Hijabi for a Day

[The following is an article my daughter has written for the newspaper of her Jewish community day school of which she is co-editor. She asked me to thank the many people who helped her with interviews. She would have liked to use all the words of everybody if only time and space would permit. She looks forward to your comments.]


Hijabi for a Day
by Sara Weissman


WHY HIJAB?

From the businessman’s suit to a goth’s band T-shirt, we all know that clothes are more than cloth. What we choose to wear is a sign of who we are, what we aspire to be, and how we choose to represent ourselves. So imagine wearing your heart on your sleeve, or rather your religious devotion over your head. The concept of hijab, the headscarf worn by Muslim women, is less simple than it seems.

For this month’s Challenge to the Editor, I wore hijab for one day. Hijab, which literally means “to veil,” is the code of modesty for Muslim women past puberty. The requirements for hijab consist of covering most of the body including hair and avoiding perfume and tight, transparent, or flashy clothing.

The choice to try wearing hijab for a day was as much as an internal experiment, as an external one. Considering the scary and relatively new phenomenon of Islamophobia, part of it was to see if people treated me differently. But more than that, it was a way to take a tiny glimpse into something larger, a practice meaningful to millions of people and the idea that, though the clothes don’t make the woman, they can say a lot about what she believes in.

A LITTLE BACKGROUND:

Before taking scarf in hand, I wanted a better understanding of where the idea of hijab comes from. Though there are multiple references to hijab in the Qur'an, in al-Ahzaab 33:59 it says, “O Prophet! Tell your wives and your daughters and the women of the believers to draw their cloaks all over their bodies. That will be better, that they should be known (as free respectable women) so as not to be annoyed. And Allaah is Ever Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.” Another, al-Noor 24:31, says, “And say to the believing women…that they should draw their veils over their bosoms and not display their beauty except to their husbands, their fathers, their husbands' fathers, their sons, their husbands' sons, their brothers…” and it goes on to list others.

After reading the above paragraph, your inner American, feminist may be a little miffed. Mine was too. In fact she grumbled quite a bit about the seeming patriarchal tone, the same I struggle with when discussing women’s modesty in my own religion. But many Muslim women feel very differently. In fact, they feel quite the opposite, embracing hijab as a freeing as opposed to forced expression of their faith.

“For me, the hijab is more than modesty; it is a liberating fact,” said Sara Khalil, 25. Born in Saudi Arabia, Khalil lives in Canada and has been wearing hijab since 2005. “It has allowed me to perceive myself as an individual outside the bounds of physical beauty and attraction, and further project a confidence that is independent of others' judgment,” she said. Samara Gabriel, who converted to Islam in 2010 and runs a blog called ImInItForTheScarves.com, holds a similar view. “My body is a private thing. Mine,” she said. “Not to be shared with the world. It also means that I dress to please God, not men on the street.” Gabriel’s beliefs were reaffirmed by an incident with her editor, when she worked for a local newspaper. “The editor angrily made the comment ‘What if I WANTED to look at you?’ As if it was his right. That is a good example as to why I love wearing it. I don't feel anymore as if I need to flip my hair around or show off my boobs or my butt to get attention. I love Pink's ‘Stupid Girls’ as an example to what I mean,” she said.

Zara Asad, 19, explained that hijab for her is also an expression of her spiritual struggle. “It’s the covering, the cloth that protects my heart from any filth coming in,” said Asad. “It’s my shield. Everyday is a battle against improving myself and fighting distractions around me. It’s a very vital part of me.” Asad began wearing hijab when she was 17. Though both her mother, originally from Pakistan, and her sister wore it, she was afraid of what her friends and predominantly white, New Jersey community would think. But after she wore hijab, Asad said she could never go back. “When I first wore the hijab I felt like myself, a Muslim, for the very first time in public,” she said. “I felt like I could breathe for the first time.”

