We are winding down the days of Ramadan, a spiritually potent month in which Allah revealed the Quran. Since this is a month of remembrance, reflection, reconciliation and resilience, Muslim communities worldwide devoted the month to reciting as much Quran as possible and attending nightly tarawih prayers at the mosque, in which the entirety of the Holy Book is completed roughly over a course of nearly 30 days.

Although these are not obligatory rituals, there is massive spiritual brownie points involved and the communal experience of Ramadan is heightened by participating in these nightly events.

Back when I was 21 years old and attempting to become an Optimus Prime Transformer Muslim, I made sure to hit every Tarawih prayer and read or listen to as much Quran during this month as possible.

Sadly, this year I spent more time listening to Kanye, Jay-Z, Lil Wayne and Benassi. This was more a reflection of my insanely busy work schedule and compulsive need to stay awake at night doing work by listening to throbbing beats, instead of a heathen-sabbatical lathered in Godless-hedonism for those who are quietly judging or inquiring.

Regardless, I’ve attempted to come up with some intelligent defenses, such as, “Dear Lord, had you not blessed Kanye with such sic beats, then I would not be compelled to listen to the album “Watch the Throne.” So, essentially, by listening to “Who Gon’ Stop Me?” and appreciating the dope beats, in a sense, am I not in awe of my Creator who inspired such dopeness?”

Of course, I do not confess this prayer outloud in fear of beign struck by thunderbolt and lightening.

But, I do yearn to understand the Quran by heart, to really digest it and taste its overwhelming complexity and intimidating beauty. Sadly, I don’t speak Arabic, despite an honorable attempt at taking 1 year of it at UC Berkeley. Like most good Desi kids, I learned to “read” the Quran and “finished” it by age 7 so I could have a party, an Ameen, where my parents invited people I didn’t know and I was forced to wear 5 lb garlands and eat large, fattening ladoo balls.

The language of Arabic is so intense that it has made its students break down and cry. I’ve seen this happen. I admire my Arab friends who were born with Arabic – it’s a gift to understand the “words” of the Quran by simply growing up in an environment where it was your first language.

The rest of us have to spend our lives acquiring it, learning it, and perpetually working on it.

As a result, I’ve felt both shame and embarrassment at being 30 years old and not knowing the “language” by which Allah chose to communicate his message to his believers.

But, mostly, I’ve felt distance from the Quran – yes, it is the Holy Book, but if I cannot understand all the words in the language its meant to be recited in then how can it truly penetrate my heart and enlighten my soul?

Of course, this leads to moments of “zoning” out during my ritualistic prayers. I pick up some words here and there, but largely I cannot understand what’s being recited by the prayer leader, or imam.

Tarawih prayers during Ramadan thus become exercises in combating attention deficit disorder. First, one has to endure the endearingly awkward and eccentric characters that appear at the local mosque. You stand in rows, shoulder to shoulder and feet to feet [sadly, some take this literally and thus grind against you in a way that would warrant a restraining order or at the very least the purchase of 2 non-alcoholic beverages], and attempt to concentrate for an hour as the imam finishes a section of the Quran.

Now, I have always told myself had I known Arabic fluently maybe I’d save my mind from wandering into the inevitable Tarawih Twilight Zone. About 12 minutes into the prayer instead of concentrating on my Creator, I’m assaulted – like clockwork – with a collage of stream of consciousness randomness.

Recently, I contemplated the exorbitant price of gasoline, which made me think of the dilapidated state of my ’97 Camry, which in turn made me contemplate buying a new car and figuring out means to pay for such a lofty expense, which in turn led me to question my career choice and imagine alternative lucrative careers such as applying for “chai walla” positions at Google.

This fantasy randomly ended with me riding a gilded horse wearing battle armor attacking a fortress of goblins with a machine gun.

Another time I caught myself “tarawih twilight zoning” while engaged in a brutal “thought-off” with my brain, whereby I countered my impious thoughts with pious thoughts only to be caught in the most awkward, internal, circuitous cacophony of mental images since puberty.

I randomly remembered trying to pay attention to prayer when I was 12 years old only to be bombarded with highly suggestive sexual imagery. Now, if anyone knows anything about 12 year old boys, you know we only have one thing on our mind – and it isn’t religion. Seriously. It isn’t even our fault. We’re designed this way. We could do the least sexual thing imaginable – like staring at red bricks – and somehow, in the most sick, twisted yet creative fashion, create a highly pleasurable and deviant sexual scenario.

