A Few Good Men could well describe more than a famous movie starring Tom Cruise, Demi Moore, and Jack Nicholson about U.S. Marines and their struggle to balance what they experience as the competing demands of fealty to “the Corps” with their obligations as human beings sepa rate from the military. It could also describe, with the addition of a few good women, the struggle of interreligious relations, which all too often is a struggle to balance these same competing demands. The best-known line in the script is voiced when a young attorney demands the truth from Nicholson’s character, Colonel Nathan R. Jessup. Believing that his experience commanding troops in Guantanamo Bay is too complex to be properly understood by his examiner (an irony I will not examine here), Jessup angrily screams back, “You can’t handle the truth!”
In this instant, two things become clear to the viewer. First, however painful it may be, the truth must always come out. The inability to shine a light on the dark corners of the communities we love most ultimately weakens and even destroys them. This is what happened with Colonel Jessup and the Marines under his command. Second, it becomes clear that what one understands as “the truth” is very much rooted in personal experience, something that demands respect. And yet, respect for the personal context that shapes the understanding of truth must not be used as an excuse for less-than-forthright discussions of even the most difficult issues.
Colonel Jessup, fully consumed by his own personal experience and the narrative that both shapes and is shaped by it, is not so different from any one of us. Yes, he is an extreme example of what can happen when our guiding narratives become entirely self- referential, lacking a mechanism to be kept in check. But more importantly, he represents the impulse to cover up those things we do not want to confront. Jessup also embodies the belief that the tough stuff cannot be fully explored with those outside one’s community because not only will such outsiders fail to appreciate “the truth,” they will use any newly acquired information shared by insiders to harm those who were brave enough to risk divulging it.
With only a few names changed, this entire discussion could easily describe the state of interreligious relations in much of the United States, especially between Jews and Muslims. This essay explores the current state of affairs between these two communities—our two communities— and how we might improve them. I should point out that to even speak of the Jewish or Muslim community, especially in contemporary America, is a misnomer. There is no single Jewish or Muslim community in the United States or elsewhere. But there are organizations representing large segments of each community, as well as media, advocacy, and educational institutions that are seen as indicative, if not fully representative, of Jews and Muslims in America.
While I believe that there are as many ways to be either Jewish or Muslim as there are people who identify as such, these institutions and organizations often present themselves and/or are perceived of as being synonymous with Jews, Judaism, Muslims, and Islam. Since, as is often remarked, the biggest difference between perception and reality is that perception is more difficult to change, it remains useful to use the language of Jews, Muslims, and communities herein. Yet I do so with the acute awareness that these are terms of convenience and not in any way exhaustive of the ideological and spiritual range claimed by all Jews or Muslims.
The bulk of this essay explores the ethical obligations that devolve upon both individuals and the institutions that claim either to represent them or speak in the voice of their traditions. How do we keep from becoming Nathan Jessup? How do we build our capacity to “handle the truth?” How do we nurture this capacity in others? How do we become more honest about the challenges within our own communities and make it safe for members of other communities to do the same? Only when these questions are fully addressed will we find ourselves on the path of maximizing the relationships between America’s Jewish and Muslim communities.
We must begin by raising the bar on our expectations regarding interreligious encounters. We must not confuse feel- good moments of mutual affirmation, which too often pass for genuine interreligious dialogue, with accomplishing the harder work of recognizing genuine differences between communities. It’s not that the so-called kumbaya experiences do not have their place, but they are not enough. Such experiences bring people together without actually being inter- anything. They are simply opportunities for mutual self-congratulation about that which is already shared. Yes, the identification and celebration of shared values remains a critical component of peace-building work. But time and again we have seen that without a healthy capacity to examine and address the moments of breakdown between groups, things quickly devolve into ugly rhetoric and even into violence.
~~Muslims and Jews in America: Commonalities, Contentions, and Complexities -ed- Reza Aslan & Aaron J. Hahn Tapper
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