Eid: thoughts, teachings, snapshots

“These are days for eating, drinking and remembering God”.  That is a description of Eid, which we celebrated this past week.  And that sums it up pretty well.

Eid comes as the celebration marking the end of each year’s pilgrimage season.

Some of my favorite things about Eid are…

…thinking about those who have made the pilgrimage, their stories, their light filled faces as they return.  Thinking about the year that my husband made that journey, as I stayed home 7 months pregnant with Karima.  That is a story worth its own blog post.

…Eid prayer, a special communal prayer held outdoors.  Normally we go to the one on the road to Ourika, with tens of thousands of people.  This year we had the good fortune to be out in the countryside, where a gathering of the entire community means a couple hundred people.  As we arrived and settled onto the straw mats, we were greeted by the most peaceful singing “dear Lord, make us among the thankful”.

…the beautiful teachings related to the slaughter of the Eid sheep.  As part of the celebration, it’s traditional to slaughter a sheep (or goat, cow or camel), feeding family, friends and giving away a third to charity .  It’s a very real experience, that puts you face to face with your own meat-eating.  Certainly for me there is a heaviness associated with it.  I’d much rather just grab some meat at the store, but as Barbara Kingsolver put it, you can’t run away on harvest day.  The Islamic teaching is to accompany the animal through the door of death in the best possible way.   That is, to speak softly and soothingly to it, to not show it the knife, to not slaughter it in the same place as another animal so that it won’t smell or see blood, to use a well sharpened knife and to make the slaughter itself as quick as possible, and finally to utter a prayer a the moment of death.  One of two things will happen if you witness or participate in this event, either you will become a vegetarian, or you will come away with more gravitas, a much deeper awareness of the responsibility we have as meat eaters.  Where does our meat come from?  How was the animal raised?  How was it killed?  The answers to these questions are so directly relevant to our own humanity.

…family time, food time.  See pictures below.  What I love about this set of pictures is the light, notice the light.

1-On the way to Eid prayer.  My son and my father.

Walking to Eid prayer, Marrakesh Morocco

2-Planting feathers.  An ambitious endeavor.planting feathers

3-Let the feasting begin.  Moroccan tektouka salad, made with roasted red bell peppers and tomato.
Moroccan tektouka salad

4-My plate.  Spinach artichoke dip, the famous liver brochettes of the first day (meat needs to wait till day 2 to taste better), guacamole, broccoli (a treat in Morocco, trust me on this), and tektouka.  I didn’t actually eat the liver brochettes, sorry, not a fan.  But my kids love them, and broccoli too, contrary to the common kid stereotypes.  Moroccan food on Eid

5-This is my identity expressed via the medium of cookies.  One one hand, the all American fave, chocolate chip (chip here is singular).  On the other hand, Moroccan “slipper” cookies (shaped like a belgha), which are, incidentally, filled with peanut butter.  I had an “I am baker, hear me roar” moment when I baked these and they actually came out looking and tasting as good as store bought.  I always thought Moroccan cookies were well beyond my scope.  chocolate chip cookies and Moroccan slipper cookies

6-Last food pic I promise.  Indian carrot pudding (much, much more heavenly than the name connotes).  And Moroccan tea.

gujarella and Moroccan mint tea

7-My daughter is wearing a dress that my sister, and later I, both wore as girls.  I think it was used to begin with.

sunlight

8-Just the light.  It almost made me cry, all day, it made the simplest things so beautiful.

Olive orchard, Ourika valley, Morocco

9-That night we stayed in one of the few houses in the area still without electricity.  Candle light is also so peaceful and lovely.candle in moroccan lamp

Fasting in Ramadan: an altered state.

I pause to steady myself as blood rushes to my head.  My muscles are cramping, my head feels like a hot air balloon floating among the clouds, my stomach has shrunk from the size of my fist to the size of a walnut, and my mouth has forgotten what water tastes like.  No, I’m not crossing the Sahara on the back of a camel, I’m fasting Ramadan in the comfort of my own home.

“How are you?” my husband asks.

“Not great” I croak.

I’m not complaining though, I know that in a few hours, I will give my body a little of what it needs, a date or two, and several glasses of ice cold water, downed in a gulp.  Then, as the sugar hits my blood stream, I’ll go into a bit of shock, but things will even out, and pretty soon I’ll be in a completely different state than my current pitiful one.

Why am I having such a hard time with the physical challenges of fasting?  Every Muslim man, woman and child over the age of 12 is fasting with me here in Marrakesh, and all over the world.  I walk by construction sites and marvel at the workers fasting in the 100+ degree heat.  An old beggar woman walks by, she is small enough already, her back hunched over as she trudges by, and I know she too is fasting (although her normal diet is probably close to a fast anyway).  I see teenagers loitering in front of their apartment buildings in the late afternoon, wiling the hours away, and I know that they too are fasting.  My own 8 year old daughter surprised me by fasting 8 days of this month.   Why then am I so challenged today?