Mashallah.

So, these were thoughts that attacked me recently while I was trying to concentrate during my prayer.

1992 Cindy Crawford Sports Illustrated picture.

“Cindy? I havent thought of you in a decade! How’d you get in there?  Crap! Astagfurallah! (May God forgive me).”

Salma Hayek from Desperado.

“Salma, stop tormenting me!”

Guacamole.

“Mmmm…”

Salma Hayek, this time from this terrible movie I saw on the plane called “Grown Ups”

“Movie sucked. Adam Sandler, what happened to you? Salma is still hot.”

A unicorn.

“WTF?”

The last scene from “Blade Runner” in which Harrison Ford holds a Unicorn Origami.

“They are re-making this. It might be good. I hope so. I hope Ridley Scott’s Prometheus is good next summer.”

The terrifying Devil villain from Ridley Scott’s 1985 movie “Legend” starring Tom Cruise, Sloane from “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off “and Tim Curry and…a unicorn.

“La howla wa la Khuwata! (There is no might or power except through Allah!)”

The Devil from the movie kept popping up in my brain and it immediately shocked me to my senses.  I could once again hear the Quran clearly as I stood in the prayer line. I took a glance at the imam and noticed he was  just a young kid. A young boy leading an entire congregation.

What a responsibility on this young man’s shoulders, I thought. How old is he? 16? When did he start learning to recite? Amazing – this kid knows the entire Quran.

And that’s when I remembered this fantastic documentary I had just seen entitled “Koran By Heart” which follows the stories of several Muslim youths from different countries seeking to win the annual, prestigious Quran recitation competition in Egypt. The movie is riveting, much like the spelling-bee competition documentary “Spellbound,” but also a humanizing and warm-hearted reflection of the diversity of Muslims and the influence of the Quran, their families and their communities on their lives.

Although there is no “central hero,” the film traces the competition through the eyes of adorable, gifted young children whose talent of recitation often makes the elderly judges weep. The documentary also interviews a non-Muslim academic who has devoted her life studying Quranic recitation as a form of art.

I envied this woman who somehow found both spiritual and artistic ecstacy by hearing the Quran despite not being a Muslim.

I wanted to experience the Quran as she experienced it.

There is something powerful, arresting and truly enchanting about hearing the Quran being recited by eloquent artists. There is a rich texture to the voice, language and intonation that I’ve yet to hear elsewhere. It is otherworldly.

The diversity in its recitation is matched only by the diversity of the artists who have attempted to master its magic.

So, I stood there, during Tarawih prayers, in the prayer line as the awkward uncle grinded my leg, reflecting upon the Quran as celestial art.

How apt, I thought.

There is a saying of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him): “Allah is beautiful and He loves beauty.” The intent of the Creator is often reflected in the beauty of His creation, especially if it is fashioned with love, care, passion and sincerity.

And so I stood there listening to the Quran, the language of Allah as spoken through his messenger for His creation.

And for the first time in a long time, I knew and understood the “language” despite not knowing or understanding the language.

I was in awe of the Artist and allowed myself to enjoy His artistry.

This Ramadan Muslims are flocking to local grocery stores gathering items for nightly feasts that rival anyone’s modest Thanksgiving. Being that many of your friends and neighbors might not know the proper etiquette – below I have attached a brief set of guidelines which can be distributed to set individuals ensuring a smooth and calm process for all.

10. Hamburger…?

9. We still love you, and that will be more evident post-feast.

8. Most of your friends will be thinking about food and won’t be paying close attention to your stories. Please forgive them if they answer your questions with a glazed look while mouthing the word “Hamburger…?” as if that was the answer to your question.

7. Not all of your Muslim friends ‘enjoy’ Ramadan.

6. Muslim-y is not a word, stop referring to Ramadan being one of those Muslim-y things. It’s not that it’s offensive, it’s that adding a ‘y’ at the end of something doesn’t make it a real word.

5. Refrain from asking obvious questions such as “Aren’t you hungry yet?”

4. No, your Muslim friend will not watch Iron Chef with you, but that has nothing to do with Ramadan, it’s just that the show is so 2003.

3. Your Muslim friend will be more lethargic than usual, walk slower and don’t worry, this too shall pass.

2. Remember Ramadan is not Lent, your Muslim friend has given up more than just chocolate.

1. Refrain from teasing your Muslim friend with food no matter how much you believe that you are testing their reserve. They might smack the be-jeezus out of you.

