Where Are the Jews? — Sabeeha Rehman

Some stories are just too sweet to pass over. I was at the Islamic Center of New York University for an iftar, preceded by a sermon. I took my place at the far end wall and listened to Imam Jaffer talk about the purpose of fasting and what it means to be God-Conscious.
“When we eat less, drink less. . . when there is no need to decide what to eat, what to buy, we are less prone to environmental distractions like sales ads… It compels you to see beyond what is on the surface.”
This is good stuff. I fumbled through my backpack pulling out my notebook and pen.
“As the body becomes weaker, the soul becomes stronger.”
I made note.

Volunteers started walking in wheeling trolleys laden with food in aluminum pans. One of the volunteers, a tall, slim woman in a pink sweater and denims walked by me, and then quickly made an about turn.
Wait! I know her. That’s Rabbi Sharon.
She rushed toward me and we gave each other a quick hug. ‘Server’ said the sticky on her sweater.
“You are volunteering?” I asked.
“Yes,” and she rushed off to the tables where the food was being set up.

Now I was distracted by her presence. I was supposed to be listening to the sermon. But seeing Sharon there humbled me. A rabbi in an Islamic center, devoting her time to set up food trays for Muslims to break their fast. I watched her huddle with the other volunteers by the food table.
The imam was speaking, “Speak rationally and appropriately, walk in humility, protect your eyes from seeing back, your ears from hearing bad, seek beneficial knowledge…”
I scribbled in my notebook.
My eyes searched for Sharon. She had now seated herself on the rug, listening to Imam Jaffer listing the quality traits of fasting. The place was filling up as men and women filed in, looking for an empty spot on the rug.
“I am on my way,” my granddaughter Laila texted. She is a student at NYU. I beamed in anticipation. I must introduce her to Sharon.
“Listen to the imam. This is good stuff,” I said to her as she sat on the rug by me.
“Ramadan is about exercising patience and gratitude. We would call mom only when we needed money. Same with God; we call on Him only when we are in distress. God says, ‘Remember Me when you are happy and I will remember you when you are in difficulty.’”

Fast forward: We break our fast and take a place on the rug with our plates laden with pasta and chicken. I watch as Sharon and her friend serve the food and once the long line ends and everyone is served, make their way down the hall to join us.
“Laila, this is Rabbi Sharon. Let me tell you how I know her. In 2017, when Trump imposed the Muslim travel ban, Sharon and her colleagues from their synagogue stood outside the Islamic Center during Friday prayers, holding up posters saying, ‘Jewish New Yorkers Support Our Muslim Neighbors.’ They did this every Friday, week after week, month after month, year after year. Rain or shine, they were there. It was only when the pandemic shut down the Friday gatherings that the weekly vigil ended. And here she is again, serving. How about that!”
Of course, Laila was wow-ed.
Without missing a beat, Sharon continued the story, and now I was wow-ed.

During those weeks when they had stood outside the Islamic Center with their posters, there was a Muslim family with a little boy who would come to attend Friday prayers. Each week he would notice the Jewish group standing there. On occasion, he would stop and chat with them. One day the family happened to be in Long Island on a Friday and went to a local mosque for the prayers. The little boy looked befuddled.
“Where are the Jews?” he asked his parents. “It’s a mosque. Where are the Jews?”