Why do Muslims Fast?

Often when we are home in the U.S. people ask us about Islam, or ask us to recommend a good book about Islam. So, we have started posting periodically on various aspects of the Islamic faith. We will try as best we can to explain things from an Islamic perspective, using Islamic sources exclusively, with our own experiences added in when appropriate to highlight how what is written about Islam manifests itself in Jordan. In honor of this being the month of Ramadan, we started with two previous posts describing this most important month, and continue today.

Ramadan can be a long month for Muslims, especially in the heat of the long days of summer. The entire month runs on a different schedule, with some shops closed for hours at a time and the work day of many people completely rearranged. Government offices in Jordan, for example, are open only from 10 to 3 during Ramadan. In my own conversations with Muslims, I have been told many times that not being able to smoke for all those hours is the most difficult aspect of the month. Water usually comes next. Yes, Muslims believe that God has commanded this fast, and provided the various meritorious acts we discussed in a previous post. But what do they believe about why they fast? What is its purpose? Below are several quotations that deal with the purpose of fasting.

Muhammad Asad (1900-1992) was an Austrian born Muslim convert from Judaism who became a very important 20^th century commentator, even being given Pakistani citizenship in the late 1940s and helping in the formation of that country after its formation out of separation from India. He believed the fast was designed by God to teach Muslims to empathize with the poor: that by denying themselves food and drink for a time, Muslims would better understand what people who can't always afford to eat on a regular basis go through. He also believed the fast helped teach Muslims self-discipline. These convictions on the purpose of the Ramadan fast are fairly representative, and I have heard from others especially about the idea of instilling empathy with the poor. Said Asad:

Twofold I learned, is the purpose of this month of fasting. One has to abstain from food and drink in order to feel in one’s body what the poor and hungry feel: thus social responsibility is being hammered into human consciousness as a religious postulate. The other purpose of fasting during Ramadan is self-discipline, an aspect of individual morality strongly accentuated in all Islamic teachings (as, for instance, in the total prohibition of all intoxicants, which Islam regards as too easy an avenue of escape from consciousness and responsibility).  In these two elements—brotherhood of man and individual self-discipline—I began to discern the outline of Islam’s ethical outlook.

Ibn Kathir is an 8th Century scholar from Syria. He wrote an exegesis of the Qur'an that is famous still all across the Muslim world, and among Muslims generally wherever they live. His explanation for fasting during Ramadan focused on the spiritual aspects, saying that it helps to get rid of the impurities that lead to sinful behavior.

In an address to the believers of this Ummah, God ordered them to fast, that is, to abstain from food, drink and sexual activity with the intention of doing so sincerely for God the Exalted alone. This is because fasting purifies the souls and cleanses them from the evil that might mix with them and their ill behavior. God mentioned that He has ordained fasting for Muslims just as He ordained it for those before them, they being an example for them in that, so they should vigorously perform this obligation more obediently than the previous nations.

The Egyptian Mahmoud Shaltout (1893-1963) was the Grand Imam of Al-Azhar, the most prominent center  of Arabic and Islamic learning in the world, an institution of higher learning which was founded in the late 10th Century. His thoughts echo those of Asad above, namely that the Ramadan fast is meant to inculcate within Muslims self-discipline and empathy with the poor. Although Asad mentions it too, Shalout adds more explicitly that this empathy is supposed to then lead to concrete action on the part of a Muslim as well.

Fasting is the means by which the Muslim voluntarily abandons certain legitimate frivolous enjoyments as a means of putting his soul to a test and promoting its capacity for perseverance, thus strengthening his will to keep away from sins, both obvious and obscure.  The Muslim thereby samples enough of starvation to make him a warm-hearted, hospitable person, sympathetic with the poor who are in constant want. This is precisely the spirit Islam endeavors to create in the Muslim’s heart and mind by requiring fasting as a mode of worship. Therefore, Islam attaches no significance to the kind of fasting that does not inspire this great humanitarian spirit, and a person fasting for any other purpose has nothing to gain except hunger and thirst.

Finally, the month of Ramadan is seen by Muslims to be a month of great blessing and forgiveness. According to Abul Ala Mawdudi (1903-1979), an Indian-born thinker who had a major influence on the political Islam of today, "during Ramadan evil conceals itself while good comes to the fore and the whole atmosphere is filled with piety and purity." Shops and homes advertise these attributes with signs and decorations, like the grocery store near our apartment that drapes a colorful banner over the main walkway every year that says: "Ramadan, the month of blessing and forgiveness." Many Muslims--regardless of how they are feeling that day without their usual food and drink, and maybe sometimes regardless of whether or not they fully mean it at the time--will comment about these attributes. It is a time of denial of physical needs and extra focus on God, with acts that are required and other acts that are not required but meritorious in nature, meant to encourage this extra focus. Two statements attributed to Muhammad illustrate this.

When the month of Ramadan starts, the gates of the heaven are opened and the gates of Hell are closed and the devils are chained.

Whoever established prayers on the night of Qadr (The Night of Power) out of sincere faith and hoping for a reward from God, then all his previous sins will be forgiven; and whoever fasts in the month of Ramadan out of sincere faith, and hoping for a reward from God, then all his previous sins will be forgiven.

