Chochmat HaLev recently held a service unlike anything in its 20-year history, and for this Berkeley Renewal congregation, that’s saying something.
The sanctuary was packed to overflowing on Feb. 11 to celebrate the life of Ibrahim Abdurrahman Farajajé, known as Ibrahim Baba (a Sufi term of respect) — a spiritual giant who was a significant figure in many local faith communities and had been a congregant, teacher and occasional service leader at Chochmat. He died on Feb. 9 at age 63.
Inserting Arabic phrases and substituting Allah for Adonai is not unusual at Chochmat, to make the point that we are all one and we pray to the same God. But the back and forth between Jewish and Muslim prayer seemed truly effortless that night. Sufi Muslims from his community, their arms aloft, whirled in front of his rose petal-covered body, as the Jews among us chanted the Shema.
Chochmat is known for its diversity, but this was far from a typical expression of that value: Sufis, Jews, Orthodox Christians, queer and transgender folks, white people, people of color and various combinations of the above. It was so wonderfully representative of Ibrahim, who was provost and professor of cultural studies and Islamic studies at Berkeley’s Starr King School for the Ministry in the Graduate Theological Union.
J. readers may remember my profile of him a few years ago (www.tinyurl.com/jweekly-ibrahim-2012): Born neither Sufi nor Jewish and inspired by the cooperative spirit between Jews and Muslims in Andalusia, he came to embrace both equally and without contradiction. He kept kosher, wore tzitzit and lived a mostly halachic life, sharing with J. that Judaism was an important part of his spiritual path.
On Feb. 11, we chanted as we went outside to bring in his body. Laying in front of the sanctuary, Ibrahim was wrapped in white, wearing an orange turban and draped with a green cloth with Koranic verses on it. Chochmat’s chevra kadisha, or burial society — which he had been a part of — had done a taharah with members of his Sufi community, as Islamic tradition also dictates a ritual washing. The chanting continued for about 45 minutes as everyone had a chance to approach for a final goodbye. Many showered him with rose petals or leaned over to kiss him; the visible demonstrations of grief were palpable.
Ibrahim’s son Issa Nessim Enver, 20, spoke of his father as someone who always stood up for the oppressed. On the High Holy Days at Chochmat, Ibrahim brought his own particular point of view to the story of Sarah and Hagar, and before any address he always acknowledged our Native American ancestors, whose land we all inhabit. His son also called him a “fountain of love.”
Part of his spiritual practice was that he truly saw the divine spark in everyone, no matter who you were. He had a wonderful sense of humor and didn’t take himself too seriously. The outpouring of grief on Facebook showed just how many people he touched, despite his busy academic career, prolific writing and activism in the queer and other communities. As Ibrahim was a big Facebook user, many took to social media to publicly mourn him, sharing personal stories.
As the mourners stood on the street while community members carried out his body (Islamic funeral rites would be performed at the Islamic Cultural Center in Oakland the next morning), chanting Arabic in tones somehow both mournful and joyful, I thought about the neighbors in the surrounding houses and how they must be wondering what those crazy Jews were up to now.
It was a blessing to know Ibrahim. He was a sage, a brilliant teacher and orator, a boundary-crosser, a bridge-builder. As clichéd as it might sound, he was truly one of a kind. It was an honor that he chose Chochmat HaLev as one of his spiritual homes.
He once told me that the Chochmat community was a blessing to him, but we felt his presence and teachings were gifts he gave us, and his send-off was that and then some. It felt as if he had brought a bit of heaven on down; it felt like what things could be like in the world to come. What a legacy and final gift.
Ibrahim Baba, your memory will forever be a blessing, for all of us who were lucky enough to know you.
Alix Wall of Oakland is a contributing editor to J.