Munich, Germany

August 2025

By Moira Thiele (See her bio in Members )

Interfaith Storytelling and Dialogue Cafés – an overview with stories and questions

This is an overview of an Interfaith Storytelling and Dialogue Café as organized in Munich, Germany  2021, 2022, 2023, 2024 and 2025 at the Munich Forum for Islam and in a Munich Mosque, at the Jewish Janusz Korczak Academy, at an Intercultural Festival and a Protestant Church Community.

These past 5 years, especially the last two, coincided with increasingly problematic developments in the World politics whose impact of course resonates here too. This often lead to the cutting of talks between the representatives of the Abrahamic religions. Even public multifaith prayers for Peace suddenly became too political, and some were cancelled at short notice. There was a rise of Cancel Culture, followed by the great discovery: Storytelling goes under the radar! Storytelling is inconspicuous. Public Discussion can be dangerous, talking about stories and their meaning is just coffee table chat.

No security guards needed! Are stories really so harmless? Yes, but please beware – they can have side effects: they easily tempt the listeners to begin a dialogue, to see and enjoy our shared humanity and respect our differences, to build bridges across divides, and might lead to learning and growth.

This is why a Dialogue Cafe with stories works. Human beings have a desire to hear stories, to share their thoughts and feelings and be listened to, and to talk with others about what matters in their lives.

A choice of stories I told in Interfaith context is included here. These stories are like seeds, proven to be thriving in the fertile ground of a café-like atmosphere, watered by some questions as suggested here which are very likely to inspire good and lively conversations among the listeners at the tables.

A Storytelling Dialogue Café is one among a variety of possible Interfaith events using storytelling, my recipe is just one of them. The proof is in the eating. If a Storytelling Dialogue Café or another Interfaith event helps makes people feel happy, empathic and connected – its recipe must be working.

Here is my recipe, please use it, adapt it and change it as you like!

RECIPE for an Interfaith Dialog Cafe:

• 1 BIG ROOM with kitchen for tea and coffee in a location of a supporting community interested in Interfaith encounters (hall of a church community center, room in a Mosque, Synagogue…)
• 1 AUDIENCE, interested, open, diverse, from the community in charge and maybe others too
• TABLES for about 4 – 5 people each. Upper limit: 10 tables/50 people, or it will get too noisy
• TEA, COFFEE, COOKIES
• STORIES: 3 to 4, small or medium sized
• STORYTELLER: 1 or more
• TIME: About 2 hours (plus preparation time and cleaning up of course! Get helping hands!) Example: 3 stories 5-10 min each, after each story 20 min for conversation = about 1 hour 15 min, plus welcome at the beginning, a feedback round at the very end, and maybe plus Music.
• MUSICIAN if available and affordable, to play before each story, helping to get the attention of the audience after the chats and prepare them for the next story.
• CARDS or pieces of paper (coloured is nice!) with the questions referring to the stories, one for each table and story (more about it below). 
• DONATION BOX to be mentioned at the end, to cover the costs (for events free of charge)
• MAILING LIST to inform about the date, time and venue of the event and how to register

The day of the dialogue café has come, the hall is filled, the audience welcomed – WE CAN BEGIN! A short, funny story is always a good appetizer. Let me tell you such a door opening story, to show you how it works. And who would be better to get us started off than the famous Mullah Nasruddin?

Nasredin Hodja or Mullah Nasruddin– he comes by many names, according to the many countries where his stories are told: from Turkey south along the Mediterranian, in all the Arabic countries, from Persia all the way to China. He is the favourite hero of oriental stories, a Mullah, a preacher and a  teacher – so is he a wise man or rather a fool and a trickster? Or both? I leave that for you to decide!

Nasredin and the Turkey

One day Nasredin went to the marketplace to do some shopping.

He noticed a big crowd surrounding a merchant who held up a chicken and shouted: “This marvellous, beautiful, special bird for only 10 gold coins!“

“How can a chicken be so expensive?“ Nasredin asked. “What is so special about it?“

“My chicken“ said the merchant, “can speak!“

Nasredin hurried home, grabbed his old turkey and returned to the market. He stopped only a few steps away from the merchant’s stand and shouted: “This amazing, unique turkey – only 100 gold dinar!“ The curious crowd moved over to Nasredin and his turkey, and the merchant, left alone with his chicken, came over too, very annoyed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nasredin!“ he said. “You are selling your old turkey for 100 gold dinars? Is there anything your turkey is able to do?“

Nasredin replied: “My turkey… can listen!“

And now you know, dear audience, what a good listener is worth: a fortune!

Questions (on coloured paper with the title of the story: Nasredin and the Turkey)

• When did you listen really well to someone – or have been truly listened to?
• What was so precious about it?
• What does it take to be a good listener?

What we want our audience to know about the questions

Before the groups at the tables start focussing on the questions, let us make this clear:

these questions are just suggestions, meant not so much to be answered but rather to inspire and to guide us into conversation. There is no right or wrong answer, and any comment to the story’s theme is welcome. The feedback from the audience is invariably that the questions are helpful and supporting, and once people start talking one thing easily leads to another.

