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A
Jihad Against I slip off my shoes at the threshold of the Abu-Bakr As-Siddiq Islamic Center, lining them up alongside pairs of varying sizes. A handwritten notice on the door urges people to leave their shoes outside: "This is a house of worship," it says. I follow Abdullah Al-Heymare, the slight, voluble owner of Crescent Autos, inside the only mosque in Eugene. It is my first time here. With an aging coat of pale pistachio paint, the Islamic Center on West Broadway looks like a well-worn family home. The front yard boasts fig trees and rose bushes, and on the porch two small children in crocheted white caps try to entice a cat out from behind a chair to play. Abdullah leads me through a well-laid out facility: a spacious kitchen, and a slightly dusty library stacked with books and tapes. We go through a rec room of sorts, where the two little kids have begun a game of ping-pong. Worn cushy couches group together on the room's other side, and pictures of Muslim holy sites line the wall. The sparse prayer room, carpeted in cream, holds a single bookshelf in the corner. No other furniture is required, as congregations pray on the floor. Today is Friday, the holy day of the week, and we are here for afternoon Jummah prayers. This is also the last Friday before the beginning of Ramadan, the ninth and holiest month of the Muslim lunar calendar. When a pale new crescent appears in North American skies, Ramadan in Eugene will begin: This year, it started on Monday, Oct. 27. Ramadan is the month when a billion Muslims around the
Muslims believe Ramadan marks the month that God unveiled the first verses of the Qur'an, Islam's holy book, to the prophet Mohammad. It's a striking story: As Mohammad meditated and fasted in a cave on Mount Hira outside Mecca, a strong force gripped his chest and commanded him "Recite!" Frightened, Mohammad refused, saying he did not know how. The force, the angel Gabriel, squeezed him again, commanding "Recite!" Mohammed again refused. The third time, Mohammad found himself reciting Arabic verses commanding worship of the God who created each human from an embryo. Initially unwilling, Mohammad became God's messenger, and so "Al-Qur'an" literally translates as "The Recitation" of God's word. More than 12 years later, Mohammad received a revelation making Ramadan a month of fasting. O believers, fasting is prescribed to you Stressing that God does not wish believers undue hardship, the verses lay out certain conditions: If you are traveling, sick, pregnant, nursing or menstruating, you are not required to fast. Once able, you can make up a missed fast any other day of the year, or if still unable, feed a poor person in lieu of each missed fast. This Friday before Ramadan, Talal Al Rahbi, a Lane County employee and graduate student in public policy, refers to these Qur'anic verses as he leads the mosque's congregation. Like everywhere else, Muslims here often take turns leading prayers as Islam maintains no clergy. In his sermon, Al Rahbi emphasizes that the concept of Ramadan extends far beyond foregoing food and drink. Fasting is a jihad al-nafs — a struggle against the self, the original spirit of jihad in the Qur'an. Often misunderstood to mean "holy war," jihad means to strive in God's cause, not by fighting with arms, but by positive action. And so, to fast during Ramadan means to strive for discipline not just over your hunger but also over impulses such as anger, dishonesty, laziness, gossip and prejudice. "Allah does not need you to leave your food and drink (if) you do the same bad things as before," says Al Rahbi. After a month of such self-restraint, Abdullah Al-Heymare tells me, your conscience continues its fast through the year.
As difficult as fasting can be, some Muslims thrive in its challenge of constant self-awareness from the dawn meal of sahoor to the sunset meal of iftar. "I find that I can think much more deeply," says Maryam Rankin, a retiree who converted to Islam 17 years ago. "I don't know how to describe the euphoric state I feel after I've been fasting a week." Farid Hassan, the philosophical, middle-aged owner of Ali Baba Café, waxes poetic. After you break the day's fast, "Life all of a sudden explodes," he says. "Movement begins, almost like when at the end of winter spring comes. Life begins to have some form of glitter." "That's what it's like for me — a rebirth," says Rankin. "It refurbishes my feeling about what kind of human being I want to be." For Hasnah Toran, a UO grad student, Ramadan gives clarity of purpose. "Ramadan is the time you take to think about your final destination: What is the thing I should be doing with my life?" she says. Many feel fasting creates compassion toward hunger and poverty. "When you're reduced to hunger, it really gives you a different perspective," says Toran. When your growling stomach makes you irritable, fasting tests your tolerance too, says Hamida Bruton, a retired hospital aide. For others, fasting provides a return to familiar childhood traditions. A South Asian couple, married 31 years, say they fast because they want to expose their children to the practice. Still others, like Hassan or Bruton, cite studies saying that it's healthy to give your body a break from food.
