As for my story with Abu Omar, it is a small story in its details, but great in its meanings.
Abu Omar is my Christian neighbor who still preserves the customs of our ancestors, and believes that a neighbor is not just a person who lives behind the wall, but a human being who has a right to affection, respect, and sharing. Whenever his family prepares the day's meal, a portion of it reaches me in a dish that carries the aroma of food, the warmth of home, and the sincerity of love.
Abu Omar never asked me about my religious or sectarian differences, and I never needed to ask him about his. The relationship between us is deeper than these classifications, and too sincere to require proof. We are neighbors and friends, brought together by good morals, sincere stances, and mutual respect, and bound by those values that Jordanians know well, and which we inherited from our fathers and grandfathers.
When the dish of food arrives from Abu Omar's house, I do not think about the identity of the person who prepared it, nor about the difference in faith between my house and his; I think about the love that prompted him to share his family's food with me, and about the meaning of having your neighbor remember you amidst the preoccupations of life.
And every Friday, there is another story no less beautiful; the Za'atar Manakish that Abu Omar makes sure to provide me with, as if it were a weekly greeting carrying with it the flavor of old Jordanian homes, and the warmth of neighborhoods whose people shared bread and salt, exchanged dishes, and stood by one another without asking about religion, origin, or family.
Those simple Manakish tell me, every time, that love does not need grand speeches, and that national unity is not a slogan we raise during crises and then forget, but a behavior we practice every day, in our homes, our streets, our neighborhoods, and in the way we look at one another.
Perhaps the question that imposes itself today, after the attack on the church in the village of Hammoud in Karak, is: What do those who attack places of worship want to achieve?
If the goal is to spread fear in the hearts of Jordanian Christians, or to make them feel like strangers in their own homeland, then Abu Omar's story offers a completely different answer. This man is not a stranger to me, nor to my neighborhood, nor to Jordan. He is one of the sons of this homeland; he has the same rights as we do, and the same duties, his dignity is our dignity, and his security is our security.
And if the goal is to sow division among the members of society, then the dish of food that reaches me from his house, and the Za'atar Manakish he shares with me on Friday mornings, present an image more eloquent than many words: we live together, share the details of our lives, maintain affection, and differ in some of our beliefs, but we do not differ on the human right to security, dignity, and worship.
And here lies the true defeat of hatred: to be unable to spoil a sincere human relationship, and to fail in turning a neighbor into a stranger, a citizen into an adversary, or religious difference into a barrier between hearts.
I do not write these words to downplay the gravity of the attack on the church, nor to treat it as a passing incident. On the contrary, such attacks require clear condemnation, holding those responsible for them accountable according to the law, and protecting places of worship and safeguarding freedom of belief. Tolerance does not mean leniency toward aggression, love does not mean silence about wrongdoing, and national unity is not complete without justice and the rule of law.
But I also write because I refuse to allow any attack to change our view of one another, or to push us to doubt relationships built by people over long years of neighborliness, friendship, and shared stances.
Jordan, with its history and traditions, knows the meaning of coexistence. In our villages and cities, Muslims and Christians have lived as neighbors, friends, and partners in work and life, shared joys and sorrows, and stood by each other in times of adversity. This is not an idealistic story far from reality, but a real social experience that deserves to be protected and passed on to our children.
When I speak about Abu Omar, I am speaking about this experience from the reality of my personal life. I am not borrowing a story from a book, nor repeating a political slogan; I am speaking about a man I know, respect, and trust, and about a human relationship that is renewed every time a dish of food knocks on my door, or I receive Za'atar Manakish on a Friday morning.
How I wish our children would realize that citizenship is not measured by a person's religion, that a person's value is not determined by their sect, but by their morals, work, stances, and respect for others, and that protecting a church is a national duty, just as protecting a mosque is a national duty, and that an attack on any place of worship is an attack on an inherent right of every human being to practice their rituals in safety.
It is not permissible for a Jordanian Christian to feel that they need to justify their belonging to their homeland, nor for a Muslim to feel that they must prove their tolerance every time someone commits a crime in the name of intolerance. The responsibility lies with everyone to reject hatred, but it lies directly with the perpetrators of the attack, and with the competent authorities to enforce the law and protect citizens and places of worship.
As for me, I will continue to see in Abu Omar my neighbor, my friend, and my brother whom life has chosen for me. I will continue to receive the dish of food from him with love and gratitude, and rejoice in the Za'atar Manakish that have become part of my beautiful memories of neighborliness. And I will not allow a sinful attack, no matter how painful, to erase years of affection and mutual respect.
For Abu Omar never needed to explain to me the meaning of coexistence; he taught it to me through his stances, his morals, his generosity, and his simplicity that makes love a natural matter that needs no explanation.
And if the attacker believes that they can triumph over love by harming a church, then they do not know Jordan well.
True victory is not in raising slogans, but in the Christian and the Muslim remaining brothers, neighbors, and friends, in the door of the house remaining open, in the exchange of food and visits continuing, and in us all refusing to let religion become a cause for hostility.
True victory is to hold onto our homeland more firmly, to protect its social fabric, and to confirm that freedom of worship and human dignity are not a favor from anyone, but inherent rights that must not be infringed upon.
At the end of this story, I find nothing more eloquent than to say to my dear neighbor Abu Omar: Thank you because, through your friendship and loyalty, you make me see the Jordan we love and want to remain; the Jordan where a neighbor is not asked about his religion before being asked about his well-being, and where love is not measured by the identity of its owner, but by its sincerity.
Thank you for the dish of food that reaches me from your house, for the Za'atar Manakish on Friday morning, and for every kind gesture that confirms that true neighborliness knows no barriers.
Oh Abu Omar, you are not just my Christian neighbor; you are my Jordanian neighbor, my loyal friend, and my brother in humanity and homeland.
And the Za'atar Manakish we share, and the dish of food that connects our two houses, will remain more eloquent than any speech in expressing a truth we believe in: that Jordan is stronger with its love, that its unity is greater than attempts at division, and that hatred may attack a wall, but it will not be able to demolish what sincere hearts have built over the years.
Because in the end, no matter how different our churches and mosques are, and no matter how diverse our ways of worship, we are children of one homeland, united by a shared history and one future, and protected by the values of brotherhood, dignity, and justice.
Abu Omar will remain my neighbor, the neighborliness between us will remain love, and Jordan will remain a homeland for us all.
