{"title":"S. E. Levine","author":{"id":2425,"name":"S. E. Levine","slug":"s_e_levine","image":"\/uploads\/users\/non-profile.jpg","role":"Author","about":"","promote":0,"status":1,"created_at":"2014-09-02T08:00:00.000000Z","updated_at":"2014-09-02T08:00:00.000000Z","language_id":1,"parent_id":null,"i18ns":[],"image_asset":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/uploads\/users\/non-profile.jpg","get_name":"S. E. Levine"},"books":{"current_page":1,"data":[],"first_page_url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?books_page=1","from":null,"last_page":1,"last_page_url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?books_page=1","links":[{"url":null,"label":"« Previous","page":null,"active":false},{"url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?books_page=1","label":"1","page":1,"active":true},{"url":null,"label":"Next »","page":null,"active":false}],"next_page_url":null,"path":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425","per_page":25,"prev_page_url":null,"to":null,"total":0},"videos":{"current_page":1,"data":[],"first_page_url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?videos_page=1","from":null,"last_page":1,"last_page_url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?videos_page=1","links":[{"url":null,"label":"« Previous","page":null,"active":false},{"url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?videos_page=1","label":"1","page":1,"active":true},{"url":null,"label":"Next »","page":null,"active":false}],"next_page_url":null,"path":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425","per_page":25,"prev_page_url":null,"to":null,"total":0},"audios":{"current_page":1,"data":[],"first_page_url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?audios_page=1","from":null,"last_page":1,"last_page_url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?audios_page=1","links":[{"url":null,"label":"« Previous","page":null,"active":false},{"url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?audios_page=1","label":"1","page":1,"active":true},{"url":null,"label":"Next »","page":null,"active":false}],"next_page_url":null,"path":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425","per_page":25,"prev_page_url":null,"to":null,"total":0},"articles":{"current_page":1,"data":[{"id":1714,"title":"S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA","slug":"s-e-levine-ex-jew-usa","word":"\/uploads\/articles\/S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.docx","pdf":"\/uploads\/articles\/S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.pdf","mime_type":null,"type":"node","path":"\/nodes\/view\/type:article\/slug:s-e-levine-ex-jew-usa","hint":"","body":"

S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA<\/strong><\/span>
<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\r\n

 (part 1 of 2)<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\r\n

 \"\"<\/p>\r\n

My husband and I had gone to the masjid (mosque) for a speaker’s program.  It was the first time that he had invited me to the masjid since our marriage a year or so earlier.  We had met and married while we were both working as substance abuser counselors in a rehabilitation center.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

We couldn’t have been more different in the beginning, as we are from entirely different backgrounds — he is black and I am white, he was Muslim and I was Jewish.  Although he hadn’t asked me to become a Muslim prior to our marriage, he did give me silent da`wah (calling to Islam) by his excellent example.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

He had an extensive Islamic library, and because I was a keen reader, I naturally read a lot of his books.  I also observed his modest behavior, watched as he made salah (prayer) five times a day, went to Jumu`ah Prayer on Fridays, and fasted during the month of Ramadan.  So it was natural that I would develop an interest in his religion.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

When we arrived at the masjid, he pointed out the entrance to the women’s section.  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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

I had never had trouble making friends before.  I had always enjoyed multicultural situations and looked forward to the evening.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

But then one of them got up from where she was sitting, approached me, and introduced herself as Sister Basimah.  At least this one had a welcoming look on her face.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Hi,” I said.  “My name is Sharon.  I’m here for the speaker’s program.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Is anyone with you?”  she asked.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“My husband is upstairs,” I replied.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Oh!  Your husband is Muslim?”  she asked.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Yes.  Yes, he is,” I said.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Al-hamdu lillah,” she said.  “Come over here and sit with us.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Where’s your husband from?”  was the next question.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“He’s from America.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“But where is he from?”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Philadelphia,” I replied.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“No, I mean, what country is he from?”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Hmmm,” they all said in unison and they cast their lovely gazes downward.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Are you thinking of becoming a Muslim?”  another one asked, looking up at me with a beaming expression on her face.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Are your children Muslims?”  one of them asked, returning to the interrogation.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 (part 2 of 2)<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“But let me help you,” I offered.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“No!  You are our guest.  Some American sisters have arrived.  I’ll introduce you,” she replied.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“This is Sharon.  She’s Jewish.  Will you keep her company until we eat?”  Sister Basimah said to the other woman.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Oh, yes!”  she replied.  “Hi, Sharon, I’m Sister Arwa!”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Why did you kill Jesus?”  she asked me.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“What?”  I replied.  My face must have shown my shock and disbelief.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“I mean” she inquired again, this time softening her question, “why did the Jews kill Jesus?”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Excuse me,” she said, “I’ll be back.”  I could hear the relief in her voice.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

I did call her, and we developed a beautiful relationship.  She told me all about Islam and God.  It was from her that I learned that no one killed Jesus!  I learned that God took him up unto Himself.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

She knew I was interested in Islam and could sense that my heart was searching and yearning for spiritual peace.  One evening while my husband and I were visiting her home, she came right out and invited me to Islam.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

The turning point occurred when she explained that all my sins would be forgiven when I came to Islam.  She said that I would be reborn, like a newborn baby, with no sins, with another chance.  I broke down and cried.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

I wanted another chance to get right with God.  You see, I had a very checkered past.  I always loved God, but I got lost in life.  We asked her husband to help me say the Shahadah.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

When I told my husband what I was about to do, he was shocked and happy at the same time.  He asked me if I was really sure about my decision, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  I responded that I was never surer about anything in my entire life.  There was no internal battle, no fears or doubts.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

After I said the Shahadah, Sister Basimah’s husband said, “Mabrook (congratulations)!  You’re now a Muslim!”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

When we returned home, my husband gave me a gift of my very own Quran and a summarized Sahih Al-Bukhari.  Before I left Sister Basimah’s home that special evening, she gave me a gift of a booklet about modesty for Muslim women.  She also gave me a prayer rug, a prayer dress and a hijab (head scarf).<\/span><\/p>\r\n

I have worn hijab since that day, al-hamdu lillah.  I have never taken it off, even after the dreadful days following September 11, 2001.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

When I became a Muslim in July of 1998, my father denounced me once and for all.  He had been very upset with me anyhow for marrying a Muslim, and refused to recognize my husband as his son-in-law.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“But, Sharon, those people hate us!”  he cried.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

All efforts to explain the difference between the peaceful religion of Islam and the political struggle between the Palestinians and Israelis fell on deaf ears.  Never mind that my father was the first one in his family to marry outside of Judaism.  My mother had been a practicing Catholic when they married.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

To add insult to injury in my father’s eyes, my husband was also African-American.  Prior to September 11, 2001, most Americans thought of Malcolm X whenever Islam was mentioned.  Many other family members also made it known how disappointed and frustrated they were with my decision to marry a “Black Muslim.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

My father died in August of 2001, one month before the events of September 11.  At the request of my father’s wife, my family did not tell me that he had died until after his funeral was over.  Did they fear that I would show up in the synagogue dressed in garb accompanied by my black husband?<\/span><\/p>\r\n

We are taught that the religion of Islam is for all people and for all time.  It shouldn’t matter whether a Muslim is Egyptian, Pakistani, American, Saudi, Indonesian, or Palestinian.  It shouldn’t matter whether he or she is black, white, red, or yellow.  It shouldn’t matter whether he or she speaks Arabic, English, Spanish, or Urdu.  Our cultural diversity should not divide our Ummah (Nation).  God tells us in the Quran that:<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“We created you in nations and tribes so that you may know one another”. (Quran 49:13)<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>","excerpt":"","terms":null,"visibility_roles":"","comment_status":1,"comment_count":0,"read_counter":12851,"lft":3203,"rght":3214,"promote":1,"sticky":0,"status":1,"publish_start":null,"publish_end":null,"created_at":"2014-09-02T17:26:00.000000Z","updated_at":"2026-04-03T15:51:45.000000Z","language_id":1,"user_id":7,"author_id":2425,"publisher_id":0,"category_id":10,"parent_id":null,"author_name":"S. E. Levine","category_name":"Why I became a Muslim!","category_slug":"Why-I-became-a-Muslim!","get_date":"2014-09-02","pdf_asset":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/uploads\/articles\/S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.pdf","word_asset":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/uploads\/articles\/S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.docx"},{"id":1715,"title":"S. E. Levine, exjud\u00eda, Estados Unidos","slug":"s-e-levine-exjuda-estados-unidos","word":"\/uploads\/articles\/sp-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.docx","pdf":"\/uploads\/articles\/sp-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.pdf","mime_type":null,"type":"node","path":"\/nodes\/view\/type:article\/slug:s-e-levine-exjuda-estados-unidos","hint":"","body":"

S. E. Levine, exjudía, Estados Unidos<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

\"\"<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 (parte 1 de 2)<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

Mi esposo y yo habíamos ido a la masyid (mezquita) para escuchar una conferencia. Fue la primera vez que él me había invitado a la mezquita desde que nos casamos, un año antes. Nos conocimos y nos casamos mientras trabajábamos como consejeros a abusadores de sustancias en un centro de rehabilitación.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