In this example of the Nasredin story there can be the sharing of personal experiences with good listeners, reflections on the value of being present as a listener who does not judge, etc. The 20 minutes planned for talking are over only too fast and often have to be extended.

Organization during the program: We recommend that a representative of the community/organization hosting the event helps the visitors to get seated at the tables, making sure that at each table there will be a good mixture of different religions and nationalities to make the dialogue interesting. When the program begins, he/she not only welcomes the audience, but also acts as an Emcee, taking care to let the conversations end when it’s time to move on.

Music in between can be a wonderful addition, an entertaining break, also gently indicating: let us be silent now, let it all sink in, and after the music, there will be another story for you!

Another little story which I like to tell as a door opener to Interfaith Dialogue goes back to the great Mystic and poet Rumi. I usually start like this: “Our first story is about a very dangerous substance called Halwa, made from ground sesame seeds and lots of sugar, Vanilla, sometimes Pistachios or Cocoa, which gives it a beautiful brown pattern like that of a marble cake. Each bite must have 1001 calories at least. But to be warned, you need to recognize it, so I brought some Halwa for you to try…“

Audiences love that! Pieces of Halwa are offered before beginning to tell the story

A Dream of Halwa

Once upon a time there were three men who had been travelling together for quite a while, a Muslim, a Christian and a Jew. They walked together every day until they were tired and looked for a place to stay for the night.

One evening they had just arrived at a nice guest house and found a room to share for the three of them, when they heard a knock at their door. The Muslim opened and saw a plate full of Halwa on the doorstep, obviously put there as a sweet welcome. It was the very best kind of Halva: finely ground sesame, sweet, mellow, and tender. The Muslim loved Halwa and wanted to try it right away, but his Jewish companion said: “It will be difficult to split it up equally, because there are smaller and bigger blocks; their weight needs to be calculated and divided by three…“, but the Christian objected: „Why not let the Almighty decide? The one of us to whom he will send te most extraordinary dream tonight shall have the whole Halwa.“ The other two agreed – a little reluctantly though – and went to bed.

When the first rays of sun woke them up the next morning, while still lying in bed, they began to tell each other what they had dreamt. The Jewish traveller began: “Just imagine – I was lost in a terrible sandstorm, blinded by the sand, when suddenly I saw golden Hebrew letters shining brightly through the dark. Towering before me was Moses, holding the tablets of the Laws. Moshe Rabbeynu! Our great teacher Moses! The storm had calmed and I saw I stood with him on Mount Sinai, surrounded by all the prophets, who welcomed me and answered all the questions that had been troubling me my whole life, and peace and serenity filled my heart. Angels descended on wings of light and took us all up to a heaven of such bliss, that it is impossible to describe!“

“What a wonderful dream!“ said the Muslim. “You are certainly deserving of the Halwa. Such a dream is hard to surpass! But we should listen to our Christian companion too! You surely have seen your Lord Jesus in your dream?“ – “Indeed! He appeared when I was in deepest need and despair. In my dream I was standing in front of the divine court of justice. Because of my former sins I was about to be condemned to hell forever. But Jesus stood before me, he spread his arms to protect me and spoke for me. So I was spared from hell and only had to pass through the purifying flames of Purgatory.“

And he described the horrible pains and punishments of Purgatory in the most vivid way.

The Jew shivered and the Muslim said: “Well, this is a very interesting dream, surely deserving of the Halwa. So – do you still want to hear my dream at all?“

The two others said ’Yes’ very eagerly, because they expected him to speak in flowery words of the Muslim paradise, with magnificent, colourful gardens full of beautiful virgins with big dark shiny eyes yearning for those faithful to Allah.

But the Muslim was brief. “My Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him, said to me in my dream:   ‘Go ahead, eat the Halwa!‘

I objected: ‘Should I not rather wait for my two friends and maybe share?‘

The Prophet replied: ‘Who do you want to wait for? One is in Heaven and the other in Purgatory, and from both places no one ever returns to Earth. So enjoy the Halwa before it gets dry.‘ – 

And who am I to disobey the Prophet?“

A DREAM OF HALVA    Questions for conversation

• What has eating and drinking to do with religious traditions?
• Which religious holidays and celebrations come to your mind? What do they mean for you  personally, which memories show up?
• Have you been taking part in celebrations of other religions?

(The following remarks will lead us to the story on the next page, the Parable of the Three Rings).

As we all obviously enjoy eating and celebrating together, and are good friends and companions like the three companions in the story of the Halwa – how can prejudice and hate come into being and lead to injustice, violence, wars and crusades? This takes us to the ancient story of the three rings.

The Parable of the Three Rings (from the German classical drama “Nathan the Wise“, 1779)

This story takes place in the Holy Land, where the trouble is that it is sacred to more than one nation and religion: the Jewish people and their faith, Christianity, and Islam.

