Rachel Hajar's Blog: My Life in Doha, page 8
September 10, 2010
Book excerpt from My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality by Rachel Hajar
Chapter 14
Footsteps of Morning: Eid and Christmas
“When the happy Eid morning come / We compete with the feet of the morning, running / We go out with the bright light of our clothes / Our bright smiles brighter than the morning light / We gather to the musalla on the sand . . .” penned my husband exuberantly in a verse remembering the Eids of his childhood.
The Islamic calendar has two religious festivals called Eid. The Festival of Breaking Fast is called Eid al-Fitr and marks the end of Ramadan. Eid al-Adha, the Festival of Sacrifice commemorates the willingness of the Prophet Abraham to offer his son Ismael as sacrifice to God. Eid al-Adha coincides with Haj, the annual pilgrimage to Mecca. The celebration of the two Eids is essentially the same except that Eid al-Adha involves the sacrifice of an animal, a ritual performed by Abraham when he killed a lamb in place of his son.
I had never heard of Eid before coming to Qatar but I have found that taking part in Qatari festivals has been both an enlightening and a culturally and spiritually enriching experience. Festivals are windows into the heart of a culture. Eid is to Muslims what Christmas is to Christians. Although the two festivals differ in context, both are occasions for prayer as well as a time devoted to family and friends and the fulfillment of social obligations. There are, however, similarities and differences in their celebration, underlining the multidimensional nature of each festival.
Eid al-Fitr is a time of thanksgiving to God for observing Ramadan and an occasion of hope for a new life and abundant blessings. Unlike Christmas, however, the official announcement of Eid was always preceded with uncertainty. Will it be or will it not be Eid tomorrow? The beginning of Eid was always shrouded in uncertainty because the religious authorities depended on human sighting of the new moon, which can be a problem on cloudy days. The uncertainty exasperated my husband but I found it exciting. I thought it gave depth and dimension to the excitement and anticipation. The occasion usually reminded me of the night before Christmas, when as a child, I used to go to bed keyed up, anticipating Christmas morning and wondering what presents awaited me.
The Eid festival was celebrated according to tradition. Grooming was a very important aspect of observing the feast. Women usually dressed in caftans adorned with fine gold or silver embroidery and wore gold jewelry. In a poem redolent with nostalgia of his childhood Eids my husband described the Eid girl:
The Eid girl, dressed in bright color,
Throws her hair behind her collar.
Silver thread decorate her vest,
And shine with light over her chest.
Her necklace dances when she walks,
And shivers around her neck when she talks.
Her gold earrings look at her cheeks,
And dance with joy when she speaks.
Her gold bracelets ring
With music as they swing.
Henna on her hand is a duty,
But does not add to her beauty . . .
On the first day of Eid, Muslim men assembled for Eid prayer at sunrise in various designated open spaces called musallas. I usually saw pictures of those gatherings in newspapers showing thousands of men kneeling shoulder to shoulder in neat rows, humbly prostrating themselves in prayer, foreheads touching the ground. It was awesome and in my mind I would hear them murmur, “Allaahu Akbar” in unison, the sound resonating through the morning light.
The first day of Eid was devoted to the family. Children were given eidiyah, a gift of money from family, relatives, neighbors, and friends. Unlike Christmas, gift giving was not part of the ritual except for the token of money given to children, and so it became my habit to write an Eid card to each of my children, in my uniquely clumsy Arabic script, that included their own Eid greeting and their eidiya. Doing so gave me a lot of thrill and pleasure and enabled me to relive the card and gift giving of Christmas. The first time I gave my children their Eid card written in my distinctive Arabic script, it created a sensation in the family. My newfound skill in writing Arabic letters languished when they outgrew eidiyas.
Throughout the day, guests were offered fresh fruits, sweets such as baklava (layered pastry and nuts sweetened with honey), gahwa (Gulf coffee heavily laced with cardamom), and tea scented with rosewater. The clan met at the beit al kabeer, the big house, for lunch, which usually consisted of one or more lamb, depending on the number of guests expected. The lamb was served on top of steaming rice on massive trays.
