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One God, One Prayer by Rivon Krigyer

Published on 2007-12-27 17:35:15

Following the First World congress of Imams and Rabbis for Peace, many participants have attested their immense enthusiasm that this historical and unhoped-for meeting finally took place.

The experiences they felt were enriching, and sometimes surprised them, in any case, persuaded them that the work should continue, in order to deepen their links, their knowledge and the collaboration between the two communities.

Rivon Krygier is the rabbi of the Adath Shalom community in Paris. Rabbi Krygier attended to the Congress in Brussels.

His testimony, published in the February number of the magazine Arche, was both touching, but also very representative of what we had experience during those four days.

 

107 imams and rabbis with 71 personalities from the whole world met in Brussels from 3 January to 6 January 2005, answering to the call of the foundation Hommes de Parole and under the high patronage of the kings Albert II of the Belgians and Mohammed VI of Morocco, the congress that had originally been planed to take place in Morocco, was put back and then transferred.

What could be said about peace (the theme of the Congress), one hundred rabbis and imams from the four corners of the world? Something consternating and damning: to admit that religious discourse is too often hateful and violent. The Congress has at least ended with a common declaration condemning violence perpetrated in the name of God.

Much more could have been hoped for: pointing a finger at political recuperation, or making a resolution to revisit the Holy Scriptures. And that concerns not only the said Holy Scriptures but also the adjoining traditions, often taken in a literary sense, and sealed by the very highest authority. It would have been necessary to dare to denounce hypocrisy, confess publicly to the need of ‘recontextualising’ the scriptures that denigrate and disfigure ‘the other’, and then reinsert them in a human perspective, how can I say it, an authentic monotheist perspective, which affirms that every human being is worthy and that he is the creature of the same God.

But to leave good alone, it is befitting to be content that a conference took place at all, and of the formidable advance that it constitutes and the immense hope of success that it evokes. It is not a question of deluding ourselves on the present state of Judeo-Muslim relations, to ignore the Islamist flood or the simplistic elements of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, as though this congress was going to put all the counters back to zero; but to congratulate ourselves on the opening of a worthy and respectful channel for dialogue between courageous men of religion – certain risking their lives – of the two traditions too often confiscated by the preachers of hate. It is pleasing to dream of inverting clichés: and if the real « fanatics of God » were those who in spite of everything else, wanted to believe that peace in hearts and souls is the supreme directive, in this world?

The diversity of the participants and their obedience’s goes a long way to explaining the modesty of the final declaration. For certain, it was the first inter-religious meeting of their lives and visibly they did not seek anything other than an overture. For them, it was already a great step. I for my part had the chance to be present at the moment of a meeting of an exceptional density. One of the workshops, to be precise on the side lines and improvised, which brought together fifteen persons to accomplish a ritual Sufi prayer: the Ziker, the mystical evocation of the name of God.

I will give you my impressions as though you were there:

I went to the 26th floor of the Hilton and into a meeting room, the floor covered with carpets and empty of all furniture. I was going to leave, but at the same time was pushed forward by an irrepressible desire. As a rabbi, I was anchored in my Tradition and did not seek in any way to be « syncretised ». But it was a friend, himself a rabbi, who persuaded me, he who knew the Sufi brotherhood, who was going to direct prayers, having shared the experience with them on several previous occasions, in an Arab town in Israel.

A Christian was present. A young woman, and in addition she was Syrian. The « companions » were gathered in a circle. A rabbi became worried and left. At the centre, the Sheik concentrated himself on receiving the divine flux and to give the tone for the collective recitation. Two acolytes turned towards the interior of the circle. One of them recited verses from the Koran in a lancing monotone chant; the other relayed the leitmotiv and amplified the rhythms the Sheik commenced, passing closer and closer to the faithful. It was to chant in unison a sacred prayer, softly and slowly, then louder and louder and faster and faster. The roll of voices could be heard. The ton was grave, solemn, majestic; « La Ilaha ila Allah », « There is one God and that God is Allah ».