A thousand years ago the crusaders came over from Europe to conquer their holy places in Jerusalem, to fight against the Muslims and establish a Christian kingdom far from home. This kingdom did not last very long.

Sultan Saladin had reconquered Jerusalem for Muslim rule. But war is a costly business, and he had wasted his entire fortune on it. Saladin urgently needed money, and heard of a Jewish merchant named Nathan who was said to be both a very rich and a very wise man.

The Sultan did not want to ask Nathan directly for a loan, but rather to challenge him with a question, which might embarass the man and put some pressure on him that might suit Saladins own purpose.

When Nathan was brought before him, Saladin welcomed him: “As-salamu alaykum! Peace be with you! I am told that people call you Nathan the Wise, so I am sure you will be able to answer an important question.

Of the three religions, who claim this place as holy to them – Muslims, Christians and Jews – only one can be the true one! Which one is it for you?“

How to escape this trap? Nathan was well aware his life might be at risk, so he asked: “Sultan, may I tell you a story as an answer to your question about the right faith?“

“I don’t mind a good story. Go ahead!“ Nathan drew a deep breath and began.

“There once lived a wealthy man in the East, who owned a precious ring of peerless beauty. The stone was an Opal, shining in a hundred shades of blue and purple like the sky at sunset. And like the precious stone attracted the light and reflected it in a thousand colours, the ring attracted love to its bearer and it reflected love to all the souls around him, as long as he believed in its magic.

Not surprisingly the rich man wanted to make sure that the ring would stay forever in his family. He bequeathed it to his most beloved son, and decreed that each of his successors should do the same.

The ring was passed on from son to son, until eventually it came to a father of three sons, all equally clever, good and loyal, so that he could not help loving them equally, secretly promising the ring,  to every single one of them, when he was alone with that son.

All went well for a while, until the father grew old and felt death coming closer. Hating the thought of hurting the feelings of two of his sons by preferring the third, he went to the best of all goldsmiths and asked him to forge two exact copies of the ring. – The jeweller succeeded. When he brought the three rings, even the father couldn‘t tell the difference. Filled with relief, he called his sons, each of them on his own, and gave him his blessing and his ring. And then he died.

The three sons mourned their father; they yearned to become like him and take his place. Each of them came to meet the others with his ring to prove his right; but they couldn’t trust their eyes: Three rings which looked perfectly alike. Each of the brothers was convinced that only his ring was the true one. They accused each other of foul play, started quarreling and ended up before a judge.

This judge had the reputation of being a wise man. He patiently listened to the three brothers.

When they had ended, the judge shook his head and sighed: ‘Am I here to solve riddles? Only your father could clarify this strange case. As he cannot speak to us any more, I am not able to help you.

Or do you expect that the true ring will open its mouth? But behold – why should the ring not speak?

Did you not say: The real ring has the power to attract love to the one who’s wearing it?

So tell me: Who of you three brothers is the one whom the two others love best? – You’re silent? Each of you only loves himself and fights the others? So all the three of you betray yourselves! None of these rings is genuine; the original must have been lost, and to hide the loss your father made three copies.

One thing is for sure: that he loved all three of you so much, that he would not hurt two of his sons by favoring the third. My advice to each of you is: Go on believing only you have the true ring. And if you still want to know for sure whether your ring has the power to make you lovable and loving, try it out! Prove it by gentleness, good deeds and unconditional love.

And if the powers of the ring will show clearly in your childrens’ children, I shall invite them in a thousand years before this judgement seat. I hope by then a wiser man than me will sit in judgement.’

Nathan had ended his story. “Sultan, it is up to you to be this promised judge and to decide the case. Because the question, which ring is the fathers true inheritance, is just as unresolved as the question about the divine inheritance of our faith!“

Saladin slowly shook his head. „I can’t and won’t be the judge in this case. But you, Nathan, are truly a wise man. Your story says nothing else than our sacred scripture, the Qur’an, is telling us: Let us compete in peace, and may each ring show its beauty!“

THE THREE RINGS    Questions for conversation

• What does your faith mean to you?
• How do you experience other religions?
• What do you appreciate in your own and in other religions?
• Is this still a story for our times?

Today I want to tell you a legend which is known in many versions, and whose origin is as disputed as the place the story is about: the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. I am sure you all see it in your mind’s eye: the golden cupola of the bright blue Dome of the Rock, the Islamic holy Shrine, and below it the Western Wall, the Jewish place of prayer, remnant of the magnificent temple from King Herod’s time.

But this story begins in the very early days of Jerusalem before the first temple was built on this site, in the times of the kings David und Salomon – Dawud and Suleiman are their names in Qur’an.

A Holy Piece of Land

The first one to feel a deep desire to build a temple for the One God was King David, when he headed the solemn procession carrying the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. The Ark held the Tablets of Law with the Ten Commandments which should forever ensure a peaceful life for human beings. After travelling the land for so long in the tent of the Tabernacle, the Ark should finally find a worthy place in the Holy of Holies of a new temple, the first in Jerusalem.

