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This week I had an experience that I will remember and cherish forever. Several weeks ago, my mom informed me that we would be having two Palestinian and most likely Muslim teenagers staying at our house for 2 days. They were here touring with a dancing group of Palestinian teens from a private Lutheran school in Ramallah. I was immature and rather put-off about it. I threw out the usual, “Why do WE always have to have weird strangers sleep at our house? This always inconveniences me, but you don’t even care. YOU are the pastors; I didn’t sign up for this. They’ll probably hate me and we’ll disagree on everything. PLUS, I’ll only get to spend 3 hours at the rock concert instead of 8!”

I couldn’t have been more wrong. On Saturday afternoon, I came with my parents to Kountze Lutheran Church and picked up two 16-year old Palestinian Muslim girls: Jaffra and Razaan. Well, things started shaky, as could be expected. First of all, I felt uncomfortable with MYSELF because I had been at a speed-metal rock concert with my boyfriend and his friends all day wearing shorts and a black tank top. I smelled like smoke, my hair was all over the place, and my makeup and jewelry probably didn’t express a typical white-bread uptown pastor’s daughter. I didn’t want to give them a bad impression of the United States; and especially of its adolescent women. I also, however, promised myself I wouldn’t be fake and plastic. So I changed into a denim knee-length skirt, and a nice blue shirt. I still felt uncomfortable, but I tried to calm down and just be ME.

Well, the girls where great. Beautiful. I couldn’t stop looking at them. AND, they wore makeup and tight clothing. I felt so stupid for expecting to see plain, prude, uptight girls with full head scarves cursing my UN-holiness and thoughtless American ways. What a MISCONCEPTION! On the ride home, the girls and I continued discovering our differences. Expressions like, “You have no grass in Palestine?” or “You drive when you’re eighteen?” only made my parents grins grow wider as we came closer to our house.

When we arrived at home, the girls and I danced in my basement until dinner. They showed me a few of their moves of traditional Arabic dancing, and I showed them ballet on Pointe. They just sat there with wide eyes, and couldn’t stop complimenting me and asking questions. Next was dinner. My mother had been preparing for days for the dinner to be “Halal,” or a special “Kosher” for Muslims. She had a lamb and potato stew with a flat bread and salad. She just wanted to be respectful and to make sure that she wouldn’t have THREE teenage girls refusing to eat in her house. But, unfortunately, I realized that of the small portions of potato and lettuce that the girls took, only a few bites had been reluctantly consumed. So, I tossed my napkin down, and said, “Well mom, I really appreciate this lovely dinner, but it would be great if I could just have a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich.” At that moment, the girls immediately jumped up, with great smiles, and said, “Oh, yes! Good! Please!” My mom just smiled and shook her head in shock and relief.

After the sandwiches, we all went to Central High School for the girls’ performance. It was a whirl of motion, color, and sound in a Palestinian folkloric dance. It certainly wasn’t the clothing or dancing I was used to, but I really appreciated it and enjoyed it. Their joy and celebration for life; even though theirs was constantly threatened in their homeland, touched me and opened my eyes to the peace in my life that I take for granted. After the show, Jaffra and Razaan took me to meet a “very cute” boy from their troupe named Atwa. He was quite a character. He immediately kissed my cheeks, and said in a grreatt accent, “You ar-r budiful giyrrl, Marryica. Verry budiful. Not like Palestinian giyrls. You ar-r budiful Amerriycann.” He was very charming. I definitely blushed.

Jaffra, Razaan, Atwa, and I soon found ourselves dancing outside in the parking lot. Loud drumming, cheering and clapping surrounded us. The dancing wasn’t like the traditional Palestinian folk dancing, though. It was the current hip dancing that Palestinian teens dance. We were all very close together, jumping and smiling, with our arms out to the side, our shoulders moving up and down to the beat, swinging and rolling our hips and lower torso all around. It was very festive and fun. Soon, though, Jaffra, Razaan, my parents, and I all headed home to get some rest before church in the morning.

Though that rest may have happened for my parents, however, there certainly wasn’t much of it for Jaffra, Razaan, and I. We all stayed up talking until just a few hours before we had to leave for church. As the night continued, I realized that with every difference that the girls and I found between us, there were still more similarities. I can vividly remember a moment when all of us where standing on the bed downstairs, singing an old Spice Girls’ song in our pajamas, and holding a bowl of Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream. I thought, “This is practically the same experience I would be having at any sleepover with my American friends. Without them randomly speaking Arabic to each other, of course.” So the night continued, and so did the conversation. They told me of their experiences in a school where there are grades 1 through 12 all in one building, but only 400 students, and I told them of my experiences in a school where there are 4 grades in one building and 2,000 students. It was indescribable. The girls also told me of how it was to live with the constant threat of death from the Israeli army. Of the fear and powerlessness they felt, and I told them of my struggle and journey through my anorexia.

We found differences. We found similarities. For example, in Palestine, a person only has their first kiss once they have married. They are allowed to date with permission, but can only kiss once married. That is it. No exceptions. Also, a girl can wear normal clothing, but nothing showing above her knee, on her stomach, or below her shoulder. There are not nearly as many dogs as pets in Palestine, either. (The girls got quite an entertaining shock when there was a full-grown Labrador retriever ready to greet them with a huge lick in the ear when they arrived.) The girls also told me that there aren’t many houses, either; mainly just apartments. And not so much grass, either; mainly just dirt and cement. They have quite similar music, however. And similar dancing, too.

All three of us girls found ourselves to be very much like many adolescent girls; despite the geographical and cultural differences. We like to talk about boys, computers, celebrities, clothing, etc. We do each other’s makeup and hair, and help each other with “What belt matches these pants?” and “Is this just too much?” or “He’s kind’ve cute.” “HIM?!? EWWW!” And things like that.

It really was a great experience. These girls, like me, I hope, dance for peace. And dance for hope. And that is only one of the many things I was touched with from this experience. I feel like I’ve really LEARNED more and been far more educated from just these 2 days in the summer than I was in my entire freshman year. I’m glad my parents are pastors, and I’m glad they signed me up for this type of thing by having me in their life. And yes, I’ll admit it…I’m even glad I didn’t spend 8 hours at the rock concert.

Al Raja, (Hope,)
Marica Wright

Marica Wright is a daughter of two ELCA pastors who actively and frequently welcome traveling visitors into their home. Pastor Don and Pastor Donna Wright serve Lord of Love Lutheran Church in Omaha (website www.lord-of-love.org). Marica wrote this article for their home congregation's newsletter.