You’re a musician. You speak to God. 

I don’t know about that, I said. I was bent over the table where Najmieh Batmanglij was sitting, signing books. You just fed seventy-five strangers jeweled rice. If that’s not speaking to God, I’m not sure what is.

And I’m a refugee from many countries, she added, smiling.

I think God must speak a lot of languages, I said.

And he must like music, she said.