they may call me "Other"

My family is extremely diverse. On my fathers side they are Jewish. Then on my mothers side I have Christian, Catholic, and my grandparents are ummmm I think Atheists or at least against "organized Religion." If I'm honest This used to embarrass me. When I was with my Muslim friends I would never tell them, that my parents were reverts. I wanted to pretend I was just like them. I needed to belong to at least one group. I was one of Millions of "Others" we were born Muslim but our parents are reverts. We do not fit in with the Americans and at the same time we don't not fully belong to the Arab or Desi community. I hated belonging to this group of "Others".I wanted to be Arab. full blooded sandal with sock wearing Arab. I wanted black hair, brown eyes and olive skin. I wanted people to take me seriously when I talked about Islam. I wanted people to respect me when I came to the masjid.


I started wearing hijjab and the next year my family was invited to my cousins Bat Mitsva. I was scared out of my mind. No part of me was comfortable with the thought of sitting in a temple with people who were supposed to not like me. I had been to temple before but never with Hijjab. This time it would be different. I pictured the Rabbi screaming at my father that he was a "traitor". I had images of the rabbi and the followers chasing me out of the temple yelling at me to look at my roots and come back to them. Ok, so Im slightly dramatic. Then there was part of me that wanted the people to be mean so that I didn't feel like I was paranoid. I wanted a man to yell at me so I could stand up in front of my family and declare that I was proud to be a Muslim. To tell you the truth Im not sure why I wanted this. maybe I needed to prove to myself that I was proud and not ashamed to wear Hijjab. I entered the Synagog. I sat down next to a smiling women on my right and my father on my left. my father wore a kufi but I'm sure the people around him thought it was a large yamaka, but I appreciated the solidarity. The Rabbi started, I waited. No one was chasing us yet. I waited. My cousin stood up and started reading. I waited. the lady next to me said she liked my scarf. Did she think I was orthodox Jewish? What was wrong with these people why were they not doing what I thought and slightly wanted them to do. why were they not fulfilling my fantasies of a complected family/Religious clash. I didn't know my Jewish family well. I thought they would be embarrassed by us. I thought they secretly didn't want us to show up. I waited longer. Then my time came. The Rabbi started talking about Palestine and Israel. I thought to myself, "this is it. get ready to run." I got paranoid. I told myself that people were staring at me. I got ready to run when they got up to chase me out of the synagog. Nothing happened. no one was looking at me. why? The next thing I know people got up to leave. The women at the door smiled, gave me a hug and thanked me for coming. WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!!!!??? I was already confused, then my great uncle came up to me. he hugged me and told me this, " I don't care what you are. I don't care if you do voodoo. All I want to know is that you are happy. we are family and that's all that matters." I never told anyone this but that night I cried. I wasted half my life being scared to get to know my family out of ignorance. I was ashamed that I had become what I had assumed they themselves were doing. I judged them long before they had judged me. My great uncle still tells me he loves me just the way I am. I don't care how many times I have heard it. I want to hear it again. I may feel like my Jewish family accepts me but I know I will never fully belong. Judaism is a huge part of their life. And while we may share blood we do not share faith. They will never fully understand my Religious practices and as much as I pretend I do, I will never really understand theirs. Is this poetic or just confusing? I haven't decided yet.

My mothers side its a little more complicated. My grandparents are from North Carolina and while they spend many many many years in the Middle East they will never accept that fact that my mother and her children are Muslim. I cant count the number of times I have argued with my grandfather about Islam. He thinks Ill grow out of it. He thinks my Islam is just a phase like a bad hairstyle or skinny jeans. Its not that easy. When I walk with him I wonder if he feels ashamed to be seen with me. I sometimes offer to wait in the car in order to save him the stares. I may be used to it but Im sure he is not. The fact is, he will never fully accept that we are not going to stop being Muslim. Maybe its time for me to also accept that he will never become a Muslim. I love him and I know he loves us but we still do not fully belong. We are “other”. Not to long ago when I would go to the masgid people would treat me differently. Although I was born Muslim the thought I knew nothing about Islam. That's one of the reasons it would be so much easier if I just say my dads from Palestine instead of Israel. The questions stop once I say that and all of a sudden I am accepted. I am ashamed to admit I was embarrassed by my heritage. I wanted nothing more then to pick a race and Religion that fit better together and stick with it. I was sick of being an “other” and wanted to be a someone.


I have found my place. I am no longer ashamed of who I am or where my family comes from. I am a Muslim American who comes from a Jewish and Christian background. I pray five times a day and have a American grandpa who used to let me sit on his lap and drive the green tracker. I wear a hijjab and had a grandma who was Jewish yet still read me books and hugged me before bed. I read the Quran and have cousins who read the torah. I have found my place. Nothing makes me more proud then the thought that my parents became Muslims on their own. They faced many difficulties yet as a family we have prevailed and the differences between us were not as strong as the similarities that have brought us together. I am Khadija. Daughter of Mustafa Dan Chudnoff and Nadina Barns. I am a writer, lover, sister, aunt and believer. I am from a family I am proud of. I am Khadija and I am not “OTHER”