But King David was denied the fulfilment of this wish, because his hands which so tenderly played the harp to the words of his Psalms were stained with blood, and not only the blood of many wars. But a prophecy assured him that his son and successor would be a righteous man of peace. So King David made his son Solomon promise to build the Temple from the cedars of Lebanon and the white stone of Jerusalem, with ornaments of copper and of gold.

King Solomon surpassed his father in power and wealth, but most of all in wisdom. His people loved him, and the nations all around were full of respect. But the years went by, and the king was painfully aware that he still had not kept his promise. 

One night his father King David appeared to him in a dream, towering over him with a stern and angry face. “Why have you not kept your vow? Not even the foundation stone has been laid to the Holy Temple!“ – Solomon replied in desperation: “Father, God may bear witness, that I haven’t found the place yet which would be worthy to become the site of the Temple!“

King Solomon awoke, bathed in cold sweat. Unable to fall asleep again, he rose from his bed, got dressed and left the palace. It was a clear and starry night, the streets lay in darkness and silence, nobody saw the Ruler of Israel as he walked past houses, gardens and orchards until  to a field on a flat hill. It was the time of the harvest, and in the pale light of the moon he could already see the sheaves of wheat.

All of a sudden he heard a rustling noise – it was a man carrying a big bundle of wheat. 

“A thief!“ thought Solomon wanting to stop him, but then holding himself back, too curious to see what the man would do next.

The king watched him climb over a stone wall still carrying the sheaf, which he put down on the other side. Then he returned and continued to carry one bundle after the other over the wall, until they all were on the other side. And then all of a sudden he vanished in the dark.

While the king was considering how to punish this theft, another man appeared, looking around as if he wanted to make sure that nobody had seen him. Then he did exactly the same as the first man, only in the opposite direction: he carried the sheaves back to the other side. “One thief stealing from the other!“ thought Solomon.

The following morning he ordered the owners of the neighbouring fields to be brought to his palace. They came into the Throne Hall keeping a distance between them, avoiding to talk or even to look at each other. One of the men, younger than the other, was summoned by the King to come right before his throne. “Tell me, what gives you the right to steal the crop from your neighbour’s field?“

The man looked at Solomon in surprise and replied: “Never would I do such a thing, my king! The wheat which I carried to the neighbouring field was my own. The field belongs to my brother, and I had to bring him the sheaves secretly, because he would not have accepted them from me. Nobody was supposed to know about it, but as you seem to have knowledge of it, let me explain it to you. 

The two of us, my brother and me, inherited a large field from our father, the piece of land on the hill. I live alone, my brother has a wife and children. But we have not seen each other for years, because we have been fighting for so long, that I don’t even remember who started to quarrel. Was it my brother, who as the older of us claimed to have greater rights to the land, or was it me who felt treated unfairly? One word led to another, our disdute turned into bitter hostility, until neither of us talked to the other any more. Finally we built a wall right through the middle of our land, and from then on we plowed and planted and harvested in silence.

One night all this passed through my mind, and I regretted the mean words I had been hurling at him, and the evil thoughts which had been poisoning my own mind. I could not find any sleep, so I walked across my field until I came to the wall. I looked over it, saw his sheaves and thought: this is not fair – my older brother has to feed a big family, I am alone – I don’t need so much wheat. I will give some of it to him, he has greater need than I do. Knowing that he would not accept a single grain from me, I secretly carried the bundles over at night.“

Solomon thanked the man and summoned the older brother before his throne, who had heard everything his brother had said. “We know now“, said Solomon, “what your younger brother did on the field at night – but what business did you have there? I thought you were a thief!“

“Not at all! You just heard it: he lives alone while I have a big family who helps me with the harvest. He however has to pay farm workers and therefore needs more money. He would not accept a single grain from my hand, so I secretly brought him a few sheaves. I won’t miss them, and for him they will surely be of help!“

The younger brother had heard every word of the older one. For the first time in many years the two brothers looked each other in the eyes, and they opened their arms and embraced.

Solomon put his hands on their shoulders and said:

“My dear brothers, I beg you to fulfill my wish – please, sell your divided field to me!

For this is truly holy ground, where brothers have been bitter enemies, yet were able to overcome their wall and to put themselves in the other’s place, and secretly and generously shared their wheat. This is the piece of land worthy to become the site of our Holy Temple!“

A HOLY PIECE OF LAND

Questions for conversation

• Why does Solomon see the field as holy? Is that how you see it?
• What does “holy“ and “sacred“ mean to you?
• What is a sacred place? Which places do you think of?

Please be aware: Even if a story fits into the Interfaith context as well as this one, their possible effect in sensitive context should be taken into consideration. A personal experience showed me that the story of the Holy Piece of Land, also known as The Field of Two Brothers, located on the Temple Mount, may trigger discussions and emotions, especially in times when the violence of the Middle East conflict reaches a peak.

In such situations the storyteller needs a good judgment of the ability of the participants to focus on the meaning of the story and the chances to avoid getting into politics.