Others also relate to this sense of identity that comes with hijab “Our hijab is both our modest covering and a badge of our identity, “ said Rania Abuisnaineh, a 20 year old from Minnesota with family from Hebron. “People immediately recognize us as Muslim when they see our hijab, just as they recognize a Jewish man from his yarmulke or a Sikh from his turban.” However for her and others, hijab’s meaning lies in more than identity and modesty, but in the belief that it is a law from God. “When people ask me why I wear hijab, my first response is always this: ‘Because it is a command from Allah; and He knows what is best for His creation more than the creation know what is best for themselves,’” Abuisnaineh said.

Still, reactions to hijab in the modern world can be mixed and some Muslim women see a disconnect between who they are and how they are perceived. .” Shameela, however, who was born in India and now lives in Qatar, has seen these perceptions overcome. One of few Muslims in her city, she wore hijab since she was 12 and said that when she went to college, her friends saw a new side to Muslims through her activism at the university. “They came to know that wearing hijab is not a sign of oppression, and that wearing it does not make any women inferior.” Hind Yousef Khalifa, who is a resident of Abu Dhabi, also elaborated on this point. “It (hijab) doesn't stop a woman from practicing any aspect of her everyday life,” she said. “We study, we drive, we work, we go out with friends, we volunteer and do community work and are very active in society.”

A DAY WITH HIJAB:

With all of these women’s words in mind, on a Wednesday morning over winter break I decided to put on hijab. I stood in front of the mirror, staring at the red cloth clutched in one hand and three safety pins in the other. Following the careful steps of a youtube tutorial, I slowly wrapped and pinned until the fabric finally resembled a headscarf. I looked up at the mirror, proud and a little unused to the lack of auburn frizz in the reflection that staring back at me.

With some self-conscious jitters, I went about my day as usual. I drove my family to the doctor’s, looked at old pictures with my mom, and spent the rest of the day at Fashion Island, looking for belated Chanukah gifts and hanging out with my grandma. But, I felt different. Even if it wasn’t my own religion, I suddenly felt like I had to reflect what the scarf represented. I tried walking straighter, grinned at strangers, and tacked extra pleases and thank yous on every sentence to the sales clerks at Macy’s. Despite feeling like I looked different, wearing hijab made me feel more comfortable in some ways. It reminded me of those mornings when you put on a favorite a baggy sweater, too relaxed to dress to impress. There was a certain calm in feeling like I didn’t have to look cute for anyone.

At the same time, wearing hijab attracted some unwanted attention. Walking through Fashion Island produced long stares, mostly curious but a few hostile. One man continued glaring even after I looked him in the eye while a saleswoman, chatting up other customers, spoke curtly and would not look me in the eye at all. Still, the amazing thing is the number of odd looks was nothing compared to the number of smiles. Throughout the day, I got wide grins from absolute strangers.

I would like to say I reached some mind-blowing conclusion after thinking on the experience and unpinning my scarf that night. What I came away with was more modest, but I still think entirely worth it. After a day, I can’t claim to know what it’s like for women to wear hijab: how it feels, what they believe, or how they are treated. Still, I ended the day impressed by women willing to hide parts of themselves but at the same time stand out, for the sake of their God and their religion. In the end, the biggest lesson I learned was that clothing can be fabric or it can reflect who a person wants to be. For Muslim women, hijab is a constant reminder that they are always aspiring toward better observance of their religion. The take-home message I got from a day in hijab was we can change our clothes but more importantly our clothes can change us. The question is what do we want them to reflect?

The No-Kvetching Challenge!

Over the last few months I have taken a challenge on myself to fast from complaining for Shabbat. (Friday sundown to Saturday sundown). I have not always been entirely successful but even the effort is a wonderful experience. I have used twitter to invite others to join me in the fast. I invite my fellow fasters to post their non-complaining experiences here, so others can share their successes and their "failures" so we all can grow.

Five "Lunar Lessons" In Honor of the New Moon (Rosh Chodesh -Mar Heshvan)

Lunar lesson 1: We have no light of our own. At our best, we reflect the light of our Creator. At our worst, we conceal it almost completely.

Lunar lesson 2: The service of G-d depends on lots and lots of new beginnings.

Lunar lesson 3: Don't be afraid of the ups and downs, waxings and wanings. Even when your light grows dim, it is part of the process.

