Read Online My Year Inside Radical Islam by Daveed Gartenstein-Ross - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Daveed Gartenstein-Ross
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idea that I would eventually come to see these small doctrinal differences as momentous.
Amy and I often hung out in al-Husein’s dorm room. Amy intuitively recognized how important al-Husein was to me. She hadn’t known me before I became Muslim, back when I felt isolated from the world. But she could tell that al-Husein was both a brother and a mentor.
Amy was quiet in general, and this was even more pronounced when we were around al-Husein. And who could blame her? Al-Husein and I would bandy about concepts related to a religion that was alien to her, and were enraptured by our own revolutionary political ideals. Amy was still a work in progress. As was once the case for me, she was still finding her own way politically, spiritually, and socially. I didn’t push my political ideas on her, but always conveyed how important they were to me. One night I got an e-mail from Amy describing her political awakening. She wrote that she hadn’t thought much about issues like discrimination and inequality before, but was coming to see their importance. Her e-mail said that she didn’t want to have her head in the sand. I was so heartened after getting the e-mail that I called al-Husein and read it to him aloud.
Sometimes al-Husein could push too far with Amy. She had a T-shirt that said, “Drink your coffee. There are people in India sleeping.” Al-Husein did not see the humor in the shirt. “There are people doing a lot more than sleeping in India,” he said. “There are people without houses, people living in abject poverty, people without food or running water.”
Al-Husein didn’t get the joke. It was a play on the line that American parents are known to say to their kids: “Eat your peas. There are people in Africa starving.”
Despite that, it would be a long time before Amy wore that shirt again.
Mike Hollister’s wedding was an intimate affair. I returned to Bellingham at the beginning of the summer of 1998 to be one of his groomsmen. Mike was marrying Amy Childers, whom I had met during my last visit. I still had a bad taste in my mouth from our first encounter. It seemed that all she could think about upon meeting me was that I wasn’t Christian.
But when I touched down at Bellingham’s airport, I found that she at least had a sense of humor. Amy and one of her bridesmaids waited in the airport with a fake limo driver’s sign that said Daveed. It was a funny touch for an airport with only one gate.
I was Mike’s only non-Christian groomsman, and the others let me know it. During my last visit to Bellingham, I had been interested in meeting and talking with Mike’s Christian friends. I found the experience more grating now. Last time around, I was spiritually confused. This time, I had found my path. I was Muslim, and resented the fact that Mike’s friends didn’t appreciate that I was also a man of faith. Instead, they seemed intent on proving that their religion was better than mine.
I had a handful of religious debates with Mike’s other groomsmen. I most vividly recall my debate with Tim Prussic, a somewhat pudgy man with sandy blond hair and a sharp wit. Tim was studying to go to seminary, and I would catch him thumbing through flash cards during spare moments, trying to learn biblical (koine) Greek.
In explaining my conversion to Islam to Tim, I touched on the “liar, lunatic, or Lord” argument with which I had once grappled: “Christianitynever really appealed to me because I couldn’t accept the idea that a man could be God.”
“We don’t really believe that a man became God, though,” Tim replied. “It isn’t a question of whether a man can turn into God. What you’re saying is that you don’t think God is able to turn himself into a man.”
I didn’t appreciate the interruption. I felt that I was trying to explain my deeply held beliefs to Tim, and he was just trying to score a debating point. I see our discussion differently today. Now I realize that Tim had touched on
Amy and I often hung out in al-Husein’s dorm room. Amy intuitively recognized how important al-Husein was to me. She hadn’t known me before I became Muslim, back when I felt isolated from the world. But she could tell that al-Husein was both a brother and a mentor.
Amy was quiet in general, and this was even more pronounced when we were around al-Husein. And who could blame her? Al-Husein and I would bandy about concepts related to a religion that was alien to her, and were enraptured by our own revolutionary political ideals. Amy was still a work in progress. As was once the case for me, she was still finding her own way politically, spiritually, and socially. I didn’t push my political ideas on her, but always conveyed how important they were to me. One night I got an e-mail from Amy describing her political awakening. She wrote that she hadn’t thought much about issues like discrimination and inequality before, but was coming to see their importance. Her e-mail said that she didn’t want to have her head in the sand. I was so heartened after getting the e-mail that I called al-Husein and read it to him aloud.
Sometimes al-Husein could push too far with Amy. She had a T-shirt that said, “Drink your coffee. There are people in India sleeping.” Al-Husein did not see the humor in the shirt. “There are people doing a lot more than sleeping in India,” he said. “There are people without houses, people living in abject poverty, people without food or running water.”
Al-Husein didn’t get the joke. It was a play on the line that American parents are known to say to their kids: “Eat your peas. There are people in Africa starving.”
Despite that, it would be a long time before Amy wore that shirt again.
Mike Hollister’s wedding was an intimate affair. I returned to Bellingham at the beginning of the summer of 1998 to be one of his groomsmen. Mike was marrying Amy Childers, whom I had met during my last visit. I still had a bad taste in my mouth from our first encounter. It seemed that all she could think about upon meeting me was that I wasn’t Christian.
But when I touched down at Bellingham’s airport, I found that she at least had a sense of humor. Amy and one of her bridesmaids waited in the airport with a fake limo driver’s sign that said Daveed. It was a funny touch for an airport with only one gate.
I was Mike’s only non-Christian groomsman, and the others let me know it. During my last visit to Bellingham, I had been interested in meeting and talking with Mike’s Christian friends. I found the experience more grating now. Last time around, I was spiritually confused. This time, I had found my path. I was Muslim, and resented the fact that Mike’s friends didn’t appreciate that I was also a man of faith. Instead, they seemed intent on proving that their religion was better than mine.
I had a handful of religious debates with Mike’s other groomsmen. I most vividly recall my debate with Tim Prussic, a somewhat pudgy man with sandy blond hair and a sharp wit. Tim was studying to go to seminary, and I would catch him thumbing through flash cards during spare moments, trying to learn biblical (koine) Greek.
In explaining my conversion to Islam to Tim, I touched on the “liar, lunatic, or Lord” argument with which I had once grappled: “Christianitynever really appealed to me because I couldn’t accept the idea that a man could be God.”
“We don’t really believe that a man became God, though,” Tim replied. “It isn’t a question of whether a man can turn into God. What you’re saying is that you don’t think God is able to turn himself into a man.”
I didn’t appreciate the interruption. I felt that I was trying to explain my deeply held beliefs to Tim, and he was just trying to score a debating point. I see our discussion differently today. Now I realize that Tim had touched on
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