No podríamos haber sido más diferentes en un comienzo, pues proveníamos de orígenes completamente distintos: él es negro y yo blanca, él era musulmán y yo era judía. A pesar que él nunca me pidió que me hiciera musulmana antes de nuestro matrimonio, me daba da`wah (invitación al Islam) silenciosa con su excelente ejemplo.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Él tenía una biblioteca islámica extensa, y como era una lectora entusiasta, naturalmente leí muchos de sus libros. También me fijé en su comportamiento modesto, lo observaba haciendo salah (oración) cinco veces al día, asistir a la oración del yumuah los viernes, y ayunar durante el mes de Ramadán. Por lo tanto, era natural que desarrollara en mí el interés por su religión.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Cuando llegamos a la mezquita, señaló la entrada a la sección de mujeres. Acordamos encontrarnos en el parqueadero mucho después que terminara el evento. “Está bien, puedo hacer esto,” pensé para mis adentros mientras ingresaba al pasillo oscuro y húmedo y bajaba los escalones empinados.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Nunca antes tuve problemas haciendo amigos. Siempre disfruté las situaciones multiculturales y aguardaba con interés la noche.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Mi esposo había sugerido que vistiera algo modesto para la ocasión. Pasé las manos por las largas mangas de mi vestido, estirándolas y alisándolas. Estaba segura de que las mujeres de la mezquita aprobarían mi apariencia.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Sin embargo, cuando llegué al final de las escaleras y atravesé la puerta marcada “hermanas”, pude sentir de inmediato una tensión fuerte en el ambiente, desconfianza, distanciamiento y confusión. Todas las cabezas cubiertas con velo se voltearon en dirección a mí y las mujeres musulmanas se quedaron viéndome como si tuviera dos cabezas. Quedé estática en la entrada, mirándolas.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Nunca había visto tantas musulmanas juntas en un mismo lugar. Muchas de ellas vestían el hiyab tradicional, pero dos me miraban a través de las cubiertas de sus cabezas que sólo dejaban ver sus ojos. Otras pocas estaban sentadas con sus velos sobre los hombros. Cuando me vieron, se los pusieron sobre la cabeza.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Entonces, una de ellas se levantó de su silla, se acercó a mí y se presentó como la hermana Basimah. Al menos ella me daba la bienvenida.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Hola,” dije. “Mi nombre es Sharon. Esto aquí para la conferencia.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“¿Estás con alguien?,” preguntó.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Mi esposo está arriba,” respondí.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“¡Oh! ¿Tu esposo es musulmán?,” preguntó.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Sí. Sí, lo es,” dije.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Alhamdulillah,” dijo.  “Ven aquí y siéntate con nosotras.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Me llevó a una mesa en la que estaban sentadas tres mujeres. Eran las mujeres exóticas más hermosas que había visto. En cuanto ella nos presentó, olvidé cada uno de sus nombres, que eran igualmente exóticos. La hermana Basimah entonces se levantó y fue a saludar a más personas que acababan de llegar.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“¿De dónde eres?,” me preguntó una de ellas. Le respondí que soy estadounidense descendiente de europeos orientales, nacida en la ciudad de Nueva York.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“¿Y de dónde es tu esposo?,” fue la siguiente pregunta.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Es de Estados Unidos.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“¿Pero de dónde es?”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“De Filadelfia,” respondí.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“No, quiero decir de qué país proviene.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Es estadounidense, nacido en los Estados Unidos, es afroamericano, de Filadelfia,” respondí, pensando que había alguna barrera idiomática. Luego supe que muchas de las mujeres caucásicas de la mezquita estaban casadas con hombres árabes.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“¡Ah!,” dijeron todas al unísono y bajaron sus miradas encantadoras.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“¿Piensas hacerte musulmana?”, me preguntó otra, mirándome con una expresión radiante en su rostro.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“No,” respondí, “soy judía.” Bueno, me gustaría que hubieran podido ver la expresión en sus rostros. Tan pronto como fue cordialmente posible, cambiaron de tema.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“¿Tus hijos son musulmanes?”, preguntó una de ellas, volviendo al interrogatorio.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“No,” respondí, “no tengo niños.” Eso fue todo; sus intentos por encontrar algún terreno común conmigo habían fallado. Me sonrieron y ocurrió algo increíble para lo que no estaba preparada: comenzaron a hablar en árabe.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Seguí sentada con ellas en la mesa. En su mayoría, hablaban entre ellas en árabe y me sonreían. A medida que más mujeres llegaban a la mesa, me presentaban en inglés, “ella es Sharon. Es judía.” Luego continuaban hablando en árabe.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Cuando comenzó el evento, las mujeres se reunieron en la sala de oración y todas se sentaron en el piso sobre la alfombra. Pero después de cinco minutos, las mujeres comenzaron a conversar unas con otras, ahogando el sonido de la conferencia que se estaba transmitiendo a través de altavoces estéreo desde arriba.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

(parte 2 de 2)<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

Después que terminó el evento, las mujeres fueron a la cocina a preparar comida. La hermana Basimah se me acercó y me dijo que me sentara y me pusiera cómoda hasta la hora de comer.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Pero permíteme ayudar,” le ofrecí.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“¡No!  Eres nuestra invitada. Han llegado algunas hermanas estadounidenses. Voy a presentártelas,” respondió.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

La hermana Basimah le hizo una señal a una mujer en el otro extremo del salón. Ella vino y las dos se besaron en las mejillas y se saludaron con una alegre expresión árabe. Luego se volvieron hacia mí.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Ella es Sharon. Es judía. ¿Podrías acompañarla hasta que comamos?”, le dijo la hermana Basimah a la otra mujer.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“¡Oh, sí!”, contestó. “Hola, Sharon, soy la hermana Arwa!”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

La hermana Arwa y yo nos sentamos y comenzamos a conocernos. Le pregunté cosas como cuánto tiempo llevaba de musulmana, si estaba casada con un musulmán, etc. Entonces, ella dejó caer la bomba.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“¿Por qué mataron ustedes a Jesús?,” me preguntó.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“¿Qué?,” le respondí. Mi cara debió mostrar mi sorpresa e incredulidad.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Es decir,” preguntó de nuevo, esta vez suavizando la pregunta, “¿por qué los Judíos mataron a Jesús?”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

¡No podía creer lo que estaba oyendo! Quedé atónica y dolida por la pregunta. Me di cuenta por la mirada inocente en su rostro que ella realmente quería saberlo. Quizás nunca había conocido a una mujer judía antes, y esta era su primera oportunidad real de obtener una respuesta para su pregunta candente.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Cuando me la presentaron, agradecí su compañía, después de todo ella era la primera estadounidense que había visto esa noche. Ahora quería levantarme de la mesa y salir corriendo. Entonces se me subió la ira.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Dándole una mirada hiriente, le respondí entre dientes: “No matamos a Jesús, lo hicieron los romanos.” Ella me devolvió la mirada de un animal herido. Sus labios se abrieron para decir algo, pero antes que pudiera hacerlo, alguien la silenció.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Discúlpame,” me dijo, “ya vuelvo.” Pude escuchar alivio en su voz.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Un grupo de hermanas afroamericanas llegaron a la mezquita y pasé el resto de la noche en su compañía. Antes de salir para reunirme con mi esposo, la hermana Basimah me dio su número telefónico y me animó a llamarla para que concretáramos un encuentro.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

La llamé y desarrollamos una hermosa amistad. Ella me habló sobre el Islam y sobre Dios. ¡Fue por ella que me enteré que nadie mató a Jesús! Aprendí que Dios lo elevó hacia Sí.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Ella sabía que estaba interesada en el Islam y podía sentir que mi corazón estaba buscando y anhelando paz espiritual. Una noche, mientras mi esposo y yo visitábamos su casa, ella vino y me invitó al Islam.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

El punto de quiebre se produjo cuando ella me explicó que todos mis pecados serían perdonados cuando ingresara al Islam. Ella dijo que yo renacería, como un niño recién nacido, sin pecados, con otra oportunidad. Rompí a llorar.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Quería otra oportunidad de estar bien con Dios. Había tenido un pasado muy accidentado. Siempre amé a Dios, pero me perdí en la vida. Le pedí a su esposo que me ayudara a hacer la Shahadah.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Cuando le conté a mi esposo lo que iba a hacer, estuvo sorprendido y feliz al mismo tiempo. Me preguntó si realmente estaba segura de mi decisión, como si no pudiera creer lo que oía. Le respondí que nunca estuve más segura de nada en toda mi vida. No había una batalla interna, ni temores, ni dudas.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Después que dije la Shahadah, el esposo de la hermana Basimah me dijo “¡Mabruk (felicitaciones)!  ¡Ahora eres musulmana!”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Cuando regresé a casa, mi esposo me dio de regalo mi primer Corán y un resumen de Sahih Al Bujari. Antes de dejar la casa de la hermana Basimah esa noche especial, ella me regaló un folleto acerca de la modestia de la mujer musulmana. También me dio un tapete para rezar, un vestido para la oración y un hiyab (velo para cubrir la cabeza).<\/span><\/p>\r\n

He usado hiyab desde ese día, alhamdulillah. Nunca me lo he quitado, ni siquiera después de los días terribles que siguieron al 11 de septiembre de 2001.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Cuando me hice musulmana, en julio de 1998, mi padre me desheredó definitivamente. De hecho, había estado muy molesto conmigo por haberme casado con un musulmán, y se negó a reconocer a mi esposo como su yerno.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“¡Pero Sharon, esa gente nos odia!,” gritó.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Todos los esfuerzos por explicar la diferencia entre la religión pacífica del Islam y la lucha política entre palestinos e israelíes cayeron en oídos sordos. No importaba que mi padre hubiera sido el primero de su familia en casarse fuera del Judaísmo. Mi madre era católica practicante cuando se casaron.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Para agravar las cosas a ojos de mi padre, mi esposo también era afroamericano. Antes del 11 de septiembre de 2001, la mayoría de los estadounidenses pensaban en Malcolm X cuando se mencionaba el Islam. Muchos otros miembros de la familia también me hicieron saber cuán decepcionados y frustrados se sentían con mi decisión de casarme con un “musulmán negro.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Mi padre murió en agosto de 2001, un mes antes de los eventos del 11 de septiembre. A pedido de la esposa de mi padre, mi familia no me informó de su muerte hasta después que pasó el funeral. ¿Acaso temían que apareciera en la sinagoga vestida como musulmana y acompañada de mi esposo negro?<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Se nos enseña que la religión del Islam es para todos y para toda época. No debería importar si eres musulmán egipcio, pakistaní, estadounidense, saudí, indonesio o palestino. No debería importar si eres hombre o mujer, blanco, negro o amarillo. No debería importar si hablas árabe, inglés, español o urdu. Nuestra diversidad cultural no debería dividir nuestra Ummah (nación). Dios nos dice en el Corán que:<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Los he creado a partir de un hombre y de una mujer, y los congregué en pueblos y tribus para que se reconozcan los unos a los otros.” (Corán 49:13)<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>","excerpt":"","terms":null,"visibility_roles":"","comment_status":1,"comment_count":0,"read_counter":9106,"lft":3204,"rght":3205,"promote":1,"sticky":0,"status":1,"publish_start":null,"publish_end":null,"created_at":"2014-09-02T17:26:00.000000Z","updated_at":"2026-04-03T04:43:49.000000Z","language_id":12,"user_id":7,"author_id":2425,"publisher_id":0,"category_id":10,"parent_id":1714,"author_name":"S. E. Levine","category_name":"Why I became a Muslim!","category_slug":"Why-I-became-a-Muslim!","get_date":"2014-09-02","pdf_asset":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/uploads\/articles\/sp-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.pdf","word_asset":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/uploads\/articles\/sp-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.docx"},{"id":1716,"title":"S. E. Levine, ex-juive, \u00c9tats-Unis","slug":"s-e-levine-ex-juive-tats-unis","word":"\/uploads\/articles\/fr-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.docx","pdf":"\/uploads\/articles\/fr-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.pdf","mime_type":null,"type":"node","path":"\/nodes\/view\/type:article\/slug:s-e-levine-ex-juive-tats-unis","hint":"","body":"

