In the car on the way to my daughter’s wedding I realized I had forgotten a scarf. I was sitting in the back seat between the bride and the groom. My husband was driving, and my ex-husband, father of the bride, was in the passenger seat. My daughter immediately picked up her cell phone. “Sarah?” she said. “My mom forgot her scarf. Can you bring one?” She turned to me. “She wants to know what color?” We met Sarah and her husband in the parking lot of the mosque. She handed me a piece of beautiful ivory silk with delicate stitching of flowers. The colors were perfect. On her way to her car, a woman in a traditional long dress, her head covered, heard we were having a wedding. She cried out congratulations and hugged the bride, Sarah, me. We all introduced each other. “I’m the Jew,” said the father of the bride, who had flown in from New York. She laughed. “Oh, good, we can duck behind cars and throw rocks at each other!” There were no rocks thrown. The wedding party was ecumenical. My daughter is Jewish although I am not, so some strict interpreters would say neither is she. I was raised as a Methodist. My husband is Episcopalian. The groom is Muslim. My daughter’s friend, Sarah, is Muslim, and her husband is a recent convert to Islam. It may have been the first marriage between a Muslim and a Jew at this mosque. (MORE)


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