It might be good to be flexible and chose another story at times when the Temple Mount becomes yet again the source of a wave of violence. Or else we can make the location more neutral in the introduction, not identifying it as the Temple Mount. The risk is too big of getting into political discussions which divide and lead nowhere, instead of conversations which enable us to share and to connect.

(Putting ourselves into the shoes of the otheris vital, but the shoes should not be ten sizes too big!)

The story of little Jonathan could take place in medieval Munich, my home town, but also in any other European town of that time. The cities were all still very small, surrounded by a city wall with watchtowers and fortified gates. The small Jewish communities who established themselves around the 12th century lived through times of peace and prosperity, but not only during the Crusades this could be over from one day to the other.

If only one Jew was suspected of any wrongdoing, the survival of the whole community was at risk.                                                  

Jonathan

In the shade of the city wall there were simple wooden shops, one beside the other, wall to wall. In one of the shops a butcher sold meat, in the shop beside his a jewish merchant was selling spices. These spices came from far away on dangerous roads and they were precious and expensive, but also very much in demand, and the merchant had a good income.

It was more money for sure than the butcher earned, who had been envious for quite a while.

One evening the butcher pushed a cupboard aside in the back room of his shop and was surprised to find a crack in the wooden wall. Through it he could peek into the back room of the spice dealers shop, and saw him sitting at his table counting his revenue of the week.

He counted aloud all the golden and silver coins before putting them into a bag of velvet which he hid in a chest of drawers.

The butcher rubbed his hands; he had made a plan. The next morning he went to see the city guards and accused his jewish neighbour to have stolen his money. He told them the exact number of golden and silver coins he claimed to be missing and gave a description of the velvet purse.

The soldiers of the guard searched the neighbouring shop and found the money. The spice dealer tried in vain to convince them that the money and the bag were his. Nobody believed him, and the butcher named witnesses, who confirmed that they had seen the purse in his shop before, that they knew it belonged to him. A curious crowd was gathering around them, quickly taking sides for the butcher whose friends poured oil into the fire by shouting:

“Look at that Jew! A thief and a lier like all of them!“ And they demanded severe punishment.The Jewish merchant was handed over to the court of justice, and thrown into prison; things looked very bad for him and the small Jewish community. The poisonous cloud of hate lingering over the city grew larger and more threatening every day.

There seemed to be no doubt about the outcome and the sentence of the trial, even though the judge had the reputation of being a righteous man and just towards everyone.

The Rabbi of the small community knew that and went to see the judge.

“Your honour,“ he said, “I am worried about the outcome of the trial tomorrow.  All our lives are in danger, if Abraham the spice dealer is declared guilty. Our enemies want to chase us out of town, if not worse.“ The Judge appreciated the Rabbi as a wise and upright man, but was not pleased at all at his visit. “Rabbi, you should not have come! If anyone sees you here, it will cause even more bad blood. Go home and make sure not be seen again! I will walk a few steps with you so that you can speak, if you have proof of the spice dealer’s innocence.“

“I have no proof except my knowledge of human nature! I know Abraham the spice merchant as a god-fearing and honest man. Why should a man like him who does good business find it necessary to steal?“

“I would like to believe you, Rabbi, but nothing and nobody speaks in favour of the merchant. The butcher on the other hand has witnesses. The way things are I can’t acquit the accused!“

The Rabbi stood still, because they had arrived at his house. “Then there is nothing left for us but to flee as fast as we can – if they still let us. How shall I tell my family, most of all my little son Jonathan, who has grown up here?“

In the courtyard there were children playing, among them little Jonathan. When the two men came nearer, they saw and heard that the children were doing a role-play, a story.

It was the story which was the talk of the town.

Jonathan was obviously playing the judges’ part – he just said to one of the other boys:

“Well, butcher, what are the proofs you can present?“

The boy pulled out a rather used handkerchief, tied some copper coins and a knot in it and replied: “Here I have got the bag of velvet, and in it are the coins just like I told the guards, and more than that, I’ve got witnesses, they say exactly the same as I!“

“What a surprise!“ shouted another boy, who seemed to play the part of the spice merchant.

“They are your friends and lying for you! How would you have earned so much money anyway – there are more flies than customers visiting your filthy shop!“

The other boy who played the butcher pushed him and both started beating each other up.

Jonathan separated the two. “Stop it! Let us rather get a pot of hot water from the kitchen!“

“What’s that good for? Are you meshugge, Jonathan?“

“Not at all! I think I found the solution! Let us heat water and throw a few coins into it!

If there are grease drops in the water, it is the butcher’s money, because his fingers are always greasy. If no fat can be seen, the money belongs to Abraham the spice merchant, and the butcher is a thief and a liar and must be punished!“

The judge and the Rabbi had been listening without being noticed and looked at each other.