S. E. Levine, ex-juive, États-Unis<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

\"\"<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 (partie 1 de 2)<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

Mon mari et moi nous étions rendus dans une mosquée pour assister à une conférence.  C’était la première fois qu’il m’invitait dans une mosquée depuis notre mariage, un an auparavant.  Nous avions fait connaissance alors que nous travaillions tous deux en tant qu’intervenants dans un centre de désintoxication.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Nous ne pouvions être plus différents : il est noir et musulman, je suis blanche et juive.  Mais nous nous sommes plus mutuellement.  Bien qu’il ne m’ait jamais demandé de me convertir à l’islam avant notre mariage, il me prêchait l’islam, sans le savoir, par son excellent exemple.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Il possédait une bibliothèque islamique volumineuse et, comme j’aime beaucoup lire, je lus un grand nombre de ses livres.  J’admirais sa modestie, l’observais lorsqu’il accomplissait ses prières.  Je savais qu’il se rendait tous les vendredis à la prière du joumou’ah et je l’enviais un peu lorsqu’il jeûnait le mois de Ramadan.  C’est donc tout naturellement que je me suis mise à développer un intérêt pour sa religion.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Ce jour-là, donc, lorsque nous arrivâmes à la mosquée, il me montra où se trouvait l’entrée pour les femmes et nous nous donnâmes rendez-vous dans le stationnement après la fin de la conférence.  « Ok, tu es capable », me dis-je à moi-même, au moment d’entrer dans la mosquée.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Étant d’un naturel sociable, je n’avais jamais eu de difficulté à me faire des amies et je m’étais toujours sentie à l’aise dans un contexte multiculturel.  Il n’y avait donc aucune raison pour que cette fois-ci soit différente et c’est avec une certaine hâte que je montai les marches intérieures de la mosquée.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Mon mari m’avait conseillé de porter quelque chose de modeste pour l’occasion.  Je portais donc une robe à manches longues, confiante que ma tenue serait approuvée par les autres musulmanes, dans la mosquée.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Toutefois, lorsque j’arrivai sur le palier et m’engouffrai dans l’ouverture de la porte au-dessus de laquelle il était écrit « sœurs », je sentis immédiatement l’air se figer; je sentis une tension palpable, de la suspicion, de la froideur et de la confusion.  Chaque tête voilée présente se tourna dans ma direction et les femmes me dévisagèrent comme si j’étais un être à deux têtes.  Je figeai sur place, les dévisageant à mon tour.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Je n’avais jamais vu autant de musulmanes en un seul endroit.  La plupart portaient le hijab, mais deux d’entre elles attirèrent mon attention, car elles portaient un voile qui ne montrait que leurs yeux.  Quelques autres étaient assises avec leur foulard enroulé autour des épaules et lorsqu’elles m’aperçurent, elles le mirent sur leur tête.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Puis, l’une d’entre elles se leva et s’approcha de moi.  Elle se présenta à moi sous le nom de Basimah. Celle-là, au moins, avait un air accueillant.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Je lui dis : « Bonjour, je m’appelle Sharon et je suis venue assister à la conférence. »<\/span><\/p>\r\n

« Y a-t-il quelqu’un d’autre avec toi? », me demanda-t-elle.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

« Mon mari est en haut », que je lui répondis.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

« Oh! Ton mari est musulman? », qu’elle me demanda.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

« Oui, il est musulman », que je dis.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Elle répondit : « Alhamdoulillah, viens par ici et assied-toi avec nous. »<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Elle me guida vers une table à laquelle étaient assises trois autres femmes.  Elles étaient très belles et faisaient très exotiques.  Après les présentations, j’oubliai immédiatement leurs noms, car ils sonnaient très étrangers à mes oreilles.  Basimah se leva à nouveau pour aller accueillir de nouvelles venues.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « D’où viens-tu? », me demanda l’une des femmes à la table.  Je lui répondis que j’étais une Américaine d’origine est-européenne, née à New York.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Et d’où vient ton mari? », me demanda-t-on ensuite.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Des États-Unis. »<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Oui, mais d’où? »<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « De Philadelphie. »<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Non, je veux dire dans quel pays est-il né? »<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Il est Américain, né aux États-Unis.  Il est Afro-Américain, plus précisément, de Philadelphie. »  Je commençais à croire que la barrière de la langue nous empêchait de nous comprendre.  Mais j’appris plus tard que la majorité des femmes converties, dans la mosquée, étaient mariées à des hommes d’origine arabe.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Hmmm », dirent-elles alors toutes à l’unisson, baissant le regard.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Songes-tu à devenir musulmane? », me demanda l’une d’elles en me regardant d’un air rempli d’espoir.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Non », répondis-je, « je suis juive ».  Vous auriez dû voir l’expression sur leurs visages.  Dès qu’elles le purent, elles changèrent rapidement de sujet.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Vos enfants sont-ils musulmans? », me demanda une autre, reprenant le sujet.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Je n’ai pas d’enfants. », dis-je.  Puis, ce fut tout.  Leur tentative de trouver des points communs sur lesquels discuter avec moi avait échoué.  Elles sourirent timidement.  Puis, il se passa une chose incroyable, à laquelle je ne me serais jamais attendue; la conversation se poursuivit entre elles seulement et… en arabe.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Je demeurai assise à ma place; je n’avais aucun autre endroit où aller.  Et elles continuèrent de discuter entre elles, dans leur langue.  Au fur et à mesure que d’autres femmes venaient se joindre à nous, elles me présentaient en anglais en disant : « Elle s’appelle Sharon.  Elle est juive. »  Puis, elles recommençaient à discuter entre elles en arabe.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Quand la conférence fut sur le point de commencer, les femmes se déplacèrent vers la salle de prière et toutes s’installèrent par terre, sur le sol recouvert de tapis.  Mais, après cinq minutes, les femmes recommencèrent à discuter les unes avec les autres, enterrant la voix du conférencier qui nous parvenait d’un haut-parleur.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

(partie 2de 2)<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

Après la conférence, des femmes se rendirent à la cuisine pour préparer des choses à manger.  Basimah me dit de m’installer confortablement jusqu’à ce que la nourriture soit apportée.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Je lui offris de l’aider, mais elle me dit : « Non, tu es notre invitée.  Des sœurs américaines converties viennent d’arriver, je vais te les présenter. »<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Basimah fit signe à une femme assise à l’autre bout de la pièce.  Elle vint vers nous et les deux se firent la bise, tout en se saluant en arabe.  Puis, elles se tournèrent vers moi et Basimah dit à l’autre femme :<\/span><\/p>\r\n

« Voici Sharon.  Elle est juive.  Tu veux bien lui tenir compagnie jusqu’à ce qu’on  mange? »<\/span><\/p>\r\n

« Bien sûr », répondit-elle.  « Bonjour, Sharon, je m’appelle Arwa. »<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Elle et moi nous installâmes et fîmes connaissance.  Je lui posai des questions sur sa conversion, sur son statut matrimonial, etc.  Puis, elle largua la bombe :<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Pourquoi avez-vous tué Jésus? », me demanda-t-elle.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Pardon? »  Nul doute que mon visage reflétait ma profonde stupéfaction.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Cherchant à se reprendre, elle reformula : « Je veux dire, pourquoi les juifs ont-ils tué Jésus? »<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Je n’arrivais tout simplement pas à croire ce que j’entendais.  J’étais à la fois stupéfaite et irritée par sa question.  Mais son regard innocent me fit douter de son intention malveillante.  Peut-être n’avait-elle jamais rencontré de juive auparavant et qu’elle profitait de cette première occasion de poser une question qui lui brûlait les lèvres.  Lorsqu’on m’avait présentée à elle, j’étais heureuse de rencontrer une Américaine convertie.  Mais à ce moment précis, je n’avais envie que d’une chose, soit de me lever et d’aller m’asseoir à une autre table.  Puis, au fond de moi, la colère prit le dessus.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Lui jetant un regard sinistre, je lui répondis, les dents serrées : « Nous n’avons pas tué Jésus.  Ce sont les Romains qui l’ont tué! ».  Elle me dévisagea comme un animal blessé.  Elle ouvrit la bouche pour dire quelque chose, mais avant qu’elle ne puisse prononcer quoi que ce soit, quelqu’un l’appela.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Excuse-moi », me dit-elle, « je reviens ».  Je pus sentir le soulagement dans sa voix.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Un groupe de sœurs afro-américaines arrivèrent alors et je passai le reste de la soirée en leur compagnie.  Avant de quitter pour aller rejoindre mon mari, Basimah me laissa son numéro de téléphone et m’invita à l’appeler pour organiser une rencontre chez elle.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Je l’appelai peu de temps après et nous développâmes une belle relation.  Elle me parla beaucoup de Dieu et d’islam et c’est d’elle que j’appris que personne n’avait tué Jésus, mais que Dieu l’avait élevé vers Lui!<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Elle savait que je m’intéressais à l’islam et elle percevait, en moi, cette quête de sens et de paix spirituelle.  Un soir, alors que mon mari et moi étions chez elle, elle finit par m’inviter ouvertement à embrasser l’islam.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Elle m’expliqua que tous mes péchés seraient pardonnés à la minute où je deviendrais musulmane et que je serais comme un nouveau-né, sans péchés à mon actif.  J’en fus si émue que je me mis à pleurer.  Je voulais cette seconde chance de renouer avec Dieu.  J’avais eu un passé très mouvementé.  J’avais toujours aimé Dieu, mais je m’étais égarée.  Le mari de Basimah vint me voir pour m’aider à répéter la shahadah (profession de foi).<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Lorsque je dis à mon mari que je m’apprêtais à prononcer la shahadah, il fut à la fois fort étonné et heureux.  Il me demanda si j’étais bien certaine, comme s’il n’arrivait pas à le croire.  Je lui dis que, de ma vie, je n’avais jamais été aussi certaine d’une chose.  En effet, aucune bataille intérieure ne se livrait, en moi, et je n’éprouvais ni crainte ni doutes.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Après que j’eus prononcé la shahadah, le mari de Basimah dit : « Mabrook (félicitations)!  Tu es maintenant musulmane! »<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Lorsque nous revînmes à la maison, mon mari m’offrit un Coran et une version abrégée de Sahih al-Boukhari.  Et, avant que je ne quitte la maison de Basimah, elle me donna un livret sur la modestie de la femme musulmane, un tapis de prière, une robe de prière et un hijab (foulard).<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Alhamdoulillah, je porte le hijab depuis ce jour et je ne l’ai jamais enlevé, pas même après les terribles événements du 11 septembre 2001.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Lorsque je devins musulmane, en juillet de l’année 1998, mon père me renia sur-le-champ.  Il était déjà en colère contre moi pour avoir épousé un musulman et refusait de reconnaître mon mari comme son gendre.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Mais, Sharon, ces gens nous haïssent! », s’était-il écrié, en apprenant la nouvelle de mon mariage.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

