Something I’ve really missed in the last couple of Ramadans is community. I remember the iftaars (fast-breakings) of my teenage years with great fondness. Large groups in family homes. Hundreds at the mosque. Best. Curried. Chicken. And. Rice. Ever.
Last Friday I went to the mosque where I live now looking for a little community. I had quiet hopes of running into people who would know me and invite me to an iftaar: women from the RDC where I’m an English language coach, or someone from the Muslim Journeys Book Club I frequent.
A professor I worked for when I was in school here 30 years ago told me a story once about this Islamic Center. A foreign-born student, I don’t remember from where, came to the United States and found no mosque in town. He used the money set aside for his education to build one. That’s community.
I had only been in this masjid once, when I was 18 and visiting campus after I’d been accepted as a student. I’ve driven by it innumerable times but the only thing I remembered about the inside was that I hadn’t been able to figure out which direction to pray in in the women’s hall (some sisters had turned me mid-prayer).
I remember the Islamic Center of my teenage years as formidable. Intimidating. Pregnant with gravitas. This Center was holy, too, but I wasn’t made nervous by it. There was laughter in the entrance way. An American brother held the door for me and said Assalam aleikum very kindly and I returned the salutation without feeling like I couldn’t look him in the face when I spoke to him.
Sisters were selling both Middle Eastern food as well as Little Caesar’s pizza in the entrance as part of what I assume are routine fundraising efforts. I was one of only 3 “people who look like me and I assume are like me” – white female converts. One was even wearing nail polish!
The khutba (sermon) was not judgy, but he did impart a lesson. The Imam talked for a half hour about not being wasteful, especially of food, especially during Ramadan. He talked about the amount of food the masjid had put into composting the previous Ramadan and made a goal of making that less.
Other than greeting people, I didn’t speak to anyone. Except for walking back and forth to it, I spent all my time in the prayer hall, reading. But perhaps most importantly, I made salat (formal Islamic prayers) in community for the first time in many years. The experience left me with peace and stillness in the core of my being. Not the elation I remember from my teenage years, but a deep and reverential silence.
I feel like I took a step that I owed to myself and to God: to take up the same space that rightfully belongs to any Muslim. A place to make salat between two others in a long, orderly row in the masjid for Friday prayers. To simply be one of many, worshiping God.
And there’s more to my story of community this Ramadan. I’m sharing this fasting experience with a fellow Muslim convert I’ve known since before she got married. This year, her oldest son graduates from high school. I’ll call her Mariko. She is an awesome source of support. We share many similar viewpoints about Islam and the practice of our mutual religion. It’s important to have someone of your own cultural background to discuss some of the less usual (and more demanding) aspects of your faith with. It’s important to have someone who understands that fasting to the letter of the law when you work a day job may not be practical, or even possible, and not judge you for it. We can be there for each other: for the upside of Ramadan, as well as for the tough stuff.
Furthermore, two of my non-Muslim friends are fasting with me this Ramadan as well: Marie (a Quaker), for the first week, and Dragon (an agnostic), as much as she is able. Obviously, they have their own reasons for fasting. But part of their reasons are to support me. And that feels really wonderful.
Marie’s comment after her first day of Ramadan fasting is a common takeaway: “I have never been so grateful for a potato.” But Marie’s stamina amazes me. She’s still getting in 10,000 steps every day! And often working well into the evenings! I’m in awe. We shared an iftaar meal at a local Middle Eastern restaurant with hummus to die for and fluffy, warm bread instead of the ordinary pita and we were very gruntled. I took home beef kabob for my morning meal the next day.
Having Marie and Dragon to fast with, and share iftaar with, has made me more accountable. I’m fasting more days than in previous years. I have no idea what I did that I have such wonderful friends. “Maybe you’re a good friend to have,” Marie told me at our iftaar.
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