“Your son is a bright boy!“ said the judge with a smile. “He might have shown me a way to do justice to the accused. I am very much aware of what is at stake for the Jews in this town!“

The next day a noisy, excited crowd filled the courtroom, entire families had squeezed into the hall. A bell was rung. With this call to silence the trial started in presence of the butcher, the witnesses and the defendant. The judge listened to all of them without comment.

Finally the piece of evidence, the velvet bag, was brought in.

The judge gave order to empty the purse with the coins into a kettle with boiling hot water.

The surface remained clear and transparent. But a few dry crumbs hat fallen from the bag into the water and were filling the air with an intense fragrance.

Suddenly they heard the bright voice of a little girl: “This smells like the spices in the shop of Abraham the Jew!“

There was a deep silence, people looked at each other, only the butcher looked down and blushed.

“Well, butcher“ said the judge, “let us now have a close look at your shop!“

The butcher knew that they would find the crack in the wall which enabled him to peer into his neighbour’s shop, and he confessed. He was found guilty just like his false witnesses; Abraham the spice merchant was released and got his property back.

The Rabbi was very proud of his son, and the Jewish community gave a sigh of relief.

The danger of persecution, expulsion and death had passed – for the time being at least.

JONATHAN

Questions for conversation

• What effect can rejection and exclusion have on a minority?
• Which prejudices against people of your and other cultures did you encounter?
• Which are good ways for you to deal with this bias?

As a number of the people in the audience probably have a family background of migration and some also have experienced what it means to belong to a minority, this may help to relate to the Jewish experience which is the theme in the story, and give us the chance of walking in the shoes of the other.

The Miracle of the Pomegranate

A thousand years ago most of Spain had been occupied by Muslim conquerors who had founded a great empire. They called their new land “Al Andalus“ – Andalucia. In its capital, Cordoba, a Caliph had his residence, and he reigned with a firm hand and severe laws.

Many Jews lived there under his rule, and the physicians, scientists, philosophers, financiers and translators among them were well respected and sought-after at the court in Cordoba; they often lived in nice houses with shady courtyards full of flowers near the wonderful Mosque and the Caliph’s Palace, the Alcazar. But the other Jews had to stay in a poor quarter  and had no other chance than to work in menial and badly paid jobs.

One of them was a water carrier. From early morning until late in the evening he carried his heavy load, but the handful of copper coins he earned was just enough for a few onions, a small bag of flour to bake a few flatbreads, and sometimes a little milk or cheese. But God had blessed with many children, and the food he brought home could not still their hunger.  He was a widower, who brought up his children alone, and when he saw them go to bed half-hungry, his heart ached in despair. He worked even longer hours, but hunger was an ever present guest at their table.

One day his way took him across the market place, where he passed by the stand of a baker, and the delicious smell of freshly baked bread filled the air. The baker was turning his back to him, and without knowing what he was doing, he grabbed a loaf of bread and hid it in his shirt. But before he could escape, the baker had noticed the theft and called the Caliphs’ guards. Before the poor water carrier even understood what was happening to him, he was taken before a judge and according to the Caliph’s severe laws he was sentenced to death.

On the way to the gallows the soldiers stopped beneath a pomegranate tree to find some shade, and they asked their prisoner: “Do you have one last wish before you die?“

“What could I wish for?“ the condemned man said sadly. “Soon I will be no more! But let me pick a pomegranate for the last time.“ He held the red fruit in his hand – it looked like the crimson turban of the Caliph with a little crown on top.

He slowly let it slip into his pocket and said: “What a pity, that I will have to take my secret to the grave with me. If the Caliph knew, what I know, he would certainly listen to me.“

The soldiers talked to each other and finally said: “The gallows won’t run away, and maybe you really do know a useful secret!“ And they led him to the Caliph’s palace.

When the mighty ruler heard that the Jew, who had stolen bread at the market and had been sentenced to death, owned a great secret, he sent the courtiers away and had the soldiers of the guard bring their prisoner before his throne.

“Well,“ he said to the convict, “what is it you want to tell me?“

“Mighty Ruler of the Faithful“ said the water carrier, “I know the secret of the pomegranate.

I know how to plant its seed so that it grows to a full tree over night. My father taught me this secret, which he has inherited from his forefathers. If you want, I can show you my magic.“

The Caliph liked the idea. Of course he owned plenty of treasures of all kinds, but not such a miracle, which he could use to impress his high-ranking guests like kings, ambassadors, and sultans. He gave orders to his servants to prepare everything, and soon after the whole Court was assembled in the garden, full of curiosity and excitement.

The prisoner dug a hole, broke the pomegranate into pieces, took one of the red seeds and said: “Mighty ruler, a tree will grow over night from this seed. But only a man who has never stolen may plant the seed. As I have been convicted as a thief, I must not do it. It is up to you to choose someone to put the seed into the earth, and by tomorrow you shall pick ripe red pomegranates!“

10

The Caliph turned to his First Adviser. “You plant the seed. Tomorrow morning the whole court shall assemble here again, so that we can see whether the pomegranate tree has really grown. Until then the Jew shall stay alive.“

Early the next morning the Caliph followed by his courtiers walked through the garden, which was sparkling with countless drops of dew. Past many rows of colourful flowerbeds and white marble fountains they came to the spot where the First Adviser had planted the seed. But not the tiniest sprout could be seen.