As the statement above indicates, Muslims believe a successful Ramadan fast brings with it complete forgiveness of all the sins of the previous year. This is the forgiveness mentioned in the banner at the grocery store, this is one of the reasons the month is seen as such a blessing. It is a month that takes care of what has gone on during all the previous eleven. To make this point, Abu'l-Faraj ibn al-Jawzi, a 12^th century scholar from Baghdad and one of the most productive writers in Islamic history, used the familiar story of Joseph (Yusuf in Arabic)--found in the Qur'an as well as the Bible, with some differences in details--being sold by his brothers into slavery in Egypt.

The Likeness of Ramadan and Prophet Yusuf

The month of Ramadan to the other months is like Yusuf to his brothers. So, just like Yusuf was the most beloved son to Ya'qub (Jacob), Ramadan is the most beloved month to God. 

A nice point for the nation of Muhammad to ponder over is that if Yusuf had the mercy and compassion to say [to his brothers] 'there is no reproach for you today…', Ramadan is the month of mercy, blessing, goodness, salvation from the Fire, and Forgiveness from the King that exceeds that of all the other months and what can be gained from their days and nights.

Another nice point to think about is that Yusuf's brothers came to rely on him to fix their mistakes after all those they had made. So, he met them with kindness and helped them out, and he fed them while they were hungry and allowed them to return, and he told his servants: 'Carry their belongings with you so that they don’t lose them.' So, one person filled the gaps of eleven others, and the month of Ramadan is likewise one month that fills the gaps of our actions over the other eleven months.  Imagine the gaps and shortcomings and deficiency we have in obeying God! We hope that in Ramadan, we are able to make up for our shortcomings in the other months, to rectify our mistakes, and to cap it off with happiness and firmness on the Rope of the Forgiving King. 

Another point is that Ya'qub had eleven sons who were living with him and whose actions he would see at all times, and his eyesight did not return because of any of their clothing. Instead, it returned due to Yusuf's shirt. His eyesight came back strong, and he himself became strong after he was weak, and seeing after he was blind. Likewise, if the sinner smells the scents of Ramadan, sits with those who remind him of God, recites the Qur'an, befriends on the condition of Islam and faith, and avoids backbiting and vain talk, he will (by God's Will) become forgiven after he was a sinner, he will become close after he was far, he will be able to see with his heart after it was blind, his presence will be met with happiness after it was met with repulsion, he will be met with mercy after he was met with disdain, he will be provided for without limit or effort on his part, he will be guided for his entire life, he will have his soul dragged out with ease and smoothness when he dies, he will be blessed with Forgiveness when he meets God, and he will be granted the best levels in the Gardens of Paradise.

So, by God, take advantage of this greatness during these few days and you will soon see abundant blessing, high levels of reward, and a very long period of rest and relaxation by the Will of God.

Aleppo

As the fighting in Syria closes in on Aleppo and a reported 200,000 people have fled the city over the past few days, I thought it might be appropriate to post some pictures of the city in the cross-hairs, so whoever reads this can better picture the place and the people. It's a fantastic place to visit--all of Syria is, really--and as I see the news reports about the struggles there I think of the places we stayed and the restaurants where we ate, and wonder if they're all closed down now, their atmospheric, historical interiors empty, and their workers all at home, or on the run. But mostly I think of the many hospitable Syrian people we were able to meet throughout our travels.  The guys in the shop next to our little hotel, for example, who invited me in more than once to watch the World Cup and drink coffee, and who I visited and drank coffee with again the next time we were in town, around a year later. I pray for peace and I look forward to going back again.

Jordan Makes World's Largest Falafel

The following article is from today's Jordan Times. I do not think any record broken during the Olympics over the next month could be better than this.

Jordan earns Guinness record for world's largest falafel

by Areej Abuqudairi | Jul 28, 2012 | 22:32 Updated: Jul 29, 2012 | 00:00

Chefs from the capital's Landmark hotel prepare a 74.75kg falafel, which entered the Guinness Book of World Records on Saturday (Photo by Areej Abuqudairi)

AMMAN — Jordan entered the Guinness Book of World Records on Saturday for the largest falafel weighing 74.75kg. 

A representative from Guinness was present and confirmed that Jordan created the world’s largest falafel. 

“This is a great achievement and a difficult record to beat for years to come. We welcome everyone who successfully took part in the family of Guinness World Record holders,” Annabel Lawady, adjudication manager at Guinness, said after announcing the results.    

According to the Guinness World Book Record’s official website, the previous record was set last year in the US when a 23.95kg ball of falafel was made at the Santa Clarita Valley Jewish Food and Cultural Festival in California. 

The world’s largest falafel was made by 10 chefs from the capital’s Landmark Hotel and was later offered as a starter during an iftar meal attended by 600 people.

 “We invited people to attend this remarkable event. It is a nice opportunity for children and adults to watch the process of making the largest falafel,” said Samya Bader, a spokesperson from the Landmark hotel. 

“It is a great honour for us. We are proud. Falafel is a part of our tradition and heritage and I am glad to see that we proved that,” said a participant at the event who did not want to be named.
According to a statement issued by the organisers, the record-breaking falafel was made using 80kg of chickpeas, 5kg of onions, 2kg of fresh parsley and coriander, 1.2kg of garlic, and was deep fried in 350 litres of vegetable oil.
“The falafel is a traditional Arabic food and so naturally this record should be held here. As a local hotel proud of its Jordanian roots, the Landmark Amman wanted to mark this special time of year by doing something truly extraordinary and bringing the falafel record to Jordan,” the statement quoted Landmarks Hotel Company General Manager Aysar Batayneh as saying.

This is the second time Jordan entered the Guinness World Records this year.

In May, the Jordan Tourism Board achieved the Guinness World Record for the world’s largest sand art structure.