I look out over the city at sunset, and it’s turned into a ghost town, save a few speeding mopeds and cars zipping through red lights made irrelevant by the lack of traffic.  When I hear the call to prayer at sunset, I begin to weep.  I weep because it’s been a particularly hard day, and I feel weakened and humbled.  I weep because I now have a choice that thousands do not have, and that is to fill my belly.  I weep because I am feeling the joy described by the Prophet Muhamad, peace and blessings be upon him, when he said “the fasting person experiences two joys, one when he breaks his fast, and the other when he meets his Lord”.  And if this first joy is so intense, what about the next one?

Nothing in this world tastes as good as the first bite taken after fasting.  Never have I been so excited about water!  During the day, I pass through hunger to the next phase, where my appetite, puzzled by my not responding to it, decides to take a break.  I am no longer attracted to food, I see a plate of delicious fruit with the same amount of desire as I have for a plate of rocks.  For me, a usual snacker and a bit of a “gourmande”, this is such a relief.  I am excused from my mindless snacking, tasting of this and that, grabbing food “on the go”, refrigerator gazing and grazing, and all other forms of unhealthy consumption. Instead my meals for the day are carefully selected and prepared, eaten slowly and peacefully in the company of my family.

Not all days are as hard as today.  Most days I skip along with buoyant energy, keeping up with even my three year old.  I chalk it up to three days of international travel, a seven hour time difference (going east, the harder way) and our new clingy companion, the heat.  Tomorrow will, God willing, be easier, but in a way, I don’t want to forget today.  It’s these hardest moments that are the teaching moments, the moments of complete breaking and surrender.  I am reminded how weak I am, as a human, despite my illusion of control.  Take away food and water for 14 hours and I remember that I’m only a few breaths, a few bites, a few sips away from being, well, nothing.

“All of a humans actions are his, except for fasting, it is mine, and I reward it”.  These words are reported by the prophet Muhamad as God’s teaching about fasting.  Pondering them makes my fasting like climbing into a Zen Koan.  Why fasting, I wonder, why a whole month dedicated to this practice?  What are we to learn, and to experience?  The answers come in fragments.  Islam relies on pattern interruption to discipline the desires and re-orient the soul towards God.  On a daily basis, the five prayers call me away from the world, from my favorite distractions, from endless conversations, from my beloveds, from sleep, precious sleep!  Come to success! call the muedhins from the minarets, God is greater!  And I come, whether reluctant, elated, sleepy, distracted, reflective, no matter my state I do come and hold a few minutes of praise, of thanks, of remembrance of God’s blessings, and invariably, I leave feeling cleansed, subdued, centered.

So too is fasting a yearly type of pattern interruption.  Relinquish food for a while, relinquish even sleep, for this is a month in which you will enter an altered state.  Delve into the vast sea of the Quran, let the verses guide you, open secret chambers in your heart, remind you of things you knew once and have forgotten, turning faith into quiet certainty.  I see everyone around me in this altered state.  No matter their starting point, everyone is boosted up a notch in faith and practice.  I saw two men walk away from what could have been a heated argument.  “It’s Ramadan” they said, and went on their ways.  I see people giving up their addictions, the very disease that controls them, whether alchohol or addictions “of the flesh”, for a whole month.  I see whole families pouring out onto the streets, prayer mats in hand, headed for the mosques for Ramadan night prayers, Tarawih.  I know a man who sets an extra table for evening break fast, but never knows who is going to fill it until he goes to mosque, and invites a handful of poor people to come home with him.  I know friends who have given up, well, social networking for heaven’s sakes, because deep down, we don’t want to waste a single minute of this precious month on Facebook.  I know people who do not pray all year, but bank on going to the mosque Laylat al Qadr, a special and powerful night towards the end of Ramadan that is “better than a thousand months” of worship.

And while this may seem hypocritical, it is nontheless faith that pushes us all to try harder for God’s mercy and forgiveness this month.  Maybe some of it will rub off, and we won’t “lose it all” later on.  Maybe that is just our human state, that our faith and practice mark a certain fluctuation.  After all, a Saint, a friend of God, is one who is always in that spiritual high, and that is what distinguishes her from the rest of us aspirants.

With that said, my dearest readers, those of you who got through another long winded post, I will retire, for in a few hours, it’ll be time for 4 a.m. s’hour. If you are fasting as you read this, may your fast be amazing.  Ramadan Kareem!

Ramadan: moon sighting in Oakland, California

Our beloved guest is almost here.  I am talking about Ramadan, of course.  As I’m now in California, I joined a gathering of about 100 people in Berkeley to attempt to site the new moon, which would mark the beginning on the month of Ramadan.  Our gathering was more of a nod to tradition, an excuse to meet up with old friends, since any hopes of actually glimpsing the silver sliver had been dashed by scientific calculations.  The new moon was highly unlikely to be visible to the naked eye from our geographic location.  To top it off, a thick shroud of fog enveloped the Chabot Science Center, making it impossible to see anything beyond 50 feet.  No one bothered looking up at the sky, it was impossible to tell even where the sun had set (especially to directionally challenged old me).

