I did not go imagining I would single-handedly solve anything, nor did any of us go presuming to speak for or represent Palestinians. I went to better understand, and to invest in a relationship we see far more promise in -- that between American Muslims and American Jews.
With apparently religiously motivated murders spilling innocent blood across our news screens this past week come serious concerns about the role of religion in our world. And when fear rules the day, increased violence is never far behind.
If I'm not on one side, this doesn't mean that I'm with the other. I'm neither on the side of those media that insult my faith and beliefs and spread lies, nor the side of violent criminals who insult my faith and beliefs, and spread lies.
Selma does many remarkable things beautifully and powerfully, but the one message it fails to communicate is the one most central to the civil rights movement and most needed in our day; namely, this fusion of the spiritual with the political.
Every MLK Day, the Reverend Doctor's sage wisdom and booming voice seem like echoes of a past farther and farther away. Had he somehow escaped assassins' bullets, I can imagine him grey and dignified, bringing his prophetic wisdom to today's crises. More than ever, we could use his help to remember how to live together.
The killing in France of cartoonists at Charlie Hebdo who satirized the Prophet, among other religious figures, immediately prompted me to question whether something similar could happen in America. Could someone from my faith engage in such heinous violence?
The Mosque of Rome is the largest Mosque of Europe and its architecture replicates and perfectly integrates itself in the heart of Italy.
Given the news headlines week-in, week-out, interfaith and intercultural relations ought surely to be a priority. Yet we struggle to find funding and support.
Before embarking on the information modules, a philosophic overview of religious diversity training should be considered. There will be people who are skeptical, or hostile, to anything labeled as interfaith.
Just before Christmas the previous year, my mother ("Mimi" to her grandchildren) had died in my childhood home in Savannah, Georgia. For the first time in my life I had decided to spend Christmas away from my family of origin, away from Savannah. It was not an uncomplicated decision, but I had made peace with it.
This Hanukah more than ever we must rekindle our collective dreams of a world at peace in which every single human being is able to celebrate and worship as they choose.
Despite what Bill O'Reilly and Dr. Seuss would have you believe, nobody stole or declared war on Christmas this year -- neither a fairy-tale Grinch nor a puritan-like individual who cannot be happy because of complaints about the secularization of the season.
'Tis the season! If you're like me, you have cocktail parties ahead. This means you need some fun facts up your sleeve so you can be the life of the party. At the very least, it's better than trying to win the ugly Christmas sweater contest!
Our children's Bible rests against the Ramayana on her bookshelf. We pray to God at night but haven't fully fleshed out His character or discussed how He is different from Ganesh and Lakshmi and, now, Baby Jesus. For her, religion is more mosaic of characters and story lines than it is a set of tenets or beliefs.
The ribbon was there every year to remind us that in spite of yule logs, spiced cider and jingle bells, something was still not quite right with the world.
Even if Millennials in interfaith relationships stay out of congregations even after entering parenthood, we still face plenty of challenges. Like the generations before us, we must grapple with identity, family acceptance, and family tradition.