Liana

I’ve been Muslim for a dozen years now–hard to accept that the years are passing at a rate quicker than I can appreciate them.  As a new Muslim all those years ago, I looked at the advent of my first Ramadan as a challenging exercise of the will.  I was excited to put my faith to the test, to directly measure the depth of my faith by the depth of my willpower.  Once Ramadan started, I remember the pangs of hunger towards the middle of the month and feeling ill at ease with my overwhelming desire to eat.  If I were more deen-focused, would I not be able to ignore or put aside that hunger for the sake of God?  Why was I so driven by food?  Maybe, my faith was not as strong as I had believed and had hoped it would be….

Three years ago, my daughter was born.  As we actively prepared for her arrival, we attended a class led by my midwife.  Much of my pregnancy is a blur now–I had just changed jobs, we had moved state, bought a house, and signed on to some extensive renovations all in the last five months of my pregnancy.  I do remember, however, one noteworthy piece of advice that my midwife tried to drill into us during that class.  While the specific words may differ, the gist of her advice was this: “Don’t have pre-set expectations of how things are going to go at the hospital.  Don’t lock yourself in to a plan.  Just accept the way things will unfold as there are some things that you just don’t have complete control over.”

Of course, she was right.  Things did not go the way we had planned.  And, it was nothing like we had imagined it would be.  But, as we looked into our little tiny girl’s sleepy eyes as she tried her best to grapple with her new set of circumstances, we realized that none of our pre-conceived notions really made that much difference; nothing really could have made that moment any better than it was.

This year, in my post-fajr high (induced somewhat by a fat mug of chai, strong enough to sprout legs and walk away at any given time), I think back to those early days of being Muslim and how things have changed for me.  My perception is different; my patience threshold is a little higher although still miles short from where I would like it to be; my efforts to systemize my world have evolved into simply trying to reduce the chaos and unpredictability that defines it.

And, Ramadan feels different.  Not locked in by the handcuffs of defined expectations, I am better able to immerse myself in the undefined joy of Ramadan.

My appreciation for Ramadan is less fettered by what I thought it would be like and instead, is tethered only to a belief that its beauty exists in a vacuum with or without my pre-defined expectations of it.  Just as I discovered in the delivery room, I am realizing once again that there are some gifts we are given that are bigger than anything our expectations can define.  Perhaps, we can receive them better if they are left undefined.

Lina Sergie Attar

On a hot August afternoon, I was in the kitchen planning a Ramadan iftar. The act of preparing a dish is as much about memory as tasting it. My personal memories involve making burek. Although this tradition stems from my paternal Turkish great-grandmother, the top burek chef in my family is my mother. Burek, is a pastry made of thin layers of dough that holds any variety of fillings: cheese; spinach; meat; the possibilities are endless. It is often described as a kind of pie, but it is more like a savory baklava.

Making burek is a commitment, a physical commitment, it is opposite of my usual “efficient” process of cooking with three burners and an oven all going at the same time. The process forces you to slow down dramatically, there is no multitasking, everything must be prepared and ready, the filling, the melted butter, the tray, the dough, the brush, all laid out in order. You begin the repetitive movements, slowly lift a paper-thin sheet of pastry, and place it carefully on top of the other, then move a butter-dipped brush across the new layer. Over and over, a rhythmic meditation.

They say musicians over the years, develop memory in their fingers. My fingers have a culinary memory, holding three generations and three countries within them, as my mother, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother guide my motions. But while your movements may slow, your thoughts do not. Your thoughts are racing, rushing across time and geographies, stitching together disparate recollections between the layers.

Ramadan is all about beginnings and ends, from anticipating the birth of a new moon, to watching the silver crescent slowly dissolve. And like the month, Ramadan meals are all about the unforgettable starters and finales. When the sun kisses the horizon, iftar begins with a silent prayer, as parched lips touch the glass of precious water and taste the sweetness of a date. Contrary to popular belief, iftar is not about the quantity of food, for as anyone who fasts will tell you, after a few bites you are full. But those few bites need to to satisfy all cravings, to satiate every taste bud. Combining as many textures and flavors possible is the brilliance of the classic iftar: the delightful Ramadan drinks, tangy tamer hindi and sweet amar din; the soothing creaminess of a hot lentil soup; the crisp, cooling fattoush salad; the spicy, nutty muhammarah dip; and the sheer perfection of the buttery, flaky, cheesy burek. The middles are distractions, everyday variables of rice, a meat, and a vegetable, utterly unimportant fillers that must be tolerated before the best part of the meal: dessert. And, the grand finale, my beloved, bitter, caffeinated coffee.

