By Nick Bashqawi
First, I must admit that the title is a little misleading. I say this only because I chose to use the word “hungry,” which is a word that many seem to fixate on when you tell them you are fasting. In Islam, an individual fasts in remembrance of God- Allah in Arabic. Withholding food and drink during daylight hours is an important aspect of that remembrance, and it surely helps to remind us to take nothing for granted, but there is an equally important spiritual fast as well. During the month of Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, Muslims are to work constantly on strengthening their connection with God. To concentrate only on hunger, to me, is to miss the point of Ramadan.
As an American born Muslim, I come into Islam with a relatively new, and largely unclear, identity. My generation is among the first Muslims to be born American with parents who were also born in America. As such, we bring an entirely new perspective to the international discussion of Islam. When many people hear the word Islam, they immediately think Arab. This needs to change. Not only are most Muslims non-Arab, there are Muslims from all over the world. In fact, my Arab heritage comes only from my paternal grandfather, an immigrant from Jordan. My mother’s side is a mix of German, Irish, and Cherokee, and my father is half German. Although most of my family is Christian, my father decided to convert to Islam when I was around five years of age, my mother converting soon after. So I am about 50% German, 25% Irish, 25% Jordanian, a small portion Cherokee, 100% Muslim, and 100% American. The numbers do not seem to add up, but that is because I, like many Americans, am part of a balancing act of multiple identities: ancestry, religion, and country of birth.
My religion and nationality were by far the most difficult identities for me to balance growing up. America is comprised primarily of Christians, so the only Muslims I ever met in daily life, in grade school and middle school at least, were at Sunday school. There was also September 11th, a horrific act of a shamed minority that projected a monstrous image on the majority. Aside from creating anti-Islamic sentiments, the terrorists armed class-clowns and comedians with a slew of jokes about bombs, suicide, and virgins. Now, I am not saying I cannot find the humor in some of these jokes, as it is good to laugh at oneself from time to time, but it soon got very old to not be able to bring up being a Muslim without hearing a joke about it.
Although fasting should have added to this identity dilemma, due to the inability to eat and drink, as well as the few individuals who tried to taunt me with food, I have found that it does quite the contrary. For me, Ramadan has always been an opportunity to inform others about Islam. Fasting draws attention to the fact that I am Muslim, so, naturally, many people ask questions that I can answer from the perspective of the average, moderate Muslim. Furthermore, Ramadan is a time for spiritual and familial growth. I strive to become more patient, help the community, and develop better relationships with those around me. My family and I also share daily breakfasts and dinners, bringing us closer through fasting and faith.
I chose to focus on fasting in this article because, other than it being the month of Ramadan, the topic is a major component of the Muslim-American identity balance. Like any other nation whose primary religion is not Islam, America poses a simple, yet crucial question, “Why do you fast?” While it is very important to educate others on this subject, the true value of this question lies in introspection. Every day, the average American is surrounded by images of food, multiple forms of gossip, alcohol, and a plethora of entertainment, providing a challenging environment for fasters. I have often found myself wondering why it is that I am fasting while my friends eat; why I must refrain from gossip and alcohol; and why I am standing in prayer instead of dancing at a party, or sitting in the movies. I ask myself a million questions, but almost all of them revolve around “why?” Doubt and inquiry, to an extent, are needed to form a stable identity. There are limits to this statement because it serves no constructive purpose to throw all faith away on the grounds of having doubts, but, at the same time, it is difficult to commit to a practice without knowing its purpose. The unique diversity of America presents Muslims with a method for better understanding ourselves and our faith. Through thoughtful introspection and religious studies, I believe that Muslim-Americans will come closer to giving up the balancing act, taking instead, a homogeneous identity that will inform international religious discussion, and educate others about the true definition of Islam.
About the author:
I am a writer, blogger, photographer, art lover, student, and scientist. Visit my blog at nickbashqawi.wordpress.com.
