Teaching faith & inter-faith

In the name of God, Most Merciful, Most Kind

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"Hijabi!!!" my five-year-old became accustomed to gleefully yelling out whenever she laid eyes on a woman whose hair was covered with a scarf.

We were in Canada at the time, having just spent a few months in Saudi where a person would grow hoarse by doing the same thing.

We hadn't realized how profound the experience of bringing our young daughters to the Muslim-majority kingdom would be. After all, one bouncy child is five, as mentioned, and the other little doll is just over two.

And yet, the effect was startling - not least of all to my family members back in Canada who were not happy that their minuscule relative had suddenly become a fundamentalist.

"I don't care about Christmas lights," she would announce, responding to my father's reminisces about walking around our neighbourhood during last year's holiday season. Yikes, all I had said was that we don't celebrate the occasion. I never meant to promote such an antagonistic view.

And then there was that little issue of statues. Oh boy.

"Mom," she would ask, peering at the window as we'd drive by Parliament Hill in Ottawa. "Why are there so many statues? I don't care about statues."

Well, that came from stories about Prophets warning their people not to worship stone idols. What could I do? Those were the stories I had grown up on and which had enriched my life as illuminating examples of righteous people reforming their communities into ones which upheld concepts like truth, justice, and faith.

"Statues are bad . . . oh, that one doesn't have a face. Maybe that's okay, mom?"

So here I was, having spent a few years trying to teach my daughter about Islam, and now, right before my disapproving family's eyes, she was displaying some pretty rigid ideas about everyday life.

What to do?

Ever since my experiences at Islamic camp - yes, there are such things, and no, they have nothing to do with terrorism - I had realized that the only way for a person to truly practice Islam was to love it. Love it for its simplicity, its magnanimity, its kindness. Unfortunately, Islamic camp, at 16, only proved that Islam was little more than "a bunch of annoying rules".

"Don't wear colours!" (Okay, it was the early nineties and anything really, really bright was in. Remember MC Hammer?)

"Don't talk to your brother because not everyone knows he's your brother!" (Come on!)

"Don't laugh out loud!" (I'm a girl, you see.)

"Don't ask questions too loudly." (Again, that unfortunate realization that I'm a girl.)

And on and on it went.

That is not Islam and it took me several years, and a lot of painful detours, to figure it out. In fact, it took a trip to Cairo, my birthplace, to realize that Muslims could be a pretty easy going lot. They could indeed love you for who you are, and overlook your short sleeves and make-up, but still appreciate your nascent beliefs.

So when I heard my daughter speak about all the things NOT to do as a Muslim, I realized that somehow my teaching methods had failed.

I changed tack.

"You know nurse Jacky, at Teta's (grandma's) hospital? She is a non-Muslim," I told her one day, as we were driving to visit my mother. Her eyes lit up. She loved Jacky - after all, she was the self-appointed grand-ma assistant, ever-ready with presents and balloons.

"Yes," she said, expectantly. "So you see, it is okay not to be a Muslim. Everyone has different things they believe in. She believes in something else, we believe in Islam. We can still be friends. Islam says we have to treat everyone with kindness and respect, especially if they are kind to us."

Little one nodded, while the other one started lisping, "Jacky, jacky!" They both adored her!

It wasn't easy but I slowly tried to explain how different beliefs didn't necessarily make for instant avoidance. Then I realized how difficult it would be to teach about other religions in a country where not only is the official religion Islam, but where other religions are completely ignored or driven underground. Unfortunate, especially considering that Islam was one of the first political systems to grant rights to minority religious groups, guaranteeing their safety and security. (It should be added, though, that there have been laudable steps taken by the King himself to promote inter-faith dialogue culminating in a couple of well-attended summits this past summer, including one held in Mecca.)

As we prepared to return to Jeddah, I managed to sneak in an Oxford children's book on different religions into our suitcase, fervently hoping it wouldn't be confiscated - likely an irrational fear. Nevertheless, having been told that Saudi customs officials sometimes confiscate reading materials to ensure they don't offend somebody, I sincerely hoped they wouldn't object to all the different manifestations of worship displayed in the book's colourful pages.

Thank God, we got through, with only one of my books examined by the curious agent who obviously couldn't read English so instead focused on my husband's Arabic books - published in Saudi anyway.

And when we sat down to go through the mini-encyclopedia on faith, my daughter skipped over the sections on Islam - wanting to know more about people, and places and symbols she hadn't already learned about.

And all I could think was, whew! That was a close call.

But it still leaves open the question: how on earth do I instill a belief in Islam without inadvertently making everyone else look bad?

Like the ladies who 'show their shoulders' -- a no-no for us, as modesty is considered a key branch of the faith, but hard to explain to a youngster.

Sigh. No easy answers and I welcome suggestions.