Ramadan desserts belong to the street not the kitchen. My favorite desserts take you on a culinary tour across the Aleppo from Sallora for kanafeh, to the tiny shop on the corner in al-Jamiliyyeh where the same man has stood for decades in front of a massive caldron of hot oil, frying luqum, literally “bites” of fried dough dipped in syrup. And the ultimate Ramadan exclusive, ghazel el-banat, “girls’ seduction,” the most romantic name for a dessert, fluffy white clouds of spun sugar, that melt in your mouth, only to surprise you with toasted Aleppo pistachios suspended in the nest of sweet threads.

When you have layered half of the dough, it is time to spread the filling evenly and  begin to the layer the top half. As I concentrated perfecting this crucial distribution, I remembered last year when I was in Aleppo during the first few days of Ramadan, for the first time in years. The last day I was there, I went to taraweeh prayers at my favorite mosque, al-Radwan, home to my favorite imam, Sheikh Abd al-Hadi Badleh, whose face I have never seen, but whose moving voice is etched into my memory. After the long prayers, people did not linger, the women rushed out in droves, they had families to tend to, shopping to do for tomorrow’s meal, as the city bustles with energy every Ramadan night. But I sat on my prayer rug, under the black, starry sky, waiting. I listened to the post-prayer rituals of the super-devout, the recitation of Surat Tabarak, the passing of masabeh beads between fingers. I waited, for Sheikh Abd al-Hadi’s parting words, a question, Kayfa amsaytom?, How was your evening? I don’t know why those two words always affected me, but I could never leave the mosque before hearing them.

I spread the final layer, taut and smooth, tucking its edges neatly, the way my grandmother taught me how to make a perfect bed. I seal it with the remaining butter, and begin to carefully cut the burek into perfect squares, holding the serrated knife like I used to hold the x-acto knife during my architecture school days, for some finger memories are mine alone. My thoughts drift to the Sheikh’s question. The translation is missing an essential element, in Arabic, amsaytum is a verb, “evening” is an action. We tend to think of Ramadan as a lazy month, to eat and sleep, but it is intended to be a busy month of prayer, of charity, of devotion, of action. This Ramadan in Syria, is the month of action, of struggle, as every night presents another chance to fight for freedom. Our young men, leave the mosques to the streets to chant, to protest, to die. This year, Sheikh Abd al-Hadi’s question is his farewell, as they walk into a night that may be their last.

The word burek, comes from the Turkish root “to twist,” to twist the layers into a shape that will protect the filling. Unbaked, the layers of dough are extremely fragile and brittle, but the heat transforms them, the butter reinforces them, in a magical chemical reaction, into delicate yet resilient, golden sheets. Together, the layers become a strong wall of protection, like the united chants of our brave warriors. I think of them as I place my completed, symmetrical tray into the hot oven. In the last moments of peace before slipping back to the everyday noise of life – it was mid-afternoon here, taraweeh time there – I shut the oven door, and I whisper to them, to Sheikh Abd al-Hadi, to Aleppo: Kayfa amsaytum?

Burek bil Jibneh / Cheese Burek *

INGREDIENTS

1 package (16 ounces) phyllo pastry sheets

1/2 cup melted butter

1/2 cup vegetable oil

FILLING

1 cup feta cheese

2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese

1/2 cup plain yogurt

1 egg

1 tablespoon ground mint

1 tablespoon ground red pepper powder

1 bunch parsley, finely chopped

1 teaspoon salt

STEPS

1.  Preheat oven to 350°F.

2.  Combine melted butter & oil.

3.  In a medium bowl, combine filling ingredients. Mixture should be thick with no excess liquid.

4.  Lightly coat a 13” x 16” baking sheet with butter/oil mix using a pastry brush.

5.  Unfold room temperature phyllo dough on flat, clean surface. NOTE: the dough is very delicate and dries quickly. Keep unused dough covered with a lightly dampened dish cloth or paper towel.