The large bottle of layered coloured sand, displayed at the International Travel Exhibition in Berlin, was created to mark the 200th anniversary of the re-discovery of the historic city of Petra.

Meritorious Deeds in Ramadan

Often when we are home in the U.S. people ask us about Islam, or ask us to recommend a good book about Islam. So, we have started posting periodically on various aspects of the Islamic faith. We will try as best we can to explain things from an Islamic perspective, using Islamic sources exclusively, with our own experiences added in when appropriate to highlight how what is written about Islam manifests itself in Jordan. In honor of the month of Ramadan beginning last week, we started with the first of several posts describing this most important month, and continue today.

In our previous post we wrote about what is required of Muslims during the month of Ramadan. There are other acts, though, which are not necessarily required, but which are seen as meritorious if they are performed; Muslims can participate in them for an extra blessing or reward from God. Although they aren't necessary to carry out, these acts are part of the fabric of the month, and in some cases are almost as ubiquitous as smokers and coffee drinkers are absent.

The Night Prayer

One of these special deeds is the Night Prayer, called Tarawih in Arabic. Muslims are supposed to pray five times every day, and the night prayer simply involves performing an extra prayer, at some point between the final required prayer of the night and the first of the next day. According to the famous scholar Ibn Taymiyya--whom we introduced in the previous post--"Tarawih is a voluntary prayer by which a true believer intends to seek the pleasure of God and draw near to Him." The idea for the night prayer comes from a saying of Muhammad's, who is reported to have said: “Whoever performed the night prayer in Ramadan with sincere faith and hoping for a reward from God, then all his past sins will be forgiven.”

Charity
Another of these deeds entails the giving of charity. Muslims are already required as part of their faith to give a certain amount in charity, but it is seen to have a higher merit to give during Ramadan. "One of the good deeds of this blessed month of Ramadan is charity and benevolence, which is more virtuous than during the other months," said Ibn Taymiyya. "The goal of giving charity and donations is to attain the pleasure of God." 
Because of this, during Ramadan those in need of charity are often more noticeable on the streets here in Jordan, as they want to make use of the desire of people to give. We have even received knocks on our door from strangers asking for money during Ramadans past.

Reading of the Qur'an
Muslims also believe in the meritoriousness of increasing their reading of the Qur'an during Ramadan, because they believe it was during Ramadan that the Qur'an was revealed by God to Muhammad. "The blessed month of Ramadan is the month of the Qur’an, in which reciting the Qur’an according to one’s ability is strongly recommended," said Ibn Taymiyya. Because this is so highly recommended, it is very common to walk by a shop and see the shopkeeper behind the counter, silently studying the Qur'an. Just last night at the park, there was a father there, reading bits of his pocket-sized Qur'an between interactions with his child.

Seclusion in the Mosque (I’tikaf) 

Another of the meritorious deeds of Ramadan is secluding oneself in the mosque to spend extra time with God--called I'tikaf in Arabic--during the last ten days of the month. It's a bit like being a monk or nun for a short time. Muhammad was said to have done this every Ramadan. Again, according to Ibn Taymiyya: "One of the special deeds of Ramadan is I’tikaf. Performing I’tikaf means to confine oneself in seclusion in a mosque for the purpose of worshipping God alone, leaving every worldly and personal affair.  The mind of the person who observes I’tikaf concentrates exclusively on the goal of pleasing God.  He is engaged in various types of worship, repentance, and beseeching God’s forgiveness." I don't think this is real common--at least in Jordan--as it is difficult for people to leave behind their lives and responsibilities. Many people do spend more time in mosques during Ramadan, though, even taking their meals there when they can, which is perhaps a type of I'tikaf.

The Night of Power

As mentioned above, Muslims believe the Qur'an was revealed during the month of Ramadan. The Night of Power is the exact night this is believed to have happened, and so it is not just the most special night of Ramadan, but the most special night of the entire year. As a result, there is great merit in spending the night in prayer, reciting the Qur'an and/or in praise of God. Muhammad is reported to have said: “Whoever prays during the Night of Power, with firm belief and expecting a reward for it, his previous sins are forgiven.” If you live close enough to a mosque, it is not uncommon to hear a bustle of activity inside most of the night.

Performing the Minor Pilgrimage

Finally, all Muslims who are able to are required to perform the main pilgrimage with its standard rituals--Hajj--to Mecca in Saudi Arabia at least once in their lifetimes. The 'Umrah/Minor Pilgrimage has slightly different rituals and is not required, but is meritorious to perform. Muslims believe its performance holds even higher merit during Ramadan. Muhammad is reported to have said that “'Umrah in Ramadan is equal (in reward) to Hajj.”

So, there is a lot going on in Ramadan--and a lot going on in the minds of many Muslims--besides fasting. 

Ramadan Begins

Often when we are home in the U.S. people ask us about Islam, or ask us to recommend a good book about Islam. So, starting today we are going to begin posting periodically on various aspects of the Islamic faith. We will try as best we can to explain things from an Islamic perspective, using Islamic sources exclusively, with our own experiences added in when appropriate to highlight how what is written about Islam manifests itself in Jordan.

In honor of the month of Ramadan beginning on Friday, we will start today with what will be the first of several posts describing this most important month.