Lunar Lesson 4: We all look very luminous from a distance, get closer and you see the craters and wear and tear. And yet we are beautiful.

Lunar Lessons 5: There are times to be bigger and times to be smaller. It takes both great self-esteem and great humility to serve G-d.

Looking up at the Stars: Sukkot Thoughts

My sukkah, the backyard hut that I have built and decorated for the festival of sukkot, is finished. I will spend the next week eating and sleeping out here under the roof of leaves and bamboo through which I can see the stars through the darkness. The Rabbis tell us that the sukkah is a double reminder. It is a reminder of the simple dwellings our ancestors had as nomads in the desert. It is also a reminder of the supernatural clouds that surrounded the Bnai Israel during our 40 years in the desert, protecting us from harm. I love how it reflects my desire to beautify the commandment. I love the smell of fresh green leaves. When sukkot ends there is a prayer to say “farewell” to the sukkah. I always cry.

The Chassidic masters explain that 40 days from the beginning of Elul til Yom Kippur were a seminar in the art and science of personal growth and change. We learned how to repent and we applied what we learned and we emerge from Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement as new beings, spiritual babies. Like all things immature, we are delicate. We are not quite ready to carry our new insights into the “real world” not even into the drama-heavy confines of our own homes. Instead we stake out in the outside world a kind of “field of holiness” our own personal clouds to cushion us as we prepare to be our new improved selves in the same old world. That is the first lesson. We need walls. We do not accept everything about his world unconditionally. We determine who we are and who we want to be by creating boundaries. TV is outside my boundary. A good movie might be inside. I decide what is inside and what is outside. Jewish law says that the walls need to be strong enough to withstand an ordinary wind. There is no point in setting limits if they can’t stand up to ordinary temptations, to resist the fashions of the world from the outside or the promptings of the lower self from the inside.

The roof is made of temporary materials. According to kabbalistic tradition, the roof represents our level of understanding. There is no permanent ceiling to our comprehension of spiritual matters. We are meant to be keep growing. What little I grasp this year will seem like dried out waste compared to the vitality of next year’s comprehension. As the holiday proceeds the leaves wither revealing more and of the sky, that ever present reminder of a reality that transcends our physical limitations, a glimpse of the infinite in a finite world.

I look up through the leaves and I feel the love of G-d, the touchless embrace of that infinity. We call sukkot “The Season of our Joy.” Joy helps us to carry the gains of our repentance into the sukkah and then back into our home. True Joy, the rejoicing in G-d’s goodness and generosity by enjoying His world with gratitude is the elixir that ultimately transforms our delicate new state of being into a solid new servant of G-d who can now serve in the real world.

Of all of our holidays, feasts and fasts, Sukkot is perhaps the most accessible to our neighbors both Jews and non-Jews. The power of gratitude and joy reflected in outdoor living is virtually infectious. To my Jewish friends, I encourage you to use this as an opportunity to invite others, particularly your Muslim neighbors. Break out the tea and cake and enjoy the embrace of the sukkah together. Perhaps find a little peace together.
Our sukkah is finally ready and waiting. See you in its shade!

The Spiritual Harvest of Ramadan

On my Twitter account, @jihadijew, I asked my Muslim friends to share with me what they had gained from their experience of Ramadan. Here are their answers in the order in which I received them. I have edited them a little to fill in words left out for twitteresque brevity or corrected grammar for a few non-English speakers. I didn’t edit the content at all.

I asked the question to encourage people to inspire each other but also as a way of helping me think about the Jewish month of reflection (Elul) which begins this week. I can only hope that in a month’s time, with the help of God, I will be able to report a few wonderful gains myself.

Here is what folks said:

I learned to have more patience

I learned that praying in the House of God and listening to beautiful recitation, brings peace to your heart like nothing else can!

I learned to to remember Allah every moment of my life, and be patient enough til I meet Him.

I learned that taking out one or two hours just to focus on your spirit (whether through reading/meditation/prayer) is really rejuvenating.

I learned about “unity.” We rarely see this atmosphere in our daily life. Everyone is busy with their own life but in this month you feel the difference

I learned that God is always on your side, so be on His

I learned that fasting is not just about depriving your body of food and drink but more significantly about reaching the state taqwa (piety)

I learned to take my time in doing things that I would like to achieve. I am trying to persevere with patience.

