I had heard about countries with strict rules. When migrant workers returned to their homeland in my childhood, they used to say, “People there are disciplined.” Our migration blessed us with the land migrants couldn’t stop talking about. I thought they judged an entire country based on a few acquaintances. Whether it’s a habit or not, when we meet someone in a place, we tend to categorize all people there based on that person. If we meet a good person, we describe how good the people living there are. If we witness something bad, we tend to speak harshly about everyone. Yet, we forget, people are diverse. They have all kinds of emotions. Perhaps if we encounter someone when we’re angry, sad, or upset, and inadvertently respond unpleasantly, it wouldn’t be right to generalize and say, “All the people in the country are like this.” Likewise, it wouldn’t be accurate for someone who has only experienced kindness there to claim there are no bad people.
Being disciplined, adhering to rules, seems easier to observe since it’s something learned at a young age and continues throughout life. Moreover, knowing the verbal and written rules nationwide and forming opinions about people’s behavior based on them would be more accurate. I can say that the starting point of my relationship with my neighbor was these rules. Every time I took out the trash, I felt like someone was watching me from somewhere. I felt like I was being watched, and a quick glance around while throwing the garbage bag was enough to spot my undercover agent. Our building had two floors. The kitchen window of our German neighbor, who lived on the first floor, overlooked the trash bins. Whenever I realized she was watching me, I tried to be more careful. Nevertheless, there were times when she felt the need to warn me. I couldn’t express myself sufficiently in the new language I was learning yet. It was a bit tiring to explain that I was paying attention to the rules and doing things right. Although our initial dialogues were like this, I never forgot to say “Guten Tag!” (Good day!) whenever I saw her. I believed that the warmth and sweet smile would be enough to build a bridge of the heart. Completing this bridge might take days or months, but I always maintained my belief that we would eventually have a sweet and pleasant conversation with this bridge of the heart.
Our culture loves to share food. If you arrive from the road, a table is immediately set; if you coincidentally come across a table, there is always a place for you. We continued one of the beautiful traits we were used to here as well. If a dish from my homeland was cooked on the stove, I would always offer some to my neighbor. Indeed, in our culture, the right of neighboring has always been highly regarded, with the saying “If it smells good, it stirs the appetite.” Because our beloved Prophet, the Pride of the Universe (peace and blessings be upon him), has many recommendations on this issue. In fact, according to what is narrated from Abu Dhar, the Prophet (peace and blessings be upon him) advised me as follows: “When you cook soup, add extra water and then see the condition of your neighbors and serve them appropriately.”[1] Our principle of offering is as precious as it is to them to reciprocate in the same way. I understand that for them, not being indifferent to a kind gesture is an important virtue. Human beings are created open to beauty by nature. A delicate step opens the door to many subsequent gracefulness.
Over time, we got to know each other better. We learned that our warm-hearted, sweet-spoken neighbor was also outspoken when she grabbed my husband’s arm on a hot summer day and asked, “Why do you cover your wife when you’re so relaxed?” We tried to explain the essence of the matter in half English, quarter German. We had many more incidents like this. Now, they all settled into sweet memories. We got so used to each other that we had special days when we sat at the same table. They knocked on our door on our holidays; we knocked on theirs during their Easter, Christmas times. We had long conversations over a bowl of Noah’s pudding. In short, we experienced once again that whoever comes with greetings settles in the throne of hearts.
We are people from different worlds. We are as foreign to each other as possible. With love and respect, we turned this distance into richness over time, and with our similar qualities, we integrated. The journey of our German neighbor, who once watched me from behind the curtain, becoming an “German mother” introducing us to others as “This is my daughter,” will remain one of the unforgettable special memories. I know that many open-hearted brothers and sisters like me, who set out with greetings, have many similar memories.
[1] Sahih Muslim, Birr and Sila, 143.
