I had wanted to visit the monastery of Deir Mar Musa, about 60 miles north of Damascus, for a while. Its incredible restoration under a charismatic Italian priest, his tragic disappearance and presumed death during the Syrian civil war, and the inspiring interfaith work of the monastery's remaining monks and nuns all fascinated me.
While hiking in a rocky valley behind the sixth-century hilltop monastery this summer, I came across a singular mulberry tree, its branches laden with ripe fruit. I hesitated. It seemed impossible that such a tree could exist in such dry environs, but curiosity overtook me. I greedily picked them off, at first one by one and then quickly by the fistful, leaving dark, bloody drops of juice on the tree branches and my fingers. The mulberries were the best fruit I had ever tasted.
Reader, I am not a believer. But some part of me feared I had tasted forbidden fruit and I nervously awaited a stomachache or some other divine punishment, which never came.
Later that evening, I attended candlelit prayers in the monastery led by Deir Mar Musa's current religious leader, Father Jihad Youssef, and drawing from biblical scripture as well as Eastern Orthodox Christian and Sufi customs.
By then, I had managed to wash most of the mulberry stains off my hands. I marveled at the beauty of the ceremony, of the church, of the fruit, and I gave silent thanks to whoever was listening.
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