The Islamic calendar runs on a lunar cycle, and when the new moon was spotted in the clear, steamy, summer sky here Friday evening, the month of Ramadan began. It will continue until the next new moon is sighted, for about 30 days. Ramadan is one of the five, basic, famous "pillars" of Islam--the others being to declare that "there is no god but God, and Muhammad is God's prophet", pray five times daily, give a certain amount in charity and perform the pilgrimage to Mecca. Ramadan is the month of fasting, and during Ramadan Muslims are required to abstain from food, drink, sexual relations and smoking from sunup to sundown. This is the basic duty of the pillar of the Ramadan fast. Ibn Taymiyya (1263-1328) is a famous Muslim scholar born near the border with Syria in what is now Turkey. He spent the last years of his life in Damascus, and had a significant influence on generations of Muslim thinkers, right up to the present day. "Fasting is to abstain from eating, drinking, sexual intercourse, and the rest of what breaks the fast from dawn until sunset, with the intention of drawing closer to God," he said. "Fasting during the lunar month of Ramadan is obligatory... It is mandatory for every Muslim to fast during Ramadan and it is one of the well established pillars of the religion."

Fasting is actually not referenced often in the Qur’an. The Qur'an mentions general fasting a few times, but the specific obligation of the Ramadan fast is mentioned only once. This occurs in Surah (chapter) 2, beginning with verses 183-185, where fasting is commanded, and travelers and the sick are exempted:

O you who believe! Fasting is prescribed to you as it was prescribed to those before you, that you may (learn) self-restraint. (Fasting) for a fixed number of days; but if any of you is ill, or on a journey, the prescribed number (Should be made up) from days later... Ramadan is the (month) in which was sent down the Qur'an, as a guide to mankind, also clear (Signs) for guidance and judgment (Between right and wrong). So every one of you who is present (at his home) during that month should spend it in fasting, but if any one is ill, or on a journey, the prescribed period (Should be made up) by days later. God intends every facility for you; He does not want to put to difficulties. (He wants you) to complete the prescribed period, and to glorify Him in that He has guided you; and perchance you shall be grateful.

Two verses later the parameters of this fast are set out. As mentioned above, it is to last from sunup to sundown, and it is to involve not just abstinence from food, but from drink and sex too.

Permitted to you, on the night of the fasts, is the approach to your wives. They are your garments and you are their garments. God knows what you used to do secretly among yourselves, but He turned to you and forgave you; so now associate with them, and seek what God has ordained for you, and eat and drink, until the white thread of dawn appear to you distinct from its black thread. Then complete your fast until the night appears; but do not associate with your wives while you are in retreat in the mosques. Those are Limits (set by) God. Approach not nigh thereto. Thus does God make clear His Signs to men: that they may learn self-restraint.

As you can see, beyond the simple obligation to fast during Ramadan, some of the details surrounding it are covered by the above passages. Other details are not, though; these details are instead found in what is called the Hadith, which are a mixture of collections of various sayings of Muhammad and reports from his companions regarding actions they saw him take. For example, the following report from one of the most important collections of this literature addresses the question of eating a meal just before the sunrise in the early hours of the morning, which the great majority of fasting people here in Jordan do:

Anas reported God's Messenger as saying: "Take meal a little before dawn, for there is a blessing in taking meal at that time."

Another addresses the question of fasting continuously, without breaking to eat.

Ibn 'Umar said that the Apostle of God forbade uninterrupted fasting. They (some of the Companions) said: "You yourself fast uninterruptedly," whereupon he said: "I am not like you. I am fed and supplied drink (by God)." 

And since sex isn't allowed, what about kissing? Another report deals with that issue.

'Aisha [one of Muhammad's wives] said that the Messenger of God kissed one of his wives while he was fasting, and then she ('Aisha) smiled (as she narrated). 

With the help of the Qur'an and many, many more reports like these from the Hadith, these details are then further explicated in Islamic law. A well known manual of Islamic law from the 14th century includes in the section on the Ramadan fast such headings as "At What Age a Child Fasts," "Conditions Under Which Travel Permits Not Fasting," "Things Which Invalidate the Fast," "Things That do Not Break the Fast," "Making Up Missed Fast Days," "Those Not Obliged to Fast Ramadan" and "Involuntary Acts That Break the Fast".

It is important to note that fasting during Ramadan is not supposed to be all about avoiding food, drink and sex. Muslims are supposed to avoid bad behavior and work to have good intentions and attitudes too. The following two hadiths illustrate this point.

The Prophet said, "Whoever does not give up forged speech and evil actions, God is not in need of his leaving his food and drink."

God's Apostle said, "Fasting is a shield (or a screen or a shelter). So, the person observing fasting should avoid sexual relation with his wife and should not behave foolishly and impudently, and if somebody fights with him or abuses him, he should tell him twice, 'I am fasting.'" The Prophet added, "By Him in Whose Hands my soul is, the smell coming out from the mouth of a fasting person is better in the sight of God than the smell of musk. (God says about the fasting person), 'He has left his food, drink and desires for my sake. The fast is for me. So I will reward (the fasting person) for it, and the reward of good deeds is multiplied ten times.'"

Commenting on this idea of a fasting person being better than the scent of musk, the 14th century Syrian scholar Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya--who was a student of Ibn Taymiyya--delineates the characteristics of a true fasting person.

The main question is who really keeps the fast? It should be kept in mind that while fasting, man’s limbs should be free from sins, tongue from lies, bias and false language, stomach from food and drinks and secret organs from union. He will not speak anything that may spoil his fast, he will not do anything which may invalidate his fast. He will speak only good things and will do only useful things. Therefore talks and deeds of a fasting man are like the scent one smells while sitting next to the bearer of musk. Similarly anybody who sits with the fasting person is benefited from his talks and deeds and is saved from lies, abuses of mouth and limbs. This is the fast desired by the Shariah [Islamic law], not mere refraining from food and drink… Therefore, true fast is that limbs fast from sin and stomach fasts from food and drink, because as food and drink break and spoil the fast, sin also spoils the reward and fruit of the fast and makes him as he had not fasted at all. 

