Hadith: An Unbeliever in the Mosque

"You're going where?" my mother had asked when I called her from my cell phone, telling her that I was visiting the largest mosque in San Diego County. My mind had been wholly made up however, I was already on the I-15 and was halfway between my apartment and the Islamic Center of San Diego.

"I'm going to the biggest mosque in San Diego," I reiterated to her, much to her disbelief. There was a moment of silence as she let the thought roll through her mind, and I could imagine in my own way what she was thinking. Living in Louisiana, her only outlet to Muslims being what she saw on the news or read on the internet, she had had little exposure to Muslims in person, with the sole exception of Mehran, the Shi'ite Persian who had married my step-grand mother's daughter. He was not exactly the kind of man to speak as a representative of Islam to someone who had not had much exposure to the religion, that's for sure.

In all my mother didn't know what to expect from my going to a mosque, the only thing she could expect was that her son had one day called her declaring his desire to go down to one to do something as seemingly imprudent as asking Imams their stances on terrorist factions. Naturally I had no actual fear of my well-being by going down there, the Islamic Center of San Diego is a prestigious building that models itself as a source of free information on the religion, constantly participating in Catholic-Muslim Dialogue Conferences and the like. However there just seemed something potentially imprudent about a nineteen year old white Protestant, notebook in hand, stepping into a mosque and asking a number of seemingly risky questions.

I'd been doing it since Junior High School however, and it had always had mixed consequences. If I wanted to know something, I'd go straight to the source, and I had always chosen topics that your average student would have found rather odd, if they'd found it at all. In second grade I did an extensive report on Nazism and Simon Wiesenthal when I was posed with the assignment of doing a report on my hero. You were expected to dress up as your selected hero, give a presentation, write a report, and make a doll that at least resembled the person you had selected. When everyone else was explaining why their dad was their hero because he works at a flute store, I was giving detailed explanations of how Simon Wiesenthal drew pictures of two men getting shot with one bullet through one man's mouth and through the back of the other's head, because I felt that Wiesenthal's story was too important to be overlooked.

That had been the story of my life, always wanting to do something everyone else wouldn't when posed with the choice.

So while the notion of my visiting a mosque and sticking my nose in Islamic business bothered my mother, it certainly didn't surprise her. When she asked why, I responded, "Because I constantly find myself browsing YouTube and LiveLeak looking for Imams' stances on certain topics, so I'd be a hypocrite to not just get up and ask them."

With a brief sigh she wished me luck and told me to be careful before hanging up.

Previously that day, I had called a number of mosques in the area - one in Vista, one in Temecula, and finally the Islamic Center of San Diego. The only one that actually responded was the ICSD, and when they agreed to meet me and let me sit down and talk to an Imam, I was ecstatic. I took a quick shower, changed my clothes, and was out the door, notebook in hand.

MapQuest information in hand, and a satellite photo burned into my memory, I was still surprised when I got there to find that I had passed that mosque several times in the past, when visiting a friend who lived in the area. When I pulled around and off the main road to reach the mosque parking lot, a butterfly wrenched my gut when I realized what day it was. I had thought that I'd wandered in on a Thursday, little did I know that I'd arrived within minutes of Friday Prayer ending. This had me immediately nervous - seeing the men in formal Eastern garb and the women all wearing burkas. Not for any other reason than because I looked down at my own attire and realized I was wearing a Treasure Island T-Shirt with a skeletal pirate bearing a royal flush and blue jeans. It wasn't exactly formal mosque wear by any stretch.

In truth when I reached the mosque, it was the first time I had ever seen a mass of Muslims in one area before, especially a mass of highly practicing Muslims. The idea of burkas seemed a foreign, Saudi Arabian concept, but every woman wore one, some so thickly that all that was exposed was their eyes, covering their skin so thoroughly that they even wore thick gloves to deny anyone the privilege of the sight of their hands. Crowded as it was because of Friday Prayer, I was unable to get into the parking lot on my first attempt, and in a kind of way, I didn't want to. My immediate thought was to turn the car around and go home, it wasn't something that I had to do.