Eid has highly spiritual and moral qualities. The first Eid comes after a whole month of daily fast. The second Eid marks the completion of Haj or pilgrimage to Mecca in which the Muslim renounces worldly concerns. Christmas is also a spiritual feast since it celebrates the birth of Christ—the Savior—who was sent to redeem mankind from their sins. Just like Eid, Christmas also means victory—the triumph of good over evil. The template of the celebrations of Christmas that I remember is not so much different from the celebrations of Eid. The two feasts highlighted that Muslims and Christians shared the same beliefs and behaviors. The milieu for the celebration of Eid and Christmas may be different but both encode in their festival and prayer ritual the concepts peace, joy, love—and hope.
Rachel HajarMy Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
Footsteps of Morning: Eid and Christmas
“When the happy Eid morning come / We compete with the feet of the morning, running / We go out with the bright light of our clothes / Our bright smiles brighter than the morning light / We gather to the musalla on the sand . . .” penned my husband exuberantly in a verse remembering the Eids of his childhood.
The Islamic calendar has two religious festivals called Eid. The Festival of Breaking Fast is called Eid al-Fitr and marks the end of Ramadan. Eid al-Adha, the Festival of Sacrifice commemorates the willingness of the Prophet Abraham to offer his son Ismael as sacrifice to God. Eid al-Adha coincides with Haj, the annual pilgrimage to Mecca. The celebration of the two Eids is essentially the same except that Eid al-Adha involves the sacrifice of an animal, a ritual performed by Abraham when he killed a lamb in place of his son.
I had never heard of Eid before coming to Qatar but I have found that taking part in Qatari festivals has been both an enlightening and a culturally and spiritually enriching experience. Festivals are windows into the heart of a culture. Eid is to Muslims what Christmas is to Christians. Although the two festivals differ in context, both are occasions for prayer as well as a time devoted to family and friends and the fulfillment of social obligations. There are, however, similarities and differences in their celebration, underlining the multidimensional nature of each festival.
Eid al-Fitr is a time of thanksgiving to God for observing Ramadan and an occasion of hope for a new life and abundant blessings. Unlike Christmas, however, the official announcement of Eid was always preceded with uncertainty. Will it be or will it not be Eid tomorrow? The beginning of Eid was always shrouded in uncertainty because the religious authorities depended on human sighting of the new moon, which can be a problem on cloudy days. The uncertainty exasperated my husband but I found it exciting. I thought it gave depth and dimension to the excitement and anticipation. The occasion usually reminded me of the night before Christmas, when as a child, I used to go to bed keyed up, anticipating Christmas morning and wondering what presents awaited me.
The Eid festival was celebrated according to tradition. Grooming was a very important aspect of observing the feast. Women usually dressed in caftans adorned with fine gold or silver embroidery and wore gold jewelry. In a poem redolent with nostalgia of his childhood Eids my husband described the Eid girl:
The Eid girl, dressed in bright color,
Throws her hair behind her collar.
Silver thread decorate her vest,
And shine with light over her chest.
Her necklace dances when she walks,
And shivers around her neck when she talks.
Her gold earrings look at her cheeks,
And dance with joy when she speaks.
Her gold bracelets ring
With music as they swing.
Henna on her hand is a duty,
But does not add to her beauty . . .
On the first day of Eid, Muslim men assembled for Eid prayer at sunrise in various designated open spaces called musallas. I usually saw pictures of those gatherings in newspapers showing thousands of men kneeling shoulder to shoulder in neat rows, humbly prostrating themselves in prayer, foreheads touching the ground. It was awesome and in my mind I would hear them murmur, “Allaahu Akbar” in unison, the sound resonating through the morning light.
The first day of Eid was devoted to the family. Children were given eidiyah, a gift of money from family, relatives, neighbors, and friends. Unlike Christmas, gift giving was not part of the ritual except for the token of money given to children, and so it became my habit to write an Eid card to each of my children, in my uniquely clumsy Arabic script, that included their own Eid greeting and their eidiya. Doing so gave me a lot of thrill and pleasure and enabled me to relive the card and gift giving of Christmas. The first time I gave my children their Eid card written in my distinctive Arabic script, it created a sensation in the family. My newfound skill in writing Arabic letters languished when they outgrew eidiyas.
