Civil rights activist Linda Sarsour uses the start of Ramadan, a time of reflection, to reflect on what it means to be Muslim in America today. Islam prescribes this month of fasting, and as with many, my favorite place to be during Ramadan is the mosque in the evenings… The…
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Some days, like rain on the doorstep She’ll cover me With grace in all she offers On this past Sunday, Mother’s Day, social media was covered with sweet dedications, remembrances, and gorgeous photos of lovely women with their children. It was markedly joyful to see so many celebrate the women…
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“So water isn’t allowed during Ramadan, but sushi is?” my boss asked me with a bemused look on his face just as I was about to pop a spicy tuna roll in my mouth.
For the past three weeks, thanks to the sighting of the crescent moon of Ramadan, I had become a one-woman dawah center at my office. Even more than donning the hijab, there’s something about fasting that suddenly transforms every Muslim into a mufti at the work place.
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The first time I worked on Mother’s Day, I saw the day through a different lens. My patient’s mother usually came in every morning after her night shift job and passed out on the hospital sleeper chair for a few hours. But that morning, she arrived wearing her Sunday best and her finest pearls. In her hand was a camera, and a satin dress for the baby. She wanted a picture with her daughter, and asked if we could do everything possible to make her look less like a patient and more like a “normal” child.
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In my fifteen years of fasting, I was mostly going through the motions. Sure, I knew that Ramadan was a time for increased God-consciousness, but last month I learned the difference between knowing something and feeling something. This Ramadan, I felt it.
Reaching a level of spirituality at which I felt a connection to my Creator in my bones required preparation. Just as we begin each fast with a niyaat (or intention), I also commenced this year’s Ramadan with a niyaat.