Fortunately the mosque was a sufficiently long enough drive from my apartment that I really had no choice - it would be a futile waste of gas if I turned around then. Stalling for time and waiting for the parking lot to clear out, I looped around one of the neighborhoods, and had to stifle a chuckle at some of what I saw. I had not realized San Diego had such a large Muslim population - so much so that it even impacted the naming of some of the roads - the major street near the mosque was Hattin Boulevard.

The Horns of Hattin is a reference to a battle before the Third Crusade, whereupon Salah al-Din soundly defeated a pressed Guy de Lusignan and his Christian forces, which allowed the Saracens to march on Jerusalem relatively unopposed. That that had actually become the name of a street in the same city as Nimitz Road had me mildly amused.

On my second try into the parking lot I was able to enter, weaving and dodging around the scores of people who brazenly crossed the street, uninterested if cars were coming or not. There were still dozens of people standing at the doors to the mosque, mostly of Arabic, Persian, or African descent. Mindful that some of my questions I had intended to ask were not necessarily pleasant, I parked my car in the very back of the parking lot, worried it may get damaged if I said something particularly insensitive. It was a common practice whenever I went somewhere I was worried my mouth would get me in trouble.

When I got out, an Arab father was packing his children into the back of a mini van two spaces down from me, and turned a glance to me. He wore a glare as easily as the clothes on his back, and I assumed that the distaste was directed at my own outfit. I offered him a smile and a quick nod, and he turned back to attending his children. His wife sat in the passenger seat - wearing a more liberal headdress that allowed me to see her face.

That was not the only glare or scowl I'd gotten that day - as I approached the mosque on foot, conversations were often stopping or quieting as people looked at me, and would offer me glances up and down as though analyzing my steps, and most likely, what I was wearing. I joked when I left that the saving grace of my outfit was that I hadn't shaved my beard in a week or so.

When I walked into the mosque, the first thing that took me back was how "Louisiana" the interior looked. My own imagination had led me to believe that it would be a beautiful and clean building, with lots of wooden etchings and Islamic art or quotes from the Quran hanging not unlike the weavings of Bible quotes that often hang in Churches. Rather, the metallic corners, the tile floor, and the unclean plaster walls reminded me of Ward Elementary School in Jennings, Louisiana. In some ways it seemed that the main prayer room had at one time been a storage facility instead of a place of worship.

My first order of business was verifying my "appointment" - in other words, a loose agreement that I'd be there "sometime today". I found what looked like an office, but I couldn't really verify because everything in the mosque was written in Arabic. Everyone seemed to migrate there and talk to people behind benches, so it seemed like a good enough place to start.

I was amused in some ways when I walked into the office, because in addition to Arabic text, everyone inside was speaking Arabic. I wondered for a moment if I was somehow out of place by speaking only English. I was behind three people, each one was wearing some kind of Eastern garb, except for the man in front of me, who had a traditional black suit. The first two men were helped by the time I walked in, and were lost in conversation with the mosque's employees. Satisfied with the service they'd gotten, the two men left not long after I entered, and the man in front of me stepped up to be helped, while one of the men behind the benches went to go tend to some books.

Feeling a wave of excitement because it would be my turn next, that was quickly dispelled when I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to see a man far taller than myself, a thick black beard and a barreled chest. He had some form of headgear on that I recognized from movies depicting Muslims, and said something I did not immediately understand.

I scrunched up my brow in my feigned attempt at understanding what he was saying, and he repeated himself.

The second time around I recognized what he was saying - he was asking if I was a "Hadith", a non-Muslim, an unbeliever.

"Yes, I'm afraid I am," I told him with a smile. His finger shot out immediately behind a crowd that had gathered behind him.

"Back of the line," he said.

I blinked a few times and looked at the people, all dressed like him and wearing equally impressive beards. I shot him a quick glance as though to confirm his order, and his gaze remained firm. I shrugged and obeyed - their house, their rules. It struck me that they were not accustomed to white males in that office - or at least, white males wearing Treasure Island t-shirts on Fridays.

