It’s true I started my Ramadan on maximum load for personal worship in part because I was fasting alone. I tried to spiffy up my salah; including most nights at the mosque for tarawih. I read Qur’an daily, and watched my etiquette with strangers and friends, and as usual, I thought about Allah much. But even this I did not do totally alone. I could not have done it alone. It’s just the experience of suhur and iftar alone was more dutiful than fun.
Last year I spent Ramadan in Indonesia, living alone. My local friends were unanimous that I would just love Ramadan in Indonesia. I didn’t. I love Indonesia. I could easily say it is my favorite place in the world (so far). But what my friends enjoyed about Ramadan in their home country was both the public manifestation of the fast: from the muahdan calling “sahour, sahour” (the bahasa pronunciation) at the wee hours of the morning from a loudspeaker, really enough to wake any one over sleeping to the early meal. To the mosques overflowing with men, women, and children for tarawih. At my closest surau, or small public prayer place, we had community iftar once a week. When dishes of food and kalapa mudah (“young coconut”), a sweet drink offered in abundance, along with good cheer.
We do not have that kind of festive Ramadan in most places in America. Thus, it is more somber and serene, boarding on rigid and harsh. However, last Ramadan I came to see if I had to choose between Ramadan all around me and suhur and iftar alone, in my house without family; that surely I would err on the side of less public Ramadan, with more family in practice in my house. I missed my family most during that Ramadan and made an extra trip back to the U.S. when it was over just to give everyone a hug. Then, I was glad to return to my little house alone. I do love Indonesia.
This was my first year since my children started to fast, nearly three decades ago, to be fasting alone in my house while not living alone. I find it difficult. So when I came to the East coast, I got to enjoy fasting, suhur, prayer, and iftar with the people I love the most on the planet: my own family. I remember posting on Twitter just how awesome it was to have that combination: my own eat, pray, love in the month of fasting, right here in America. I confess, I was so busy enjoying family that I let my tarawih and Qur’an reading slip…
Now, I am here with my shaykh and a large community that has lived, worked, prayed, and fasted together around him for more then 35 years. They are also hosting more families, myself included, this last weekend of Ramadan for a special retreat. This morning I had community suhur. Imagine tables filled with worshippers and hot food, freshly made tea and coffee, with fruit, yogurts, and breads. At one point the cook passed around a basket with warm croissants! This will be my “home” until the month of fasting is done. Indeed last night, my shaykh said, “welcome home.”
And so it is. Not only nestled in the stunning beauty of the Shenandoah, with stars so bright against a deep dark sky that those of us used to city lights cannot walk under the canopy of trees without constantly commenting on the sparkling display; but also in the company of the faithful with the fullest intent to celebrate those special occasions of devotion. This is the have cake and eat it too place. In fact, my worship will increase for a few reasons. First, because this is a community that also practices muraqabah, sacred meditation or reflection. Second, because we have scheduled events like suhbah (spiritual gathering), durs (lessons from the shaykh and from others, including one I have to give today); and collective dhikr to flow on between the fast, the suhur, the prayer, the iftar, and the tarawih. Third, I am only four juz’ away from the end of my Qur’an reading; so I will be reading more each day in order to complete it before the month is done. (Before, I was reading about half a juz’ a day, starting where I left off last year after my accident.)
You know what they say about saving the best for last?!
So it is appropriate, I think, that in my reading I came across several discussions about the ummah, which gave me additional food for thought. The word ummah comes from the same root as the word for mother, umm, in Arabic. So, with such a root, you should get the picture already. It’s about intimate connections. But it is never used for family nor even for extended family. It is only used for a collective. More specifically, for an ideological collective.
I don’t mean any picky-oon kind of ideology. In the time of the Prophet Muhammad, there was a shift from tribal affiliations or extended family or asabiyah, to one which focused instead on the shared ideology of witness. The witness is the first pillar of Islam: I bear witness that there is only one God and Muhammad is His prophet. That witness only and the principled ideology of tawhid. I don’t know how long it took before it became a political term, applied to the Muslim empire. Then in recent times, it has been used to wedge exclusivist ideology, religion, and politics. When people talk of the Muslim ummah today, it is romantic. We are far too diverse for what they mean, which often includes a single interpretation of things which are much too complex.
One of the passages I was reading refers to the ummah of the Book. I found that interesting. Interesting because I had to think, what it meant. Is it like the “people of the book” in the Qur’an, thereby identifying only the Abrahamic religions with each a distinct ummah? Especially when the Qur’an also commands us (humans? Muslims?) to be the “best ummah”; and to be the ummah of the middle, moderate, or balanced way (i.e. not the extreme way).
But what really drew my attention was the reminder that Allah says, “We could have made you into a single ummah…” Surely then, the command for moderation is not a command for superiority, but rather for cooperation between diversities.
So, what makes a collective? What makes an ummah? In these days of the nation-state, it is not a single geographical or political empire. There is no single “new world order.” There are only collectives. Some collectives are national, some are regional, some are spiritual. My shaykh likes to talk about this community that has been a working cooperative for almost four decades. What I love is that the boundaries are fluid enough to accommodate all of us visiting this week and still keep to its core, its center: the path of devotion to Allah.
I also like the way he refers to our Prophet Muhammad. I think, the problem we used to have with being referred to as Mohammedans was only to clarify that we do not worship the Prophet. Because, in a way, what links us to other Muslims today is not just tawhid as much as it is that we follow the way of Muhammad. We are the ummah of Muhammad. According to the Qur’an, he will be a witness for us. And this makes me think, who is this Prophet? and how do we follow his path today?
I will save that for tomorrow…
