What a Muslim Learned on Yom Kippur

Nonie Darwish. She's graced these pages before. Her mere existence gives hope for the future of Muslims, and mankind in general.

I was born a Muslim and raised in the 1950’s in Cairo, Egypt and in the Gaza strip. A moderate form of Islam was prevalent in those days. But destructive forces loomed large in other aspects of Arab society – in particular, shame and pride. Arab culture, not Islam, taught me to hate.

In 1978, I moved to the United States, bringing the usual baggage and prejudice from a Middle East upbringing: fear of Jews, of government, of speaking my own mind. I had lived through the ‘56, ’67, and ‘73 wars with Israel, which left me with deep skepticism of authority. A new and pleasant life in America soon opened my mind – and allowed me to look objectively at myself and my culture of origin.

To admit one’s flaws and mistakes, to correct and repent, challenges a person of any nationality. In Muslim culture, however, it is inconceivable. To acknowledge one's shortcomings before first blaming others would bring deep shame and dishonor not only to the individual but to his or her entire family. Those who admit fault, even unintentional guilt, are regarded as foolish. If the mistake is a cultural taboo, one's reputation may be scarred for life and the perpetrator might end up brutally punished.

In Arab society, I was discouraged from sinning out of fear of a wrathful God – and fear of society's cruel punishment, which awaited sinners right here on earth. There was no reward for loving humanity as whole, striving to improve oneself, and bringing out the best in the human spirit. Many aimed only to please brutal dictators, currying favor and wealth at the expense of their fellow Arabs. Such widespread corruption in a religious society may seem paradoxical.

Read it all. It gives insight. But more importantly, hope.