From the Intern Files: "Looking for Answers: The Questions I Roll With"

by Project Interfaith Intern, Mike Siref

A lot of people have questions as children about how the world works. I am no different. When I was very young, I wondered what made me different? Why didn't my legs work like most other kids? Was I strange? I stopped asking those questions when I met a unique little girl who needed crutches to get around because her legs didn't work either. That wasn't the only reason she stood out to me. Her parents ran an adoption agency. She was white. Her sisters were African-American and Vietnamese. Like this young lady, I was adopted at a tender age, and also grew up in a diverse household.

My diversity came from religion. My adoptive father is Jewish and my mother is Catholic with a side of Cajun for good measure. I heard my situation explained best in middle school. “Hello, my name is Mike, and I am a Spicy Cashew!” I wouldn't trade this for anything.

Despite being part of The Hippie Generation, and a bit of a wanderer, my father has always had a strong connection to his Jewish faith. Evidence of his religious dedication surfaced in 1967, when he was presented with the unique opportunity to serve in The Israeli Army during The Six Day War. He lived in a kibbutz, and served as a cook for a handful of fellow soldiers. It wasn't until much later that I grasped the significance of some of the stories he has shared with me.

Although Catholic, my mother's upbringing wasn't based in rituals of faith, but rather family and cultural tradition. My grandmother was a very loud, opinionated, first-generation, French immigrant. She wanted things done a certain way, and had no problem being a disciplinarian if her orders weren't followed. Either that, or she'd let the parochial school system handle the discipline. My Grandfather was a Southern Gentleman, who spent 20 years serving in The United States Air Force. After retirement, he served the crazy Cajuns by working for the State of Louisiana. He is still the example to follow in my mother's family.

Coming from such varying backgrounds, my parents never forced either of their religions on me. As a young boy, I was fascinated by the history and trials of those in The Jewish Faith. I was enthralled on a yearly basis with the story behind and the significance of Passover. I also learned about the miracle of Chanukah throughout the years. I could recite several Jewish prayers while helping light the menorah. Despite that level of immersion, I have not gone through a Bar Mitzvah.

My dad also understands the camaraderie and symbolism behind Christmas. Every year, we would climb into the family vehicle in mid to late December to bring home a real Christmas tree in the range of six to seven feet tall. We would decorate it while watching Jimmy Stewart. However, the Christmas tree never went solo when I was a child. We also had a shorter tree wrapped in white lights. This was our Chanukah Bush.

Throughout much of my scholastic career, this unique environment sometimes made me feel like the residential Jewish expert. Although I took pride in this unofficial position, I often wondered why more kids weren't in a similar position? Why other families didn't look like mine? Why religion was and still is such a barrier in terms of curiosity and respect among people around the world? Despite the clouds of age and personal experience, I am still making an effort to answer these questions. I realize I should never stop asking them.

The internal Q&A sessions we have with ourselves as children change with age. As an adult, I have no problem thinking about the tough questions. In fact, I rather enjoy pondering them. Seriously. I have a chance to let my mind wander on religious paths while rolling toward a concrete goal of togetherness. Something like a spiritual Woodstock. Bring it on. Let's have some fun dealing with tough questions!

Mike Siref graduated from the University of Nebraska at Omaha (before they dropped football). He earned A Bacheor's Degree in Psychology as well as some very unique friends that still walk with him today. He offers previous nonprofit experience to the team at Project Interfaith (MMI Americorps at The University of Nebraska Medical Center). Other cultures and religions fascinate Mike, who makes an effort to connect with people around him. Sports and good music are Mike's escapes. The Green Bay Packers, Chicago Cubs and college football pull Mike through the calender. "Everyone from Johnny Cash to Micheal Jackson is welcome on my stereo."

From the Intern Files: Like a Lomneth to a Flame

by Project Interfaith Intern, Philip Lomneth

I’m not sure whether I found Project Interfaith or Project Interfaith found me. I do know, however, that when we collided, my passion for interfaith burst aflame and has not died down since.

In the fall of 2007, I was a Central High senior looking for where to go next in life. Groups such as the Anti Defamation League (ADL) and Conference for Inclusive Communities (now Inclusive Communities) stimulated a desire for social justice and sparked an interest in understanding people’s identities. While participating in programs or working with these organizations, I realized I sought something more, something different. We occasionally spoke about religious identity at these organizations but I remember always wishing to spend more time exploring those issues. Though my faith meant a great deal to me, I knew little about the beliefs of others and sought to learn more. Mentioning this to a friend and mentor at the ADL, he encouraged me to attend a program put on by a young interfaith group.

I can’t remember whether it was the lure of the topic of Islam, a religion I knew nothing about, or the excitement of going to my first interfaith event (again, something I knew nothing about), but on a November night, I headed to my first Project Interfaith program with great eagerness and a considerable amount of trepidation.

And I was blown away. Not only did I find the speaker engaging, but I felt amazed at the people who came. In that church, you could find Jews, Muslims, and Christians, people of all different persuasions sitting together listening to a man speak about Islam. This was something I wanted to be part of.

As I finished up my senior year, I kept looking ahead, kept focused on the day that I would leave Omaha. But. But I kept attending Project Interfaith programs, at least once missing school to hear a speaker and spending a Saturday touring a Hindu Temple and Greek Orthodox Church. Not only did I learn about different faiths from these programs, but Project Interfaith helped inspire me to create dialogue among the students at my school and truly promote the diversity we touted. While I felt glad to be leaving Omaha in the fall, already something began drawing me back.