6.  Spread first sheet on the tray, folding edges neatly. Brush sheet with butter/oil mix.

7.  Repeat step 6 with half the sheets (about 10-12 sheets).

8.  Spread filling evenly across the entire tray. It should be about 1/2” thick.

9.  Repeat step 6 with remaining phyllo sheets.

1. Save a perfect sheet for final layer. Tuck edges under, and brush generously with remaining butter/oil mix.
2. Using a very sharp knife, carefully cut the pastry into equal 3” squares.
3. Bake for 30 minutes or until top is crisp and golden.
4. Serve immediately after baking.

NOTE: For higher efficiency (since I cannot resist shortcuts), you can prepare multiple trays and freeze before baking.

* Recipe adapted from my mother, who adapted it from her mother-in-law who adapted it from her mother. It is published in Ramadan Spreads: a collection of recipes, memories, and traditions.

The month of Ramadan is here.

The super organized amongst us have a stock pile samosas and kebabs in the freezer while the rest of us have located the nearest mithai (sweets) shop for jalaybees (fried sweet batter soaked in sugar syrup), parathas, samosas (fried bread stuffed with vegetables or meat),  and other “necessities” of Ramadan.

On the other hand, many of us are hoping to lose weight this month. Thinking that not eating and drinking during the day will result in weight loss. Instead, Ramadan comes and goes leaving behind Jalaybee Jiggle- the weight gained during Ramadan despite fasting for nearly fifteen hours daily for an entire month!

Making nutritious choices during Ramadan is definitely a challenge. But I would argue that Ramadan is the best time to make positive, long lasting and healthful changes. If you can perform your activities of daily living without a single morsel of food or drink then you can most definitely make small dietary changes that will have a huge impact on your health.

Use some of the following tips to make this Ramadan a healthier one and reap the benefits spiritually and physically!

Suhoor/Sehri- Morning Meal

In some families, Suhoor is a feast of the senses where families wake up before sunrise to prepare huge, elaborate meals. In others, members wake up just long enough to gulp down a glass of milk before heading back to bed. Whatever the case may be, you can make healthful choices.

Ideally, Suhoor should consist of a variety of foods that will keep you full well into the day and provide you with energy to perform your daily activities. Cereals and grains will give you energy while fat, fiber and protein will keep hunger at bay. Experiment with what works best for you and your lifestyle. They key is to consume a meal that suits your eating style while controlling portions and added fat.

• Old School: Whole-wheat paratha/roti (or any bread) and kebabs cooked with a couple of teaspoons of vegetable oil. A side of fruit, 1% milk and a few dates.
• Traditional breakfast:  Eggs, whole-grain bread, a side of fruit with some yogurt, a glass of milk and a few dates.
• Vegetarian: Lentils, mixed vegetables with whole-wheat pita/roti. Milk/yogurt, fruit and a few dates.
• Not hungry-need energy: A bowl of whole-grain (boxed cereals, oats etc.) cereal with 1% milk, topped with bananas, berries, dates and some nuts.
• Fluids only: A smoothie with some fruit, 1% milk and peanut butter. Date shakes are awesome too!
• Also try non-breakfast items such whole-wheat pasta, chicken breast, beans etc. that provide a variety of nutrients and keep you full.

Iftaar/Iftari- Evening Meal

Time to break your fast! Iftaar is where most of us go wrong. We think- I haven’t eaten anything for fifteen hours or so and now I can eat anything and everything in sight!

Generally, the meal occurs in two parts. The first part consists of pakoras, samosas fruit salad, dates and jalaybees. The second part is an entire dinner that a family would eat traditionally.

There is no harm in enjoying fried food or eating in two parts. The only problem is that most people consume more calories in the first part than they would have consumed in the entire day and then proceed to eat dinner. If you are leaving the Iftaar table feeling like a stuffed potato every evening then you have eaten too much!

Use the following suggestions to make your iftaar/dinner more healthful and experiment with what works for you!

• Always eat the fruit salad first. This way you have satisfied your hunger with something that you enjoy traditionally and is good for you.
• Enjoy fried iftaar items only once a week or less so you are not tempted to eat them everyday.
• If you really must have fried iftaar items every day, only make one item and eat a small serving. E.g. one samosa, a couple of pakoras or a small jalaybee.
• Ideally, break your fast with a few dates and some water and then proceed directly to dinner.
• For dinner, consume vegetables, lean protein and whole-grains. Enjoy fruit or a yogurt parfait for dessert!
• Go easy on the dates. Although they are a super food packed with vitamins, minerals and fiber, they are also high in sugar. Daily consumption should be around 5-6 dates.

