Monday, October 20, 2008

“She woulda been on cloud nine!”

Toward the end of my father’s big visit to Jordan, I asked him what my mother might have thought of this trip, and he smiled, speculating, “She woulda been on cloud nine the whole time!” He didn’t really need to explain why his Mary Martha would have been so ebullient—I mean if you know our family lore, she was famous for emphasizing any time any trip was in question: “I’ll go!” But my dad went on, “the only thing I think is that she would have wanted more time everywhere”—“let me sit here a little longer in this history class; let me linger a little more at the baptism site; let me ponder a little more about re-tracing the steps of Moses or those Old Testament Moabites; let me hold the hand of my new Jordanian friend a little longer; let me try one more Arab sweet; let me process one more time through that Roman arch; let me ask one more person about growing up in Palestine; let me hear the call to prayer one more time; let me talk to one more faculty member about being a pioneer at this school; let me thank one more student for their refreshing vigor; let me contemplate a little deeper about the possibilities for peace in this Holy Land”—I can almost hear the entreaties she would have offered up.

My father has been home in the United States for six days now, and I am sure he has regaled the denizens of the Imperial Diner with the stories of his sauntering in the Holy Land, but I imagine that the most revealing, most illuminating parts of his trip don’t translate well for mass consumption. I mean, it is fun to talk of the camels, and the lunatic drivers, and the mystery meat, and yes, they do have stores that sell things, even P&G products—but I think one memorable element of his trip, and elusive to relay, was his visit to my classroom seeing the KA students in action.

My dad visited about 10 classes during his sojourn (remember he did have those marvelous field trips with the marvelous Dr. Hamati) and his visit came during a potentially-controversial section of the AP World History syllabus. In these 7 class days before the mid-term exam I taught the major religions of the world—one religion a day, touching on doctrine, but also discussing the impact on the world, and how the religion has acted as an engine for change in world history. I am reading a stupendous book at the moment, a book called Ark of the Liberties, written by our headmaster’s son, Ted Widmer. In the book Ted discusses the history of the United States and how in many moments of our nation’s founding they leaned on a millennial approach to the coming together of the United States. The author reflected that “Religion has never been far away from… governments” and I used this generic comment as a guiding principle in exploring Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity, Islam, and then dabbling in the secular “religions” of Confucianism, Daoism and Legalism. That is a hefty amount for seven classes!

But my father was amazed, first of all, that schools would even tackle the subject of religions. Granted, since there is a paucity here of Hindus, Buddhists, Confucianists, Daoists and Legalists, these topics were much more sociological and non-confrontational than those emotionally-laden monotheistic religions. My dad was so interested and excited to hear about these religions, and not just the nuts and bolts of what they believed, but seeing art images, and creating the context of how these spiritualities affected our world.

Naturally, when it came time for Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, this was a test for all of us. How would I approach these three conjoined-at-the-hip-and-still-so-tense Abrahamic faiths? How would the students respond? How does a believer of one faith sum up the nuts and bolts of centuries of doctrinal disputes? How does an outsider approach the faith of another group? The impact of that religion? Do we mention any of the bad moments in history? Can we get past any historical analysis that is not just “the will of God”???

Since the relation to Judaism is a touchy subject, I wanted to create a historical timeline, introducing the students to the words, “apogee” and “nadir.” We reminded ourselves of the covenant the Hebrews made with their God, YHWH, and looked at the 10th century BCE apogee of the Hebrew kingdom when Jerusalem was a major capital, and the power extended far and wide. I then jumped several centuries to what I called the nadir, the lowest point for the Hebrews, when Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar dispersed the Jews, mostly to the East, in what has been termed, “the diaspora.” In this approach we encountered the stirring triumphs of the Hebrews, and also the low point, the historical justification why something like Israel needed to be created millennia later, in an attempt to restore that 10th century BCE high point of Solomon’s empire.

My students treated the subject like historians—looking at the evidence, trying to understand the timeline, and making sense of causes and effects. There wasn’t a single nasty comment, and my father mentioned how thrilling it was to watch the students apply their evaluative and reflective skills to something that could have been simply badly stereotyped.