So Muslims must fast from sunup to sundown during the month of Ramadan, and possess a good, sweet-smelling spirit and attitude. These are the basic duties of Ramadan.

Reminders of God

Here in Jordan there are visual reminders of God everywhere. It is not uncommon to see cars with stickers on them declaring peace upon Muhammad, or asserting the first "pillar" of Islam--that there is no god but God and Muhammad is God's prophet. The streets these cars drive on also feature the occasional sign affirming some characteristic of God gleaned from the Qur'an, or simply implore the drivers to "remember" God. In most shops similar reminders are present, with perhaps the most frequent one being a large, often times framed, picture of the Grand Mosque in Mecca, where Muslims make their required pilgrimage. So it is not surprising that my orthopedic surgeon's office is filled with reminders too. Below is a picture I took this morning while I sat in the waiting room before my appointment. It's a large tapestry with "God" written six times--three times at the top, written so close together they are almost running into each other to form one long word, and three times in the middle, more evenly spaced out. There are other reminders to. Behind my seat was a frame with the "99 Most Beautiful Names" of God inlaid in brass. These names--such as "The Merciful", "The Creator" and "The Omnipotent"--are taken from the Qur'an, and act as descriptors of God and God's nature. Finally, there was large, framed, verse from the Qur'an written in fancy calligraphy behind the receptionists desk. I did my best to discreetly take a picture of the tapestry, but the others I left alone, lest I give the other people in the room too much reason to laugh at the crazy foreigner taking pictures of the walls.

Jordanian Shade

This is an old post, but every year the heat of the summer months invites us to re-post it.

All summer here in Amman the temperature has hovered around 90 degrees with occasional forays into the 100s. It is hot, dry and dusty, and many people--if they can--avoid the mid-day heat and simply stay inside. However, because the humidity is not always very high, if you are outside, it is possible to get a decent respite from the heat by walking or resting under the shade of a building, a tree--really, whatever you can find. Yes, it is hot, but finding that elusive shade really can make a big difference in your level of comfort.

Of course many of the stories in the Bible are set in a climate like this, and in my mind the Jordanian heat brings those passages to life. In Genesis, for example, one story has Abraham sitting in his tent "in the heat of the day." When three men come to visit him, he tells them to rest under a tree. These are small details, but because of our time in Jordan I can imagine the afternoon heat experienced by Abraham, as well as the good shade from the heat that the tent and the tree would provide. Also, there is the story of Jonah, who after preaching to the people of Nineveh--a city in what is now northern Iraq, not all that far from us here--left and built himself a little shelter outside the city. It was apparently quite hot, so God raised up a bush to provide shade for Jonah, and to "save him from his discomfort." The next day, though, God caused the bush to die, and Jonah lost his shade. As a result, he became so hot and frustrated that he grew "faint and asked that he might die." Jonah was so hot that he lost his will to live.

Now, I've never been so hot that I wished I were dead, but again, because of our time in Jordan I can imagine how Jonah felt. I think I've felt like that while riding on a windowless bus in the Jordan Valley, the temperature outside of over 100 degrees causing those of us inside to bake, my khaki pants--not shorts, because men must dress modestly too--clinging to the sweat on my legs. I think I've felt like that while walking near the Jordan River, the hot breeze beating down on us like we had just opened a hot oven and all the mighty power of the sun seemingly focused on the straight, naked, part in my hair on the top of my head. I know I've felt like that while trudging Amman for a taxi in the midday summer heat: the streets choked with cars and traffic barely moving, exhaust fumes combining with dust to choke away what's left of the "fresh" air there, a backpack and long pants--modesty, again--serving to cover my body in a sweaty film of claustrophobia, and every taxi maddeningly occupied. Through these--and other--experiences, I can imagine why Jonah was so upset that he lost his shade.

So, as I said, shade can make a big difference, and it is this shade--a shade that can save you from devastating heat--that is good to think about when looking at the imagery used in other parts of the Bible. For instance, Psalm 121 calls God "your shade at your right hand," and Isaiah 25 calls God "a shade from the heat." When I read this, I remember how the other day--when I was outside walking in the heat of the day--I moved immediately into the shadow of a building as soon as I noticed it, how I sought the shade from the heat it would give me. Shade works, and I suppose it is my quick jump into this shade in the heat of a summer day that the various biblical writers had in mind when they referred to God as shade. Like the building, like Jonah's bush, like Abraham's tent, God makes the heat we experience more bearable.

The Ten Worst Airport Terminals

Recently I came across this list on the travel website frommers.com of "The Ten Worst Airport Terminals" in the world, and was not surprised to find our airport here in Amman--the Queen Alia International Airport--on it. The short write-up is pasted below, and the full story on all the airports--which includes some in the United States--can be found here.

I was also not surprised at one of the reasons for inclusion--"bathroom cleanliness." From personal experience I can attest that you may want to avoid the bathrooms there; one of our friends even told us when he came to visit a few years ago that he walked in one, and then walked right back out, preferring to wait the 45 minute drive to our apartment, rather than braving the unseemly bathroom he had encountered. It's possible Amman will get off this list soon. A new terminal has been under construction for some time, and it is slated for completion by the end of this year. I'm no expert, but it looks nice on the outside. As far as the inside is concerned, I would assume the bathrooms will be great, at least in the beginning. Until then, if you're flying in to or out of Amman, it's probably best--as Frommers's advises--To "hold it" until you get home.