Weight gain and loss is a very simple equation of calories consumed versus calories expended. If you eat more than you expend, you will gain weight regardless of the length of fasting or activity level.You can prevent weight gain while consuming the foods you enjoy by altering portion sizes and cooking methods.

Remember that not eating during the day is not a license to consume mass quantities at night. People who fast regularly are aware of the notion that the first few days of fasting are the hardest and subsequent days become easier. Similarly, making small changes to your dietary routine might seem hard at first but will become easier as you strive for better health.

As you nourish your soul this month, focus on nourishing your body too with food that will energize you and allow you to gain the spiritual benefits of Ramadan.

Ramadan Mubarak!

Please feel free to comment or post questions.

Disclaimer: Women who are pregnant or nursing and individuals with diabetes or other chronic diseases should consult their physician before making any dietary changes. The above article is meant to provide general advice on nutrition during Ramadan. Always consult your health care practitioner for medical advice.

It’s like a scene from “Dinner Impossible” on Food Network, and I am playing the role of Chef Robert Irvine – except its “Iftaar Impossible.” Your mission is to create a complete iftaar (fast-breaking) meal plus a full dinner and dessert to follow, and all must be served to your guests within a tight one and half hour time frame, which includes a 10 minute break to pray Maghreb, and have guests out on time to be able to make Ish’a prayers and tarawih prayers at the local mosque.

Will you succeed or will you fail? Will your guests make it through the meal and get out for Ish’a and tarawih on time? Will you, who have been fasting while preparing this feast, also survive?

This was the task I faced last Friday when my husband and I invited a number of friends to break fast with us at our house. Iftaar parties have all but disappeared where I live – most Muslims here either break fast with their family in their homes or go to the one of the local mosques to have iftaar and dinner. For four years now, the Muslims in our city have signed up to provide food one night during Ramadan for everyone at one of the mosques or tarawih halls.

At the place we go to for tarawih, upwards of 250-300 people show up for a community iftaar/dinner every night. It’s a neat set up – you can easily go every night and never have to cook during Ramadan. Of course you’ll be eating some sort of chicken biryani 8 times out of 10 – but hey, that’s how it goes.

Food jokes aside, these community iftaars are a great way to meet up with fellow Muslims and break fast together. Just be wary of the inevitable comparisons and criticisms that pop up, as people – especially the ladies – compare who cooked what on their night.

Since these community iftaars became popular four years back, home-based iftaar parties pretty much ended. But this year, before Ramadan started, my husband announced to me that he wanted to have friends over for iftaar one night. He doesn’t ask me for much, so I gamely said, “Sure!” and before I knew it, we had 20 adults and 15 kids coming over.

A friend of mine who’s not Muslim asked me why I was hosting the party, especially since four days earlier I (and three other families) had cooked food for 250 people for a community iftaar. I told my friend that there is spiritual reward for providing food to a person to break his fast.

In a hadith from Al-Tirmidhi, the Prophet Muhammad (saw) said, “Whoever gives food to a fasting person with which to break his fast will have a reward equal to his, without detracting in the slightest from the reward of the fasting person.”

But my reasons for hosting my own iftaar were personal as well. With my eldest son being very autistic, he’s basically been excluded from these community iftaars. Excluded not outright by the community per se, but let’s face it. Taking him to community iftaars, or Jummah prayers, or any religious function has always been an exercise in stress, worry, stares, whispers, and outright comments.

A new Facebook friend of mine, who shares my experiences in raising a special needs child, recently posted this status update:

“An issue in the Autism community that is heavy on my heart is a simple wish..Regardless of what your faith is..be it Muslim, Christian, Hindu etc. we are usually unable to attend religious services as a family which is the bind that keeps a family together. Sure we can experience prayers as home but I long for the day to take [my son] to Jummah prayer alongside his father..Praying for that day.”

I too often make this prayer, and I wonder if we’ll ever be able to include Daanish in trips to the mosque for Jummah prayers, community iftaars, halaqas, and other events. So far the answer has been a sad no. I once spoke with the imam at one of the largest mosques where I lived and explained the situation with Daanish, and how I wanted to bring him with me to Friday prayers. He assured me it was perfectly fine and there was no problem with Daanish disrupting prayers with his vocal stimming or his running between the prayer lines.

