Exactly one month has passed since I walked into the Buxton Initiative for the first time as the new Christian Fellow. Getting to know my Jewish and Muslim counterparts, Sarah and Rizwaan, has led to all sorts of novel experiences and insights. During the first three weeks of our time together, Rizwaan was unable to join us for lunch in observance of Ramadan, the month of fasting and prayer. From sun-up until sun-down, Rizwaan did not eat or drink. Sarah and I slowly grew accustomed to the idea of eating in front of him. We ended the day with encouraging words, such as, “Only a few more hours until sunset!” One night, Riz invited us to his home to celebrate for an “Iftar,” the meal shared by Muslims worldwide to break their fast. Though Ramadan has now passed, I have continued reflecting upon that night at Rizwaan’s house. Because it left such a lasting impression on me, I have decided to put my memories of my first “Iftar” into words:
At the end of a long workday, I enter an apartment on U Street that is filled with clanging pots, good smells, and people chatting about their day. Such is the typical end-of-the day routine for most D.C. commuters after making the oftentimes long trek home. Tonight, however, I am a guest at Rizwaan’s apartment, and while his other friends arrive and the sun slowly fades in the West, I am reminded tonight’s gathering is anything but typical. It is Iftar, and I am one of four non-Muslims invited to partake in an event happening in Muslim households all over the world.
Tonight we see a new side of Rizwaan, as his friends arrive lugging various containers filled with delicious food to share. Iftar is a communal celebration that resembles a feast just short of Thanksgiving dinner and soon the entire kitchen is buzzing with anticipation for sunset. I am preparing a salad and pop a stray piece of goat cheese into my mouth. Meanwhile, Rizwaan’s friend is explaining the difficulty of cooking without being able to taste anything. I immediately turn bright red and stumble through an apology as he reminds me, “It’s OK. You’re not Muslim!” He then goes back to busying himself over blending avocados with honey for juice as if my premature consumption was nothing particularly unusual.
I am extremely aware of my “non-Muslim-ness”, however, when Rizwaan pierces through the chatter with a loud call to prayer in Arabic. All conversation ceases. After a short prayer, he passes around a bowl full of dates; the fast has been broken. I quietly and respectfully finish setting up platters of food as all the Muslims in the room gather on make-shift prayer rugs and face towards Mecca to pray. I am slightly surprised they don’t just dig right into the impressive array of food; rather, they take time to first direct their attention to God.
The rest of the night is filled with sharing stories, stuffing our faces with amazing food, and having a good time. The meal’s spread ranges from spicy tomato stew, kebobs, salad, hummus, eggplant gumbo, and avocado juice. Mmmm. I enjoy hearing about his friend’s travels to the Middle East and listening to Omani music that is playing in the background. Rizwaan lights frankincense from Oman to fill the room as we wind down the night over cups of hot tea with cream. Oh, and apple pie, of course!
Tags: Iftar, Interfaith, Oman, ramadan
Thank you for this “outside-in” perspective of an American Iftar.