The Islamic Sacrifice Feast When I was younger I lived in a street where a sizeable Muslim community was present. Everybody knew each other; it was a very nice place to live and I had quite a few Muslim friends. One of them was my neighbor. We used to play a lot of games together, watch the same movies or learn the same lessons at school together; in other words, we were very good friends. It should be added that I have been brought up with important values such as tolerance and acceptance, respect of individuals, no matter the color of their skin, their religious or political point of view. Nevertheless, though my neighborhood was charming, there was a strong general background of racism and xenophobia against Muslim people in the village. One morning in the summer, I was sitting on a chair in the little garden of our house and reading a book when I heard people talking at my friend’s place. I stood up and went closer to the fence that separated my garden and the neighbor’s. I did not understand what was going on. I saw my friend’s father and uncles carrying a living sheep. This peculiar scene was both mysterious (it is not every day that you can admire a sheep in your neighbors’ garden) and exciting; I decided to hide behind some little bushes and spy on them. It was at this particular moment that I saw my friend coming, giving a big bowl to his father and sitting on the ground far from the three men and the sheep. One of two uncles said something in Arabic and my friend’s father took a shining knife from the little table, approached the sheep’s head, and with a single blow sliced the animal’s throat. The three men now immobilized the bleating beast while the fatal wound was spurting blood into the bowl, which had been put on the ground. Even if my eyes were wet, I could see in front of me three abominable monsters around this poor defenseless sheep and my emotionless friend, there, still sitting as if nothing

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had happened. Then I went home. I blamed myself for being so curious and tried desperately to forget the atrocity that I had witnessed. In the afternoon my friend knocked at the door and asked to see me. At first I hesitated; during lunch I had not said a word about that morning’s scene to my parents because it was not easy to confess that I had spied on criminals! My friend and I finally went out to visit another friend. We spent the whole afternoon playing video games and the picture of the dead sheep vanished from my mind. When we went back home, we saw our mothers talking in front of my house. My mother informed me that I was invited for dinner at my friend’s place. I gladly accepted, thanked my friend’s mother and said to myself: “All’s well that ends well!” But later I found out that I was wrong. “Today is a special day,” said my friend’s mother when we sat around the table; we were four people: my friend, his parents and I. I could not stand looking at my friend’s father whom I saw as a heartless man. After a couple of minutes I asked the woman why this day was so special because I could not imagine that this day was as important for someone else as it had been for me. She answered that it was “Eid al-Adha,” an important religious celebration—like Christmas was for me. When hearing “Christmas” I was expecting, like a child, that presents would be given or something like that. Instead she brought a big hot pan and insisted on the fact that sharing food was the major function of this celebration. But when she asked me if I liked mutton, everything around me fell apart. I immediately thought of that killed animal, now in that pan, and answered that I was not hungry. The whole family seemed to be offended by these words, and I started to reveal my secret: the garden, the sheep, the knife, the slaughter. They all listened to my confession with attention and gently replied. They were sorry for me having seen this act, which was actually an act of honor and

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obedience to Allah: “We have no intention to kill animals gratuitously. That is our religion. There are people who eat fish every Friday according to their own religion, if you see my point,” said my friend’s father. Actually I did not see his point at all. From then on a discussion took place between the Muslim family and me. I was absolutely shocked by the way they had killed the beast. I was convinced that this man could buy mutton in any shop instead of killing a sheep himself. I had never experienced such a religious practice and I saw their religion as barbaric. I can say that I stood firm and I did not accept their explanations: I was right and they were wrong. I was a child who was criticizing their lifestyle that I saw as immoral. Of course they understood my feelings about these recent events but they wanted me to understand their practice. They did their best to convince me of the moral aspect hidden behind it and their loyalty to Islam. So they told me, in a kind of educational way, the story of Abraham’s obedience to God and the sacrifice of a ram instead of Abraham’s son. Having this information in mind I began my introspection: “And what if I was wrong?” The meal was getting cold and my friend’s mother decided to put it back in the oven for a couple of minutes. During this conversation my friend had had difficulties to look at me, as if a perfect stranger were sitting right in front of him. I thought about their culture even if I was not ready to eat mutton that evening. I offered my apologies to them and left because I felt uneasy, like the black sheep of the group, but I had no intention to use this pun at that stage. The following day I met my friend by chance at the grocer’s shop. He told me that the way I had behaved the evening before had shocked him. He considered me now part of “the others”; in other words, I belonged to the racist people who did not understand his family’s lifestyle. Listening to him, I felt ashamed and asked how he could say such a thing, how he could