Amman Queen Alia Airport

One of the two airports rated "two stars" by global consulting firm Skytrax, Amman gets lousy ratings for services that might be useful if you're hanging around -- bathroom cleanliness, places to rest, childrens' play facilities, and service counters.

Reviews on the Skytrax website make it clear that you may just want to "hold it" in this airport: they're almost universally appalled at the state of the bathrooms. Those reviewers have probably never been to JFK Terminal 3, but still, that isn't good.

The Nakba

Tuesday marked the 64th anniversary of the Nakba. For those of you who don't know, Nakba means "catastrophe" in Arabic, and May 15 is "Yawm al-Nakba," or "Day of the Catastrophe," when Palestinians commemorate their displacement en masse the day after the State of Israel declared its independence on May 14, 1948. Around 760,000 Palestinians are estimated to have fled their homes or been expelled by Israeli military forces after Israeli independence, and they and their descendants number nearly 5 million now, many of whom live in Jordan, on our street, and in our building. We discovered when we were back in the United States last year that not many Americans know about this history, and some we talked to about it didn't even believe it when we told them about it. So, below we have pasted a good article from the online magazine 972mag.com, written last year for Yawm al-Nakba by a Jewish Israeli journalist, who is sympathetic to the cause of the Palestinians and critical of his own country men and women, who often, he insists, don't know about this history either, even though the evidence of it is literally right in their backyards. It's fairly long, but it's well worth reading.

Saturday, May 14 2011|Noam Sheizaf

Why Jews need to talk about the Nakba

A personal journey

The ruins of Lifta, a Palestinian village near Jerusalem (photo: Ester Inbar)

A childhood memory: A group of kids and their teacher on a school trip. They are walking through excavations, listening to explanations from a tour guide about their ancestors who lived there two thousand years ago. After a while, one of the kids points to some ruins between the trees. “Are these ancient homes as well?” he asks.

“These are not important,” comes the answer.

Growing up in the seventies and the eighties you couldn’t miss those small houses scattered near fields, between towns and Kibbuzim and in national parks. Most of them were made of stone, with arches and long, tall windows. In other places they had cement walls. Sometimes all you could see was part of a stone fence, a couple of walls with no roof, or the rows of Indian figthat Palestinians used to mark the border of an agricultural field (it is one of history’s ironies that the Hebrew name of their fruit – the Sabra – became the nickname for an Israeli-born Jew).

Those pieces of the local landscape are gradually disappearing – partly due to the“development” trends which have left very few corners of this country untouched, but also due to a policy that is meant to erase any memory of the people who used to live in this land. But one can still find them sometimes, and in the most unexpected of places –the mosque, which stands between the hotels and expensive apartment towers on Tel Aviv’s beach, or a few homes behind Herzlia’s monstrous Cinema City complex.

As a kid, I never gave those ruins much thought. I loved history – but the history they taught us at school. I could probably have lead a tour of Massada at the age of 12, and one of my favorite books told the tragic story of the last convoy to Gush Ezion in ‘48, before it fell into Jordanian hands.

Once, also during elementary school, our class was supposed to go on a tour of Canada Park, halfway between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. We had been there before – they told us of the crusaders who passed through the area and the caves and homes Jews lived in, and I still remember the explanation on the ways they used to make wine—but this time my mother didn’t want me to go. The park, she told me, stood on the site of the last two Palestinian villages that were destroyed by Israel. Not many remember this story – it happened right after the war in 1967. Imwas and Yallu were demolished under a direct order by Chief of Staff Yitzhak Rabin.The Hebrew Wikipedia entry states that unlike in ’48, the Palestinian residents were later compensated, but they weren’t allowed to return to their village.

I don’t remember if I ended up going on this trip or not.

Palestinian Nakba village Dana (Baysan), 2010 (photo: Noga Kadman / Zochrot.org)

I never heard the word Nakba before the nineties. It was simply not present in the Israeli language, or in the popular culture. Naturally, we knew that some Arabs left Israel in 1948, but it was all very vague. While we were asked to cite numbers and dates of the Jewish waves of immigration to Israel, details on the Palestinian parts of the story were sketchy: How many Palestinians left Israel? What were the circumstances under which they left? Why didn’t they return after the war? All these questions were irrelevant, having almost nothing to do with our history—that’s what we were made to think.

Occasionally, we were told that the Arabs had left under their own will, and it seemed that they chose not to come back, at least in the beginning. Years later, I was shocked to read that most of the notorious “infiltrates” from the early fifties were actually people trying to come back to their homes, even crossing the border to collect the crops from their fields at tremendous risk to their life – as IDF units didn’t hesitate to open fire.

We were made to think they were terrorists…

It’s hard to explain the mechanism which makes some parts of history “important” or some elements of the landscape “interesting.” I can only say that looking back, I understand how selective the knowledge we received was. But there is more to this. I think we all chose not to think about those issues. Even after the New Historians of the nineties made the term Nakba a part of modern Hebrew and proved that in many cases, Israel expelled Palestinians from territories it conquered in ’48, we were engaged in the wrong kind of questions, such as the debate on whether more Palestinian were expelled or fled. The important thing is that they weren’t allowed to come back, and that they had their property and land seized by Israel immediately after the war (as some Jews had by Jordan and Syria, but not in substantial numbers). Leaving a place doesn’t make someone a refugee. It’s forbidding him or her from coming back that does it.