Certain bodies started to sway to the rhythm of the chants. We each held each others hands, eyes closed. Was I going to waver and enter the dance myself, almost a trance, I rabbi Rivon, and proclaim the sovereignty of Allah? I was uneasy about the verses of the Koran because I did not know what they said and could indispose me. But on the other hand I knew deep inside of me that Allah is their name that invokes my God, the same unique God, and Creator of the universe and of all humanity, He who joined us so strongly in those moments.

It was indeed in the Torah that I read for the first time: « The Eternal is God, above in the heavens, and below on earth there is no other » (Dt, 4:39). And I did not ignore that this was a similar evocation of the Name (« Eternal is God), chanted seven times increasing in crescendo, the culmination of the most sacred feast in the Jewish calendar: Yom Kippur.

Of course the prayer was in Arabic and led by Muslims. But we, the rabbis present, had been invited not to celebrate the triumph of Islam but to point our prayers to the tangent of our respective horizons. I started to recite the same words and at the same rhythm but in Hebrew. I was with them but from my place. My rabbi friend suddenly took the Sheik’s place and recited the renowned prayer: « Eternal, our God and God of our fathers, consent to eradicate wars from the world, and put an end to bloody crimes. Spread a shining peace in the world; one people who will no longer draw the sword against another people, and we shall no longer learn the art of war. Then all the inhabitants of the earth will recognize the essential truth: we are on this earth, neither to quarrel or rivalry, nor to hate or envy, nor to humiliate or kill, but only to be able to know you and to praise your name for ever in peace » (Isaiah, 2:4).

We cannot, we must not, we, men of religion, Jews, Christians and Muslims, each from our own non-interchangeable tradition, be sufficiently inventive to generate a universal prayer capable of covering our particularities, dominating them from above, and containing them all? If our hearts in prayer seek to reconcile all humanity around the imperatives sacred to monotheism that summon us to defend the dignity of all men as men, I do have the impression that I am betraying my religion but accomplishing it in its true messianic dimension.

Rashi, the celebrated medieval Jewish exegete, interpreted the verse which is the profession of faith in Judaism: « Listen Israel, the Eternal is our God, the Eternal is One! » (Dt, 6:4). This signifies, said Rashi, that the Eternal is today our God to us but one day he is destined to become the One God, that is to say of all Nations, as announced by the prophets Sophony (3 :9) and Zachariah (14 :9) because all will invoke his Name. There are therefore two times, one articulation between the individual and the universal, and it is also my religion that has said it. The men and women of monotheism know that going back in time they are brothers and sisters, through Adam and Eve, Abraham and Sarah.

At the Congress of Imams and Rabbis (Christians were also present as « observers »), we had become brothers and sisters for one minute of arresting silence, united by our compassion for the victims of the tsunami. The same but different. But ahead, beyond all eschatological speculation, there is still a void. I think to the word of Isaac Abarbanel, a Grand Rabbi of the 16th century: «the most part of wars between nations are provoked by their religious differences (!) as those which opposed the Christian and Muslim Empires. It is only when men invoke the name of God and submits to his commandments that he is in real safekeeping, being rid of theft and violence». I have the sentiment, in all modesty, that by participating in this common prayer, my companions and I were laying down stones, small stones for a great edifice that still remains to be built.

« How ingenious », would say certain; « compromise, insubordination », would say others. As to myself, I cannot detach from my spirit these words addressed by one of our Muslim companions, at the end of the prayer, to my Rabbi friend, looking at him directly in the eyes and shaking both hands: « You see, I felt your heart beating when we invoked the name of God together. Never could I hate you ».

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Extract from L'Arche n°562, February 2005
L'Arche, French monthly of Judaism
39, rue Broca, 75005 Paris
Example copy on demand from info@arche-mag.com
Reproduction authorized on Internet with the above mention.

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