A story about Eid Al-Adha , from Yom Kippur 5782

The taxi driver who lives in the village across the road from me picked me up at 11 am on Erev Yom Kippur 5782 /- lifetimes ago .

He shook his finger at me.

“You’re supposed to be home preparing for the fast!” he said.

“Don’t worry,” I told him “I’ll be back before the roads close.”

“Good,” he said as we drive up the hill. “This is a serious day!”

As we passed the promenade overlooking the Old City, he slowed down and pointed “you know,” he tells me “you know, I am not a Jew, I am a Muslim, but I love all religions and I study them. I’ve read the Bible. I’ve read your Torah. I’ve even read the book about Tom Cruise and the crazy aliens. So I know a lot. And on Yom Kippur you tell the story about the Akeda – the “binding,” you call it, right?”

“Actually we read that on Rosh Hashana” I answered.

But I can see why he might think we read it on Yom Kippur. It’s a powerful passage – it’s theme cradles the overwhelming question “who will live and who will die.”

Or as the passage goes: “Take your son, your only son whom you love, Isaac, and go to the land of Moriah to be sacrificed.” (SPOILER ALERT: An angel God intervened literally at the very last second and Abraham sacrificed a ram instead.)

Who will live and who will die.

“Whatever,” the driver said “it’s all part of the same special time.”

I decided not to argue.

“Anyway,” the driver said as he pointed out at the sweeping view of Jerusalem rolling toward the horizon like pearls, the Old City gleaming on a hill just beyond his finger “did you know this is the spot where Avraham and Yitzhak looked out at the mountain? Ah? Ah? Did you know this? Did I teach you something?”

I had heard this before, but I don’t tell him that.

“Living history here in Jerusalem, right?” I said.

“You know I’m Muslim as I told you,” the driver said “In our tradition, we have the same story – just a different son. Ismail — he was the one that his father loved most. And on Eid al-Adha we commemorate the sacrifice by slaughtering a sheep and feeding the poor, and anyone who is hungry. You know, it’s too bad our holidays don’t happen the same day. You fast, you finish hungry, and we could feed you!” he laughs. “Maybe that would solve all our problems.”

“Ya reit- if only.”

And these days, the idea that this could happen seems impossible… as the war rages on, as our fear and anger deepen, as we mourn separate in our own fortified tents, the idea that one day it could be different seems naive.
But maybe one day it WILL be different and we WILL celebrate together like the cousins we truly are.

In the meantime, Eid Mubarak to my Muslim and Druze friends – and may the One who makes peace in the high heavens make peace for us and for all humanity.