But when it came to us actually going to Jummah prayers with Daanish, the situation wasn’t ideal. And the few times I took Daanish to community iftaars were stress-filled as well. One time two years back at a community iftaar, Daanish was acting up, so I took him outside while Maghreb prayers were performed. Soon enough we all went home, and I realized that in my care of Daanish and keeping him from distracting or bothering others, I had forgotten to pray Maghreb. That’s when I decided it just wasn’t worth it.

So this year when my husband asked me if we could go old school and have an iftaar at home, I agreed. Here was a way to bring Ramadan home to Daanish.

So we played “Iftaar Impossible,” and my mother-in-law and I raced against the clock to get everything ready on time. During our preparations, Daanish and my other kids busied themselves with other activities. Everything was going fine – until half an hour before guests were to arrive – that’s when, out of nowhere, that awful tantrum started. The wailing, the beating, the flopping.

In my mind, I turned to Allah and said, “Really? REALLY?”

I couldn’t do anything, as I was feeding my youngest at the time. I turned to my husband and asked him to handle it. He and my daughter took Daanish upstairs and shut the door. Sometime later, things got quiet.

Soon our guests arrived – just after I had everything arranged on the table. Right when it was time to break fast, Daanish came downstairs. I thrust the plate of dates in his hand and helped him hand them out to a few of our guests. A few minutes later he went back upstairs to escape the crowd.

In my heart, that was what I had hoped and prayed for – that Daanish would hand some dates out when it was time to break fast. It was my wish to bring that community Ramadan feeling home to Daanish, but we both knew it was really for me – a way for me to have my entire family together for a community iftaar at home.

Later that night, when everyone had gone to bed, I sat wearily on the couch and silently asked Allah for forgiveness, saying: “Ya Rab, I’m sorry I ever doubted You.”

–Dilshad D. Ali is the Managing Editor of the Muslim Portal at Patheos.com

While growing up in Pakistan, we were taught that there are 11 months in a year and then there’s Ramadan: the holiest month for us Muslims. When I was five, I was captivated and wondered astonishingly why “Roza Kholna (Open your fast) and Sehri Karna (Close your fast)” was a significant part of my parents’ routine during this month. I remember distinctively my parents being utterly calm, absolutely devout to the Jah Namaz (Prayer Mat) and not yelling at us for 30 days even when three of us siblings fought the hell out of each other.  With time, I was able to understand they were respecting the Fifth Pillar of Islam and soon enough I’d be doing the same.

In his first post for Patheos, Wajahat Ali pointed that there are many types of Muslims one gets the opportunity to see during Ramadan.

There are people  like me who take every advantage to learn/study Islam profoundly and then try my best to implement the learned principles throughout my daily routine for rest of the year. I am a human so I slip here and there.

Then there are ones who recite – recite – pray – recite – pray for their forgiveness and prosperity and yet manage to throw gaudy Iftars.

However, lately, I have come across a third kind: Social Media Ramadan-ers. People that  fervently use Social Media (Facebook – Twitter – Google+) to impose and enlighten their beliefs and new learnings on every one of their friends’ list.  Yes, the U.S Constitution gives you the right of freedom of speech, and yes these social platforms are doing nothing but abiding by the first amendment diligently.

Conversely, everyone please – take a moment and think before updating your status or posting a link. Try getting some validity on it. It is advised to use the Quran itself.  I completely acknowledge that Social Media Ramadan-ers  are enthusiastic about getting their prayers answered and at the same time showing the world how much more Muslim-y you are than rest of them.

But, I do firmly believe that God will listen more carefully on a Jah Namaz than through a Facebook status. Please read: I am not judging anyone particular, but politely asking everyone to reflect within themselves first and then preach to the world via social media.

To all my dear, avid Facebook users: yes, Islam appreciates spreading the knowledge but it moreover agrees on spreading the REAL knowledge. So, next time try dropping in some references to Tirmizi, Bukhari, Huzaifa, Sahihs and most importantly the Holy Quran.

Alas, I also strongly believe that if Allah gave humans His absolute power for one day, the entire humankind would probably not notice because we’d be too busy updating our Facebook statuses.

I am hoping one day Muslim Americans can forgive themselves for simply being human.

We Muslims sure like to pretend we are perfect. At the very least, we love promoting the myth.

We preach it in our sermons, via our social propaganda to our non-Muslim neighbors, as talking points to the local and national press, and we even peddle it to our fellow community members at over-priced weddings in cramped banquet halls.