I learned that faith isn’t a physical destination but a spiritual state that transcends and emanates from wherever you travel.

I learned to appreciate waking up each day. Life is really short so we have to take advantage of every little minute we can breath without difficulties.

I learned to learned help family first and to train our selves to remember Allah so that the soul feel happy and the nafs (lower self) doesn't go astray

I learned more patience and spiritual insight! Also the need for loving all humans.

Allah says be merciful to my creation and I will show you mercy!

I learned to praise Allah for every blessing even if it was little because there are people fasting but they don't have anything to break their fast

When we abstain from the bounties that Allah provides us during Ramadan, Makes us realise how merciful Allah actually is!

For me Ramadan represents the act of attaining contentment through the exhibition of gratitude to Allah for all that we have

In Ramadan I focused on the equality aspect in Islam.We all stand side by side in prayer humbling ourselves to God

Im starting to go to the mosque more this Ramadhan. Hearing the azan and not showing up on time makes me feel bad.

that my community in Toronto is flawed and united; which is, in fact, a beautiful thing.

I learned to talk to Him again and I realised that nothing is possible without His help and guidance. That fact made me happier

I noticed our ability for sself control,people around the world sit in front of food and don't touch it until the maghrib prayer .

I learned that fasting for a month in summer is no joke! More importantly I learned to filter bad thoughts and actions by fasting.

I learned patience, not sweating over the petty things

I have been thinking bout what I've gained in this holy month. I definitely learned a lot but its challenging to keep it up for the other 11 months. Inshallah, G-d give us the strength!

I increased my love for the Qur'an as well as my daily adkhaar (remembrance of Allah) in the morning and evening.

I learned that my desires can be controlled.

That the Path leads to the Oasis. Our sights must be set on the Oasis - not the dust on the Path. (a paraphrase of Shams Tabrizi)

I spent more time and money for the cause of Somalia. The satisfaction and closeness to G-d I felt, will make me do it all year long.

In Ramadan I decided I won't enter into endless arguments whether I was right or not.. Time is better spent trying to get close to G-D!

I began writing a diary. When I looked back at how hard times passed (during some days of the revolution in Egypt) I thanked G-d.

We need to forgive and set things aright with others around us. Helping others as much as we can, we take this spirit along with us . And there is hope in every human being to change for the better. If they choose to do it, there's no stopping them!

I have been taking care of every single word I say, making sure that it won't harm anyone's feelings.

I learned, strangely enough, the importance of sleeping in the night as opposed to during the day. I used to stay up eating and then sleep because I wasn't working but I was tired all the time. I realized that the night was made for rest.

I learned that you should give your heart to God instead of people

We're all hungry- for love, for peace, for contentment. Keeping away from food curbs unchecked hunger for lesser priorities. Just as Ramadan ends so will the blessing of Life. Stop procrastination with regards to giving Life, every bit of energy we have.

In the Mood of Mourning

[According to Jewish tradition, the month of Av is a month of morning and serious reflection particularly on the destruction of Yerushalayim / Jerusalem. The 9th of Av is a 25-hour fast commemorating the ultimate destruction of our Holy Temple and many other disasters of the Jewish people. This is a reflection on my experience of Av]

I sometimes imagine Al-Quds and Yerushalayim as transparencies projected on the same blank piece of land. They are different worlds inhabiting the same time and the same space originating in two realities. I know that I don’t fully appreciate either. I am very much an outsider to both. Al-Quds, I see from a distance, the dots of worshippers at Al-Aqsa seen from a “safe” distance, Arab children puzzled as I slip by the gate few Jews slip by, or the gold dome overhead as I pray by the ruin of the wall.

Yerushalayim, I know a little better. “Yerushalayims” I should say, the tourist center, home of the fancy institute I attended for a few summers, the somewhat dour religious neighborhood where I stayed, the synagogues tucked into corners pumping out prayer services, places to shop and look cool and be kosher in an outdoor café.