Throughout the day, guests were offered fresh fruits, sweets such as baklava (layered pastry and nuts sweetened with honey), gahwa (Gulf coffee heavily laced with cardamom), and tea scented with rosewater. The clan met at the beit al kabeer, the big house, for lunch, which usually consisted of one or more lamb, depending on the number of guests expected. The lamb was served on top of steaming rice on massive trays.
Eid has highly spiritual and moral qualities. The first Eid comes after a whole month of daily fast. The second Eid marks the completion of Haj or pilgrimage to Mecca in which the Muslim renounces worldly concerns. Christmas is also a spiritual feast since it celebrates the birth of Christ—the Savior—who was sent to redeem mankind from their sins. Just like Eid, Christmas also means victory—the triumph of good over evil. The template of the celebrations of Christmas that I remember is not so much different from the celebrations of Eid. The two feasts highlighted that Muslims and Christians shared the same beliefs and behaviors. The milieu for the celebration of Eid and Christmas may be different but both encode in their festival and prayer ritual the concepts peace, joy, love—and hope.
Rachel HajarMy Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
Book excerpt from My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality by Rachel Hajar
Chapter 15
Ramadan: A Special Month
There is one month in the Islamic calendar that I grew to cherish. That month is called Ramadan, the holy month of fasting. During the entire month of Ramadan, Muslims are religiously forbidden to eat, drink, and engage in marital intimacy from dawn until sunset. Ramadan is a month full of rituals. I found the practices and activities associated with it spiritually inspiring. I have come to value and treasure the month of Ramadan.
I knew nothing about the Islamic fast before coming to Qatar and my first Ramadan in Qatar was in the summer. I had been slightly disappointed that the name of the month—Ramadan—had nothing to do with the particular time of year that it occurred. I had romantically linked the month of Ramadan with the scorching heat of a desert summer. Ramadan moved, like Easter in the Christian calendar.
Since that first Ramadan in summer, I have spent all subsequent Ramadans in Qatar, the sequence of its arrival looping cyclically backwards, like a clock moving in counterclockwise direction because it came eleven days earlier each year in relation to the Gregorian calendar. The perceived effect, at least for me, was of time slowing down, as if one billion Muslims fasting reined in a world fast hurtling forwards.
Adhan al-maghreb, the call to prayer at dusk, announced iftar, which was broken by eating dates in imitation of the Prophet Muhammad. I too, found that eating dates was the best way to break fast—it delivered instant calories. Iftar could be one big meal or broken into a light meal [taken before prayer] and main meal [eaten after prayer].
Ramadan was a time of intense prayer. After iftar, people went to the mosque to pray, usually from 7:30 to 8:30 p.m., or longer, before setting off to socialize. Women prayed in a partitioned section of the mosque, separated from the men. Each night during Ramadan, special prayer services and Qur’an readings were held in some local mosques. Qur’an readings from the holy city of Mecca were televised. Once, my family was amazed to see me watching and listening to those televised readings. I loved listening to Qur’an readings. I found the rhythm and cadence soothing and touching. Even though I did not understand Arabic, I found that the classical Arabic of the Qur’an when read by a good reader with a good voice was beautiful, for the Qur’an has rhythmic and poetic sounds.
In late afternoons, usually about an hour before iftar, I usually found myself sitting in my study, musing and reading by the window while quietly enjoying my view of blue sky and admiring my plants and flowers in the veranda. In the late afternoon breeze, the slender branches of jasmine and hibiscus swayed gracefully while the azaleas and violets fluttered tremulously. Outside, the date-palm leaves rustled. The world was quiet. Those moments, those minutes before iftar at almost sunset time, with the light mellow, birds flying and twittering past, and shadows starting to form, were beautiful.
