I was quite surprised to see this article on Islam Online. It brings the story of a convert to Islam, but her story of her first visit to a mosque is befitting an anti-Muslim site. Starting with the disdain for women, continuing on with the way people ignored her, the anti-semitism she encountered. And yet, she brings her own Jewish family (or semi-Jewish, it's hard to tell), as an example of bigots and racists.
It is not surprising that people aren't welcoming of the stranger. I'm sure I would get stares if I enter a church. However, I am surprised that this article doesn't emphasize the need to be kind to strangers. There's no emphasis on the point that this woman became Muslim only thanks to the kindness of one other Muslim woman. Her experiences on her visit to the mosque might have been surprising, but they seem to be taken for granted.
I bring parts of the article below:
When we arrived at the masjid, he pointed out the entrance to the women's section — downstairs in the basement. We agreed to meet in the parking lot after the program was over. "OK, I can do this," I thought to myself as I entered the dark dank hallway and walked down the steep steps.
I had never had trouble making friends before. I had always enjoyed multicultural situations and looked forward to the evening.
My husband had suggested that I wear something modest for the occasion. I ran my hands down over my long-sleeved dress, straightening and smoothing it out. I felt confident that the women at the masjid would approve of my appearance.
However, when I arrived at the bottom of the stairs and walked through the door marked "Sisters," I could immediately feel it in the air: thick tension, suspicion, estrangement, and confusion. Every veiled head turned in my direction and the Muslim women stared at me as if I had two heads. I stood frozen in place in the entrance way, staring back at them.
I had never seen so many Muslim women together in one place. Most of them wore the traditional hijab, but two women peered out at me through head coverings that revealed only their eyes. A few others sat with their scarves draped over their shoulders. When they saw me, they pulled them up over their heads.
But then one of them got up from where she was sitting, approached me, and introduced herself as Sister Basimah. At least this one has a welcoming look on her face.
"Hi," I said. "My name is Sharon. I'm here for the speaker's program."
"Is anyone with you?" she asked.
"My husband is upstairs," I replied.
"Oh! Your husband is Muslim?" she asked.
"Yes. Yes, he is," I said.
"Al-hamdu lillah," she said. "Come over here and sit with us."
She led me to a table where three other women were seated. They were the most beautiful exotic women I had ever seen. Right after she made introductions, I forgot each one of their names, which were equally exotic. Sister Basimah then got up and went to greet more people who had arrived."
Where are you from?" one of the women asked me.
I replied that I was an American of Eastern European heritage, born in New York City.
"Where's your husband from?" was the next question.
"He's from America."
"But where is he from?"
"Philadelphia," I replied.
"No, I mean, what country is he from?"
"He's American, born in the United States, he's African-American, from Philadelphia," I replied, thinking that there was a language barrier. I would later learn that most of the Caucasian women in the masjid were married to Arab men.
"Hmmm," they all said in unison and they cast their lovely gazes downward.
"Are you thinking of becoming a Muslim?" another one asked, looking up at me with a beaming expression on her face.
"No," I replied, "I'm Jewish." Well, I wish you could have seen the look on their faces. As soon as it was politely possible, the topic was switched.
"Are your children Muslims?" one of them asked, returning to the interrogation.
"No." I replied, "I don't have any children." That was it; their attempts to find a common ground with me had failed. They smiled at me and then something incredible happened for which I was not prepared: The conversation turned to Arabic.
I continued to sit with them at the table. They mostly spoke to each other in Arabic, and I mostly smiled. As more women would join the table, they would introduce me in English, "This is Sharon. She's Jewish." Then they resumed speaking in Arabic.
When the program began, the women gathered in the prayer room and everyone sat down on the plush carpeted floor. But after about five minutes, the women started chatting to one another, all but drowning out the sound of the program that was being delivered over a stereo speaker from upstairs.
After the program was over, the women went into the kitchen to prepare food. Sister Basimah came over and told me to sit and make myself comfortable until it was time to eat.
"But let me help you," I offered.
"No! You are our guest. Some American sisters have arrived. I'll introduce you," shereplied.
Sister Basimah motioned to one of the women on the other side of the room. She came over and the two women kissed each other on the cheeks and greeted each other with a cheerful Arabic expression. Then they both turned to look at me.
"This is Sharon. She's Jewish. Will you keep her company until we eat?" Sister Basimah said to the other woman.
"Oh, yes!" she replied. "Hi, Sharon, I'm Sister Arwa!"
Sister Arwa and I sat down and began to get acquainted. I asked her questions such as how long she had been a Muslim, whether she was married to a Muslim, etc. Then she dropped the bomb.
"Why did you kill Jesus?" she asked me.
"What?" I replied. My face must have shown my shock and disbelief.
"I mean" she inquired again, this time softening her question, "why did the Jews kill Jesus?"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing! I was astonished and rankled by the question. I could tell by the innocent look on her face that she really wanted to know. Maybe she never met a Jewish woman before, and this was her first real opportunity to get an answer to her burning question. When I was first introduced to her, I welcomed her company; after all, she was the first American I had seen that evening. Now I wanted to get up and run from the table. Then the anger set in.
Giving her a baleful look, I replied through clenched teeth, "We did not kill Jesus. The Romans did!" She returned the look of a wounded animal. Her lips opened to say something, but before she could reply someone called to her."Excuse me," she said, "I'll be back." I could hear the relief in her voice.
A group of African-American sisters arrived at the masjid and I spent the remainder of the evening in their company. Before I left to meet my husband, Sister Basimah gave me her telephone number and encouraged me to call and arrange a time to visit with her.
Source: Islam Online (English)