The Caliph had the convict brought right before him. “If you believed that you could escape your punishment that way, you are mistaken! Now you shall die a painful death, because you are not just a thief, but also a liar and a fraud!“

The man who was doomed looked firmly into the Caliph’s eyes. “I do guarantee the miracle. But I am sure that the pomegranate tree has not grown for one reason: your adviser does not fulfill the condition. Surely he once has stolen something, so the tree could not grow!“

The Caliph turned to his adviser. “What do you have to say to that?“

The man blushed and stammered. “Oh my Lord and Master, the Jew is right. Many years ago I took a ring, which had rolled under the carpet… Have mercy on me, Your Magnificence, I shall immediately return what is not mine!“

The Caliph frowned and ordered his Minister of the Treasury to plant the seed. But the  Treasurer, having just witnessed the embarrassing scene, had no desire to be exposed like that himself.

“Oh most Magnanimous One“, he said with a quiet voice, “you know how many treasures, jewels and golden coins pass through my hands every day. Everything gets listed carefully in the Book of the Treasury. Only once I could not resist and kept a precious pearl that had not been listed. I promise to bring it back right away and I beg you to forgive my dishonesty!“

The Caliph looked around in anger to chose another of his dignitaries, when the water carrier said to him: “Mighty Ruler of the Faithful, may I advise you not to ask anyone else to plant the seed. A man can only trust himself. So it is better if you do it yourself.“

There followed a strange silence. The Caliph did not reply, and his courtiers preferred to hold their tongues. Finally the Caliph began to talk: “I admit that I too am not without guilt. As a boy I once stole a glittering pin from my mother.“

All of a sudden he smiled and said to the prisoner: “I see that your great secret is your wisdom. Your guilt is forgiven, go in peace.“ And he added thoughtfully: “I cannot return this piece of jewelry to my mother, because she went to Allah a long time ago. All these years I have kept it in a hiding place and had almost forgotten it. Now you shall have it.“

The pin proved to be a precious brooch which was sparkling with diamonds and so valuable, that the water carrier and his large family never had to suffer hunger again.

THE MIRACLE OF THE POMEGRANATE – Questions for discussion

• Do you believe in miracles?
• Is the Caliph strong or weak?
• Severity, Justice, Mercy – where is their place in your life?

This is another story everyone can relate to. Becoming aware that we all make mistakes might change the way how we view the others and judge them. Like the Caliph we can experience the relief of being honest about ourselves and the fellow humans, and hopefully become more forgiving…

The Palm Tree

Can you imagine what it’s like for the travellers of a caravan to see the first green palm trees of an oasis after a long and arduous journey through the desert? The trees are a promise of water, food and rest for the entire caravan. The thirsty camels know that and move two steps faster.

What could be better later on, than to sit at sunset beneath a big palm tree at the well, light a fire, drink hot tea with fresh mint and eat some sweet dates from the tree above? That’s what the visitors did, until one of them said: “Something is missing!“- “What could that be?“- “A storyteller of course!“

They asked their host, the respected Sheikh of the Oasis, whether by any chance he knew someone to tell them stories. The Sheikh was an old man, whose face showed the traces of a hard life. But his poise was upright and the smile in his eyes was full of warmth, when he said: “Well, I could tell you a story or two!“ He sat down with them beneath the palm tree and pointed up to its crown. “Did you notice that this tree is different from all others?“

In the golden light of the sunset they saw that the tree was the strongest and tallest of the oasis, but strange indeed: the inner leaves were bent towards the middle, not outwards like all the other palm fans. “Have a look when the next gust of wind comes!“ said the old man. When the inner leaves were blown apart by the wind, they saw something in the heart of the palm tree: a huge reddish stone, like there were many in the sand.

“Do you want to know how it got there? It happened many years ago, when this huge palm tree was still small, barely more than a sprout. There was no oasis here yet – no people, no houses, because there was no well. All there was were a few date palms. The soil and the air were enough to nourish them. The tiny tree too had all it needed to grow and thrive.

It thrived until the day, when the man came through the desert. He had been wandering around for days and had almost lost his mind, in terrible fear to die of heat, hunger and thirst. He saw the palm trees and dug in the sand for water until his hands were bleeding. And then he caught sight of the little tree standing there, in bright green and full of strength.

In desperation he cried: “Why are you alive? Why are you young and beautiful? Why do you find water and I am dying of thirst? You must not live!“ With a last effort he took a heavy stone and pressed it in the midst of the young date palm’s crown. Then he fainted and fell down beside the tree.

The next day a caravan came past, they found him and he was saved.

