Last week I went to a play – a very rare occurrence.
I love plays. I performed in many plays as a kid, both in our school performances and at camp, and even (cover your eyes, kids) as an adult. I just love the stage – no surprises there – and the lights, the costumes, the sets, the audience sitting in anticipation, the dimming of the lights. I even love the playbill. So, it was a really fun night out.
As we found parking and were filing in, I noticed two women wearing hijab. I myself was wearing a hat that covered all of my hair, although I doubt anyone there knew that I was covering my hair for religious reasons… but the hijab is hard to miss. As a fellow “hair-coverer” I am always drawn to women who likewise cover, and often find myself wondering about them and their relationship with being obvious hair-coverers. But as we filed into the theater, our paths diverged and we went our separate ways.
Until we found our seats, and lo and behold, we were seated right next to each other.
I found myself wondering even further: what do these women think of the situation in the MIddle East? Of October 7th? Of the hostage deal that is currently unfolding? What did they think of my Israel necklaces hanging prominently around my neck? And yet, there we were, three women in a row, with covered hair, all of the same mind and belief that God wants us to do so. All going out to enjoy a fun night in a theater to laugh and be entertained and forget our worries for a moment. So alike, and also so different.
I did not know if they hated me and my people or not. I did not know anything about them, other than the fact that they were religious Muslims. But I have a recurring problem, which is that I really, really like to believe the best about people. I say “problem” because at times this mindset has gotten me into trouble. Sometimes I can be a bit of a Pollyanna because I really want to believe the best about others, even if their history hasn’t necessarily supported it.
The house lights went up; it was time for intermission. Many people got up to stretch their legs, but the women next to us stayed put, and so did we. And I made a split second decision at that moment: I was going to say hi.
I know for some of you that doesn’t sound like a momentous decision, but for me it felt consequential. I was making a statement that I believe the best about people until and unless they give me a reason to the contrary. So, I turned to the woman on my right, smiled at her, and said, “How are you guys enjoying the play?”
“Oh, we love plays,” she said.
“They’re doing a great job, aren’t they?” I asked.
“Yes,” she smiled, “a great job.”
“OK, well, enjoy your night out!”
“You too!”
And that was that. Thirty words spoken between two people who, in another time and place, might be enemies, but for this moment, were simply two women. Two women sitting next to each other. Two women with their hair covered. Two women enjoying a play. Two women saying little, but saying a lot. Two women smiling at each other, trying to find peace.
Shabbat shalom,
Ruchi
In a similar effort to find/keep the peace, here in Jerusalem during the mornings, I greet people who are obviously Muslim, “Sabach al-kheir”, which means “Good morning” in Arabic. Or, as I get off a bus, I will say “shukran” to thank the driver if she is wearing a hijab.
Love that! Shabbat shalom!