South Asian Muslims in New York reflect on what it’s like to celebrate Eid al-Fitr amongst the continued genocide in Palestine.
As told to Ashish Yamdagni and Roshni Rekha.
As Muslims globally ended their Ramadan fasts on Eid al-Fitr, a shared sense of guilt and confusion enveloped their celebrations.
How do you celebrate one of the most festive days of the year when your brothers and sisters are facing oppression, starvation, and death?
from Manal Jakhar, 25
As we began moving from weeks to months of the genocide in Palestine, I felt this immense pit in my stomach growing. Ramadan was fast approaching and as much as I hoped to see a permanent ceasefire before then, I knew in my gut and historically that wouldn’t be the case, It was probably going to get much worse before it gets better.
While it’s true most years there is a bittersweet departure of the month, this year felt especially more on the bitter end. In losing both my Phupho and Great-Phupho these past weeks, I was reminded how in Islam, death during Ramadan is considered a blessing as one goes straight to the gates of Jannah (paradise). This idea brought me some semblance of ease in the midst of both my family’s loss and in coping with the growing numbers of martyrs and the forcibly starved to death during a month of fasting.
On day 187, the crescent moon and Eid came and brought Ramadan to a close. Still, we bid farewell to one martyr after another. On this subdued Eid, I spent the day with my family. We had the ability the be connected, to be able to grieve loved ones, to visit their burial sites at the Kabristan (graveyard), to eat nourishing and fulfilling meals, to be grateful for each other’s presence, and to cultivate new memories in a space of safety. The same kind of memories that many in Gaza have clung to from past celebrations, and which I am privileged to be building anew. Eid came and like every day during these 6 months, everything reminded me of what Gazan’s cannot do in peace.
from Allana Akhtar, 28
For me, the shadow of the ongoing genocide in Gaza loomed over every part of Eid this year. During chand Raat, a friend of mine opted out of getting a Palestinian symbol painted in Mehndi because she knew it would cause problems at work. Our imam’s sermon following Eid morning prayers called attention to the massacre. At all three Eid parties I attended, I discussed the horribly biased media coverage of the conflict with aunties, uncles, and young folks alike. Despite the gravity of the situation, I appreciated the ability to speak openly about the topic when so many of my white peers bend themselves backward to avoid mentioning it.
By bringing the genocide and the liberation of Palestinians to the forefront of Eid, I felt more connected with the true mission of my faith instead of getting caught up in petty, shallow drama like who wore the most best outfit or took the best selfie. Inshallah Palestine will be free, but we shouldn’t lose sight of liberating all of our oppressed brothers and sisters, from the Uyghurs in China, to the refugees in Sudan and Afghanistan, to the Black Muslims disproportionately incarcerated in the U.S., to the Indian minorities resisting fascism, and countless others.
from Sanad Ashraf, 29
The Prophet (SAW) once said that Eid al-Fitr is a day to celebrate the blessed month of Ramadan, regardless of the worldly atrocities that may be taking place at the time. Still, it’s tough to find satisfaction knowing my Ramadan was not as challenging as what our brothers and sisters experienced in Palestine, especially in Gaza. The genocide has reached lengths of bombing massacres and famine, with the death toll increasing day by day.
While we may be experiencing some form of guilt this Eid, I think it’s important to remind ourselves what we gained from the month of Ramadan and what we accomplished as a community (Ummah). There’s reason to celebrate because what Zionists want is for this Ummah to be torn apart. But if you ask me, we are stronger than we’ve ever been in my lifetime – I truly feel this in my heart. Despite the efforts to continue the genocide within our own government, our prayers, donations, and duas are creating a bond and are giving this Ummah the backbone we so desperately need. I chose to celebrate that we are a stronger community today, and this is the most important weapon against the Zionist rule.
from Neesha Malik, 27
Ramadan this year was emotionally challenging, and not in the ways I expected. As a Muslim, I know to expect the physical pangs of hunger, the mental strain of getting through work without coffee, the joy of sharing iftar with loved ones – but what I wasn’t prepared for was the underlying confusion that was constant throughout Ramadan and Eid this year. While the atrocities being committed against our Palestinian brothers and sisters continue, there exists an impossible balancing act of appropriately speaking out and also compartmentalizing, because our lives in the West don’t stop just because our people are besieged. I know this is a shared sentiment within our community, these feelings of guilt and confusion on how to navigate this duality. The month of Ramadan has increased the discourse around what it means to practice Islam whilst our world is burning and members of our Ummah are suffering.
Celebrating Eid amidst a genocide feels like a fever dream. As Eid approached, I spoke to many friends about the guilt of our celebrations continuing as normal – which I feel is exactly what happened. I, along with hundreds of other Muslims, congregated in Washington Square Park for Eid for what is affectionately labeled “The Muslim Met Gala.” Our brothers and sisters from varying homelands across the world gathered in their traditional clothing, creating a sea of bright colors and patterns. I could tell a lot of thought and care had gone into showing up for our sacred holiday. Ramadan was over, and the Muslims most definitely ate. But all jokes aside, celebrating as normal felt unusual. Although many of us have gone to protests, raised funds, and spoken out against the oppression Palestinians are facing, celebrating Eid was still coupled with thoughts of “Is this right?” and “Should we be doing this?” I myself was excited about wearing my new outfit, seeing my friends, and celebrating at Washington Square Park, but I can’t help feeling a little ashamed. This year, Ramadan and Eid served as a humbling reminder of the blatant contrast of our privilege.