Month 10, Day 15: Ramadan

Although the Muslim month of fasting, Ramadan, actually began a couple of weeks ago, for me, Ramadan starts today (yes, I’m a wimp—get over it).

Ramadan represents the fourth pillar of Islam—Saum, or fasting. For the entire ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar, Muslims undertake a strict fast, from dawn to dusk each day.

That means that for the next two weeks, from sunrise to sunset, I won’t be able to eat, drink, have sex, engage in profanity, lie, or fight. (It’s not like I have any sort of predilection for fistfights, but being told I can’t fight is making me itch to punch someone in the face.)

Fasting for Ramadan also means no inhaled substances (like smoking—I’m so glad I quit that, or I would already be climbing the walls) and no medicines that aren’t absolutely essential—not even vitamins or that sort of thing.

While avoiding all these things, you’re supposed to carry on with your normal life—working, taking care of the house, and of course, saying your obligatory prayers five times a day.

Only during the hours of darkness—before dawn and after sunset—do Muslims allow themselves to eat and drink. The pre-dawn meal, called a sahoor, is supposed to be small and eaten in silence. (I had mine around 5:00 this morning. I wolfed down Chinese food leftovers from my lunch with a great old friend yesterday, standing in silence over the kitchen counter. Then I drank a full liter of water and went back to bed—with some serious indigestion.)

When the sun sets, you eat a small snack, or iftar (usually milk, water, or dates), to break the day’s fast, then you pray and get together with family to have a big, celebratory dinner. Considering the fact that I’m already starving at 10:00 a.m., I really don’t know how I’m going to hold out until tonight. But I’m doing my best. I can’t believe I’m expected to handle the strain of hunger and thirst and NOT engage in profanity. It seems really, really unfair.

So why do Muslims fast during Ramadan? It seems like an exercise in masochism to me, but there are several legitimate spiritual reasons for the fast:

• Fasting forces us to “rise above” the needs of the physical body and helps strengthen the spirit.

• We learn how it feels to be hungry (I’m sure learning that!), which makes us more compassionate toward the poor.

• We clear our minds and are better able to focus on God. (I’m not sure about that—so far, all I’ve been able to focus on is the fantasy of eating a hot dog with lots of chili on it. And a side of fries. Yum.)

• Fasting gives us time to reflect on our past behavior and any misdeeds we may have committed to become more disciplined, and to express gratitude to God, or Allah, for his blessings in our lives.

• After a successful Ramadan fast, we are forgiven for all our sins. (Although I do like the idea of being forgiven for sin, I can’t decide which form of penance is worse—having to fast for a whole month or doing it the Catholic way, confessing to a priest and then saying a whole bunch of Hail Marys. Maybe I’m just lazy, but both options sound lousy to me.)

I think my body has been dreading the start of my miniature Ramadan all year. I’ve been ravenously hungry all day, every day for weeks—and naturally, up to now, I’ve been giving in to those urges in the illogical belief that I should be storing up internal food supplies for the coming weeks of sacrifice. Yes, I know perfectly well that the body doesn’t work that way, but you try being rational when every aspect of your being is screaming for a chili dog. Hunger will kick reason’s ass every time. (Oops. I forgot about the “no profanity” thing.)

Anyway, my point is, it’s going to be a LONG two weeks.

Ramadan may be one of the Five Pillars of Islam and one of the fundamental aspects of life as a Muslim, but a few (lucky) people are exempt from the rigors of fasting: Young children (under the age of puberty), elderly people who are physically weak, those who have serious chronic illnesses, and people with mental disabilities don’t have to take part in the fast.

You can also get a temporary pass on Ramadan fasting if you’re traveling or if you’re a woman in labor, after childbirth, or during menstruation—although you’re supposed to make up for any days you miss by fasting another time.

Is it wrong that there’s a little part of me wishing I had an illness (or a newborn baby) so I could get out of this? Man, I’m pathetic.