by Paulette Schroeder


It's the first Friday of Ramadan, 28 August 2009.  I'm walking on street patrol to the Ibrahimi Mosque in the Old City of Hebron, squeezed between hundreds of men, women, and children also making their way to the Mosque.  For them, it's time to observe the daily formal Ramadan prayers.  There's very little pushing, but also very little air.  Everyone is shoulder to shoulder, front to back, almost one unit moving ahead-slowly, surely, like a turtle on its way to the sea.

The sight of this huge Muslim expression of faith happens every day during this month of Ramadan in each of their major cities.  Accustomed to our U.S. churches being full on Christmas and Easter morning but not so otherwise, I stand back in amazement:  every day, three times a day, they go to Mosque, especially on Fridays.  At the checkpoint close to the Mosque, young Red Crescent (Red Cross) workers quickly direct the women to the Muslim side of the Mosque and the men to the Jewish synagogue side.  On ten days of the year, the Mosque is completely for the Muslims.  Jews call the same site the Cave of Machpelah and it is entirely reserved for them on another ten days. The four Fridays of Ramadan are counted as part of the Muslims' ten days. On this first Friday of Ramadan,  the Mufti of all Palestine preaches to the people, reminding them of their relationship to Allah, their call to be people of prayer, to do almsgiving and undertake strict fasting.

By this time, I've come to know quite a few shopkeepers in the Old City.  On all other days of the year, I am offered tea or coffee a half dozen times or so.  But not so during this month.  People do not consume food or water from dawn until dusk. Nor is there any accommodation to the blazing heat for those who fast. The women wear the same long robes and the veil even if it is 100 degrees F or more.  I see few water bottles around here during this month.  Sick and pregnant people and young children are permitted not to fast.  But the adults must make the days up another time, or else give a corresponding amount of money to the poor.

One eighteen-year-old old friend told me,  "You are a better person at the end of Ramadan for fasting."  A middle-aged man in government agreed: "Fasting purifies us, makes us better."  These attitudes correspond with the ascetic tradition in my own Catholic background. In the midst of the Occupation with all its severe restrictions on the daily life of these people, I see people making a serious effort to listen intently, personally to God this Ramadan, opening themselves to change wherever they need to change.  I think one of my favorite authors, Dorothy Day, would say, " They're surely trying not to live a ‘lightweight existence' ...right?"