Read Online My Year Inside Radical Islam by Daveed Gartenstein-Ross - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daveed Gartenstein-Ross
Ads: Link
an area of genuine confusion on my part. He had taken my view of Jesus’ divinity—that there was no way a man could become God—and turned it on its head.
But at the time, I was annoyed by Tim’s obstinacy.
At the wedding, it was obvious how happy Mike and Amy made each other. And I found that I now enjoyed Amy much more than when I first met her. At the reception after the ceremony, I caught a few moments alone with Mike and Amy. Amy Hollister asked, “Will we be seeing you in another wedding that includes an Amy in the near future?”
I smiled. “Perhaps,” I said.
I had been dating Amy Powell only since January, and had given no thought to marriage. But you never know how these things will turn out.
After being surrounded by fundamentalist Christians at Mike’s wedding, I looked forward to being among Muslims again. On my first Friday back in Ashland, I went to the local congregation’s juma prayers. Because al-Husein’s debate with Sheikh Hassan had been so cordial, I felt no qualms about going back to worship there. The book that Dawood had given me on salat had helped, and I looked forward to showing Ashland’s Muslims the progress I had made on my congregational prayers.
When I called ahead to verify the time and place of prayers, I was told that the services had moved to 3800 Highway 99 South, near the freeway exit at the south end of town.
I whistled as I drove toward the new location, impressed. Every house out there was its own little castle with an estate surrounding it—a row of McMansions. The new prayer building fit this mold. The cramped prayer room in the back of Pete Seda’s house was a thing of the past. They had moved to a mansion-sized blue building perched on a hill. Horses, a donkey, and even a dromedary camel roamed the fields in front of it. As my car inched up the paved drive, I got an idea of just how big the property was. They were building a second access road to an area further up the hill, which was covered with blackberry bushes and other shrubs. Two bent palm trees near the fore of this second road brought a bit of the desert to Ashland.
As I got out of my car, I noticed clucking chickens scratching about a henhouse on the hill just past the main building.
When I walked in, the first thing I saw was a beautiful prayer room. It had a thick, blue carpet and its windows looked out on the fields surrounding us. Clearly, the group had more money than ever.
The khutbah that day was uneventful compared to my previous visit. I stayed after services were over, speaking with the other worshippers.
Pete Seda walked up to me. Though he didn’t make much of an impression when I went to services in his house the previous December, I now wondered why. Pete, like al-Husein, was obviously gifted with extraordinary social skills.
Even though Pete had only met me once before, he greeted me as an old friend. “Bro, it’s good to see you again,” he said. “How do you like our new building?”
“It’s great,” I said. “Beautiful.”
“Here, bro, let me show you around,” Pete said, putting his arm around me. He first led me outside while rattling off the group’s future plans one after another, like a veteran auctioneer. Pointing to the palm trees, he said that the group had bought an Arabian tent they were going to erect for a weekly event called “Arabian Nights.” Non-Muslims would attend; the local Muslim community would serve them Arabic coffee and teach them about the Islamic faith and culture. Pete saw this as an opportunity for dawah, or Islamic evangelism.
Walking past the parking lot and pointing to the fields, Pete explained that the camel was also part of the group’s dawah. It was named Mandub, “ambassador” in Arabic. And it proved to be a great ambassador, capable of melting the hearts of kids and adults at first sight.
Pete then gave me a tour of the main building. He had a plan for each room, sometimes several contradictory plans. When he showed me
But at the time, I was annoyed by Tim’s obstinacy.
At the wedding, it was obvious how happy Mike and Amy made each other. And I found that I now enjoyed Amy much more than when I first met her. At the reception after the ceremony, I caught a few moments alone with Mike and Amy. Amy Hollister asked, “Will we be seeing you in another wedding that includes an Amy in the near future?”
I smiled. “Perhaps,” I said.
I had been dating Amy Powell only since January, and had given no thought to marriage. But you never know how these things will turn out.
After being surrounded by fundamentalist Christians at Mike’s wedding, I looked forward to being among Muslims again. On my first Friday back in Ashland, I went to the local congregation’s juma prayers. Because al-Husein’s debate with Sheikh Hassan had been so cordial, I felt no qualms about going back to worship there. The book that Dawood had given me on salat had helped, and I looked forward to showing Ashland’s Muslims the progress I had made on my congregational prayers.
When I called ahead to verify the time and place of prayers, I was told that the services had moved to 3800 Highway 99 South, near the freeway exit at the south end of town.
I whistled as I drove toward the new location, impressed. Every house out there was its own little castle with an estate surrounding it—a row of McMansions. The new prayer building fit this mold. The cramped prayer room in the back of Pete Seda’s house was a thing of the past. They had moved to a mansion-sized blue building perched on a hill. Horses, a donkey, and even a dromedary camel roamed the fields in front of it. As my car inched up the paved drive, I got an idea of just how big the property was. They were building a second access road to an area further up the hill, which was covered with blackberry bushes and other shrubs. Two bent palm trees near the fore of this second road brought a bit of the desert to Ashland.
As I got out of my car, I noticed clucking chickens scratching about a henhouse on the hill just past the main building.
When I walked in, the first thing I saw was a beautiful prayer room. It had a thick, blue carpet and its windows looked out on the fields surrounding us. Clearly, the group had more money than ever.
The khutbah that day was uneventful compared to my previous visit. I stayed after services were over, speaking with the other worshippers.
Pete Seda walked up to me. Though he didn’t make much of an impression when I went to services in his house the previous December, I now wondered why. Pete, like al-Husein, was obviously gifted with extraordinary social skills.
Even though Pete had only met me once before, he greeted me as an old friend. “Bro, it’s good to see you again,” he said. “How do you like our new building?”
“It’s great,” I said. “Beautiful.”
“Here, bro, let me show you around,” Pete said, putting his arm around me. He first led me outside while rattling off the group’s future plans one after another, like a veteran auctioneer. Pointing to the palm trees, he said that the group had bought an Arabian tent they were going to erect for a weekly event called “Arabian Nights.” Non-Muslims would attend; the local Muslim community would serve them Arabic coffee and teach them about the Islamic faith and culture. Pete saw this as an opportunity for dawah, or Islamic evangelism.
Walking past the parking lot and pointing to the fields, Pete explained that the camel was also part of the group’s dawah. It was named Mandub, “ambassador” in Arabic. And it proved to be a great ambassador, capable of melting the hearts of kids and adults at first sight.
Pete then gave me a tour of the main building. He had a plan for each room, sometimes several contradictory plans. When he showed me
Similar Books
