Madrasseh

In a bus packed with first-graders a little boy with a high-pitched voice asked, "Where are you from?" I said, "America." His eyes-widened, he screamed, and spread the news. In the back of the bus five little boys began the chant: "Death To America! Death to America!"

Twenty-five first graders in neon-green summer program t-shirts prayed in formation in an open-ended warehouse. An older student stood in front, mic in hand, echo set to high chanting the Qur'anic Arabic in his prepubescent voice. A hand tapped my shoulder as I watched, a fully bearded man with a draped button-up shirt and slacks beckoned me over to a corner of the room for an interview.

Being The American made me a celebrity figure brinking between fame and infamy. In the bus to the summer camp I autographed the students' notepads, wrote my phone number on the bill of one's cap and incited screams by flashing a dollar bill. But, not being one to bite my tongue, when asked if I believed that Allah was God I said No.

I was tactful though, I never said I was an unbeliever, but a searcher, which didn't make me one bound to go to hell, but with my prior readings and future aspirations one to become not just a cultured Muslim, but a Muslim with powerful conviction.

Nonetheless, the video camera was zoomed in on my face for an uncomfortable two-minutes prior to prayer, and when I declined the invite to pray was taken into a corner of the room.

The interview began.

- You've read the Bible, so you think Yahweh is God?
- I've read Harry Potter, and unfortunately magic isn't real.

- Then, do you believe Allah is God?
- Until I see Allah, I won't believe. Until I sense Him, I won't believe. Until I feel he's helped me, I won't believe.

- Then who created you?
- My mother and my father.

- Don't you think 19 years is enough time to find God?
- Some math problems have taken lifetimes to be solved and understood. Should the question of whether there is or isn't a God be easier than a small question for us humans?

Worried that I would never come back, he was told to shut the camera off, and I was led to the principal's desk in the corner of the prayer room. Around it were a group of teacher's, the principal as well as my uncle, who admired my inquisitiveness and willingness to strengthen the reasoning behind the words of the Qur'an.

A morbidly obese man with a goatee breathed heavily as he took humorously small sips of his tea, and on learning that I wasn't a Muslim picked up a hammer and facetiously readied to swing it at my head. After sitting down next to me I noticed his eyes shooting glares in my direction and in quick Farsi he asked my Uncle if I was cut. Once it was settled that I was circumcised, the conversation could be carried on.

The men at the table were interested in bolstering their own reasoning with my Devil's Advocate play. And the topic at hand was the seegheh, a temporary bind between a male and a female who want to have sex ending with a payment to the women. (See Prostitution.)

One of the men began.

- The Americans are sinning when they get girlfriends and boyfriends and freely have sex with no time set and no idea of what faithfulness truly means.

- After a month of having a seegheh can I sign myself up for another month?

- Yes.

- Can I do so for an indefinite amount of time?

- If the girl gets pregnant, no, but until then, yes.

- And I can jump around from one women to the next, having a seegheh two weeks with one girl, two weeks with another, etc.?

- Of course.

- Then how does that make Americans less faithful, and how is that not prostitution?

The men began to argue that they were faithful to their wives and to mitigate the antagonism that was beginning to build I began to carry a conversation about their families, the fun they have, and they shared with smiles on their face.

I asked one what his fondest memory is with his wife, and he said, "Honestly, the wedding night."

One of the men segwayed by calling one of his friend's the Iranian equivalent of "faggot" and the topic of homosexuality was set forth. Unfortunately, the conversation was cut short, but the direction it was going was that, aside from what scientists are saying, there are things that science has not yet learned, somehow making homosexuality a sin. And all I had to retort was by making them agree that the acts of Jesus Christ were reflections of the act of God, and stating that history tells us his friends were those that they are verbally smiting. They said history was skewed, and that a true messenger of God would not do such a thing. Later, another said that Jesus' purity is like an ocean and those sinners like specks of dust, and that though Jesus could remain pure, "I would not be able to stay unchanged."

A few of the men came swimming with me and my uncle and they spoke fondly of their pasts, one saying that the happiest they had ever been was "the moment that Ayatollah Khomeini walked down the steps of the airplane" marking the end of the revolution and the beginning of the Islamic republic. With a blunt 180 in the conversation I asked if they would partake in an act of jihad and they replied that if God wills it, they would gladly do so.

While swimming alone one of the kids doggy-paddled up and asked me if I prayed. When I said No his eyes widened and he said, "There is a God, Allah, and he wants you to pray to him, and if you don't you'll go to hell, a fiery place, with fires so furious." He called my Uncle over to to describe hell to me.

The day ended and my Uncle and I made our way to a friends house where we were to meet the rest of my family, and on the way there he taught me bits of poetry and spoke to me about the conversations he had heard me having today, about how the first step to strengthening faith is questioning it. I honestly was curious to see what he thought of me because I refused to fork my tongue and say I was something I wasn't. But, my uncle was both understanding and hopeful that my future would set me on the correct path.

The night ended with a get-together at an old friend's house. Prior to my mother and co.'s arrival I was speaking with Habib, a very devout Muslim, who critiqued me for reading the New York Times and for having it as my predominant news source. I asked him if he though Iran's sedition acts were fair, and he agreed. I pointed out the hypocrisy in his last two statements and he slowly pulled the conversation away.

When my mother and co. arrived Habib immediately stiffened up, hands behind his back, staring at the television out of some fear that if he stared at my sister and my cousin he would become impure. I'm not sure if that is his reasoning, but he sat alone away from the party. The night ended with the host awkwardly approaching my mother with a sheet of cloth and covered her arms. My mother tore it off when she could and the night dredged on like a horrible hangover.