Muslims in Eugene come from a staggering array of countries, from South Africa to Palestine to China. Converts, immigrants, second-generation Americans and international students, many bring along with their religion the cultural practices of their homelands. A key difference between observing Ramadan in your home country and in Eugene, several Muslims agree, is the lack of wider community participation. "In Palestine, the whole society is moving according to the hours of Ramadan. Here, the movements and feelings are different," says Farid Hassan. "It's yourself and your family, like a cell, rather than the whole community." Hassan and his wife will fast this Ramadan while cooking all meals at their restaurant. Hassan says he won't be affected. "If the mind is set, the body follows the orders," he shrugs, adding the day would become "very frustrating" if one kept wishing one could eat. Abed Succar, who runs Eugene Limousines, says he misses hearing the call to prayer, the azaan, especially during Ramadan in Eugene. Succar, from Lebanon, is accustomed to hearing the azaan sound out over city rooftops five times a day. The other Muslims gathered at the mosque after Friday prayers nod understandingly at Succar's words. Ramadan, to a great extent, becomes a time of family and community. Work schedules during Ramadan in Muslim countries are often regulated, sometimes shortened, by fasting and prayer times. In a place like Eugene, many Muslims miss this natural slowing down of the day and its opportunity to mingle with others. Hasnah Toran yearns for it. Toran pursues her doctorate and works two part-time jobs while her husband stays home with their daughter and autistic son. Defying all stereotypes, Toran adopted the headscarf at age 14, wearing it while backpacking cross-country and across Europe alone as a teenager. Toran's hectic schedule in Eugene means she longs for the social atmosphere of her Malaysian village, especially during Ramadan. Sometimes, she breaks her fast in class with a cereal bar or fruit juice. She recalls a day she was so busy she forgot to bring a snack for iftar, staying hungry during sunset and feeling miserable on the bus home. Toran would like time for taraweeh (the evening Ramadan prayer) and family meals. "God wants you to take time to make connections with people around you," she says. "But how can you do that with a deadline the next day?" Come the end of November, Muslims in Eugene will commemorate more than Thanksgiving. The next new crescent signals the end of Ramadan and the beginning of Eid-ul-Fitr, three days celebrating a month of self-restraint. Though Ramadan may be over, as Abdullah Al-Heymare says, your conscience will fast the rest of the year.
The diverse Eugene Muslim community often acts as an extended family, filling any voids during this social month. It also finds itself "doing a whole lot of talking this time of year," says Kalizya Hutchinson, a UO grad student and member of the UO Muslim Student Association. The MSA holds a potluck iftar every Thursday
at The Islamic Cultural Center, led by Tammam and Pat Adi, organizes frequent potluck iftars, open to all interested parties. The As-Siddiq mosque also holds daily iftars at its premises. —KJS
Inside
Looking Out EDITOR'S NOTE: Jane DeGidio, a Eugenean currently living in the United Arab Emirates (UAE), gives us her perspective of Ramadan from inside that Muslim country. A former dean of students and student affairs administrator at UO, she is the chief student affairs officer at the Abu Dhabi campus of Zayed University. ZU was established to bring Western-style education to the women of the UAE In Abu Dhabi nobody is ever more than a five-minute walk from a masjid and the Call to Prayer echoes across the city five times a day, beginning with the earliest call just before sunrise.
Come evening, Abu Dhabi livens up and the streets are full of traffic. The city's many taxis are even busier than usual. Trying to find a taxi late at night can be difficult — and I am not talking about Eugene, Oregon, difficult. This is like New York City at its busiest. At 2 am I go to my terrace, which overlooks the Corniche, the eight-lane road that runs along the harbor wall. Looking out over the Arabian Gulf gives me a great perspective on this month's activities. It is almost impossible to describe the effect of fasting during the day and the nightly religious and family celebrations. Working at a major university where all the students are Muslims presents many challenges and new opportunities to learn things I didn't know in the States. I have a Ramadan nurse to help with students, and sometimes faculty, who are tired and weak, pass out because they have been fasting. Our working hours are shortened to 9 am to 3 pm. While Muslims are not allowed to eat, drink, or smoke, non-Muslims are allowed to do these things, but only behind closed doors and certainly not where they can be seen. Doing any of these things in public would give great offence and the consequences are grave. As a sign of respect for their Muslim colleagues' beliefs, some non-Muslim staff choose to fast (or at least give up smoking!) during working hours. Some Western companies have taken advantage of the Holy Month with "Ramadan special" fried chicken and other delights. During Ramadan the many freedoms that Westerners enjoy in the UAE are restricted, with bars closed, liquor stores shut (these are officially for non-Muslims only), and we are warned to be especially careful about our dress and behavior. Whether it is in the hustle and bustle of Dubai, the quieter streets of Abu Dhabi or the desert garden of Al Ain, the UAE has offered me a chance to learn and gain some insight into a culture very different from my own. During Ramadan, I and other Westerners have the opportunity to learn respect for the religious faith that has sustained the people of the Emirates for a thousand years.