I obliged and stepped to the back of the line. It moved far more slowly the second time around - and every time I'd get close to the front, someone, usually the person behind the bench, would point to me and ask "Hadith?" which I'm starting to feel is synonymous with "get in the back of the line". When it happened for the third time, I wisely bit my tongue when I wanted to respond with "No I think you should be asking 'dhimmi?'." A dhimmi being a non-Muslim in an Islamic State that had less privileges and rights than a Muslim - one of their responsibilities being bowing to Muslmi masters.

Finally I was able to get to the front desk unmolested by inquiries of Hadith, and the day really began.

I told them I had been invited down to speak with a "learned cleric", and the man recognized me from the phone immediately.

"Why didn't you say so?" he exclaimed, a bit more excited. Perhaps he felt that this learned cleric would be able to imminently convert this informal Hadith.

"Hadith!" I responded, which got a bit of a chuckle out of him. He told me to sit and wait a moment while he got the Imam - a title I didn't fully understand to its purest, so I was more than a little excited. I had expected to speak with a secular scholar on the topic of Islam, actually being able to discuss the topics with an Islamic equivilent of a priest had me thankful for the trip to begin with.

The man from behind the bench returned with a taller man, wearing a pure white robe that reminded me of the Saudi king's. He wore no headgear, but had a short, pointed beard. He offered me his hand and said a number of things I didn't entirely understand because they sounded roughly like Arabic, but I assume was an introduction. I politely introduced myself and he ushered me into his office.

He inquired what interested me about Islam, and I asked if he would mind if I basically just asked him a wide series of questions about a number of topics to measure his responess. He said he had no problem whatsoever, so I verified that he would not see it rude if I used my notebook to take notes, which he likewise allowed.

The first order of business was something of an association game it seemed. He asked me what religion I was, I told him I was essentially a Protestant...I believed in the Christian Bible but didn't follow any institution. I also informed him that I grew up around my grandmother, who was a devout and practicing Catholic, and all that entailed.

This seemed to be mostly for his sake, it allowed him to determine on what level of association he would attempt to appeal to with Quranic verses. In response to my explanation of my own beliefs, he did not even wait for me to ask a question before diving into an explanation of the Islamic belief in Adam. Almost adorably - and certainly predictably after the first five minutes - every time he would make some kind of point, he would pause and look me over for some kind of approval, wanting to see if the fact that the Quran had similarities to the Bible impressed me.

"In the Quran, and in Islam, we believe that God, in all His mercy and wisdom, made Adam," he told me in a thick accent that I could not really place so just thought of it as 'Arabic". He drove the final letter of the word Adam hard, a finger pointing in the air, and a smile plastered on his face as he looked me straight on, waiting for my approval to proceed. I flashed him a smile, and he went on, drawling correlations between the Creation story from Islam and the Judeo-Christian Creation story.

I realized quickly that this man - whom I later learned was Imam Abdul Jalil - was essentially the mosque's devoted "converter". He was a very well schooled man on the Quran, but he was not entirely familiar with dialogue on Islam beyond how he was taught to convince someone to abandon their own faith and join him. Usually, when I'd ask a question, he would step away from the main point of the question and try to get back onto the main path of converting me.

He would stress that "Islam and Christianity share the same Prophets" - citing several times Adam, Noah, Abraham, Jesus, and finally Mohammed (who conspicuously was mentioned dozens of times without him ever saying "Peace Be Upon Him"). I did not immediately learn anything about Islam I did not already know - Islam's concept of whole submission to God, etc. etc.

I posed him a question that most practicing Muslims had been unable to answer however - those few I had spoken to in person or online that is.

"You say that Jesus is an integral part of your religion," I asked, which yielded a toothy nod, "but all secular sources agree that the man Yashua the Nazarene was executed by Pontius Pilate, specifically at the urging of the Sanhedrin. You say he absolutely was not the Son of God - why then did the Sanhedrin want him executed if he never made that claim as Christianity and some secular sources assert?"