Tous mes efforts pour lui expliquer la différence entre l’islam comme tel et le conflit politique entre Palestiniens et Israéliens furent vains.  Pourtant, il avait lui-même été le premier, dans sa famille, à épouser une non-juive (ma mère était catholique pratiquante).<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Pire encore, aux yeux de mon père, était le fait que mon mari soit, en plus d’être musulman, afro-américain.  Avant le 11 septembre 2001, la plupart des Américains faisaient un lien avec Malcolm X lorsqu’on leur parlait d’islam.  Plusieurs autres membres de ma famille me firent part de leur déception et de leur frustration devant ma décision d’épouser un « musulman noir ».<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Mon père mourut en août 2001, un mois avant les événements de septembre.  À la demande de la seconde épouse de mon père, ma famille ne m’informa de son décès qu’après ses funérailles.  Craignaient-ils donc que je me présente à la synagogue vêtue en musulmane et accompagnée de mon mari noir?<\/span><\/p>\r\n

L’islam est une religion qui s’adresse à toute l’humanité, sans limite dans l’espace ni dans le temps.  Le fait qu’un musulman vienne d’Égypte, du Pakistan, des États-Unis, de l’Arabie, de l’Indonésie ou de la Palestine ne devrait avoir aucune importance, tout comme la couleur de sa peau ou la langue qu’il parle.  Notre diversité culturelle ne devrait pas nous diviser,  mais nous unir.  Dieu dit, dans le Coran :<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 « Nous avons fait de vous des nations et des tribus, afin que vous fassiez connaissance entre vous. » (Coran 49:13)<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

<\/h1>","excerpt":"","terms":null,"visibility_roles":"","comment_status":1,"comment_count":0,"read_counter":10512,"lft":3206,"rght":3207,"promote":1,"sticky":0,"status":1,"publish_start":null,"publish_end":null,"created_at":"2014-09-02T17:26:00.000000Z","updated_at":"2026-04-03T11:55:23.000000Z","language_id":9,"user_id":7,"author_id":2425,"publisher_id":0,"category_id":10,"parent_id":1714,"author_name":"S. E. Levine","category_name":"Why I became a Muslim!","category_slug":"Why-I-became-a-Muslim!","get_date":"2014-09-02","pdf_asset":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/uploads\/articles\/fr-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.pdf","word_asset":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/uploads\/articles\/fr-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.docx"},{"id":1717,"title":"S. E. Levine, Ex-J\u00fcdin, USA","slug":"s-e-levine-ex-jdin-usa","word":"\/uploads\/articles\/de-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.docx","pdf":"\/uploads\/articles\/de-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.pdf","mime_type":null,"type":"node","path":"\/nodes\/view\/type:article\/slug:s-e-levine-ex-jdin-usa","hint":"","body":"

S. E. Levine, Ex-Jüdin, USA<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

\"\"<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 (teil 1 von 2)<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

Mein Ehemann und ich waren für ein Rednerprogramm zur Masjid (Moschee) gegangen.  Es war das erste Mal seit unserer Hochzeit im Jahr zuvor, dass er mich eingeladen hat, mit zur Masjid zu kommen.  Wir hatten uns kennen gelernt und geheiratet, als wir als Drogenberater in einem Rehabilitationszentrum arbeiteten.  <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Wir hätten von Anfang an unterschiedlicher nicht sein können: denn wir stammten von ganz unterschiedlichen Hintergründen – er ist schwarz und ich bin weiß, er war Muslim und ich war jüdisch.  Obwohl er mich vor unserer Heirat nicht gebeten hatte, Muslim zu werden, machte er stille Da´wah (zum Islam einladen) durch dein vorzügliches Beispiel. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Er besaß eine umfassende islamische Bibliothek und weil ich eine begeisterte Leserin war, las ich natürlich eine Menge von seinen Büchern.  Ich beobachtete ebenfalls sein anständiges Verhalten, sah wie er Salah (seine Gebete) fünfmal täglich verrichtete, freitags zum Jumu´ah Gebet ging und den Monat Ramadhan fastete.  Es war also ganz natürlich, dass ich ein Interesse an seiner Religion entwickelte.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Als wir in der Masjid ankamen, zeigte er mir den Eingang der Frauensektion.  Wir verabredeten uns, uns auf dem Parkplatz wieder zu treffen, sobald das Programm vorüber war.  „Ok, das kann ich“, dachte ich bei mir, als ich den dunklen feuchten Flur betrat und die steilen Treppen hinabstieg. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Ich hatten nie zuvor Freunde gehabt, die Probleme bereiten.  Ich hatte immer multikulturelle Situationen genossen und mich auf diesen Abend gefreut.  <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Mein Ehemann hatte vorgeschlagen, dass ich zu dieser Gelegenheit etwas bescheidenes anziehe.  Ich ließ meine Hände an meinem langärmligen Kleid nach unten wandern, und glättete es.  Ich fühlte mich zufrieden damit, dass die Frauen in der Masjid mein Aussehen gutheißen werden.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Als ich allerdings unten bei der Treppe angekommen war und durch die Tür trat, die mit “Sisters” beschriftet war, konnte ich es sofort in der Luft spüren: dicke Anspannung, Misstrauen, Entfremdung und Verwirrung.  Jedes verschleierte Haupt drehte sich in meine Richtung und die muslimischen Frauen starrten mich an, als hätte ich zwei Köpfe.  Ich stand wie eingefroren am Eingang und starrte auf sie zurück. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Nie hatte ich so viele muslimische Frauen zusammen an einem Ort gesehen.    Die meisten von ihnen trugen traditionelle Hijab, aber zwei Frauen spähten mich durch Kopfbedeckungen an, die nur ihre Augen zeigten.  Einige andere saßen mit ihren Kopftüchern auf den Schultern.  Als sie mich sahen, zogen sie sie über ihre Köpfe. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Doch dann stand eine von ihnen von ihrem Sitzplatz auf, näherte sich mir und stellte sich als Schwester Basimah vor.  Wenigstens diese eine hatte einen freundlichen Blick.    <\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Hi,” sagte ich.  „Mein Name ist Sharon.  Ich bin wegen dem Rednerprogramm hier.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Ist jemand mit dir?”  fragte sie.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Mein Ehemann ist oben.” antwortete ich. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Oh!  Ihr Ehemann ist Muslim?”  fragte sie.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Ja.  Ja, das ist er,” sagte ich.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Al-hamdu lillah,” sagte sie.  „Kommen sie herüber und sitzen sie mit uns.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Sie führte mich an einen Tisch, wo drei andere Frauen saßen.  Es waren die hübschesten, exotischen Frauen, die ich je gesehen hatte.  Gleich nachdem sie sie mir vorgestellt hatte, vergaß ich auch schon wieder ihre Namen, die genauso exotisch waren.  Dann stand Schwester Basimah auf, um noch mehr Leute zu begrüßen, die gekommen waren. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Woher kommen sie?”  fragte mich eine der Frauen.  Ich antwortete, dass ich Amerikanerin mit osteuropäischer Abstammung bin, geboren in New York City.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Woher kommt ihr Ehemann?”  war die nächste Frage. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Er ist aus Amerika”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Aber woher kommt er?”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Philadelphia,” antwortete ich.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Nein, ich meine von welchem Land kommt er?”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Er ist Amerikaner, Geboren in den Vereinigten Staaten, er ist Afro-Amerikaner, aus Philadelphia,” antwortete ich, ich dachte, es gäbe eine Sprachbarriere.  Später erfuhr ich, dass die meisten kaukasischen Frauen in der Masjid mit arabischen Männern verheiratet waren. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Hmmm,” sagten sie einstimmig und senkten ihre wundervollen Blicke. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Haben sie schon mal daran gedacht, Muslima zu werden?” fragte eine andere und blickte mich mit einem stahlenden Gesicht an. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Nein,” antwortete ich, „ich bin jüdisch.”  Nun, ich wünschte, ihr hättet den Ausdruck auf ihren Gesichtern sehen können.  Sobald es höflich möglich war, wurde das Thema gewechselt. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Sind ihre Kinder Muslime?”  fragte eine, auf die Befragung zurück kommend.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Nein,” antwortete ich, „ich habe keine Kinder.”  Das war´s; ihr Versuch auf eine Gemeinsamkeit mit mir zu kommen, war fehlgeschlagen.  Sie lächelten mich an und dann geschah etwas unglaubliches, auf das ich nicht vorbereitet war: das Gespräch ging auf arabisch weiter.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Ich saß weiter mit ihnen am Tisch.  Sie sprachen unter einander größtenteils auf arabisch, und ich lächelte meistens.  Wenn weitere Frauen an den Tisch kamen, stellten sie mich auf englisch vor.  “Dies ist Sharon.  Sie ist jüdisch.”  Dann sprachen sie weiter auf arabisch. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Als das Programm begann, versammelten sich die Frauen im Gebetsraum und alle setzten sich auf den mit Plüschteppich ausgelegten Fußboden.   Doch nach fünf Minuten fingen die Frauen an, mit einander zu reden, alle, aber die wurden von dem dröhnenden Stereo - Lautsprecher übertönt, der das Programm von oben übertrug.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 (teil 2 von 2)<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