Love
Thy Neighbor While most Muslims feel very comfortable in Eugene, a smattering of incidents shows that a headscarf, a turban, or just brown skin can antagonize Eugene's small intolerant minority. Sometimes such harassment unwittingly targets people who aren't Muslim at all.
Last spring, someone from a nearby car hurled a golf ball at "Sarah," a Muslim who covers her head, and her kids outside the YMCA. The ball missed and hit a tree instead. She filed a police report in case anything more serious came up later. "While I'm not surprised it happened, I have nothing but good things to say about Eugene," says Sarah, who now thinks twice about waiting by the road or after dark for a bus. A second incident occurred at the campus eatery where Sarah works as cashier. A group of young men scrawled "Free Islamic Militants" on a suggestion card while laughing in her direction. "It didn't hurt me physically, but after reading it I felt so tired," Sarah says. "(I feel) I'm drowning, I'm trying to fight it but it's too much. It's just ignorant people." Maryam Rankin argues her own headscarf attracts curiosity, not malice. Born in Eugene, she converted to Islam 17 years ago. "You know, you have to think about this just like this — if you went down the street in a costume of some sort, people would look at you," says Rankin. "It doesn't have to be a negative look at all." However, Rankin says after 9/11 she has stopped covering her head when she travels, concerned about heightened security measures at airports. Rankin emphasizes she finds Eugene safe, although general awareness about Islam is not high. "Eugene is a little village compared to the world, so a lot of people haven't been to places where they can see Muslims," she says. Hamida Bruton, originally from Malaysia, thinks the self-consciousness immigrants sometimes feel may be self-inflicted. "Maybe it's human; you feel you are so different, you feel that people are looking at you differently," she says, explaining that with time she has stopped feeling conspicuous in Eugene. But she admits that if she covered her head, that could change. Both Rankin and Sarah say they are careful to be open and friendly toward others when they wear their scarves. "I try to keep that posture very present when I'm covered and in a public place, because if we ever needed at any time in history to make our religion accepted, it's now," says Rankin. Most Muslims who spoke to EW mentioned a personal need to counter negative public perceptions and lack of awareness about Islam. Most also said they felt very comfortable in Eugene, and attributed the thin but persistent streak of harassment incidents to ignorance and misdirected anger. One aggravated case began soon after 9/11, when Joseph Mungra, of Indian origin and not Muslim, received threatening phone calls at home. Then, his Dunkin' Donuts franchise on West 11th and Garfield became a repeated target: Store windows were broken almost monthly, says Mungra, and store equipment stolen. Mungra believes the attacks occurred because his customers included worshippers from the nearby As-Siddiq Islamic Center. "You don't question anything, like what religion you are," he says about his customers. "They're part of your family, as a business owner or as a human." After the vandalism began, regular customers from the mosque stopped frequenting his store out of fear for him and themselves, says Mungra. He decided to close his store after the Iraq war brought more trouble. "I think Eugene has good people but it's very hard for a businessperson to run a business here," he says. Other non-Muslims have also felt a 9/11 backlash in Eugene. Several incidents of harassment have been recorded against Sikhs in the Eugene-Springfield area. Originating in India, Sikhism encourages its practitioners to leave their hair uncut. To outsiders used to images of Osama bin Laden, a Sikh turban and long beard show up as red flags — such as when a carload of young men on West 11th a few weeks ago shouted at Sat Nam Khulsa, a Sikh convert of German descent, to go back to Iraq. The Sikh community has rallied and developed close ties with other community groups, says Sat Ganesha Khalsa of the Eugene Sikh Gurdwara. Since 9/11, Sat Ganesha says, he answers questions about his religion in more detail, explaining that Islam, Hinduism and Sikhism are three distinct faiths. Sikhs will not isolate themselves but will use this time to educate others, he says. Farid Hassan and Tammam Adi, both Muslims who faced threats immediately after 9/11, wholeheartedly support that message. Hassan, owner of Ali Baba Café, and Adi, director of the Islamic Cultural Center, stress the value of meeting ignorance with education. Hassan once phoned an intimidating caller at his restaurant right back, using caller ID. "What do you have against me?" Hassan asked him, emphasizing they were both Americans who "should be helping each other instead of jumping at each other's throat." At the end of their conversation, the man apologized, Hassan says. Adi, who sees such calls not as threats but as expressions of anger, reached a similar accord with one of his callers. Put into a police mediation program with the Adis, the caller was instructed to participate in educational events about Islam, Adi says. After one such event, the two shook hands. Adi praises Eugene authorities, who have "reached out tremendously" to the Muslim community after 9/11. People behind such harassment, sums up Sat Nam, are "feeling a lot of hate and they're projecting it on someone else."
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