Incessantly addressing, clever, and intense, a youthful American investigates the dominant part Muslim grounds that alarm him most. 


The Abu Dhabi Bar Mitzvah


Fear and Love in the Modern Middle EastAbu Dhabi Bar Mitzvah: Finding Common Ground is a glance at how an American Jew faces his feelings of dread over the Middle East. 

Equipped just with school Arabic and eager interest, Adam Valen Levinson decides to “find out about the world 9/11 made us dread.” 


From a base in globalized and disinfected  rent a car Abu Dhabi, he embarks to lunch in Taliban region in Afghanistan, goes under the vigilant gaze of Syria’s mystery police, dangers wreck on the way to Somalia, researches Yazidi convictions in a hallowed cavern, bluff makes a plunge Oman, observes New Year’s Eve in Tahrir Square, and, every step of the way, finds a spot that matches not in any way with its notoriety. 


Abu Dhabi Bar Mitzvah


Finding Common GroundAdam Valen Levinson crosses fringes with wisecracking diversion, education, and humankind, looking for shared opinion with “brothers” all over the place, and finding that individuals who implore distinctively frequently giggle the equivalent. 


Furthermore, as a youngster bar mitzvahed eight years late, he gradually figures out the fact that it is so puerile to live by choices and differentiations conceived of dread. 


Monitored by void tollbooths not yet in commission, the smooth thruway back to Muscat runs high along the coast. 


Detainee to the unsettled Lady-Gaga-On-Repeat singalong my outing mates had sorted out for themselves in the front, I recommended a mood killer at the signs for Hawiyat Najm Park, a goliath sinkhole in a calm neighborhood garden. 


It takes its name from the alleged methods for its creation: “The Fall of a Star.” 


It is in excess of seventy feet from the sinkhole’s edge to the interminably profound sapphire water underneath, and it sounded good to me to attempt to bounce off the edge. 


I looked down at it over my toes. On the off chance that I could clear a six-foot edge, I may make it. Afterward, I watched Rachel’s video from beneath. 


“We don’t have a telephone,” says Rachel. 


“I truly believe you’re going to fall, tumble down. Tumble,” Gaar yells to me. Hawiya—”fall” — can likewise signify “tumble.” 


I represent a couple of minutes looking down, hands on my knees, solidified. I fear everything. I didn’t believe that I was on strong ground until my toes were hanging off the edge of a bluff. 


Presently they were, and I was verifiably connected to something strong — that made it such a great amount of harder to surrender. 


However, that was the fact of the matter, would it say it wasn’t? To perceive what I could relinquish and still endure? 


I looked down twelve of my statures and made images of greater things out of each potential activity and inaction. 


“You’re contemplating it to an extreme,” Gaar says. 


Hawiya can likewise signify “character.” 


I had an inclination that I was playing host to brotherly twins, one overthinking, and the other hostile: accomplish something, DO SOMETHING! Accomplish SOMETHING. 


However, one could quietness the other on occasion, similar to Sam Hamilton’s subsequent child says in Steinbeck’s East of Eden. 


“At times a man needs to be dumb on the off chance that it gives him a chance to do a thing his cunning denies.” 


Gaar checks from ten, and I push off starting from the earliest stage, marginally noticeable all around. Behind the camera, Rachel gives a modest screech. 


I felt a weight lifted, yet as I swam back to shore I felt it still. 


I had needed to be noticeable all around, and I had needed to descend, however for the most part I needed to confront that minuscule minute where a choice is made, where the motivation to do conquers every one of those that state, don’t. 


There is a muscle somewhere close to your ears that gives the last approval for your legs to swing up toward the beginning of the day, for your middle to dive into virus water, for your finger to affirm an in-application buy. 


There is contact on that edge, and it tends to be sanded smooth with time. Be that as it may, I scoured my arms and skimmed and I realized I was as yet apprehensive. Dread itself. 


I moved back up the stairs. On the off chance that I could do it twice, I thought… well, at that point I’d have done it twice. 


There were ladies in headscarves watching me from the recreation center now, with a young man sitting on the stone mass of the sinkhole. Two Omani men underneath were yelling befuddling consolation. 


“Put it all on the line! Try not to do it! Hop!” they said. 


This was the minute that would marinate and manifest at minutes on my sofa and at the Emirates Palace and Le Royal Méridien between when I requested my Guinnesses and when they were conveyed. 


What energized me was the farthest point that dread characterized, between beyond reach and not. I didn’t be anything in the event that I didn’t go up against that point of confinement, and push it to check whether it would offer approach to something different. 


Right then and there, however, it was all refute you dramatic artistry. “Try not to bounce! Do it!” the Omanis hollered. 


“Lestu dijaaj,” I called. It may have signified “I’m not a chicken” in formal, Quranic Arabic, however the maxim was negligible out of English. 


The spectators looked bewildered. It was offending to their forces of perception, denying something that ought to have been clear by my patent absence of plumes and wattle. 


The stones were consuming my feet, and I licked my hands to wipe them, to purchase time. Gaar checked again from ten, and the most intense man made the sound of a bell.


 I didn’t hop. Everything was tranquil. Furthermore, some place, the limit was crossed. In transit down, air got away from my lungs like a low, energized whistle. 


It was sufficient to feel the shivering in my feet to realize I was as yet alive.  


The nearest I came to gunfire was soon after I crossed the fringe into Syria. On the off chance that it came, I figured it would originate from the urban communities, from the police, from around the groups, and not out and about that slice up from Beirut through the mountains and withdraw again toward Damascus. 

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