A Palestinian man and a girl in a refugee camp, 1948 (photo via Wikimedia, license CC)

For a short while in 2004-2005 I was writing book reviews for Maariv’s internet site, and for several other magazines. I don’t think that I was very good at that, and I still regret a couple of very critical reviews I wrote (I’ve since decided not to review fiction anymore). But I got to read some interesting books I wouldn’t have picked up otherwise.

One of these books was “Strangers in the House: Coming of Age in Occupied Palestine” by Raja Shehadeh, which was translated to Hebrew by the big publishing house Yedioth Sfarim (despite the best efforts by both sides, the hatred and the war, ‏Israeli and Palestinian cultures are still linked to each other in so many ways). Shehadeh was born in Ramallah, the son of an affluent family from Jaffa who left town “for a couple of weeks” during the war and could never come back.

For years, his father would stand in the evenings on the hills of Ramallah and look west, at the aura of his beloved Jaffa.

In 1967, right after the war, an Israeli friend came to visit the Shehadeh family, and the father immediately asked him to visit Jaffa (Palestinians were allowed to travel freely in Israel until 1993). Only when they got there, did Raja’s father understand that his Jaffa was dead. All those years, he was looking at the lights coming out of Tel Aviv.

Maybe it’s because I live in Tel Aviv that this story had such an effect on me. I couldn’t get the picture of the family standing on Ramallah’s hills, looking into the darkness, out of my mind. I thought on the book’s title: who are the “strangers” mentioned there? Is it us, who, in our despair, invaded the Palestinian home, or is it the Palestinians, who found themselves displaced and lost, refugees in their own land?

(The false claim that Palestinians are strangers to this land and only got here because of the Jewish immigration is still pretty common with Israelis. Shehadeh meant it in an entirely different way).

Another Palestinian book I was asked to review was Muhammad al-As’ad’s “Children of Dew” (to the best of my knowledge, this one was never translated to English). The book is not really a memoir, but more of an attempt to reconstruct a picture of the author’s childhood in the village near Haifa out of his fragmented recollections, the stories of his mother and the legends of the village’s people. At the heart of the story is a long convoy of refugees, walking at night east, away from the advancing Jewish army – one of the most poetic and saddest description I’ve read, not because of the horror, but for the desperate attempt to understand what happened, how, and why.

Palestinian refugees in 1948 (photo: wikimedia, Israeli copyrights expired)

I remembered Muhammad al-As’ad and Raja Shehadeh when last year I interviewed the Speaker of the Knesset Reuven Rivlin, for a piece I did on prominent right-wing figures that were toying with the idea of a one state solution to the conflict. Rivlin, a Likud hawk, grew up in Jerusalem, which was a fairly mixed town before 1948, and certainly more than today. He understood Arabic and had Palestinian acquaintances.

At one point, the conversation reached the idea—popular with mainstream Israeli pundits—that it will be impossible to reach an agreement with the current Arab leadership, which still had many refugees (including Mahmoud Abbas, who was born in Safed). According to this line of thinking, we should look for interim agreements because the next generation, who weren’t displaced themselves, might be more pragmatic.

“Nonsense!” Speaker Rivlin said. “Typical lefty patronizing… the left has always looked down on the Palestinians… [the Jews] remembered our land for 2,000 years, and now you want to tell me that the Palestinians will forget it in ten, twenty years?

“Believe me, they will remember.”

Rivlin does not advocate the right of return for Palestinians and one could also have doubts on the particular joint state he envisions for Jews and Arabs, but at the bottom of his thinking there is a very deep truth: The Jewish people are a living proof that a “refugee problem” won’t disappear for generations, even hundreds and thousands of years, and therefore can’t be ignored.

A Palestinian man watches a school in a refugee camp, 1948 (photo via wikimedia. license CC)

The Israeli reaction to the mentioning of the Nakba is composed of several elements, each one of them contradicting the other. Some say that there was no Nakba. Then there is the line that suggests that people left on their own will. And if they didn’t – they deserve it, because the Arabs opposed the 1947 partition plan and declared war on the Jews. Finally, there are those who admit that Israel initiated mass deportation and prevented the refugees from coming back—they are even ready to recognize their tragedy, but they simply say that ethnic cleansings are part of the birth of almost every nation. That this is the way of the world – and the Palestinians should simply accept it. Ironically, the latter is the position of Benny Morris, the most well- known of the Israeli New Historian and the person who almost single-handedly proved the claims of forced deportations by the IDF in 1948.

This kind of political argument has recently started to lead to policy decisions, the most prominent of them being the Nakba Law. The original intention of the bill was to completely criminalize any mentioning of the Nakba (with a punishment of up to three years in prison), but this was too anti-democratic even for the current Knesset. The law that did pass forbids government-supported institutions from publicly commemorating the Nakba. The bill is very vague, and theoretically, it could be used to withdraw funds from a university who plans a debate on the Palestinian disaster. More likely though is that it will be implemented against Arab municipalities and institutions who attempt to hold memorial days or ceremonies for the Nakba. It is important to remember not only that some 20 percent of Israelis are Palestinians, but that many of them are refugees – the often-forgotten “internal refugees” who lost their homes and property but found themselves inside Israel at the end of the war.