Everyone smiles, shows off their White teeth, engages in the usual-boilerplate-predictable pleasantries and says “Oh yes, everything is fine!” when asked “Is everything Ok?” by people who probably don’t really care but are forced to engage in ritual conversations as ordained by habit and custom.

But, a lot of the times things aren’t OK. If anyone bothers to pick up a paper, it’s clear that the news for many Americans is unsettling and uncertain to say the least. There is massive unemployment, reduced hours, decreased salaries, foreclosed homes, failed marriages, drug addictions and a host of other problems.

Regardless, we pretend we are perfect.

It’s our cover for the world.

Actually, we have to perform and wear this burdensome mask because our communities rarely forgive – and never forget.

Actually, it’s the appearance of “perfection,” albeit hypocritical, flawed, dishonest, and imprisoning, that is heavily promoted by nearly every religious Muslim American social circle I’ve met.

Actually, it seems more people are interested in “looking” perfect for the sake of protecting their reputation, instead of striving to perfect their etiquette and intention for the sake of pleasing their Creator.

The acknowledgement of problems, warts, and defects is tantamount to some sort of socially debilitating disease that will ostracize us in the eyes of our peers, who ironically have their very own dirty laundry comfortably hidden under their beds.

This problem of “faking perfection” afflicts nearly all religious communities, not just Muslims. And, of course, there is a tragic irony here considering all major religions treat the act of empathy and forgiveness with utmost reverence.

Ah, yes, forgiveness -perhaps the single most difficult and liberating spiritual act of them all.

There is something to be said of feeling “shame” and as a result wanting to hide our sins and defects. But, I’m discussing a different phenomenon in which people feel compelled to perpetually lie, subvert, hide and pretend due to upholding a fairy-tale of a life just so others will not condemn, mock, ridicule, or exploit them for their fallibilities.

Instead, we hide our pain, our mistakes, our weaknesses, our fragility, our “messiness” under the rug, we apply another layer of makeup, and we continue performing for the world.

But Ramadan is supposed to the annual game-changer. Ramadan is a moment of honest reflection and confrontation with oneself – an exercise in spiritual and physical dissection intended to purify and cleanse the whole. However, not only are many of us unable to confront our warts, we are unable to even acknowledge the inherent “messiness” of our existence and being.

There’s a beautiful concept of “striving” in Islam called Ihsan whereby we exert our best efforts to pursue excellence in both our intentions and deeds.  It’s part of the “I” trinity in Islam consisting of Islam (submission to Allah) and Iman (inner faith).  In fact, it’s a foundational aspect of the totality of our worship as a Muslim.  Another explanation of Ihsan is to do “beautiful deeds.”  Others have defined it as striving for “perfection” in faith.

But , we humans are imperfect beings simply by design and the Creator’s own intention.

I’m not suggesting we stop striving to improve our condition. There is something profoundly honorable and dignified in aiming for the Heavens even though we know we’ll fall short of the stars.

The difference here is to accept that we are simply human and designed to make mistakes.

We are fallible creatures despite our best or worst intentions. The attainment of perfection is a fool’s errand that will only result in failure, disappointment and heartbreak. Perhaps it’s time we at least acknowledge our true reality and use the month of Ramadan to not only ask Allah to help us achieve Ihsan, but also give us the strength and courage to forgive – our families, our communities, our enemies, and most importantly ourselves.

May we also have the humility to seek forgiveness from those we have wronged as well.

Hopefully, we can rise above our perpetual worry, concern and obsession of what others think of us and simply tune out all that jazz and seek Allah’s pleasure instead.

And, if we are lucky enough to achieve this moment of enlightenment, maybe we can forgive those around us who – for whatever reason – are simply living their life, trying to get by, with their mistakes hidden or openly displayed for the world to see and comment upon.

And, maybe then, we can stop trying to be so damn perfect all the time. After all, “perfect” people who always have their act together are pretty damn boring, colorless individuals. It’s the imperfect ones who give our life some flavor and, dare I say, purpose. After all, it’s those broken vessels among us who are usually the ones  perpetually striving for something better and inspiring the rest of us to do the same.

Most seek beauty in “perfection.”

But, you know what?

This Ramadan, I’m striving to discover and appreciate the beauty in our messiness.

Click here to view the embedded video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQQu-JWzBug