Nachdem das Programm vorbei war, gingen die Frauen in die Küche, um Essen vorzubereiten.  Schwester Basimah kam zu mir und sagte, ich solle es mir bequem machen, bis es Zeit zum Essen sei. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Aber ich kann auch helfen,” bot ich an.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Nein!  Sie sind unser Gast.  Einige amerikanische Schwestern sind gekommen.  Ich werde sie vorstellen,” antwortete sie. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Schwester Basimah deutete auf eine der Frauen auf der anderen Seite des Raumes.  Sie kam herüber und die beiden Frauen küssten einander auf die Wangen und begrüßten sich mit einer freudigen arabischen Bekundung.  Sie beide warfen einen Blick auf mich.     <\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Das ist Sharon.  Sie ist jüdisch.  Kannst du ihr Gesellschaft leisten, bis wir essen?”  sagte Schwester Basimah zu der anderen Frau.   <\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Oh, ja!”  antwortete sie.  “Hi, Sharon, ich bin Schwester Arwa!”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Schwester Arwa und ich setzten uns und fingen an, uns bekannt zu machen.  Ich stellte ihr Fragen wie seit wann sie schon Muslima ist, ob sie mit einem Muslim verheiratet ist usw.  Dann ließ sie die Bombe los.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Warum habt ihr Jesus getötet?“ fragte sie mich.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Was?”  entgegnete ich.  Mein Gesicht muss mein Entsetzen und meinen Unglauben gezeigt haben.  <\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Ich meine” fragte sie weiter, ihre Frage dieses Mal enthärtend, „warum haben die Juden Jesus getötet?”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Ich konnte nicht glauben, was ich hörte!  Ich war erstaunt und zugleich wurmte mich die Frage.  Ich konnte an ihrem unschuldigen Blick in ihrem Gesicht ablesen, dass sie es wirklich wissen wollte.  Möglicherweise war sie nie zuvor einer jüdischen Frau begegnet und dies war ihre erste richtige Gelegenheit, eine Antwort auf ihre brennende Frage zu erhalten.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Als ich ihr zuerst vorgestellt worden war, habe ich ihre Gesellschaft genossen; sie war zumindest die erste Amerikanerin, die ich an jenem Abend sah.  Nun wollte ich aufstehen und von Tisch davonrennen.  Dann stieg Zorn in mir auf. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Ihr einen bösen Blick zuwerfend, antwortete ich durch die aufeinander gebissenen Zähne: „Wir haben Jesus nicht getötet, das waren die Römer!“  Sie erwiderte mit dem Blick eines verwundeten Tieres.  Ihre Lippen öffneten sich, um etwas zu sagen, aber bevor sie antworten konnte, rief jemand nach ihr. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

„Entschuldigen Sie mich,” sagte sie, „ich komme wieder.”  Ich konnte Erleichterung in ihrer Stimme hören.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Eine Gruppe Afro-Amerikanischer Schwestern war zur Masjid gekommen und ich verbrachte den Rest des Abends in ihrer Gesellschaft.   Bevor ich ging, mich mit meinem Ehemann zu Treffen, gab mir Schwester Basimah gab mir ihre Telefonnummer und forderte mich auf, sie anzurufen und eine Zeit abzumachen, um sie zu besuchen. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Ich rief sie an und wir entwickelten eine wunderbare Beziehung.  Sie erzählte mir alles über den Islam und Gott.  Von ihr erfuhr ich, dass niemand Jesus getötet hatte!  Ich lernte, dass Gott ihn zu Sich hoch gehoben hatte.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Sie wusste, dass ich mich für den Islam interessierte und konnte spüren, dass mein Herz sich nach spirituellem Frieden sehnte.  Eines Abends als mein Ehemann und ich ihr Haus besuchten, kam sie direkt zur Sache und lud mich zum Islam ein. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Der Wendepunkt kam, als sie mir erklärte, dass alle meine vergangenen Sünden vergeben werden, wenn ich zum Islam komme.  Sie sagte ich wäre wie wieder geboren, wie ein neugeborenes Baby, ohne Sünden, mit einer neuen Chance.  Ich brach zusammen und weinte.    <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Ich wollte eine andere Chance, um mit Gott ins Reine zu kommen.  Wisst ihr, ich hatte eine ziemlich kunterbunte Vergangenheit.   Ich habe Gott immer geliebt, aber ich ging im Leben verloren.  Wir baten ihren Ehemann, mir dabei zu helfen, die Schahada auszusprechen. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Als ich meinem Ehemann mitteilte, was ich gerade tun wollte, war er geschockt und glücklich zugleich.  Er fragte mich, ob ich mir mit meiner Entscheidung wirklich sicher sei, als könne er nicht glauben, was er hörte.  Ich antwortete, dass ich mir nie zuvor in meinem Leben einer Sache so sicher gewesen bin.  Es gab keinen inneren Kampf, keine Ängste oder Zweifel. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Nachdem ich die Schahada ausgesprochen hatte, sagte Schwester Basimahs Ehemann: “Mabrouk (Ich gratuliere)!  Du bist jetzt Muslima!”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Als wir nach Hause kamen, gab mir mein Ehemann als Geschenk einen eigenen Qur´an und eine Zusammenfassung von Sahih Al-Bukhari.  Bevor wir an diesem besonderen Abend Schwester Basimahs Heim verließen, gab sie mir ein Büchlein über den Anstand von muslimischen Frauen.  Sie gab mir auch einen Gebetsteppich, ein Gebetskleid und einen Hijab (Kopftuch).<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Ich habe seit jenem Tag Hijab getragen, al-hamdu lillah.  Ich habe es nie abgesetzt, selbst nach den fürchterlichen Tagen nach dem 11.September 2001.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Als ich im Juli 1998 konvertiert bin, denunzierte mich mein Vater ein für allemal.  Er war ohnehin aufgebracht gewesen, dass ich einen Muslim geheiratet hatte, und weigerte sich, meinen Ehemann als Schwiegersohn anzuerkennen. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Aber, Sharon, diese Menschen hassen uns!” schrie er.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Alle Versuche, den Unterschied zwischen der friedlichen Religion des Islam und dem politischen Kampf zwischen Palästinensern und Israelis zu erklären, traf auf taube Ohren.  Abgesehen davon  war mein Vater der erste in seiner Familie gewesen, der außerhalb des Judentums geheiratet hat.  Meine Mutter war praktizierende Katholikin gewesen, als sie heirateten. <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Noch schlimmer in den Augen meines Vaters war, dass mein Ehemann Afro-Amerikaner war.  Vor dem 11. September 2001 dachten die meisten Amerikaner an Malcolm X, wenn der Islam erwähnt wurde.  Viele andere Familienmitglieder brachten ebenfalls ihre Enttäuschung und ihren Verdruss über meinen Entschluss, einen „schwarzen Muslim“ zu heiraten, zum Ausdruck.   <\/span><\/p>\r\n

Mein Vater starb im August 2001, einen Monat vor den Geschehnissen des 11. September.  Auf Wunsch der Frau meines Vaters, hat es mir die Familie nicht erzählt, dass er gestorben war, bis seine Beerdigung vorüber war.  Ob sie Angst hatten, ich würde in meinem Gewand begleitet von meinem schwarzen Ehemann in die Synagoge kommen?<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Uns wird gelehrt, dass die Religion des Islam für alle Menschen und alle Zeiten ist.  Es sollte keinen Unterschied machen, ob der Muslim Ägypter, Pakistaner, Amerikaner, Saudi, Indonesier oder Palästinenser ist.  Es sollte keinen Unterschied machen, ob er oder sie schwarz, weiß, rot oder gelb ist.  Es sollte nichts ausmachen, ob er oder sie Arabisch, Englisch, Spanisch oder Urdu spricht.  Unsere kulturelle Vielfalt soll unsere Umma (Gemeinschaft) nicht spalten.  Gott teilt uns im Qur´an mit, dass:<\/span><\/p>\r\n

„O ihr Menschen, Wir haben euch aus Mann und Frau erschaffen und euch zu Völkern und Stämmen gemacht, auf dass ihr einander erkennen möget.” (Quran 49:13)<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

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S. E. Levine, ex-judia, EUA<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