Adbul seemed at first taken aback by that question, but quickly regained his composure with that same toothy smile.

"He was persecuted for his teachings on free thought, his revelations of God threatened the power of the Sanhedrin, and they wanted him dead for it."

I went on to inquire more about Jesus - Abdul informed me that there is no Islamic concept of Original Sin, callign it "unjust" and "God is if anything just" - specifically details about Islamic belief about the crucifixion. From previous discussions with Muslims, I knew that they believed some element of a crucifixion was believed in - but I did not know the details.

According to Abdul, the Great Prophet Jesus was spirited into Heaven by God, while someone with Jesus's image was crucified on the cross, most likely Judas.

Of all the answers I'd gotten out of that mosque, that was the one I was the least satisfied with, and struck me greatly as an attempt to keep the Christian door open. I did not voice my opinion that killing an otherwise innocent man in Jesus's image hardly struck me as just.

We spent some time discussing the Christian-Islamic connections, and Abdul mistakenly thought because of my Catholic connection to my grandmother, that I likewise put significance on the Virgin Mary. I, personally, believe that after the Virgin Birth, she went on to have many children with Joseph, I find the notion that she remained a virgin her entire life relatively absurd. I did not tell him this of course, especially after he informed me that one of the "Greatest blasphemies to Islam" was to deny that Mary was a virgin her entire life.

At this point he broke away from the train of thought he'd begun on, and tried a different approach, specifically calling into question Christianity independently.

"Islam is the continuation of your basic beliefs in Christianity," he said, "Jesus came and prophesied for God, but his words were tainted by Paul. Your teachings that you knew were not the words of Jesus, they were the words of Paul." He was of course referring to Paul of Tarsus, the Roman Jew who is the center of the book of Acts, also known as Paul the Apostle. He is credited with one of the greatest missionary journies in Christian history - starting by persecuting Christians in Jerusalem before spreading the word of Jesus from that city to, some believe, Hispania, or Spain. He was later executed for trying to convert Nero.

For a while the Imam continued on his dissertation that Christianity was, in its current form, a perversion by Paul. He was treated in many ways as an anti-prophet to Jesus.

"As a matter of fact," Abdul went on, "Islam is responsible for the Protestant Reformation and democracy in Europe." A moment of silence followed as I blinked a couple dozen times at that. I'd heard from every corner of the world the strangest concepts people had about their own sect's impact on major world events, but the notion that Islam was Martin Luther and Erasmus's primary motivator for their writings was a new one to me. Especially since Martin Luther included in some of his writings his utter distaste for Islam.

I then inquired, while searching my head for some kind of detail that I had potentially missed that involved Islamic scholars in Europe that could have induced some kind of impact. I was somewhat saddened when he responded.

"Indeed, when the Crusaders, but Crusaders is inaccurate, they were Franks," although I don't really believe that he knew the definition of the word Frank, "arrived in the Holy Land, they were shocked by what they saw. They were whipped into the Crusade like dogs by the Pope and European warlords, and when they saw how Islam allowed for peace and free elections, they were excited, and brought these ideas back with them to Europe, which directly affected the Reformation."

I didn't necessarily feel it in my best interest to point out the logical fallacy in assuming that because there was a diplomatic election of Mohammed's successor, that the Islamic-Christian interaction in the 11th century influenced a 16th century revolution. In fact, the Holy Roman Empire had been practicing democratic elections of their emperors for some time.

To this I simply smiled and nodded, not really wanting to agree when he said "Do you see what I mean?" Because really, I didn't.

None of this is to suggest that I did not like Abdul Jalil - he was a very nice man, and he knew the Quran very well, but in a dialogue, some of his arguments were found lacking.

After some questions about the afterlife, sin, confessions, and pre-Mohammed prophets, I went on to more political questions, feeling I had sufficiently padded myself with enough questions of spirituality. I started off about the significance of Jerusalem - I asked him what importance it plays to Islam. He informed me that Muslims always pray to Jerusalem, then to Mecca. This began a series of anti-Catholic theses, about how the Crusaders massacred the residents there, but there was peace and harmony between Muslims, Jews, and Christians when they ruled the city...going on to explain that Jews would often flee the Spanish Inquisition to lower Spain, which was controlled by Muslims.