However, we were sharing a common experience with Muslims all over the world, dating back to the beginning of Islam.   Lunar months are either 29 or 30 days long, and the only way to know when a new month starts is to look for the moon on the 29th day of the current month.  This is one example of how the rites of  Islam are interconnected with nature’s cycles.  I love the fact that, as a Muslim, I am encouraged to actually go outside, look up at the sky, and if I’m lucky, witness the miraculous birth of a new moon.

According to CrescentWatch there were no reported moonsightings from anywhere in North or South America.  Thus, the Ramadan fast is set to begin on Thursday, August 12th.  But wait, not everyone agrees that sighting the moon with the naked eye is the definitive way to mark the beginning of the lunar month.  Other organisations, such as ISNA, use astronomical calculations to determine, with scientific exactitude, the moment the new month starts, which is, to be so very technical, on Wednesday, August 13th.  I love the fact that there are two completely different ways of doing this.  Moonsighting, which relies on an organic, human, personal and communal experience, and astronomical calculation, which utilizes the latest technology (and so in a sense, is also a celebration of God’s gift of intelligence).  It seems fitting that in a religion that values personal reflection and understanding, and also values differences in opinion and methodology, that there should indeed be two approaches even in this case.

So, we will have a little gap of fasting tomorrow, some people will go with the traditional ways, and some will use the most advanced tools available, but in the end, one thing is clear, and that is that we are all going to embark on an amazing journey this month.  To all the Muslim readers of this humble blog: may this be the best Ramadan ever!  To all the readers who are followers of other paths: thank you for reading this, it makes the world a little cozier when we learn new things about each other, don’t you think?

On the way to the moon sighting event, my friend Cynthia and I and four out of our collective seven kids stopped by at the Lighthouse mosque in Oakland to say our afternoon prayers.  A sparse exterior in one of Oakland’s poorer neighborhoods:

Yet inside, this piece by Chinese Muslim calligrapher Haji Noureddine said it all, “Gathering of Beloveds”:

The holy Quran, which is the sea to dive into this Ramadan:

Above the community message board, a striking piece of calligraphy bears the name of God in Arabic, Allah:

Prayers are offered, as kids run and tumble:

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A Moroccan Tashelheet Wedding

I am here in Taos, New Mexico.  But I still have a lot to share from back home in Morocco.  In fact, yet another benefit of blogging is that I can stay connected to my Moroccan home, and revisit some things that touched me.

A few weeks ago, at my parents’ farm out in Ourika, we heard lots of music and noise.  My first thought was “world cup fever”.  We grabbed the kids and rushed outside.  We didn’t see any football fanatics, thank goodness.  What we saw was a beautiful, joyous wedding procession.

Now, I am kind of a city cynic, I tend to be fatigued with all things urban, and all rosy eyed about anything that originates in the countryside.  (Please don’t burst my bubble).  This wedding procession is a perfect example.  What I saw was pure joy, real celebration.

The people who live out in the country are called the Amazigh, they are the original inhabitants of Morocco, long before the Arabs came from the East.  Although the Amazigh and the Arabs still maintain very different identities, (language and culture esp.), they do co-exist seamlessly, peaceably.  The Amazigh are most commonly referred to as Berbers.  Not sure if this term is politically correct.  Anyhow, they don’t call themselves that.  They refer to themselves by one of three main tribes.  In Ourika, they are part of the Tashelheet tribe.

Maybe this is a stereotype, but I do have a special fondness and respect for Tashelheet people.  They tend to be honest, direct, open, and have a great sense of humor.  Maybe this is true of all people who live close to the natural world.  The Amazigh accepted Islam from the Arabs, in large part because Islam contains a lot of symbolism and imagery from the natural world.  It resonates perfectly with a people so in tune with the natural cycles.  Reflection and meditation on the natural world is something that all Muslims are encouraged to do.

On to the pictures.  Because I value my sanity, I will only try to include 3 or so photos in this post (I still can’t stop apologizing for my last post, way more pictures than I planned, and a lot of text that disappeared upon publishing).

In this first picture, note the three percussion instruments that the men are playing: the castanettes, the tambourine, and the tray.  In the background you can see a white caftan hoisted on a bamboo stick, topped with a bouquet of flowers.  So festive.

And here is a tray of goodies: dates, a bowl of milk, a giant cone of sugar, 2 rosewater shakers, candles, incense, and roses.  I love the henna on her hands.

This is the whole procession.  They were accompanying the bride to her house, where the wedding would happen later in the evening (much later).

I will try to post more pictures of this blessed event, but later, insha Allah (God willing).