But nobody took care of the young date palm. It shook itself and bent as far as it could to throw off its heavy burden, but in vain; the stone was stuck in its crown, and even the mostviolent sand storm did not move it. Finally the young date palm gave up its useless struggle and instead sent her roots deep into the soil to stand more firmly with her heavy weight. The day came when the roots reached the ground water. A source send up its fresh water to the surface and made this place a fertile oasis full of trees and fruits, animals and people.“

The listeners were silent and drank their tea, until one of them asked: “Tell me, how come you know all this so well?“

The storyteller took a deep breath. “I am the man who who did that to the tiny palm tree. It was not the only stone I had left behind in my life, on others and myself.  I was unable to forget what I’d done, and when many years later I came back to this part of the desert, I searched for a crippled tree, if it had survived at all. But the young sapling had grown into a majestic palm tree, easy to recognize: it had carried the stone all the way up. 

Many a weight seems unbearable to us, until we accept it. Then it makes us stronger than ever before. I have learnt from the palm tree, and since then, nothing has become too heavy for me.

So in its way the palm tree gave me a great gift, and my little gift to you is this story.“

Questions for discussion – The Palm:

• The roots give the palm tree stability. What gives you support in stormy times?
• Many a burden eventually turns out to be a blessing – can you think of an example?
• The art of accepting what you cannot change – where can it be found in your culture and faith

As you have seen in the story of the Palm Tree, the stories need not have Interfaith themes.

The value of the stories followed by conversations lies in experiencing our shared humanity, which can, but need not have religious context, as long as it helps us see the sacredness of the other.

When does night end?

A long, long time ago – or was it just yesterday? – there was a Rabbi who sat together with his students, learning, discussing, asking questions. It was late already, and they became tired and quiet.

 All of a sudden, the Rabbi asked the young men:

“How do we know when the night has ended and the day has begun?”

Immediately the students thought that they grasped the importance of the question. There are, after all, evening prayers that should be recited before dawn – and when exactly would that begin?

One of the students offered an answer: “I know! It is when I can see enough to tell the difference between an olive tree and a fig tree.“   

“No“ said the Rabbi.

Another student said: “When it is still dark, but I can already tell a dog from a sheep – that’s when the night has ended and day has begun.”  

“No“ said the Rabbi.

The oldest student was sure he knew the answer. “Rebbe, night is over and day arrives, when I see the outline of a house in the distance and know that it’s my house and not the house of my neighbor.“

The Rabbi looked at him sadly and shook his head. “You don’t understand. You are just thinking in differences. All you do is to distinguish and differenciate. You separate Mine and Not-Mine, Me and not-Me. Isn’t the world separated and broken enough? Can you see where that leads us?“

The students were silent. Finally the youngest of them spoke: “Please, Rabbi, tell us: How do we know that night has ended and day has begun?”

The Rabbi looked back into the faces of his students and with a gentle voice responded:

“When you look into the face of the person in front of you, whether it’s friendly or angry, happy or sad, no matter of which nation it is, whether man or woman, whether Jew, Muslim or Christian or any other faith, and you can see in that face your brother or your sister, who is like you. This will be the blessed moment, when the night is over and a New Earth is awake. It’s up to us to begin the new day!”

If this is the last story: no need for follow-up questions! “When does night End?“ is a great story for the end of the program, and it should not be followed by questions and discussion, but instead be a takeaway for the way home, to settle inside as a silent question to be answered by each of us.

More stories suitable in Interfaith and Spiritual Context: Chassidic, Talmud, Sufi, Stories of Jesus (New Testament), collections of Wisdom stories like “Doorways to the Soul“ by Elisa Pearmain, several books of Anthony de Mello, the anthologies by Margaret Read McDonald like “Peace Tales“, and many others such as “Elder Tales. Stories of Wisdom and Courage from around the World“ by Dan Keding.

There are plenty of good and fitting stories waiting to be shared and become a trigger for discussion!

In times of trouble and doubt it may help to read these Quotes on Interfaith dialogue and themes:

“Storytelling shows us how much we have in common as human beings. Storytelling and the dialogues it provokes helps us understand one another better”                                                                     (Muriel Horowitz)

“It is hard to hate someone whose story you know.”                                                            (Noa Baum)

“O humankind, we have created you all from a single male and a single woman, and formed you into tribes and nations so that you may get to know one another“ (Qur’an Sura 49, Verse 13, transl. by Abdel-Haleem)

“The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God.“              

Hebrew Bible — Leviticus 19:34

Quotes by the American-Israeli author Yossi Klein Halevi, from his book “Letters to my Palestinian Neighbour“:

“The Interfaith encounter, I believe, sanctifies God’s name. Interacting with believers of different faiths creates religious humility, recognition that truth and holiness aren’t confined to any one path. I cherish Judaism as my language of intimacy with God – but God speaks many languages. I longed to celebrate those multiple conversations, to touch something of God’s expanse.“

Halevi, an Orthodox Jew, writes about a Sufi Imam in Gaza whom he visited and befriended in the 1990s to learn from Islamic practice and spirituality: “I learned to take a delight in our similarities as in our differences.“

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I’ll meet you there.“         

Rumi (1207 – 1273)