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compare me to those odious people! Then he just said that I had done the same thing to his family when I had compared them to monsters. I had hurt him so deeply that evening that he wanted me to feel the same way; he paid me back in his own coin. It was difficult for him and his close relatives to live with this omnipresent racism in the village and he made me understand that the dinner had been organized purposely in order to allow me to share a little bit of their Muslim culture. From time to time I still pay a visit to my friend with whom I have kept in touch. When we speak about this “unfortunate” event, we make fun of it. Contrary to his parents, he does not want to take this religious ritual seriously because the education of his children must be, according to him, apart from religious norms: he does not want to oblige them to follow religion as he had followed it when he was a child. In their case religious values tend to be less important from generation to generation. This was my experience of a cultural clash, which made me realize that such a thing can occur easily to anyone in any context. When the Muslim family tried to explain their religious tradition, I simply did not accept it. This was of course not a constructive way of promoting tolerance and understanding towards their culture. Because I am an atheist, I did not want to hear about religion and the means this family used to celebrate the “Sacrifice Feast.” I considered religion as a waste of time, something totally ridiculous which made people spend their lives with prayers and compromises. I just imposed my point of view as being the best because I wanted them to be like me. But I have learned not to take anything for granted. If I had not been involved in this situation, I would not have learned about different perceptions of the world by different people. It is not because I see something as ideal that someone else will see it the same way; it is very

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important to learn from other people. In my opinion cultural clashes or critical incidents are in culture as a prism: people look at such situations and then have different perceptions or interpretations of what things are. I regret having left the family so quickly after the short discussion we had had; it was a childish way out. I was indeed a twelve-year-old boy living among that Muslim community but I saw my neighbors as acquaintances, not as Muslim believers. To bury my head in the sand is what my parents advised me to do in order to avoid any offence towards the neighbors: “You know,” said my mother, “these people are good neighbors and I don’t want them to dislike us. And good neighbors help each other when there’s a problem.” I thought she was right at that moment but today I cannot remain silent when a cultural misunderstanding between people occurs because that is not a good way of solving problems. The night of that dinner, I had qualified my neighbors as immoral, crude and heartless people. I remember that I told them: “Oh gosh! I don’t know how you can eat THAT!” In retrospect I realize how disrespectful this sentence was/is. When I think about such general judgments today, I wonder if the person judging the other culture so easily is sane. How could I judge somebody having a different lifestyle from mine by telling him/her that he/she did not live in a proper way? I think that before criticizing someone, people must know themselves; that is Socrates’ guiding rule, “Know thyself!” Difference should not be a factor that distinguishes people but a useful tool that brings them together. Furthermore it was clear that on both sides: no one was right, no one was wrong. We just experienced a clash in our own values. Culture is a boundless world, and there is not a single model to follow. Everybody is free to live happily according to traditions or customs that can be relevant for one’s life. My friend and his parents did not want to harm me and I had no

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intention to hurt or insult them. Points of view or ideas were exchanged in order to lead to a debate that unfortunately did not last. My friend’s parents and I have not spoken about that dinner again. I do not mean that it was a taboo, but we felt uncomfortable about that subject. I thought I was responsible for having spoilt a festive moment and my friend’s parents were embarrassed to know that I had witnessed the sacrifice. We both had the impression that we had done something wrong. I am now aware of people’s need to turn to religion. In spite of the fact that I do not believe in any god, I realize how much faith is associated with culture and related to lifestyle. If someone speaks about his/her faith, I listen attentively because it is both what cultural diversity is about and a way of learning new information: for example, I did not know about the story of the Islamic Sacrifice Feast and its morality until I experienced this cultural clash. I think that showing my own interest in cultural aspects that are not my own paves the way to integration and acceptance and makes discrimination vanish. That is why the terrible scourge of racism paralyzed the expression of my friend’s family’s identity. It goes without saying that being human implies being open-minded towards others; otherwise no improvement can be made. I insist on the aspect of communication; I should have talked to this family the same night or the following day, even if my parents asked me to be polite and let the matter be: “Curiosity killed the cat,” said my father. However sometimes curiosity is a good way of showing what I have mentioned before, that is, interest. My parents wanted me to behave in a certain way; this means that in a way my education has prevented me from understanding my neighbors’ traditions. I am not saying that I reproach my parents for making me behave this way, but I should have made an effort to break this image of the polite young boy who does not ask the Muslim neighbors any inappropriate questions about their

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religion because it was considered part of their cultural intimacy and nobody should interfere with it. Today in France it is forbidden for Muslims to kill sheep themselves for Eid al-Adha; these animals have to be killed in slaughterhouses. So I will never again have the occasion of seeing other Muslim neighbors making a sacrifice in their garden, and that is a shame. Now I consider this celebration to be one of the most important Muslim feasts. However, I have moved from the notion of “cultural difference” to cultural perceptions, or ways people identify themselves in culture. Difference in cultures does not exist. I have become more attentive and interested in both the wealth of culture and the importance of putting people in touch with each other.

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