"While we're on the topic of Christian/Jewish and Muslim cooperation," I said, sucking in a breath as I prepared to ask one of the most controversial questions I'd brought with me, "what can you tell me about dhimmitude?" I had pronounced it with a d, and at first he did not understand what I was saying. After several moments of spelling it out and miscommunication, a light bulb lit over his head and he lifted that straight finger once more.

"Oh 'thimmitude'!" he exclaimed, sitting up in his chair and learning forward. "You see, there is the zacat, which is paid as a percentage of all Muslims' income. This goes to the poor, specifically the dhimmis. Officially it is our duty to protect non-Muslims under our control." He went on to tell me that dhimmis simply paid a special tax, but were exempt from the conscription all Muslim males faced.

I was amused at the confusion in the story. At first he denied the existence of dhimmitude at its barest - only after prodding did I get the explanation that it was just a bit of tax. I explained to him that most secular sources agree that dhimmis weren't allowed to bear arms, ride horses, build without special permission, proselytize, or even wear certain clothes. In fact, I went on, Zoroastrianism has been marginalized as a major religion because of the use of dhimmitude - Zoroastrians in Persia and Pakistan were highly persecuted for their beliefs, and were even required to wear special uncomfortable shoes (which ended up becoming a fashion in the Muslim world), until eventually the majority of the population converted to Islam.

He stated that I was being contradictory (about what he wouldn't tell me) and that most of those ideas were probably taken out of context, and once more appealed to the rack and other instruments of torture of the Inquisition. Ironically, that institution did not come about until after the Crusades either - therefore it could be logically deduced, if Islam influenced the Protestant Reformation, it also influenced the methods of torture used by the Inquisition. But I digress.

I opted not to point out that the reason Muslims were expected to protect dhimmis was because of their inability to arm themselves.

I then went on to ask him about the Sunni-Shi'ite rift.

"I don't know much about Shi'ites and Sunnis or anything like that," I said dismissively as I tried to figure out how to word it without asking too directly, "but I was curious, is this mosque officially Sunni or Shi'ite?" At first he dodged the question, and began discussing how the idea of divisions and sects is a Christian/Western idea, and that there is only one Islam. "My step-grandmother's daughter was married to a Shi'ite Persian, who fiercely insisted a difference between Shi'ites and Sunnis," I continued, and eventually he conceded to answer the question.

"While there is but one Islam, there are those who twist it, who feel the need to take on sects," he began. "Officially all is the same, we pray the same way, we believe in the same God, we believe in the same Prophet, but there are a few differences." He then went on to explain the story of Mohammed's death, and the successional struggle between Abu Bakr and and Mohammed's son-in-law Ali.

"During the time of the Prophet," Abdul said, "there was no need for democracy. He was chosen by God!" Again the finger went up, pointing to the heavens. "How can we mere men hope to impose our decisions no matter how collective on God's Will? But when Mohammed died, one had to be chosen, and we elected democratically that Abu Bakr should be the rightful successor, but his son-in-law opposed. But this is just politics, it has no place in Islam."

Naturally this led to a discussion about jihad - how could I possibly talk to an Imam in a mosque and jihad not be a topic of discussion?

He told me that jihad means "to struggle" and that a Muslim is always at jihad - "against himself". Confused, I inquired more, and explained that there are three major targets of jihad: yourself and your own sins, Satan, and then evil. Jihad was not meant to be an outward conflict, he explained, but struggling for God on your own internal terms.

"You state that jihad, and Islam, are peaceful by nature, and that it is not the way of Muslims to wage war, yes?" Abdul nodded his agreement. "Can you tell me about the Battle of Badr then?"

The smile he wore was only on his lips, his eyes became a bit more calculative as he strived to respond. "It was a battle to survive Islam," he explained, and I quickly jotted down some notes. "There were two schools of thought at the time - those that supported the Prophet and those who felt threatened by him, their eyes were blinded to God." Perhaps to make it seem like the Battle of Badr was itself no "big deal" - he went on to explain that Mohammed fought "only 27-29 battles", believing that to be a small number.