The summer before I left, the Project Interfaith connection grew deeper. After a little push, I began volunteering at Project Interfaith, and though I didn’t feel I was saving the world as I worked there, I definitely felt something was happening. Everything was said in hushed tones with a sense of anticipation, as if people tried holding back their enthusiasm, for if they released, someone might take an opportunity away. Perhaps I remember this inaccurately, but I know with certainty that I felt we were doing something important, something that would grow.

Fast forward through the years as I study religion at school, returning to Omaha for breaks, occasionally attending a Project Interfaith event or volunteering in the summer, and always seeking advice on how to grow interfaith relations at my school. Though I valued all Project Interfaith did for me, a desire to be elsewhere, to go explore the world, learn about things I knew nothing about, and be challenged by what makes me uncomfortable kept me from dedicating more time to Project Interfaith.

Until now. Before leaving for a spring semester in Northern Ireland to study conflict and social change, Beth Katz, the Executive Director, mentioned Project Interfaith could use a few interns in the summer and encouraged me to apply when I returned. I had no idea where I would be, much less what I would feel like doing after a semester in Northern Ireland, but I now realize after immersing myself in learning about conflict and social change, peace and reconciliation, that I could not work with a better group than this. Why? Take a look at all Project Interfaith does in our community to build peace and make this a more welcoming place for everyone.

Philip Lomneth is a Roman Catholic who grew up in Omaha, attended parochial and public schools, and attends a private Lutheran college in Minnesota. He currently interns for Project Interfaith. He is fascinated with issues of identity: the way we shape it, how it shapes us, and how people use identities in interactions with others. He's not sure where he's headed in life, but knows he has passions for interfaith engagement and social justice which have been fueled in part by groups like Project Interfaith.

White Spaces

by Project Interfaith guest blogger, Jennifer Formo

Last semester, I took a class on information design. I read a book by Daniel Pink called A Whole New Mind: Why Right-Brainers Will Rule the Future. In the book, Pink explains his experience with trying to draw a self-portrait in an amateur drawing class. He completely botches the drawing where everything ends up completely out of proportion and cartoonish. He talks about how the left brain recalls symbols from childhood of how to draw a face, whereas the right brain actually sees relationships and integrates those relationships into a whole. Therefore, by shutting off our left brain, we can access the right brain to accurately draw the face as we see it, not as we think it should be from memory. For example, Pink drew his eyes too high on his face. It threw off the whole face because the eyes were not correct in relation to the rest of the face. “By botching that one relationship, [he] distorted the entire picture” (133).

In today’s world, there are many stereotypes that have been attached to different races, ethnicities, cultures and religions. Our identities are completely ingrained in those labels. Sometimes they are self-imposed; other times they are thrust upon us by society because of the way we look, how we dress, or where we grow up. Identity is a funny thing because as we grow up we are encouraged to identify ourselves as female or male first. Then we discover talents and we become an athlete, a musician or a scholar. Eventually, society places us on a merry-go-round of labels: from single, married or divorced, to poor, middle class, or rich. But if we were to strip those labels away, our true identity is actually what is left, the part of us that cannot be defined or labeled. It is our true essence.

As I watch my daughter grow up, I see that people are beginning to compare her to me. They say how much she is like me. She is stubborn, strong-willed, and perfectionistic. She loves to dance and play sports. She even looks like me. Sometimes I even find myself secretly wanting her to follow dreams I never had time to pursue. Even in my predominantly white, middle-class, suburban community, her identity is already set because she is my daughter. But my daughter is her own person who challenges those stereotypes every day. She surprises me with her words, thoughts and actions. She deserves to set her own path and become who she wants to be. Her true essence is all her own.

September 11 is brought up often when we discuss religious stereotypes. Obviously, in this country, Muslims are put high on the list of those who are persecuted for their beliefs. But just as my daughter’s identity is not based on the fact that she is my daughter, a Muslim’s identity should not be based on their cultural background or their religious convictions. By botching that one relationship, formed by the evil acts of a few fanatical Muslims, the entire picture of the Muslim community was distorted. Stereotypes run rampant in all sectors of society, whether it’s with gays and lesbians, the black community, or a poor sector of a city. So how do we see beyond those boundaries and into the hearts of individuals?

When speaking of his self-portrait, Pink talks about white space. He defines this negative space as “the area between and around an image” (133). By learning how to see the white space within the image, we can see relationships more accurately.

When I think about my identity, I realize that few people know or understand my white spaces. They see the image, the picture I produce. They see where I go to church, what I do for a living, who I associate with on a regular basis. But most people don’t know what I truly believe and what is in my heart. Most people don’t know my fears, my personal triumphs and struggles, my obstacles in life, or the love I have for my family and friends. Those are the white spaces I am talking about. Understanding a person’s true identity requires an investment into knowing that person, listening to them speak, and a look beyond their exterior and into their hearts.

White space is constant, pure and untouched by variances. White space never changes. I believe that when we begin to see beyond the stereotypes of others and into their white spaces, we will find that we are all very similar. We have the same love for our families, we have similar fears and we all have a desire to be seen for who we truly are. We see the purity, the core of who we are. My challenge to you then is to look for the white spaces in others and begin to see the relationship between each other. Only then will we be able to break down the walls of stereotypes and prejudices and find common ground and a broader understanding of the world.

BIO: Jennifer Formo is a volunteer for Project Interfaith. She has contributed to the Development Committee, the Community Mosaic Video Project and the Speed Dialoguing event, Face to Faith. Jennifer makes her home in Blair, Nebraska along with her five-year-old daughter, Ashley.