They call themselves sisters.
For the past five years, a group of 10 women – three Jewish, three Muslim, three Christian, and one Baháʼí – has been meeting monthly to listen to one another.
Mary Anne Winig says they always begin with an invitation to share. In the cozy and confidential comfort of one another’s homes, they bring a dish and a curiosity to learn more about one another’s faiths.
“We respect and listen and cherish each other’s friendship,” says Ms. Winig, a member of Temple Isaiah who co-leads an interfaith women’s circle in Contra Costa County in California. “I’ve learned so much from my Muslim sisters from just how much we share.”
The topic might change, but the group’s focus has always been the same: to build understanding by listening to one another’s differences and finding common ground.
“The key is we just talk about it,” says Nazli Sajjad, a member of the Islamic Center of Zahra. “We have differences. We get mad also. But when they talk, we listen. And when we talk, they listen.”
That’s true even of the war in Gaza. The Oct. 7 attack and subsequent war has killed tens of thousands of people and devastated land holy to multiple faiths. The shock waves sent fissures through interfaith groups across the United States. Many have disbanded. But some, like here in Contra Costa County, have redoubled their efforts to find common ground, even amid the destruction and death that all members interviewed say has caused them deep pain.
While interfaith coalitions might seem quaint in a time when fewer Americans attend church, experts in conflict resolution say the work of these interreligious groups is vital to reweaving the tattered fabric of society. At a time when many people default to demonizing those who believe differently than they do, talking to one another and acknowledging one another’s humanity can take courage.
“Interfaith coalitions are the pillars and cornerstones of communities, where people can talk across difference, and should be the refuge, haven, or place where some of the most important conversations can be had,” says John Sarrouf, who has spent more than two decades mediating conflicts.
Mr. Sarrouf says interfaith groups are more than a canary in a coal mine. They also sit at an important crossroads: people’s deep values as lived in the places where they’ve chosen to build their families.
“Conflict tends to flatten people and make them singular in their identity as pro or con ... [on] an issue, when our lives are really multifaceted,” says Mr. Sarrouf, co-executive director of Essential Partners in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
“One of the most important things you can do is find those points of connection and live in to your common experiences,” he adds. “Dialogue is our most important tool to stay open to one another.”
David Longhurst, head of the governing council of the Interfaith Council of Contra Costa County, stands outside its office in Pleasant Hill, California on Sept. 15, 2024.
In California, members of the women’s group say they recognize a strong message in all their faiths: to love thy neighbor as thyself.
“It’s really up to us to find the places of agreement ... to try to understand each other’s differences in the best way we can,” says Carole, another member of the women’s circle who asked that her last name not be used.
The war in Gaza erupted one year ago, when Hamas militants killed about 1,200 Israeli citizens, including children, and took 250 hostages. Israel responded with a barrage that devastated the area, home to 2 million people. The Gaza Health Ministry estimates more than 41,000 people have been killed, many of them children.
They all firmly believe that “no children should die. No parents should be sending their kids off to war. No parent should be begging to have their children released from terrible hostage conditions. On that we are 100% agreed,” says Ms. Winig.
When disagreements do arise, members’ first instinct is to listen, and listen deeply. The 10 women talk a lot about their backgrounds and differences, but members interviewed all say their circle is grounded in the belief that a lot more connects us than divides us.
“If we can do it with sisterhood, we would like to spread that hope to other communities,” says Ms. Winig.
In Contra Costa County, David Longhurst arranges sofas into a circle and fills in the gaps with folding chairs. The formation ensures all voices are heard equally.
“We, as humans, sometimes get misconceptions about other people when we don’t really understand them. But the best way to learn about someone is to ask them yourself,” says Mr. Longhurst, chair of the governing board of the Interfaith Council of Contra Costa County, known as I4C. He traces four generations of his family through The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The group acts as a peace-building organization and link among the more than 100 faith communities residing there. Over its 40-year existence, it has collaborated extensively on local solutions to community issues including building housing and addressing child welfare.
“Ideally, I4C is an opportunity for people just to get outside of that tension and just see each other as brothers and sisters and work side by side,” says Mr. Longhurst, from the recreation room of the Hillcrest Congregational Church, where the council meets monthly.
