Ranya Tabari Idliby is far from the first writer to analyse the experience of Muslims in the US or to call for better understanding between the cultures of the Middle East and West. However, she brings a unique and highly readable perspective. She is not a scholar; rather, she’s a self-described “secular Muslim” wife and mother who lives in New York City, has a close friend who is Jewish, doesn’t wear a headscarf and has carved out a career trying to build bridges between moderate Muslims and the non-Muslim West.
Along with two friends from different religious backgrounds, Idliby co-founded what they called the Faith Club “with the idea of doing a project that would help highlight our commonalities”.
In 2007, the three authored a best-selling book, The Faith Club: A Muslim, A Christian, A Jew – Three Women Search for Understanding, which explained their history and laid out their goal of encouraging communication. The book gained the authors some public fame, with interviews on national television and radio programmes and cross-country speeches.
Now Idliby by herself has written a second book, Burqas, Baseball, and Apple Pie: Being Muslim in America. As a stroll through the problems of real life, it will give non-Americans some valuable insight into relations between Muslims and other Americans and, perhaps, provide some guidance for other mums in multicultural situations.
However, it doesn’t fulfil the promise of its title. There are too many overly optimistic generalities about the oneness of humanity, and too few actual burqas and apple pies – that is, too few specific details of daily living.
Idliby’s entire life has been a mixture of secular and observant ingredients. Her Palestinian-born father attended university in Chicago, then moved to Kuwait, where he met and married her mother. During her early years there, Idliby attended a French school and hung up Christmas stockings. Her devout Muslim mother cooked apple pies from “her cherished Betty Crocker cookbook”, but never pork. Her more secular father gave up alcohol for Ramadan.
Later, the family shuttled between homes in Dubai and the US, and Idliby ultimately became an American citizen. “Neither my mother, nor her mother, nor any female member of my family has ever worn a headscarf,” the author says.
On the other hand, starting at age eight, Idliby says, she was imbued with what she calls the “God gene”, feeling a strong spiritual connection with Islam.
The mix of secular western life and Islam has continued with Idliby’s two children, both born in the US and now young teenagers. In many ways, they have had an All-American childhood, complete with Dr Seuss books, lollipops, summer camp, and sports. Nevertheless, it has always been clear to them that they are specifically Muslim-Americans.
The two cultural streams are embodied in the name that Idliby chose for her daughter – Leia, a westernised spelling of the popular Muslim name. Friends and colleagues at first thought that she was named for either the biblical matriarch Leah – half true – or the princess in Star Wars.
Like Americans of all ethnic backgrounds, Idliby was horrified by the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks on New York and Washington. But unlike other Americans, she suddenly felt that her religion was seen as the villain.
The school music teacher asked Leia, then in kindergarten, if she celebrated Christmas or Hanukkah, as if no other choice were possible. Even years later, one schoolmate started calling Idliby’s son Taymor a terrorist, and that escalated into a “joke” about whether he was storing a cache of weapons at home.
Experiences like those prompted Idliby’s career in intercultural understanding. But to undertake those projects, Idliby realised she needed more grounding in the religion that she had somewhat taken for granted. That led her to read the Quran for the first time. While she lacks the historical and scriptural depth of a professional scholar, she adds practical applications that too few scholars appreciate.
Idliby does not shy away from what she perceives to be contentious issues. One chapter is bluntly entitled: “Mommy, Can I Marry a Jew?” (The author’s reply to this hypothetical question from her daughter: If you raise your children in both religions and if your husband deeply loves and respects you, then “I would rather you marry a Jew who upholds those values than a Muslim who is a polygamist or misogynist or who does not honour your absolute equality in the eyes of God”.)
Another chapter delves into the question of whether Islam condones wife-beating. Idliby offers several answers.
First, she says, “the Quran needs to be read as a whole in the context of the time and culture of its revelation”. Once she does that, Idliby finds that in one passage “the Quran itself asserts that, ‘there are some verses that are absolute and unequivocal, and others that are categorical and equivocal’. The wife-beating verse,” Idliby continues, “clearly belongs to the latter.”
Moreover, she cites Dr Laleh Bakhtiar, the first American woman to translate the sacred text. According to Bakhtiar, “the Arabic word for ‘beat’ has 17 different meanings in the Quran”. So perhaps “beat” doesn’t mean physically abusing a wife. Still, as Idliby acknowledges, academic lectures have limited value. “Repeating the mantra that Islam is a religion of peace,” she writes, “is counterproductive, ineffective and a futile approach.”
This, unfortunately, is where Idliby fails to take full advantage of her unique vantage point. To both build her bridges, and also provide guidance for other Muslim families in the West, the author needs to describe her own family’s daily life in more detail. For instance, the book mentions that her family celebrates Christmas and welcomes the Easter Bunny. Do they also observe any Muslim rituals? Did this multiplicity confuse the children?
How does Leia feel when she attends the bar and bat mitzvahs of her many Jewish friends? Or when she sees pictures of women in burqas?
Do Leia and Taymor have any Muslim friends? Do they want any?
One scene describes the family’s regular Sunday breakfast of what Taymor unhappily labels “Muslim food”, including grilled sheep’s milk halloumi cheese with diced tomatoes and scallions. What other food – western or Muslim – is on their usual menu?
Has Idliby tried teaching the children Arabic? How does the family handle the exhaustion of going to school and work while fasting during Ramadan? Are there squabbles with her secular husband over religion?
The book would be far richer – and more persuasive – with more of these kinds of real-life details.
Another problem is that some of Idliby’s expectations seem too naive. “I still expect my children to carry the truth of their faith with conviction and pride,” she writes, “to patiently serve as Americans and as Muslims for a better tomorrow.” A lovely thought, but she provides no specific advice on how to carry out this tough task.
Yet just as often, the book is too pessimistic, exaggerating the significance of minor Islam-bashing figures such as blogger-activist Pamela Geller and Steven Klein, the publicist for the anti-Islam film Innocence of Muslims when the two are far, far out of the mainstream of American life and politics. And it is inconceivable that any teacher in New York City would crack a “joke” like the one Idliby quotes – “Not that anyone would want to convert to Islam, even today” – without being disciplined.
In fairness, many of the issues raised in Burqas, Baseball, and Apple Pie have no easy solutions. The best that any loving parent can do for her children may be to give big-picture guidance, and then sit back.
“I am careful to point out that fear and hate are not new to the world. I do not want my children to feel unique or exceptional as victims or targets,” Idliby explains.
But, beyond that: “They will have to find out for themselves what at the end of the day it means for them to be Americans and Muslims. I can only help clarify.”
Fran Hawthorne is an award-winning US-based author and journalist who specialises in covering the intersection of business, finance and social policy.