Speakers for Israel abroad also take part in the Nakba-denial campaign, the latest example being the attempt by trustees of New York City University to refuse an honorary degree from playwright Tony Kushner because he associated the term ethnic cleansing with the birth of Israel. And a few months ago, the Palestine Papers revealed that the US State Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice asked the Palestinian delegation to the peace negotiations to forgo some of their claims regarding the refugees because “bad things happen to people all the time.”

Apart from being so insensitive on a basic human level, such actions—from the Knesset’s Nakba Law to the decision by CUNY’s trustees—ignore one important thing: that the Nakba is part of Israeli and Jewish history.

We have declared a war on our own past.

Memorial sign at the site of Wounded Knee Massacre, South Dakota (photo: Noam Sheizaf)

In 2008 I traveled to the US to cover the Democratic and Republican national conventions ahead of the American presidential elections. I love driving, so I decided not to fly from St. Paul to Denver but to rent a car instead. I decided to pass through every national site I could find on the way, from Mt. Rushmore to Clear Lake, Iowa, the place where music died.

Among the places I planned on seeing was Wounded Knee, in the Lakota Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota. The Wounded Knee Massacre marked the end of the Native American resistance to the colonization of their land. I remembered reading about it somewhere, and when I saw on the map that the site has been designated a National Historic Landmark, I figured it must be worth a visit.

The problem was that I couldn’t find the place. I passed through the same spot a couple of times, but saw none of the things you would normally see in a national historical site in America. No flags, no museum, no book shop—not even a restaurant. Yet I was positive that I was in the right spot.

On my third attempt I spotted an old metal sign at the side of the road, and on a nearby hill, a tiny graveyard. A sign pointed to the sweet corn stand nearby, but there was nobody there and the window was closed. It was high tourist season.

The entire site was so deserted and sad you could almost feel the ghosts of the dead Lakota people there. Again, it was impossible not to think of the deserted ruins of the Palestinian villages scattered around my country. The American history is probably bloodier than the Israeli, and yes, bad things happen to people everywhere – but is this a reason to forget them? Doesn’t the Palestinian village of Sumail, less than a mile from Rabin square, right at the heart of Tel Aviv, deserve even a memorial site? The last few homes of Sumail are still there, right on one of the busiest junctions of Tel Aviv, but they are about to be destroyed soon, making way for new towers, and a new generation of Israeli kids will be taught in school that the Hebrew city of Tel Aviv was built on empty sand dunes.

The old cemetary at Wounded Knee, South Dakota (photo: Noam Sheizaf)

Speaker Rivlin is right: The Palestinians won’t forget the Nakba. In many ways, it seems that with each year, the memory is just getting stronger. Meanwhile, all the attempts to forbid any mentioning of the Nakba are hurting Israel’s ability to understand our own history, and not just the parts of it that have to do with the Palestinians.

I was discussing these issues recently with a friend who has a passion for military history. Whenever he can, this friend goes to visit old battle sites looking for old bullets, coins and other modern relics. As part of his hobby, he’s gained a very thorough knowledge of the Nakba, and with time it has beome an obsession on its own for him. Still, he is what Israelis would call a moderate on the political spectrum. The only reason he is looking for these ruins, he tells me, is in order to know our own past. Naturally, he is furious with the Nakba Bill or the recent Anti-Nakba booklet a rightwing Israeli NGO has published.

Yesterday, I got an excited e-mail from this friend. This week he watched Charlie and Half, the Israeli cult comedy from the seventies which is always aired by one of the TV channels on Independence Day.

“It’s actually one of the best documentations of the Palestinians village Sheikh Munis,” he tells me. Charlie and Half, which tells the story of a Sephardic “wise guy,” was shot in Sheikh Munis, which became after 48′ one of Tel Aviv’s poorest neighborhoods, populated with Jews from Arab countries. Most of it is gone by now, destroyed to make way for luxury apartments and the new buildings of Tel Aviv University, but back in 1973, the year the film was produced, the original Palestinian houses and streets were very much present.

Watch, for example, the third minute of the film:

The way in which Jews from Arab countries were sent to live in Palestinian homes, only to be evacuated and literally thrown to the streets decades later as the value of the lands soared, is one of the Nakba’s interesting side stories. It’s also further evidence to the fact that forgetting the Nakba actually means not understanding our own history, not understanding ourselves.

Palestinian Nakba village Sumail, at the heart of Tel Aviv (photo: Deborah Bright / Zochrot.org)

It’s not just our sense of guilt for the Nakba that keeps haunting Israelis. In his introduction to Muhammad al-As’ad’s “Children of Dew”, the Israeli editor of the book, Yossef Algazi, who came to know al-As’ad in person, calls the author “A Wandering Jew of our time.” Meeting descendants of Palestinian refugees in the last few years, I couldn’t help thinking about the similarities between Jewish and Palestinian fates, and the sense of displacement the two people share. I think that our real problem with the Palestinians has to do with the feeling that we need to ignore their story in order to hold on to our identity as Israelis – when in fact, we would never feel “at home” without facing the wounds of the past.

“At the end of every sentence you say in Hebrew sits an Arab with a Nargilah (hookah) / even if it starts in Siberia or in Hollywood with Hava Nagila,” wrote the Israeli poet Meir Ariel in his song “Shir Keev” (“Song of Pain”). I think it’s the best political line written in Hebrew. It tells us that whatever we do, regardless of the political solution we chose to advocate or how powerful we might feel, our fate here will always be linked to the Palestinians’.

Denying the Nakba—forgetting our role in it and ignoring its political implications—is denying our own identity.