\"\"<\/span><\/p>\r\n

 (parte 1 de 2)<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

Meu marido e eu tínhamos ido a uma masjid (mesquita) para um programa de um palestrante.  Foi a primeira vez que ele me convidou para a masjid desde nosso casamento há um ano, mais ou menos.  Tínhamos nos encontrado e casado enquanto ambos trabalhávamos como conselheiros em abusos de substância em um centro de reabilitação.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Não poderíamos ser mais diferentes no início, já que éramos de origens completamente diferentes - ele é negro e eu branca, ele muçulmano e eu judia.  Embora ele não tivesse me pedido para que me tornasse muçulmana antes de nosso casamento, me fez dawah (convite ao Islã) silencioso através de seu excelente exemplo.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Tinha uma biblioteca islâmica extensa e como sou uma ávida leitora, naturalmente li muitos de seus livros.  Também observei seu comportamento modesto, observei enquanto ele fazia salah (oração) cinco vezes ao dia, ia às orações de Jumuah às sextas-feiras e jejuava durante o mês de Ramadã.  Então, era natural que desenvolvesse um interesse em sua religião.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Quando chegamos à mesquita ele me apontou a entrada para o setor das mulheres.  Concordamos em nos encontrar no estacionamento depois que o programa terminasse.  “Ok, posso fazer isso” pensei comigo mesma quando entrei no corredor escuro e desci os degraus íngremes.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Nunca tinha tido problema para fazer amigos antes.  Sempre havia desfrutado de situações multiculturais e estava ansiosa pela noite.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Meu marido havia sugerido que usasse algo modesto para a ocasião.  Passei as mãos pelo meu vestido de mangas longas, esticando-o e amaciando-o.  Sentia-me confiante de que as mulheres na masjid aprovariam minha aparência.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Entretanto, quando cheguei ao final das escadas e entrei pela porta marcada com “Irmãs”, pude sentir imediatamente no ar: tensão, suspeita, estranhamento e confusão.  Todas as cabeças com véu se voltaram em minha direção e as muçulmanas me olharam fixo como se eu tivesse duas cabeças.  Congelei na entrada, olhando fixo de volta para elas.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Nunca tinha visto tantas muçulmanas juntas em um só lugar.  A maioria usava o hijab tradicional, mas duas me avaliaram através de suas coberturas que revelavam apenas seus olhos.  Outras estavam sentadas com seus lenços sobre os ombros.  Quando me viram, cobriram suas cabeças com os lenços.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Mas então uma delas se levantou, me abordou e se apresentou como irmã Basimah.  Pelo menos essa tinha um ar de boas vindas em seu rosto.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Oi”, disse eu.  “Meu nome é Sharon.  Estou aqui por causa do programa do palestrante.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Tem alguém com você?”, ela perguntou.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Meu marido está lá em cima”, respondi.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Ó! Seu marido é muçulmano?” perguntou.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Sim.  Ele é”, disse eu.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Al-hamdu lillah,” respondeu ela.  “Venha e sente conosco.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Levou-me para uma mesa onde havia três outras mulheres sentadas.  Eram as mulheres mais belas e exóticas que já tinha visto.  Logo após as apresentações, esqueci o nome de cada uma delas, que eram igualmente exóticos.  Irmã Basimah então se levantou e foi saudar mais pessoas que tinham chegado.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“De onde você é?”, me perguntou uma das mulheres.  Respondi que era americana de origem europeia, nascida em Nova Iorque.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“De onde é seu marido?”, foi a pergunta seguinte.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Dos Estados Unidos.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Mas de onde ele é?”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Filadélfia,” respondi.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Não, quis dizer de que país ele é?”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“É americano, nascido nos Estados Unidos, é afroamericano da Filadélfia,” respondi, achando que havia uma barreira linguística.  Descobri depois que a maioria das mulheres caucasianas na masjid era casada com árabes.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Hummm” disseram todas em uníssono e baixaram seus olhares adoráveis.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Você está pensando em se tornar muçulmana?” perguntou outra, olhando para mim com uma expressão radiante em seu rosto.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Não”, respondi, “sou judia.” Bem, queria que pudessem ver a expressão em seus rostos.  Assim que foi educadamente possível, o assunto mudou.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Seus filhos são muçulmanos?” perguntou uma delas, voltando às perguntas.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Não”. “Não tenho filhos”, respondi. E foi isso. Suas tentativas para encontrar um ponto em comum comigo tinham fracassado.  Sorriram para mim e então algo incrível aconteceu, para o qual não estava preparada: a conversa passou a ser em árabe.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Continuei sentada com elas à mesa.  Falavam entre si a maior parte do tempo em árabe e eu sorria.  À medida que mais mulheres se uniam à mesa, me apresentavam em inglês: “Essa é Sharon.  Ela é judia.” Então voltavam a falar em árabe.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Quando o programa começou, as mulheres se reuniram na sala de oração e todas sentaram no chão acarpetado.  Mas depois de uns cinco minutos as mulheres conversaram a conversar, abafando o som do programa que estava sendo transmitido por um alto-falante.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

(parte 2 de 2)<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

Depois que o programa terminou, as mulheres foram para a cozinha preparar comida.  Irmã Basimah veio e me disse para sentar e ficar confortável até que fosse hora de comer.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Mas me deixe ajudar”, ofereci.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Não!  Você é nossa convidada.  Algumas irmãs americanas chegaram.  Eu as apresentarei a você”, respondeu ela.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Irmã Basimah acenou para uma das mulheres do outro lado da sala.  Ela veio e as duas mulheres se beijaram no rosto e se saudaram com uma alegre expressão árabe.  Então ambas voltaram o olhar para mim.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Essa é Sharon.  Ela é judia.  Você faria companhia a ela até comermos?”  Disse irmã Basimah disse para a outra mulher.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Ó, claro!”, respondeu ela.  “Oi, Sharon. Sou irmã Arwa!”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Irmã Arwa e eu sentamos e começamos a nos conhecer.  Perguntei a ela há quanto tempo era muçulmana, se era casada com um muçulmano, etc.  Então ela soltou a bomba.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Por que vocês mataram Jesus?” perguntou ela.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“O que?” respondi.  Meu rosto deve ter mostrado meu choque e incredulidade.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Quero dizer”, perguntou novamente, dessa vez suavizando a pergunta, “por que os judeus mataram Jesus?”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Não podia acreditar no que estava ouvindo!  Fiquei atônita e irritada com a pergunta.  Podia perceber pelo ar inocente em seu rosto que ela realmente queria saber.  Talvez nunca tivesse encontrado uma judia antes e essa fosse a primeira oportunidade real de obter uma resposta para sua pergunta inquietante.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Quando fui apresentada a ela gostei de sua companhia. Afinal, era a primeira americana que tinha visto aquela noite.  Agora queria me levantar e sair correndo da mesa.  Então a raiva passou.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Dando a ela um olhar nefasto, respondi entre dentes: “Não matamos Jesus.  Foram os romanos!”  Ela devolveu o olhar de um animal ferido.  Seus lábios abriram para dizer algo, mas antes que ela pudesse responder alguém a chamou.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Com licença”, disse ela. “Voltarei.”  Pude ouvir o alívio em sua voz.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Um grupo de irmãs afro americanas chegou à masjid e passei o resto da noite na companhia delas.  Antes de sair para encontrar meu marido, irmã Basimah me deu seu número de telefone e me encorajou a ligar e arranjar um tempo para visitá-la.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Eu liguei e desenvolvemos uma bela relação.  Ela me falou tudo sobre Islã e Deus.  Foi dela que aprendi que ninguém matou Jesus!  Aprendi que Deus o levou para perto de Si.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Ela sabia que estava interessada no Islã e pode sentir que me coração buscava e ansiava por paz espiritual.  Uma noite, enquanto meu marido e eu visitávamos sua casa, ela foi direto ao ponto e me convidou para o Islã.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

O momento decisivo aconteceu quando ela explicou que todos os meus pecados seriam perdoados quando entrasse no Islã.  Disse que eu seria renascida, como um bebê recém-nascido, sem pecados, com outra chance.  Desabei e chorei.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Queria outra chance de me acertar com Deus.  Sabe, tinha um passado de muitos problemas.  Sempre amei Deus, mas me perdi na vida.  Pedimos ao marido dela para me ajudar a dizer a shahada.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Quando disse ao meu marido o que estava prestes a fazer, ele ficou chocado e feliz ao mesmo tempo.  Perguntou se eu estava certa de minha decisão, como se não pudesse acreditar no que estava ouvindo.  Respondi que nunca estive tão certa de nada em toda a minha vida.  Não havia batalha interna, medos ou dúvidas.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Depois que disse a shahada, o marido da irmã Basimah disse “Mabruk (parabéns)!  Agora você é uma muçulmana!”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Quando voltamos para casa meu marido me deu um presente o meu próprio Alcorão e um Sahih Al-Bukhari resumido.  Antes de deixar a casa de irmã Basimah naquela noite especial, ela me deu de presente um livreto sobre modéstia para muçulmanas.  Também me deu um tapete de oração, uma roupa para oração e um hijab (lenço de cabeça).<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Uso hijab desde aquele dia, al-hamdu lillah.  Nunca o tirei, nem mesmo depois dos dias terríveis que se seguiram ao 11 de setembro.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Quando me tornei muçulmana em julho de 1998, meu pai se afastou de vez.  Tinha ficado muito irritado comigo por me casar com um muçulmano e se recusava a reconhecer meu marido como seu genro.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Mas Sharon, essa gente nos odeia!” gritava.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Todos os esforços para explicar a diferença entre a religião pacífica do Islã e a luta política entre palestinos e israelenses não levavam a nada.  Não tinha importância meu pai ter sido o primeiro de sua família a se casar fora do Judaísmo.  Minha mãe era uma católica praticante quando casaram.<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Para acrescentar insulto à ofensa aos olhos dos meus pais, meu marido também era afro americano.  Antes do 11 de setembro a maioria dos americanos pensava em Malcolm X toda vez que o Islã era mencionado.  Muitos outros membros da família também deixaram transparecer como estavam desapontados e frustrados com minha decisão de casar com um “muçulmano negro.”<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Meu pai morreu em agosto de 2001, um mês antes dos eventos do 11 de setembro.  A pedido da esposa de meu pai, minha família não me contou que ele tinha morrido até que seu funeral tivesse terminado.  Temiam que eu aparecesse na sinagoga vestida a caráter acompanhada de meu marido negro?<\/span><\/p>\r\n

Aprendemos que a religião do Islã é para todas as pessoas e todas as épocas.  Não devia importar se um muçulmano é egípcio, paquistanês, americano, saudita, indonésio ou palestino.  Não devia importar se ele ou ela é negro, branco, vermelho ou amarelo.  Não devia importar se ele ou ela fala árabe, inglês, espanhol ou urdu.  Nossa diversidade cultural não divide nossa Ummah (nação).  Deus nos diz no Alcorão:<\/span><\/p>\r\n