There is the Yerushalayim of Zionist triumphalism that I don’t know so well. When I saw the videos of the Jerusalem Day parade this year, I was acutely aware that I did not understand the pride of ownership and entitlement to G-d’s city.

Right or wrong, my Yerushalayim is the Yerushalayim of the month of Av. It is the Yerushalayim of the old time Jew of the Diaspora. My Yerushalayim is an orphan. My Yerushalayim embodies the brokenness of the world. Like the homeless beggar who has found a fancy fur coat, the external beauties of Yerushalayim only make it look more pathetic. Each new luxury high rise offering the wealthy the authentic Jerusalem experience seems to me, in the mindset of the month of Av, to thinly veil the fragile spiritual city wasting away beneath the fancy garments. The squabbles over Jewish land grabs, the violence that simmers barely beneath the surface where Yerushalayim and Al-Quds inevitably rub shoulders, speaks to me. It reminds me again and again. “This is not it.”

The Temple was destroyed because of baseless hatred.
-Talmud Bavli (Yoma 9b)

Mourning is a strange mode of service of G-d. Mourning Yerushalayim means projecting the transparency of our ancient destroyed city over its modern successor. More importantly, it means piercing through all the transparencies and laying bare the human reality that in Yerushalayim, the center or our world, we are still ruled by baseless hatred. That hatred was the force of destruction that marred our connection to G-d, that destroyed our Holy Temple and sent us to the ends of the earth, as if shoved from the table of our Father. That hatred still corrodes the heart of the world. The channels that once conveyed the light of Yerushalayim to the rest of the world convey a darkness and entropy that is felt in every corner of the world. The un-rectified Yerushalayim is not just a Jewish tragedy it is a universal, even cosmic, tragedy

There will be those who will see “baseless hatred” in narrow national terms. Hatred between fellow Jews caused the destruction. As they say, “you have what to depend on.” It’s true that is certainly how most commentators have probably understood it for most of our history. We have been very inward looking. That has made us very introspective and in many ways extraordinarily attentive to each other’s needs. It has also made us myopic. It is time to consider that maybe baseless hatred is a bigger problem.

Rabbi Yehoshua said: An evil eye, the evil inclination, and hatred of others (lit. of the creations) remove a person from the world.
-Pirkei Avot 2:16

Rashi glosses hatred here as “sinat chinam” – baseless hatred. The very same baseless hatred mentioned in the Talmud, not just of fellow Jews but also of all others.

As Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch points out here, the term for “others” is simply “briyot” creations. It’s a word that points to the lowest common denominator in mankind, our being creatures. Our respect for human beings originates in the creation of man by G-d as the pinnacle of His creation. We need no other reason not to hate and beyond that no other reason to love.

If we were destroyed, and the world with us, due to baseless hatred, then we shall rebuild ourselves, and the world with us, with baseless love — ahavat chinam.

-Rav Kook (Orot HaKodesh vol. III, p. 324)

Ribbono shel Olam,
Please give us more than vain tears. Let us really feel the brokeness of Av and help us transform that pain into a drive to repair, to really believe that we can repair what is destroyed. May confronting the rule of hatred in ourselves and in our world motivate us to initiate and cultivate the rule of love.

Why should a Jew care about Ramadan?

[and before you ask... Why should a Muslim care about Elul and the Jewish Days of Awe? is on the way]

I grew up as a Jewish boy on the edge of a Christian neighborhood in the suburbs of Philadelphia and I was one of the few Jewish kids to go to my public school. Christmas was a BIG deal. I know all the words to “Silent Night” and I can sing “Come All Ye Faithful” in Latin. For many years my own father, with his full beard, was the Santa Claus in the Thanksgiving Day Parade in Philadelphia (worked his way from an elf, I am not kidding.) Christmas was a BIG deal when I was growing up. There was something to that lovey-dovey Peanuts Special version of Christmas which featured “peace and good will towards all mankind.” I loved going to New York in the season, not just because the shops were so beautifully decorated but because it seemed then that even New Yorkers were somehow more human and humane to one another during the “Holiday Season.” Imagine something that can penetrate the hearts of New Yorkers! And yet, I just cannot squeeze out a greeting of “Merry Christmas!” I still cannot.

