My Ramadan - Part 1
Photo Credit: Ahmed Mostafa (@suppermody on Instagram)
On the first day of Ramadan I offered my fast to God like so many observing the holiest month of the year, and set my intentions for a month-long discovery of a brand-new faith.
My curiosity was peaked nearly a year ago actually, when we happened upon a joyous Iftar in the streets of Akko in Israel during my first visit to this beautiful country. At the time Ramadan was foreign to me and I had no idea it was called “Iftar,” but I could see the joy on the faces of the entire community that gathered for this sunset fast-breaking feast - I’ve learned recently as I’ve been honoring my own private Iftars exactly what this joy feels like from the inside, out.
Holy is the taste of Iftar dates on your tongue after a full day of fasting.
The first time I stepped into a mosque was during one of my solo travels years ago. I did so gingerly as I felt the rules from the moment I peeked my head inside and I did not want to break any of them. I was mesmerized by the devotion, bowing in unison, melodic arabric…and the mystery of covered women whose most precious part is exposed has always intrigued me.
Holy places have always called to me, and when I hear the call I go.
During my visit to Akko I felt what it feels like to be guided by deep devotion, and to be called to prayer. I could hear this “call to prayer” each time from our hotel room; the 4am call seemed impossible to me and I now know it IS impossible because it requires extra devotion. Like my private Iftars, I’ve been honoring the Suhour in the same way and beginning each fasting day with the sunrise.
The “call to prayer,” or Adhan is recited at five prescribed times during each day (these prayers are called Salat) and Muslims are expected to stop what they are doing and answer the call. Not just during Ramadan, this praying happens every day and there is a special sixth prayer during the Holy Month of Ramadan. Adhan means “to listen, to hear, to be informed about.” This call, usually chanted over a speaker and heard for miles urges everyone to “hurry to the prayer,” and the pre-dawn Adhan actually says, “prayer is better than sleep…”
Even though I could not understand a word, I could feel the intention of this beaconing and I could see throughout the day the devotion to it by everyone who answered.
One year later I find myself walking “A Walk of Holiness” with a dear sister who has been with me in my work as a student for over a year. She is a Muslim living in Bahrain, born of parents of differing faiths: which she has navigated beautifully in her life. She has agreed to teach me about Ramadan, and together we are holding space for other women of various faiths to explore with the same open-heart curiosity and intention.
God surely is smiling down on us.
This year’s Ramadan is extreme. Just like everything else during the pandemic, Ramadan has been greatly effected too. It is my opinion that this effect is divine in many ways, and for this I am especially grateful to experience Ramadan during this special time.
This year the Holy Month comes at a time when we are more without than ever before, and when everyone in the world has been invited into themselves. Ramadan requires that you experience the feeling of being without (fasting). Ramadan requires that you experience the feeling of going within (prayers). As a result, in the 16 hours of fasting for 30 days the hope is that your ego drops away, that empathy guides you, that you purify yourself and find your way to a closer relationship with God.
I made it three days before I broke. And my Muslim sisters have shared with me that breaking early is a blessing.
I fast daily and have for years, I am an intermittent fast-er. This means I begin my 12-14 hour fast each day after a late lunch/early dinner and I break it for a regularly scheduled breakfast the following day. I eat during the active part of the day, and I don’t during the time I want my body to be resting fully. Ramadan is the complete opposite: you fast beginning at sunrise and break the fast at sunset. Depending on where you are in the world, your fasting times can be kind or cruel. In Paris the sunrise happens at 6:21am and sunset is at 9:15pm, fasting lasts for 15 hours - and includes no drinking of any liquids, or other impure activities.
The seven hours I have to eat are the same seven hours I have to rest. Everything in my being resisted this and on the third day, I wanted to go back to the fasting schedule my body is accustomed to.
The very first lesson of my Ramadan happened on day three, the third day of the “Outer Fast” which is the first part of the fasting journey. In an effort to keep to my intention to fast properly I decided to devote each day’s fast to someone or something. (Very Bhakti of me, and something I’ve been able to rely on heavily up until now.) On the first day I cried and cried because my fast was devoted to everyone in the world who is without food and hungry every day. I wanted to start here, where the empathy lives and I felt this deeply as I began my month. By the third day my devotions weren’t enough, I wanted to reverse my fasting times and I was feeling physically miserable. So, I asked God for mercy.
Mercy from God comes instantly.
There are one million verses (okay, maybe not exactly that many) in all of the holy books related to any divinity, that tell us of this always available mercy. The mercy came quickly, I felt it and it gave me some beautiful peace. The mercy that was harder to obtain was the mercy I was asking from myself. I don’t fail, and I don’t give up. The mercy I had to find for myself and give to myself was the first beautiful lesson of my Ramadan - mercy for yourself should come fast and easy too.
Ahimsa came into play for me, a yogic principle that I live by. I’m learning to navigate the fasting with as little harming to myself as possible. Going without is supposed to be part of the prayer of the month, it is not supposed to be torture.
It’s a special Ramadan this year.
In Bahrain the sunrise and sunset stay the same (they break their fast well before 7pm) and in Muslim countries for the whole month of Ramadan the schedule is reversed so everyone stays awake during the night with big feasts, and parties (Ghabga) and they rest and pray during the day.
Ramadan 2019 versus Ramadan 2020 (Ahmed Mostafa)
Not this year, this year Ramadan is a bigger invitation: it is an invitation to experience this month alone. Many families are still gathering but the mosques are closed, the holy places where the sixth prayer in the middle of the night happens. This prayer is very special to Muslims. There are no big gatherings of community Iftars happening each night, no huge parties one after another that I’ve learned are the custom during a “normal” Ramadan. One of my Muslim sisters shared with me that some women in her culture order a different dress for each party each night, the festivities of Ramadan much like many other holidays have become more about luxury, fashion, parties and events rather than the intent to be in devotion.
It’s like God just said, if you thought THAT was Ramadan, I’m going to show you what Ramadan is…THIS is Ramadan.
As Ramadan usually has a very big social element, this year’s Ramadan is indeed the opposite. The energy of this Holy Month is a quiet calm, a really beautiful quiet invitation to sit still, to be without…in the biggest ways that many have never experienced before. This energy is an opening to a deeper inner dialogue, to a divine conversation that can be more easily heard without the “noise” of what we tend to make our holy days into.
This is a very special Ramadan.