As we discussed Christianity, I compared the various “social action” messages of Jesus’ sermons to the image of Jesus Christ as vengeful warrior in the book of Revelation. I explained how that narrative of the apocalypse has shaped many moments in Christian history, and why some Christians have looked for the anti-Christ in anything they feared or didn’t understand. We looked at some of the actual words, such as when those last vials are poured out over the earth in the last days, the Tigris and Euphrates would dry up, or the “whores of Babylon” would be silenced—hey, references to what we have been studying. My father was mesmerized at how little my students really knew about Christian doctrine and history, but how they eagerly sought to understand this information. He mentioned about a dozen times how stupefied a student was when he said, “You mean Jesus was a Jew?!” I worried a little about what he thought turning a historian’s eye on something that has been our spiritual bedrock since infancy, but as we left class, he said, “That was really interesting—you handled those tough topics very well.” You never mind hearing praise from your father.

I skipped the doctrinal elements of Islam in class—remember the statistic that 94% of Jordan is Muslim—so we could focus on the impact and extent of Islam, the relationship of Islam to the state, and how and why Islam spread so quickly. I wasn’t worried—but I also wanted to do historical justice, analyze thoughtfully and sensitively, and relay what historians write about these topics. I underscored to the class that as we speculated why Islam spread so quickly throughout not only Arabia, but many parts of the remnants of the southern part of the Roman Empire, we would not say, “it is God’s will” as historical evidence. No one got miffed.

I offered 8 points that, as an outsider, could account for the easy acceptance and spread of Islam. The first point was the clarity of the message. I could almost hear an exhale of relief that I started with something that to them was so obvious, and positive. And I wasn’t just trying to talk of terrorism—the Arab fear that every westerner begins and ends with terrorism when exploring Islam.

It was an exciting class. My students debated some of my points and my priorities. They tried to qualify some comments about the relationship of Islam to slavery, and women’s rights. But mostly, they dug in and worked like the good historians they are becoming. My father had been watching this one student every day, and on more than occasion, said, “That Jude Dajani is something. If I were doing a group project, I would want her on my team. She is something special.” Not anything about Jude not being American, or anything else “foreign,” just astute observations about a thrilling student.

As we walked around campus one afternoon he wondered, “Do you think anyone taught like this when I was in school? I mean we never studied any of these things, and history was just about battles and dates. Do you think anyone was doing this exciting work back then?” He then launched into his observations about the students’ friendliness, and willingness to work and become more effective students—the very things I have been telling him for the last year.

On one of our last nights the headmaster and his wife invited us over to dinner with a few of my best teacher friends. My father mentioned to Eric that everywhere he went on campus someone was cleaning something—“they really do their job well,” he emphasized. He also told Eric that they should update the website and get some better photographers since he didn’t think the magazine articles he had seen, and the website, did the place justice.

As we finished our meal—a pre-Thanksgiving roasted turkey meal—we settled into talking and reflecting. Eric often calls on guests to offer impromptu speeches, and so my father obliged and spoke of coming all the way here to check on his son’s safety. “In these two weeks, I have never felt unsafe,” and thanked our hosts for their hospitality. I mentioned that in February, 2007, I had sat at this very table—Eric and I sat again in the same exact spots as that first moment—discussing how I might broach the subject of moving to Jordan to my family back home. How fitting to sit there at the table, after a satisfying day of classroom teaching, after a satisfying 12-day visit with my father, basking in the glow of what KA has meant to all of us over these months. I sat there with Linda, my French friend, Tessa, my South African friend, and Randa, my Jordanian friend, and with my father, my rock of Gibraltar, and there I was, on a cloud not far away at all from where my mother would have held court.

1 comment:

Jane said...

Hey John. I'm Patti Freeman's sister-in-law - living in Crozet, VA. Your entry on Patti touched us all - what a gift you have for writing and for capturing the magic that is Patti. On behalf of Patti, there is something that John would like for me to pass along to you - her circle of love is ongoing! Would you be willing to share your mailing address? If so, could you email it to me? My best, Jane