By J. Samia Mair

It's a beautiful, sunny and crisp fall day. My twin daughters and I are meeting two of my friends and their girls at a local farm for a hay ride, corn maze and whatever else the farm offers. My girls and I arrive first. They jump out of the minivan and run to the entrance.

We decide to wait for our friends inside. I pay, we enter and then I notice something very odd. I am the lone visible Muslim (I wear a Hijab) in an otherwise orthodox Jewish crowd. Needless to say, I stand out and am drawing some attention. My girls, however, run off to play in an enormous tractor tire filled with dried corn.

Finally, after what seems like a very long time, our friends arrive. One of my friends is Jewish and she has a big smile on her face as she approaches. As it turns out, the farm is having a fundraiser for a local synagogue. She whispers to me that she really dislikes this synagogue because they are "militant and hate everybody". "Me, for instance?" I ask. "You in particular," she replies. "So, I am probably not welcome here?" "I suspect not at all!"

She begins a small, quiet tirade about this group's reputation for widespread intolerance. She confesses that it pleases her tremendously that my presence is likely to disturb their otherwise beautiful day. I look to our other friend, who is a Catholic, and gauge her opinion on the situation and whether it is prudent to stay. She says: "Don't ask me; I don't know anything about this stuff." Before the adults decide what to do, our four girls run by us, screaming and holding hands - they are heading straight towards the unsuspecting sheep. Issue resolved. We are clearly staying.

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