Most generals and warlords fought in one to seven.

We concluded our meeting with a word association game: I would say a word, and he would say the first that came to mind. I started simply with "Mohammed".

"Perfect, wonderful, great man, the best," he responded.

"Mecca."

"Wonderful, beautiful city."

"Crusades."

"My answer requires more than just a simple sentence," he said, breaking his form.

He then went on to explain, once more, that the leaders of the Crusades were to be condemned, not the individuals, and how they were terrible occurences, he does not hold Christianity responsible. He wanted to make sure I realized he condemned them however.

"Zarqawi."

"Terrible man."

"Saladin."

"No one like him, great man."

"George W. Bush."

He laughed. "Pros and cons."

At this point, he and I broke down into small talk - and seemingly happy or impressed with my questions he stood up and offered me his hand for a brief shake and said, "There is someone else I would like to introduce you to."

"Oh?" I asked curiously, rising with him.

"Follow me, he is another great Imam."

He opened the door from his office, and we were both struck to see the main office had none of its lights on, and the staff had all left. We had been in there far longer than I had originally thought or intended, but I was still pleased. I followed Abdul into what appeared to be a library or book store, where another, more elegant and professional looking man wearing a suit covered in robes was talking to someone behind a desk.

Abdul approached him, they shook hands and kissed one another on the cheek, and then began speaking in Arabic. Abdul pointed to me as he spoke, and the second man nodded, said something back, and approached me.

"Follow me, Chadd?" he said, and I nodded, extending a hand. He shook it and instructed me to go with him.

I followed him to his own office, which was far larger than Abdul's, and had at least twice as many books, half in Arabic, half in English. The man's desk was covered with papers and pictures - which appeared to be from all over the world. I took a look at his name plate on the desk, which read "Imam Taha Hassane". At that point I was beaming - two Imams? That was far better than I could have hoped.

The situation felt somewhat awkward though - as he asked how he could help me, and I, unprepared for such a turn of events, had to struggle for an answer to that question. I told him I was curious about Islam, and felt a place called the Islamic Center of San Diego seemed as good a place as any to start. He laughed at that, and after a few tense moments began to speak with one another casually. His English was far smoother and less accented than Abdul's, and the man was clearly better educated.

Taha seemed less interested in converting me, and more interested in discussing the socio-political nature of Islam.

I posed him many of the same questions, and his answers were generally less supernatural and more practical than Abdul's. He believed that Jesus was a Prophet, and said he didn't know who exactly died on the cross, but he believed Jesus escaped such "damnation". As I went down the list of questions, he seemed far less interested in discussing the spirituality of Islam, and wanted to get to the meat of the political discussion.

How many times, I wondered, had people come in and asked him about their souls, that it had become a point of tedium? That was probably why Abdul was around. Taha told me that he had been to several Catholic-Islamic Dialogue Conferences, clearly he wanted to use his extensives education to discuss matters more pressing than whether or not it was a sin to massage your wife's foot.

Sensing this, I dove directly into one of the more ambitious political questions I had asked Abdul. I asked him to clarify the difference between Shi'a and Sunni Islam.

"This mosque, officially if you must categorize it, is Sunni," he said, his hands folded over the desk, face calm. "The majority of Muslims in the world are Sunni. It is something of a default status."

"So if you're a Muslim, generally speaking you're a Sunni first, and then have to strive to become something else?" I asked.

"Essentially yes." He continued. "Generally, Shi'ites are more earthly, more political, that's what the debate started about to begin with." Although he espoused peace and brotherhood with Shi'ites, it was visible in a small vein in his neck, and the way his knuckles whitened at the grip he held his hands in, that he was growing angry at the very thought of Shi'ites.

That did not entirely surprise me, I'd heard multiple stories of Mehran despising Sunnis and Arabs himself. There's a cultural rift between the two.