I feel like my reasons make sense. The truth is that the religious core of the holiday, the celebration of the incarnation of deity in human flesh is anathema (to use the New Testament Greek word) to my Jewish faith. The crass materialism that now marks the observance for even not-so-religious folks violates both my sense of spirituality and my remaining hippie “simple-living, high-thinking” sensibilities. Christmas is just not for me. Never was. Never will be. My Christian friends make do with an incoherent “Happy something-or-other “squeak instead of an enthusiastic “Ho ho ho!” and I appreciate their patience and forbearance.

I have no such qualms about saying “Ramadan Mubarak!” On the contrary, I hunt down nifty e-cards on the internet. I even include personalized messages. In person, I give handshakes, hugs (or for women- a decorous nod) and those words come easily, “Ramadan Mubarak” a Blessed Ramadan! I keep a mental Ramadan countdown. I get enthusiastic. It is admittedly very weird for a Jewish guy. It is even weirder for an observant Jewish guy. I get that. Some, including those close to me have asked me what this is all about, sometimes politely and sometimes less politely. So as we begin another Ramadan and as my enthusiasm revs up again, I decided to sit down and examine the question for myself and share my answers. I look forward to your comments on my thoughts and I encourage you (as always) to be kind and respectful in responding to them.

I have to begin with the Halacha (Jewish law). The Torah warns us to avoid “chukkat ha goyim” the “statutes of the nations.” As a holy nation, separated by the unique discipline of the Torah we are sternly warned to avoid gentile practices. The law is complicated and this is just meant to be a quick review to expose my thinking. If you want to explore it further I will be happy to provide texts to help you. In any cases, the biblical verses seem clear enough.

You shall not follow the customs of the nation which I am expelling before you. For they have done all these above mentioned sins [This follows a list of sexual sins] and I became disgusted with them.
- Vayikra /Leviticus 20:23

After the practice of the Land of Egypt in which you have lived, you shall not do, and the practice of the Land of Canaan, to which I am bringing you, you shall not do and you shall not follow their statutes [customs].
- Vayikra/Leviticus 18: 3:

The medieval commentator Rashi comments on the latter verse.

This tells [us] that the practices of the Egyptians and Canaanites were the most corrupt of all the nations, and that place in which the Israelites settled was the most corrupt of all.
…
This verse refers to their customs, matters which are [social] obligations for them, such as [attending] theaters and stadiums. Rabbi Meir says: These are the "ways of the Amorites" which the Sages enumerated. [Refers to a list of superstitious practices]

So the prohibition, says Rashi, applies particularly to Non-Jewish practices that reflect corruption, idolatrous superstitions or such things as attending “theaters or stadiums.” We are told elsewhere that the prohibition is on attending theaters and stadiums is one of the first and few laws that a potential convert must be taught. This refers to the Roman stadiums which were the site of violent gladiator games. Jews were and are forbidden to enjoy entertainments which focus on degrading human beings and torturing animals. (Skip extreme fighting on TV and most reality shows)
In general, these prohibitions distance Jews from things that are not in keeping with Jewish values.

By contrast, the Shulchan Aruch (Yoreh De’ah), the most authoritative code of Jewish law concludes that if the custom does not promote idolatrous behavior and/or is viewed as a "dignified act", then no such prohibition of "chukat HaGoy" exists. While there may yet be other halachic prohibitions that would restrain a Jew from taking up such a practice for themselves, there is surely no reason why we should discourage others from following it. On the contrary, I believe the obligations of Jewish spiritual citizenship may demand that we encourage it. That is where my thoughts begin.

Ramadan is very “Jewish.” In Ramadan, we have a practice that promotes monotheistic worship in the world while employing practices that are specifically endorsed by Jewish tradition (prayer, fasting, charity and ethical restraint). The continuity of Ramadan with previous Jewish practice is actually acknowledged by the Qur’an itself. Even the Qur’an says it’s very “Jewish.”

O you who have attained to faith! Fasting is ordained for you as it was ordained for those before you, so that you might remain conscious of God.
- 2:183 (Muhummad Asad trans.)

