel, Eboo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8070-0631-3
Publisher: Beacon Press
Published: 2007-03-24T16:00:00+00:00

In The Jew in the Lotus, Rodger Kamenetz writes that many young people view religion as an old man saying no. Growing up, my “old man” was a woman—my grandmother, with whom I was now staying in Bombay. She would come to the States every few years and live with my family, occupying the living room from midmorning to early evening watching Hindi films. I avoided her as much as possible. “Are you saying your Du’a?” she would ask if she caught me before I managed to reach the back staircase. If she woke up earlier than usual and saw me at the breakfast table before I left for school, she would say, “Are you giving your dasond?” referring to the tithe that Ismailis give. She was disappointed that I had no close Ismaili friends when I was a teenager. “You will marry an Ismaili, right?” my grandmother would ask, catching my arm, as I was sneaking out. I am embarrassed to say it now, but I dreaded her visits and did my best to avoid her.

My view of her changed dramatically on this trip to India. She spent most of her days sitting on a simple sofa bed in the living room, clad in white, tasbih in hand, beads flowing through her fingers, whispering the name of God—“Allah, Allah, Allah”—over and over. She would cry during prayer, the name of the Prophet causing an overflow of love from deep in her heart. I told her all about the Dalai Lama, my voice filled with admiration. I am sure she wished that I spoke as excitedly about the Aga Khan, but she never said as much. Instead, she asked me to read stories about His Holiness to her and observed, “All great religious leaders are alike.”

She loved Kevin. Every morning, when Kevin and I were reading in our room, she would bellow for him from across the apartment: “Kevaauuun!” He would get out of his chair, pad across the living room, and put his head in Mama’s lap, and she would stroke it and whisper Arabic prayers over him, asking God to keep him safe and on the straight path. When we first arrived, she saw Kevin’s books on Judaism and asked, “You are a Jew?” Kevin nodded. “Masha—Allah,” my grandmother said, meaning “Thanks be to God.” Then she turned to me and said, “He is Ahl al-Kitab.” Muslims use this term, meaning “a person of the book,” to refer to their Abrahamic cousins, Jews and Christians.

Earlier in her life, it seemed as though my grandmother could speak to me about nothing but Islam, but now she rarely brought it up at all. Yet, through her interest in Buddhism, her constant Zikr (the Muslim term for remembrance of God through prayer), and her love for Kevin, I was getting a sense of what it meant to be a Muslim.

The most important lesson came in the most unexpected way. I woke up one morning to find a new woman in the apartment.

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