This led Taha down a different line of thinking. He wanted to discuss the occupation of Iraq - a topic I deftly avoided with all the skill of a verbal acrobat. "If American soldiers would simply leave Iraq, in a year or two, the Sunnis and the Shi'ites would come to terms, it is the presence of the Americans that instigates this conflict. They lived in peace before America came, they'll live in peace when they're gone," he asserted.

"While we're on that topic," I said, partially to divert the point, "I asked Abdul, and I'm equally curious about your own position...there are some Islamic scholars who will not condemn Abu Musab al-Zarqawi," and I gave him a number of examples, "where do you personally stand?"

"Zarqawi was a monster who got what he deserved, he wanted personal power and he hoped to achieve that through genocide."

Ah, something he and I could definitely agree on.

I asked him the same about other popular figures, such as Muqtada al-Sadr, whom Taha saw as a joke not worth condemning because of his insignificance.

It was when I asked him about Hezbollah and Nasrallah that I got the most interesting response.

"Hezbollah is fighting for Lebanon," he said, "and were instigated by Israeli interference in their homeland. He has done some bad things, but everyone has. He also does great things for the poor and for children."

"So do you officially support him then?" I asked, somewhat boldly.

He hardened his expression a moment and pursed his lips, as though trying to develop a perfect answer.

"I neither condemn nor support him," he answered at length.

So in other words, he closet supports him.

The discussion moved on to dhimmitude once more - it was a topic of drastic importance to me. We had the same linguistic problems I'd had with Abdul, only this time I was intentionally mispronouncing it so that it did not seem as though I was regurgitating the same questions between the two, not satisfied with one's answer and seeking another's. In truth that's exactly what I was - I wanted to see it from both angles.

He asserted adamantly that dhimmis were given no special regulations - only a special tax.

Curious, I thought. He visibly withheld information though, which spoke much more than any denial of his.

In much the same way as Abdul, he swiftly buried the issue under discussion of Spain and the Spanish Inquisition.

"You know the first universities in Spain were opened by Muslims?" he asked.

"Really?"

"Yes, Jews would often flee there from the Inquisitors in the north."

At this point, I took a glance out the door of the office, where a Muslim man was waiting less than patiently, eyeing me. Fascinated though I was to discuss politics with Taha - which I expressed to him - I wanted to be out of there before I was kicked out with more cries of "Hadith!" Therefore I inquired about Islamic religious heiarchies, and Taha laughed.

"We are not like the Catholic Church, it is all on a very individual level, mosques have Imams, who are just learned...priests really."

"What about titles like mula and ayatollah?" I asked.

"Shi'ite titles, once more they are more worldly and feel a need to point to an Islamic state than Sunnis."

It made sense - Shi'ites make up the largest political movement of militant Shi'ites, whereas Sunnis tend to have a more spiritual desire for their insurgencies.

I inquired about the title of alim - since I had not heard it mentioned by either of the Imams. He explained that it is much like the word "scholar", and that it is an honorary title that can be earned from school or from an Imam. At this point, he said "I would refer to you as an alim, for your own knowledge on political matters and the Crusades."

"Really?" I asked, my chest poofing out proudly.

"Absolutely."

"Is that a title I can go around and use?"

He laughed and said, "Sure if you like."

Explaining that I did not want to hold him up, I rose and shook his hand, allowing him to handle the Muslim man that had been waiting diligently. Before I left I was given Taha's card, and plenty of literature, as well as my own English translation of the Quran. I was ushered out with the same warning that has always bothered me about the Quran:

"It cannot truly be translated to English, so please call me if any passages confuse you."

"I'll do that, thanks," I said, and left.

Abdul seemed rather certain I was an imminent recruit, and Taha seemed impressed that he had a non-Muslim to discuss politics with, and therefore I have put serious thought in returning to that mosque at another point - more appropriately dressed - if only to follow up with this article to see if I left a good first impression. When I finally pulled out of the mosque and escaped the glares of the youths who were still standing around the exit, I felt a kind of weight lift off my chest...in a sense I was back in my security zone.