When I landed in Chicago O'Hare airport, I was looking for a place in terminal 3 to say my noon/afternoon prayers before catching my connecting flight to Toledo. Having failed to find a proper place, I settled for saying my prayer behind a closed gate counter, right across the gate I was supposed to catch my flight. While doing so, I felt kinda weird. Not just because I was saying my prayers as a Muslim in one of the high security airports in the US and that some idiot might have assumed I was preparing for an act of terrorism and hence calling security. Well, such things have happened in the US and also in the UK. I felt weird because I knew this would be probably my last broken prayer before arriving in my new hometown.
In Islam, when you're on travel or away from your hometown for a distance of more than 15 miles, your 4 rak'ah (unit) daily prayers (noon, afternoon and night) would be broken in half; i.e. you have to say those prayers in 2 units (rak'ah); unless you stay in that new place for 10 days or more. In that sense, Toledo where I planned to stay for at least 1.5 years for the duration of my Master's degree program, would be considered my new hometown, religiously speaking. And that despite being at a distance of much much more than 15 miles from Tehran (where I'd lived almost all my life). Trivially, Chicago was not my home, although it was in the same country (U.S.). So, this was my last broken prayer over my 32 hour odyssey before reaching my new temporary hometown on the other side of the planet.
The same rule of travel/hometown applies to fasting. When you are away from your hometown for a distance of more than 15 miles, you cannot fast (it's not broken like prayer; it's void) unless you plan to stay at the place for more than 10 days. Apart from the religious ruling, fasting from dawn to dusk could be uncomfortable when you're away from the amenities of your own home and hometown.
First time I was away from my hometown over a Ramadhan over my adulthood (being 15+ years old when prayers and fasting are mandatory for Muslims), it was 2001 and I was assigned as a supervising engineer at a hydroelectric powerplant under construction in Southwestern Iran. It was my first time being away from Tehran (where I'd lived almost all my life) for such an extended period. Although I enjoyed the beautiful scenery amid steep Zagros Mountains and the banks of blue-green Karun River, physical conditions of the job were rather tough. I had to run up and down 4 floors of the big powerplant to make sure that Instrumentation and Control installations were done properly. Add to that dust and all sort of fumes and particles as a result of welding and metalwork. It was a demanding job even without fasting. Now that I look back to that hard period, I feel good about trying to do my fasting and my job without compromising one for the other.
And now, I have a weird feeling about my first Ramadhan and fasting in the US the same way I felt at Chicago. The physical conditions of my fasting period here is not as demanding and daunting as it was back in 2001 when I was a supervising engineer. There's a different issue.
Fasting like all other Islamic rituals gets its meaning in a communal atmosphere. In Islam, you do all things with other Muslim brethren and this would not only make you feel unified with a body of believers and worshippers, but also would make you enjoy your religious experience in that community. It reinvigorates your religious experience. Fasting over Ramadhan, although may look like an individual practice to non-Muslims, is a highly communal experience.
In Islamic teachings, Ramadhan is the banquet of God. This is a banquet where you purify your soul by abstaining from eating, drinking and all sort of physical pleasures for the whole day and then sit down at the end of the day feeling elated for doing what God has told you to do. At the end of the day, when you sit down to eat and drink, you truly find yourself at the banquet of God. You enjoy a banquet with your family and buddies. So, being away from all those loved ones, doesn't let you quite enjoy your banquet.
Over past 3 years that my parents have migrated to Mashhad, although I was away from them over my Ramadhans in Tehran, I was at least among my friends. Now, I'm away from them too. Being on a solitary banquet, although you may sense the presence of the Host, doesn't feel the same as when you sit with His other guests at the table.
In Islam, when you're on travel or away from your hometown for a distance of more than 15 miles, your 4 rak'ah (unit) daily prayers (noon, afternoon and night) would be broken in half; i.e. you have to say those prayers in 2 units (rak'ah); unless you stay in that new place for 10 days or more. In that sense, Toledo where I planned to stay for at least 1.5 years for the duration of my Master's degree program, would be considered my new hometown, religiously speaking. And that despite being at a distance of much much more than 15 miles from Tehran (where I'd lived almost all my life). Trivially, Chicago was not my home, although it was in the same country (U.S.). So, this was my last broken prayer over my 32 hour odyssey before reaching my new temporary hometown on the other side of the planet.
The same rule of travel/hometown applies to fasting. When you are away from your hometown for a distance of more than 15 miles, you cannot fast (it's not broken like prayer; it's void) unless you plan to stay at the place for more than 10 days. Apart from the religious ruling, fasting from dawn to dusk could be uncomfortable when you're away from the amenities of your own home and hometown.
First time I was away from my hometown over a Ramadhan over my adulthood (being 15+ years old when prayers and fasting are mandatory for Muslims), it was 2001 and I was assigned as a supervising engineer at a hydroelectric powerplant under construction in Southwestern Iran. It was my first time being away from Tehran (where I'd lived almost all my life) for such an extended period. Although I enjoyed the beautiful scenery amid steep Zagros Mountains and the banks of blue-green Karun River, physical conditions of the job were rather tough. I had to run up and down 4 floors of the big powerplant to make sure that Instrumentation and Control installations were done properly. Add to that dust and all sort of fumes and particles as a result of welding and metalwork. It was a demanding job even without fasting. Now that I look back to that hard period, I feel good about trying to do my fasting and my job without compromising one for the other.
And now, I have a weird feeling about my first Ramadhan and fasting in the US the same way I felt at Chicago. The physical conditions of my fasting period here is not as demanding and daunting as it was back in 2001 when I was a supervising engineer. There's a different issue.
Fasting like all other Islamic rituals gets its meaning in a communal atmosphere. In Islam, you do all things with other Muslim brethren and this would not only make you feel unified with a body of believers and worshippers, but also would make you enjoy your religious experience in that community. It reinvigorates your religious experience. Fasting over Ramadhan, although may look like an individual practice to non-Muslims, is a highly communal experience.
In Islamic teachings, Ramadhan is the banquet of God. This is a banquet where you purify your soul by abstaining from eating, drinking and all sort of physical pleasures for the whole day and then sit down at the end of the day feeling elated for doing what God has told you to do. At the end of the day, when you sit down to eat and drink, you truly find yourself at the banquet of God. You enjoy a banquet with your family and buddies. So, being away from all those loved ones, doesn't let you quite enjoy your banquet.
Over past 3 years that my parents have migrated to Mashhad, although I was away from them over my Ramadhans in Tehran, I was at least among my friends. Now, I'm away from them too. Being on a solitary banquet, although you may sense the presence of the Host, doesn't feel the same as when you sit with His other guests at the table.
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