“Fizemos-vos como nações e tribos, de modo que vos conheçais uns aos outros.” (Alcorão 49:13)<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

<\/h1>","excerpt":"","terms":null,"visibility_roles":"","comment_status":1,"comment_count":0,"read_counter":13865,"lft":3210,"rght":3211,"promote":1,"sticky":0,"status":1,"publish_start":null,"publish_end":null,"created_at":"2014-09-02T17:26:00.000000Z","updated_at":"2026-04-03T13:42:15.000000Z","language_id":15,"user_id":7,"author_id":2425,"publisher_id":0,"category_id":10,"parent_id":1714,"author_name":"S. E. Levine","category_name":"Why I became a Muslim!","category_slug":"Why-I-became-a-Muslim!","get_date":"2014-09-02","pdf_asset":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/uploads\/articles\/pt-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.pdf","word_asset":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/uploads\/articles\/pt-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.docx"},{"id":1719,"title":"S.E.\u30ec\u30f4\u30a3\u30fc\u30f3\u3000\u7c73\u56fd\u51fa\u8eab\u306e\u5143\u30e6\u30c0\u30e4\u6559\u5f92","slug":"se-bb","word":"\/uploads\/articles\/ja-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.docx","pdf":"\/uploads\/articles\/ja-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.pdf","mime_type":null,"type":"node","path":"\/nodes\/view\/type:article\/slug:se-bb","hint":"","body":"

S.E.\u30ec\u30f4\u30a3\u30fc\u30f3\u3000\u7c73\u56fd\u51fa\u8eab\u306e\u5143\u30e6\u30c0\u30e4\u6559\u5f92<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

\"\"<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\uff08\u524d\u534a\uff09<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

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\u300c\u3044\u3044\u3048\u3001\u79c1\u306f\u30e6\u30c0\u30e4\u6559\u5f92\u306a\u3093\u3067\u3059\u300d\u3068\u79c1\u306f\u8a00\u3044\u307e\u3057\u305f\u304c\u3001\u305d\u306e\u3068\u304d\u306e\u5f7c\u5973\u305f\u3061\u306e\u8868\u60c5\u3092\u898b\u305b\u3066\u3084\u308a\u305f\u3044\u3067\u3059\u3002\u5f7c\u5973\u305f\u3061\u306f\u51fa\u6765\u308b\u3060\u3051\u4e01\u5be7\u306b\u3001\u304b\u3064\u901f\u3084\u304b\u306b\u8a71\u984c\u3092\u5909\u3048\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u300c\u3042\u306a\u305f\u306e\u304a\u5b50\u3055\u3093\u305f\u3061\u306f\u30e0\u30b9\u30ea\u30e0\u306a\u306e\uff1f\u300d\u3068\u5225\u306e\u4e00\u4eba\u304c\u5c0b\u554f\u3092\u7d9a\u3051\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u300c\u3044\u3044\u3048\u3001\u79c1\u306b\u306f\u5b50\u4f9b\u304c\u3044\u306a\u3044\u306e\u300d\u3068\u8a00\u3063\u3066\u3057\u307e\u3046\u3068\u3001\u5f7c\u5973\u3089\u306b\u3088\u308b\u79c1\u3068\u306e\u5171\u901a\u4e8b\u9805\u3092\u63a2\u308d\u3046\u3068\u3059\u308b\u8a66\u307f\u306f\u5931\u6557\u306b\u7d42\u308f\u308a\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u5f7c\u5973\u3089\u306f\u7b11\u9854\u3092\u898b\u305b\u308b\u3068\u3001\u4e88\u671f\u3057\u3066\u3044\u306a\u304b\u3063\u305f\u4fe1\u3058\u3089\u308c\u306a\u3044\u3053\u3068\u304c\u8d77\u304d\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u5f7c\u5973\u305f\u3061\u306f\u30a2\u30e9\u30d3\u30a2\u8a9e\u3067\u4f1a\u8a71\u3092\u59cb\u3081\u305f\u306e\u3067\u3059\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u79c1\u306f\u305d\u306e\u5834\u306b\u5ea7\u308a\u7d9a\u3051\u3066\u3044\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u5f7c\u5973\u305f\u3061\u306f\u6b86\u3069\u30a2\u30e9\u30d3\u30a2\u8a9e\u3067\u8a71\u3057\u3001\u79c1\u306f\u7b11\u9854\u3092\u7d9a\u3051\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u4ed6\u306e\u5973\u6027\u305f\u3061\u304c\u30c6\u30fc\u30d6\u30eb\u306b\u52a0\u308f\u308a\u59cb\u3081\u308b\u3068\u3001\u5f7c\u5973\u3089\u306f\u79c1\u3092\u300c\u5f7c\u5973\u306f\u30b7\u30e3\u30ed\u30f3\u3002\u30e6\u30c0\u30e4\u6559\u5f92\u3088\u300d\u3068\u82f1\u8a9e\u3067\u7d39\u4ecb\u3057\u3001\u30a2\u30e9\u30d3\u30a2\u8a9e\u306e\u4f1a\u8a71\u306b\u623b\u308a\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u8b1b\u6f14\u4f1a\u304c\u59cb\u307e\u308b\u3068\u3001\u5973\u6027\u305f\u3061\u306f\u793c\u62dd\u5802\u306b\u96c6\u307e\u308a\u3001\u8c6a\u83ef\u306a\u30ab\u30fc\u30da\u30c3\u30c8\u306b\u8170\u3092\u304a\u308d\u3057\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u3057\u304b\u30575\u5206\u3082\u3059\u308b\u3068\u3001\u5973\u6027\u305f\u3061\u306f\u4f1a\u8a71\u3092\u59cb\u3081\u3001\u4e0a\u306e\u30b9\u30d4\u30fc\u30ab\u30fc\u304b\u3089\u805e\u3053\u3048\u3066\u304f\u308b\u8b1b\u6f14\u8005\u306e\u58f0\u3092\u304b\u304d\u6d88\u3057\u3066\u3057\u307e\u3044\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\uff08\u5f8c\u534a\uff09<\/span><\/h1>\r\n