After the Hamas attack Oct. 7, working side by side got harder. For many months, the shared pain was too much to put into words, Mr. Longhurst says. The ongoing war has devastated members of the Jewish and Muslim communities. Those interviewed say they cannot agree except for one thing: There’s no healing while the violence persists.
There is no way to avoid disagreement in honest conversation, says Rabbi Or Rose, director of the Miller Center for Interreligious Learning & Leadership at Hebrew College in Newton, Massachusetts.
However, “If people are genuinely willing to engage in dignified dialogue – sharing their hopes and fears, joys, and pain – there is a humanizing effect that has the potential to open our hearts to those present and to others beyond the immediate circle of conversation,” he says.
“When these bridges are damaged, leaders need to be steadfast in the work of repair, which in Jewish parlance is the work of tikkun – ‘healing’ or ‘mending,’” says Rabbi Rose.
The bridge builders are not powerless, the rabbi continues.
Nor is talking just talking, says Dr. Lucinda Mosher, professor of interreligious studies at Hartford International University for Religion and Peace. “I firmly believe that pretty much every religion has the potential to see dialogue, collaboration, across religious difference as an act of faithfulness.”
Here in Contra Costa County, the Interfaith Council has continually met individually with Jewish and Muslim leaders to better understand their needs.
Individual members still volunteer in the community, packing hygiene kits for homeless people and donating goods and supplies for recently arrived refugees from Afghanistan. And when antisemitic leaflets saying “Hitler was right” were spread around the county in August, the council swiftly denounced them.
“It’s true we’ve had our challenges of working together,” says Mr. Longhurst. “But the hope is that we can be able to reconnect and start again. Not start over.”
In September, at the first workshop in a monthly series, nearly two dozen members attended, representing faith communities of Presbyterian, Latter-day Saints, Baháʼí, Christian Science, and others. One Jewish member was present. Missing was a Muslim voice. The absence was felt by more than one member.
In small groups, the question was posed, “In this great polarization, as interfaith practitioners, what are we called to be?” One person replied, “Maybe we’re called to be bridge builders.”
Fellow I4C council member David Matz embraces paradox, the belief that two things can be simultaneously true.
“From a Jewish perspective, there is a very long history of many people wanting to harm and kill us. That is true. But it’s also true that we’re in a situation where we’re doing a lot of harm to other people,” says Dr. Matz, a psychologist. “If you’re only hearing one side, it’s not the full story.”
Although a dedicated member of Temple Isaiah, Dr. Matz says he’s often called antisemitic due to his concern for the Palestinians living in Gaza.
“I consider myself pro-Israel and pro-Palestinian at a time where that’s not really allowed by many communities,” he says. While dialoguing cannot guarantee peace, he says, not dialoguing guarantees nothing will happen.
“When the going gets tough, that’s what these sorts of things are made for. That’s what I4C is for. That’s why we need to have best practices of doing bridge building and dialogue. It’s not for the easy times; it’s for the hard times,” says Dr. Matz.
Dr. Matz’s mother escaped Nazi Germany in 1940, losing many family members at Auschwitz. Raised in America with a bias against Germans, he says his perspective shifted in 2003. He was invited back to Germany by the children of Nazis to share his family’s story. While they were talking, his counterparts broke down in tears.
Dr. Matz found that hatred began to dissolve. The cathartic experience led him to reclaim his identity as a German Jew and his German citizenship.
“You can’t help but feel empathy for that person in their suffering, despite the fact that they’re my historic enemy. That humanity starts to melt the barriers between us,” he says.
Ms. Sajjad and Carole’s friendship began with a question. Five years ago, at a picnic hosted by the Interfaith Council of Contra Costa County, Carole asked, “Do you know how to make samosas?”
“Of course I know how to make samosas,” replied Ms. Sajjad. “But I didn’t teach her; I just made them for her,” she chuckles, recalling it later over the phone. “So the next time, she came over to my house and we made samosas together. Since then, I have known her as my friend.”
During the month of Ramadan, when Muslims observe a strict fast from dawn until sunset, the 10 sisters broke their fast together with a meal at the mosque. At Passover, the interfaith group of women had their own table at the synagogue.
“Peace in Arabic is salaam. In Hebrew, it’s shalom. In English, it’s peace,” says Ms. Winig. “When we email, we end with ‘Salaam. Shalom. Peace.’ Peace is an ever-present topic.”
Staff writer Sophie Ungerleider contributed to this report.