As any Muslim will tell you, fasting is hard. I know. Yet Muslims also regret the passing of the special month of Ramadan. Until you deny yourself water, food, and other worldly pleasures from dawn to dusk, for a whole month, you cannot appreciate the ordeal. Ramadan is a challenge that tests willpower and depletes energy but it also affirms the strength and character of the individual and his place in the community. There is a certain satisfaction in being able to deny yourself food and drink and an excitement in anticipating iftar.
Once the fast is broken, food tastes so good, and water so sweet.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
Ramadan: A Special Month
There is one month in the Islamic calendar that I grew to cherish. That month is called Ramadan, the holy month of fasting. During the entire month of Ramadan, Muslims are religiously forbidden to eat, drink, and engage in marital intimacy from dawn until sunset. Ramadan is a month full of rituals. I found the practices and activities associated with it spiritually inspiring. I have come to value and treasure the month of Ramadan.
I knew nothing about the Islamic fast before coming to Qatar and my first Ramadan in Qatar was in the summer. I had been slightly disappointed that the name of the month—Ramadan—had nothing to do with the particular time of year that it occurred. I had romantically linked the month of Ramadan with the scorching heat of a desert summer. Ramadan moved, like Easter in the Christian calendar.
Since that first Ramadan in summer, I have spent all subsequent Ramadans in Qatar, the sequence of its arrival looping cyclically backwards, like a clock moving in counterclockwise direction because it came eleven days earlier each year in relation to the Gregorian calendar. The perceived effect, at least for me, was of time slowing down, as if one billion Muslims fasting reined in a world fast hurtling forwards.
Adhan al-maghreb, the call to prayer at dusk, announced iftar, which was broken by eating dates in imitation of the Prophet Muhammad. I too, found that eating dates was the best way to break fast—it delivered instant calories. Iftar could be one big meal or broken into a light meal [taken before prayer] and main meal [eaten after prayer].
Ramadan was a time of intense prayer. After iftar, people went to the mosque to pray, usually from 7:30 to 8:30 p.m., or longer, before setting off to socialize. Women prayed in a partitioned section of the mosque, separated from the men. Each night during Ramadan, special prayer services and Qur’an readings were held in some local mosques. Qur’an readings from the holy city of Mecca were televised. Once, my family was amazed to see me watching and listening to those televised readings. I loved listening to Qur’an readings. I found the rhythm and cadence soothing and touching. Even though I did not understand Arabic, I found that the classical Arabic of the Qur’an when read by a good reader with a good voice was beautiful, for the Qur’an has rhythmic and poetic sounds.
In late afternoons, usually about an hour before iftar, I usually found myself sitting in my study, musing and reading by the window while quietly enjoying my view of blue sky and admiring my plants and flowers in the veranda. In the late afternoon breeze, the slender branches of jasmine and hibiscus swayed gracefully while the azaleas and violets fluttered tremulously. Outside, the date-palm leaves rustled. The world was quiet. Those moments, those minutes before iftar at almost sunset time, with the light mellow, birds flying and twittering past, and shadows starting to form, were beautiful.
As any Muslim will tell you, fasting is hard. I know. Yet Muslims also regret the passing of the special month of Ramadan. Until you deny yourself water, food, and other worldly pleasures from dawn to dusk, for a whole month, you cannot appreciate the ordeal. Ramadan is a challenge that tests willpower and depletes energy but it also affirms the strength and character of the individual and his place in the community. There is a certain satisfaction in being able to deny yourself food and drink and an excitement in anticipating iftar.
Once the fast is broken, food tastes so good, and water so sweet.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
August 18, 2010
Greetings from Doha, Qatar
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Museum of Islamic Art, Doha, Qatar
Greetings to everyone and a warm welcome to my weblog. Let me introduce myself. My name is Rachel Hajar. I am a cardiologist living in Doha, Qatar, a tiny state in the Arabian Gulf powered by oil, not WordPress. People blog for various reasons: self-expression, to raise money for personal gain or charity, to advocate a political view or belief or to entertain, inform, and amuse. My blogging raison d'etre is self-expression, information, entertainment, and...