\u8b1b\u6f14\u4f1a\u304c\u7d42\u308f\u308b\u3068\u3001\u5973\u6027\u305f\u3061\u306f\u30ad\u30c3\u30c1\u30f3\u3067\u98df\u4e8b\u306e\u6e96\u5099\u3092\u59cb\u3081\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u30d0\u30b9\u30a3\u30fc\u30de\u59c9\u59b9\u304c\u79c1\u306e\u3068\u3053\u308d\u306b\u6765\u3066\u3001\u98df\u4e8b\u304c\u51fa\u6765\u308b\u307e\u3067\u3086\u3063\u304f\u308a\u3057\u3066\u3044\u308b\u3088\u3046\u8a00\u3044\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u300c\u3067\u3082\u624b\u4f1d\u308f\u305b\u3066\u304f\u3060\u3055\u3044\u300d\u3068\u79c1\u306f\u8a00\u3044\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u300c\u3060\u3081\u3088\u3002\u3042\u306a\u305f\u306f\u79c1\u305f\u3061\u306e\u304a\u5ba2\u3055\u3093\u306a\u3093\u3060\u304b\u3089\u3002\u30a2\u30e1\u30ea\u30ab\u4eba\u59c9\u59b9\u305f\u3061\u304c\u6765\u305f\u304b\u3089\u3001\u3042\u306a\u305f\u306e\u3053\u3068\u3092\u7d39\u4ecb\u3057\u3066\u3042\u3052\u308b\u300d\u3068\u5f7c\u5973\u306f\u8a00\u3044\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u30d0\u30b9\u30a3\u30fc\u30de\u59c9\u59b9\u306f\u90e8\u5c4b\u306e\u53cd\u5bfe\u5074\u306b\u3044\u305f\u5973\u6027\u306b\u624b\u62db\u304d\u3057\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u5f7c\u5973\u304c\u3084\u3063\u3066\u304f\u308b\u3068\u3001\u4e8c\u4eba\u306f\u304a\u4e92\u3044\u306e\u982c\u306b\u30ad\u30b9\u3057\u3001\u30a2\u30e9\u30d3\u30a2\u8a9e\u3067\u967d\u6c17\u306a\u6328\u62f6\u3092\u4ea4\u308f\u3057\u3066\u3044\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u305d\u308c\u304b\u3089\u4e8c\u4eba\u306f\u79c1\u306e\u65b9\u3092\u5411\u304d\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u300c\u5f7c\u5973\u306f\u30b7\u30e3\u30ed\u30f3\u3002\u30e6\u30c0\u30e4\u6559\u5f92\u306a\u306e\u3002\u98df\u4e8b\u306e\u6642\u9593\u307e\u3067\u4ed8\u304d\u5408\u3063\u3066\u3082\u3089\u3063\u3066\u3082\u3044\u3044\uff1f\u300d\u30d0\u30b9\u30a3\u30fc\u30de\u59c9\u59b9\u306f\u305d\u306e\u5973\u6027\u306b\u305d\u3046\u8a00\u3044\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u300c\u3082\u3061\u308d\u3093\u3088\uff01\u3053\u3093\u306b\u3061\u306f\u30b7\u30e3\u30ed\u30f3\u3001\u79c1\u306f\u30a2\u30eb\u30ef\u59c9\u59b9\u3088\u300d<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u30a2\u30eb\u30ef\u59c9\u59b9\u3068\u79c1\u306f\u5ea7\u308a\u3001\u4f1a\u8a71\u3092\u59cb\u3081\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u79c1\u306f\u5f7c\u5973\u306e\u30e0\u30b9\u30ea\u30e0\u6b74\u3084\u3001\u7d50\u5a5a\u3057\u3066\u3044\u308b\u306e\u304b\u3069\u3046\u304b\u3092\u805e\u3044\u305f\u308a\u3057\u3066\u3044\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u305d\u308c\u304b\u3089\u5f7c\u5973\u306e\u7206\u5f3e\u767a\u8a00\u304c\u98db\u3073\u51fa\u3057\u305f\u306e\u3067\u3059\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u300c\u306a\u305c\u3042\u306a\u305f\u305f\u3061\u306f\u30a4\u30a8\u30b9\u3055\u307e\u3092\u6bba\u3057\u305f\u306e\uff1f\u300d<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u300c\u3048\uff1f\u300d\u79c1\u306e\u9854\u306f\u9a5a\u6115\u306e\u8272\u3068\u3001\u4fe1\u3058\u3089\u308c\u306a\u3044\u3068\u3044\u3063\u305f\u8868\u60c5\u3067\u4e00\u676f\u3060\u3063\u305f\u3053\u3068\u3067\u3057\u3087\u3046\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u300c\u3064\u307e\u308a\u30fb\u30fb\u30fb\u300d\u5f7c\u5973\u306f\u3001\u6b21\u306b\u8cea\u554f\u306e\u8abf\u5b50\u3092\u5909\u3048\u3066\u3053\u3046\u8a00\u3044\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u300c\u3069\u3046\u3057\u3066\u30e6\u30c0\u30e4\u4eba\u305f\u3061\u306f\u30a4\u30a8\u30b9\u3055\u307e\u3092\u6bba\u3057\u305f\u306e\u304b\u3063\u3066\u805e\u3044\u3066\u3044\u308b\u306e\u300d<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u79c1\u306f\u81ea\u5206\u304c\u8033\u306b\u3057\u3066\u3044\u308b\u3053\u3068\u304c\u4fe1\u3058\u3089\u308c\u307e\u305b\u3093\u3067\u3057\u305f\u3002\u79c1\u306f\u305d\u306e\u8cea\u554f\u306b\u9a5a\u304d\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3057\u3001\u4e0d\u5feb\u611f\u3092\u7981\u3058\u3048\u307e\u305b\u3093\u3067\u3057\u305f\u3002\u5f7c\u5973\u306e\u60aa\u610f\u306a\u304d\u8868\u60c5\u304b\u3089\u306f\u3001\u5f7c\u5973\u304c\u305d\u308c\u306b\u3064\u3044\u3066\u5207\u5b9f\u306b\u77e5\u308a\u305f\u304c\u3063\u3066\u3044\u308b\u3053\u3068\u304c\u4f3a\u3048\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3057\u3001\u304a\u305d\u3089\u304f\u5f7c\u5973\u306f\u4e00\u5ea6\u3082\u30e6\u30c0\u30e4\u6559\u5f92\u306e\u5973\u6027\u306b\u4f1a\u3063\u305f\u3053\u3068\u304c\u306a\u304f\u3001\u305d\u308c\u304c\u305d\u306e\u8cea\u554f\u3092\u76f4\u63a5\u5c0b\u306d\u308b\u6700\u521d\u306e\u6a5f\u4f1a\u3060\u3063\u305f\u306e\u3067\u3057\u3087\u3046\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u5f7c\u5973\u304c\u79c1\u306b\u7d39\u4ecb\u3055\u308c\u305f\u3068\u304d\u3001\u79c1\u306f\u5f7c\u5973\u3092\u6b53\u8fce\u3057\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u5f7c\u5973\u306f\u305d\u306e\u6669\u306b\u51fa\u4f1a\u3063\u305f\u6700\u521d\u306e\u30a2\u30e1\u30ea\u30ab\u4eba\u3060\u3063\u305f\u306e\u3067\u3059\u304b\u3089\u3002\u3057\u304b\u3057\u305d\u306e\u3068\u304d\u3001\u79c1\u306f\u30c6\u30fc\u30d6\u30eb\u304b\u3089\u7acb\u3061\u4e0a\u304c\u3063\u3066\u8d70\u308a\u53bb\u3063\u3066\u3057\u307e\u3044\u305f\u3044\u6c17\u6301\u3061\u3067\u4e00\u676f\u3067\u3057\u305f\u3002\u6012\u308a\u304c\u3058\u308f\u3058\u308f\u3068\u8fbc\u307f\u4e0a\u3052\u3066\u304d\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u79c1\u306f\u5f7c\u5973\u3092\u8efd\u8511\u306e\u8996\u7dda\u3067\u898b\u3084\u308a\u3001\u6b6f\u3092\u98df\u3044\u3057\u3070\u308a\u3064\u3064\u3053\u3046\u7b54\u3048\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u300c\u308f\u305f\u3057\u305f\u3061\u304c\u30a4\u30a8\u30b9\u3092\u6bba\u3057\u305f\u306e\u3067\u306f\u306a\u3044\u306e\u3002\u30ed\u30fc\u30de\u4eba\u305f\u3061\u306a\u306e\uff01\u300d\u5f7c\u5973\u306f\u50b7\u3092\u8ca0\u3063\u305f\u52d5\u7269\u306e\u3088\u3046\u306a\u8868\u60c5\u3092\u3057\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u5f7c\u5973\u306f\u4f55\u304b\u3092\u8a00\u304a\u3046\u3068\u3057\u3066\u53e3\u3092\u958b\u304d\u307e\u3057\u305f\u304c\u3001\u305d\u306e\u3068\u304d\u8ab0\u304b\u304c\u5f7c\u5973\u3092\u547c\u3073\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u300c\u3059\u307f\u307e\u305b\u3093\u3001\u3059\u3050\u623b\u3063\u3066\u304d\u307e\u3059\u300d\u5f7c\u5973\u306e\u58f0\u304b\u3089\u306f\u3001\u305d\u306e\u5834\u3092\u96e2\u308c\u308b\u3053\u3068\u306e\u51fa\u6765\u308b\u5b89\u5835\u611f\u304c\u4f1d\u308f\u3063\u3066\u304d\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

\u30a2\u30d5\u30ea\u30ab\u7cfb\u30a2\u30e1\u30ea\u30ab\u4eba\u59c9\u59b9\u306e\u30b0\u30eb\u30fc\u30d7\u304c\u30de\u30b9\u30b8\u30c9\u306b\u5230\u7740\u3057\u3001\u79c1\u306f\u5f7c\u5973\u305f\u3061\u3068\u305d\u306e\u6669\u306e\u6b8b\u308a\u3092\u904e\u3054\u3057\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u592b\u3068\u5f85\u3061\u5408\u308f\u305b\u306e\u305f\u3081\u306b\u51fa\u3088\u3046\u3068\u3057\u305f\u3068\u304d\u3001\u30d0\u30b9\u30a3\u30fc\u30de\u59c9\u59b9\u306f\u5f7c\u5973\u306e\u96fb\u8a71\u756a\u53f7\u3092\u79c1\u306b\u6e21\u3057\u3001\u305d\u306e\u3046\u3061\u96fb\u8a71\u3092\u304f\u308c\u308b\u3088\u3046\u8a00\u3044\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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1998\u5e74\u306e7\u6708\u306b\u30e0\u30b9\u30ea\u30e0\u306b\u306a\u3063\u3066\u304b\u3089\u3001\u79c1\u306f\u7236\u306b\u7d76\u7e01\u3055\u308c\u307e\u3057\u305f\u3002\u5f7c\u306f\u79c1\u304c\u30e0\u30b9\u30ea\u30e0\u3068\u7d50\u5a5a\u3057\u305f\u3068\u304d\u304b\u3089\u975e\u5e38\u306b\u6012\u3063\u3066\u3044\u3066\u3001\u592b\u3092\u7fa9\u7406\u306e\u606f\u5b50\u3068\u3057\u3066\u8a8d\u3081\u3066\u3044\u307e\u305b\u3093\u3067\u3057\u305f\u3002<\/span><\/p>\r\n

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 “\u4eba\u3073\u3068\u3088\u3001\u308f\u308c\u306f\u4e00\u4eba\u306e\u7537\u3068\u4e00\u4eba\u306e\u5973\u304b\u3089\u3042\u306a\u305f\u304c\u305f\u3092\u5275\u308a\u3001\u7a2e\u65cf\u3068\u90e8\u65cf\u306b\u5206\u3051\u305f\u3002\u3053\u308c\u306f\u3042\u306a\u305f\u304c\u305f\u3092\u3001\u4e92\u3044\u306b\u77e5\u308a\u5408\u3046\u3088\u3046\u306b\u3055\u305b\u308b\u305f\u3081\u3067\u3042\u308b\u3002”\uff08\u30af\u30eb\u30a2\u30fc\u30f349:13\uff09<\/strong> <\/strong><\/span><\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>","excerpt":"","terms":null,"visibility_roles":"","comment_status":1,"comment_count":0,"read_counter":12002,"lft":3212,"rght":3213,"promote":1,"sticky":0,"status":1,"publish_start":null,"publish_end":null,"created_at":"2014-09-02T17:26:00.000000Z","updated_at":"2026-04-02T22:39:09.000000Z","language_id":16,"user_id":7,"author_id":2425,"publisher_id":0,"category_id":10,"parent_id":1714,"author_name":"S. E. Levine","category_name":"Why I became a Muslim!","category_slug":"Why-I-became-a-Muslim!","get_date":"2014-09-02","pdf_asset":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/uploads\/articles\/ja-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.pdf","word_asset":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/uploads\/articles\/ja-S. E. Levine, Ex-Jew, USA.docx"}],"first_page_url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?articles_page=1","from":1,"last_page":1,"last_page_url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?articles_page=1","links":[{"url":null,"label":"« Previous","page":null,"active":false},{"url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?articles_page=1","label":"1","page":1,"active":true},{"url":null,"label":"Next »","page":null,"active":false}],"next_page_url":null,"path":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425","per_page":25,"prev_page_url":null,"to":6,"total":6},"fatawas":{"current_page":1,"data":[],"first_page_url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?fatawas_page=1","from":null,"last_page":1,"last_page_url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?fatawas_page=1","links":[{"url":null,"label":"« Previous","page":null,"active":false},{"url":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425?fatawas_page=1","label":"1","page":1,"active":true},{"url":null,"label":"Next »","page":null,"active":false}],"next_page_url":null,"path":"http:\/\/www.islamland.com\/index.php\/amh\/api\/authors\/2425","per_page":25,"prev_page_url":null,"to":null,"total":0},"books_total":0,"videos_total":0,"audios_total":0,"fatawas_total":0,"articles_total":6,"q":"","count":6}