The Blogs: Muslim-Jewish Relations: A Breath of Hope

It is no exaggeration to claim that Muslim-Jewish relations are at their most strained for decades. Beyond a year of fighting on two fronts, this war has claimed the most casualties of any conflict in Israel’s history.

Virtually every interfaith initiative has been off the table since the first rounds of Hamas’s door-to-door massacre on October 7th.

Yet my experience at a friend’s workplace showed a different perspective. Whilst few Muslims and Jews currently seek public reconciliation, the goodwill evident in more informal settings reveal a profoundly meaningful outcome in its own right.

A recent Tuesday morning found me in North London for a routine visit to the UK. Excited to see old friends but tired of perching in drab cafes, I jumped when Eitan suggested I meet him during his work hours. It was a chance to experience, rather than hear second-hand.

Eitan works at Kisharon Noe School, an institution for children with learning disabilities. Located in one of Hendon’s cavernous former mansions, Kisharon is staffed by trained Special Ed. teachers from all walks of life. The school provides for students suffering from a variety of physical and mental challenges. With nine separate streams, there is a concerted effort to match each child with an appropriate environment.

As we visited the various classrooms, Eitan explained that the interests and needs of the children are top priority when taking on new staff. Superlative Muslim teachers work alongside their equally outstanding Jewish counterparts. While the attack by Hamas on October 7th and the ensuing conflict could have threatened this harmony, the staff proactively addressed challenges. Shortly after the outbreak of war, the team made a decision that whilst it would be natural to want to discuss feelings about the Middle East, such conversations could not take place in a manner that would negatively affect the children.

The staff knew that hampering discussion is never an ideal. Yet, like other multi-faith workplaces, this came with a recognition that with strong emotional investment in the conflict and misinformation abounding, a sense of unity had to take precedence. Divisiveness would interfere with their mission of nurturing a future for those who depend on them. For most of the children, the conflict was a distant issue, and a lack of cohesion amongst teachers and support staff could only be to their detriment.

I saw first-hand as prayers continued. The chazzan called up Harry* to the Torah for his bar mitzvah. The 13-year-old made concentrated effort to pronounce his blessings and soon after, the crowd erupted into song. I watched Muslim staff touchingly encourage their young students to participate in the festivities.

Meanwhile, Eitan suggested I help Josh* with his tefillin (phylacteries). At first, I was shaking and fumbling, not knowing where to look, and feeling hopelessly awkward. Gently, I shook off my learned guilt, and focused on the task at hand. When I was done, Josh* looked up at me with immense gratitude. A continent of heaviness seemed to dissipate from my shoulders.

Walking out that morning, I felt a tangibly renewed sense of human dignity. There is something purifying about working with disabilities. Our preconceived ideas about human beings, tied to race and creed and superficial behaviors, they fall away when interacting with people who put less focus on these codes and cues. This, I think, belies Kisharon’s effortlessly cohesive atmosphere.

The wider world is not so simple. Returning to Israel and the afternoon services today, I watched Jon Goldberg-Polin lead the prayers and say the Mourner’s Kaddish for his murdered son, all at once reminding me of the misery encroaching our complex and unsettled differences. But I did not forget what I saw. It was not high-level interfaith engagement, but a simple notion of putting differences aside for a greater goal. As the first rains of the season hammered Jerusalem, I felt a means for freshness and revival. I am reminded of a response Rabbi Sacks gave to a scholarly Muslim interviewer several years ago.

“When you talk about good relations between faiths at moments of high-intensity conflict, people think you’re being utopian…so what brings these aspirations from utopia to reality? The knowledge that we have been there before.”

My experience at Kisharon gave me hope that one day we will be there again.

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*Names have been changed to protect privacy of individuals.