“Those before you.” That would be US. Indeed there are obvious parallels to specific and well-known Jewish practices. The dedication of the month of Elul as a period of repentance and spiritual focus and the standard Sephardic practice of doing special early morning selichot (“forgiveness”) prayers for the 40 day period from the beginning of Elul until Yom Kipppur is a clear parallel to the Muslim practice. That this period corresponds to the period in which Moses received the Torah is paralleled by Ramadan’s commemoration of the receiving of the Qur’an. Similarly there are fasting practices associated with this period in the Jewish year for the 10 days of repentance. There is even a kabalistic custom quoted in Yedid Nefesh by Rav Yechiel Bar
Lev to refrain from food during the daytime for the entire 40-day period (Shabbat and Rosh Hashana exempted). The Qur’an’s comment that the practice of Ramadan is based on previous practice can and should be taken at face value. Ramadan has Jewish roots.

Ramadan also supports Jewish values. Perhaps most important is the intention of Ramadan as laid out in the Qur’an “the awareness of G-d.” It is precisely the awareness of G-d which the Tur explains is the absolute purpose of the entirety of Jewish practice. There is no worthier goal for a human being and it makes sense that we would support others in their attempts to achieve it through prayer and fasting, means which are so clearly approved by our own tradition.

Ramadan also has a deeper ethical dimension. A hadith relates this as follows.

Abu Huraira related that the Prophet said: If a person does not avoid false talk and false conduct during the fast, then Allah does not care if he abstains from food and drink (Bukhari, Muslim).

Indeed the great Muslim theologian Imam al-Ghazali divides fasting into two dimensions: ordinary and special fasting.

Ordinary fasting means abstaining from food, drink and sexual satisfaction.
Special Fasting means keeping one's ears, eyes, tongue, hands and feet -- and all other organs -- free from sin.

Ramadan is a time for developing emotional and impulse control. In accordance with this, Muslims use this time to focus on all their behaviors as well as increasing charity to the poor and caring for others. In education we have an adage “Catch them doing good!” Criticizing someone when they are doing wrong is not nearly as effective as encouraging them when they are doing good. The same goes with our society. Being a critic of the evils of our society is not nearly as effective as encouraging those as they genuinely strive for the good. Could there be a better opportunity than Ramadan?

Ultimately, Ramadan is part of a process of repentance (taubah / teshuvah) of facing oneself, altering ones behavior and facing G-d to ask for forgiveness of sins from G-d in His infinite mercy. It is all about returning to G-d after our own self-imposed alienation knowing that he will accept us if we are sincere.

In a well-known hadith relates G-d's address to mankind,

O son of Adam, so long as you call upon Me and ask of Me, I shall forgive you for what you have done, and I shall not mind. O son of Adam, were your sins to reach the clouds of the sky and were you then to ask forgiveness of Me, I would forgive you. O son of Adam, were you to come to Me with sins nearly as great as the earth and were you then to face Me, ascribing no partner to Me, I would bring you forgiveness nearly as great as it.
Hadith Qudsi 34 (Tirmidhi , Sahih)

The message of the greatnesses and far-reaching consequences of this return to G-d is again familiar enough to Jews. The Talmud (Yoma 86b) in a beautiful litany of the greatness of repentance writes:

Rav Meir used to say Great is repentance, that because of an individual who repents, the entire world is forgiven, as the verse says (Hoshea 14:5) I will rectify their waywardness, I will love them gratuitously, for My anger has turned away from them.

In a broken world, desperately in need of redemption, I don’t know whose repentance is going to tip the scales. If my warm “Ramadan Kareem!” or my warm “Ramadan Mubarak!” or my little e-card encourages a moment of genuine return to G-d, if it inspires a Muslim friend to be good and to do good, I make myself into a partner in their holy endeavor. As a result, all of us, Jews and Muslims reap the benefits of a more peaceful world that better reflects the glory of the One true G-d.

In a few weeks, Elul will begin and I will write another piece entitled “Why Muslims should care about Elul and the Jewish Days of Awe.” I hope some of them will choose to encourage me, and the rest of us, as well.