The blessed month of Ramadan has arrived. The familiar excitement that starts with the first Tarawih prayer, the first pre-dawn meal, and the fast we observe today have brought us back to the month of mercy after 11 months. We want to decorate everywhere with lanterns, talk at length about the joy of Ramadan, experience the happiness of attending Tarawih prayers with our families, and answer the question "what should I cook for iftar" with pleasure. We want the warmth of freshly baked bread from the bread line to comfort us, and after hours of thirst, we want to say a heartfelt "alhamdulillah" after taking the first sip of water with the call to prayer. We desire the efforts to wake up for sahur, discussions about what keeps us full and what makes us thirsty. These are the memories, moments of the most beautiful aspects of the month of mercy that we have missed and eagerly awaited all year. They are all innocent, all beautiful, all special to us.
But Gaza sits heavy on our chests like a lump. We feel ashamed of our hunger, our weakness, our craving for food in the evening, and thinking about what to eat for sahur. While we are grateful for every drop of clean water we drink, the thirst of Gaza burns our hearts. We feel ashamed of the news of "Ramadan rush in the market" while we hear the cries of hungry babies echoing in our ears. When we see the brave souls trying to gather in the rubble of the mosques destroyed in Gaza, and hear the tongues that express gratitude despite enduring all kinds of oppression, we feel ashamed of our Ramadan experiences.
Ramadan is the same Ramadan, but we are in a very different world from last year. Many of us cannot find the joy of spirituality amidst the long-standing helplessness and weakness, but we know that rejoicing in the arrival of Ramadan is also a fruit of faith. All this sorrow, all this grief leads us to the tenth year of prophethood, the 'year of sadness'... When we look back, our current emotional state aligns so well with the feelings of that year. The year when the heart of our Mercy to the Worlds was filled with sorrow, bidding farewell to his beloved uncle Abu Talib and his wife Hazrat Khadija, who had been the greatest support in his most difficult times, within three days of each other, just as we are experiencing heavy times now. But there is also a backstory. Before the sorrowful days experienced one after the other in the 10th year of Prophethood... The days of the 'Quraysh boycott'!
Whether Muslim or not, the Quraysh subjected the Banu Hashim (except for Abu Lahab and his children) and the Banu Muttalib to collective punishment. During the three-year siege, Abu Talib gathered the members of his tribe in the old neighborhood of the Banu Hashim, where the Prophet Muhammad was also born. Under the leadership of Abu Jahl, the architect of the boycott known as the 'Shi‘bu Abi Talib,' the conditions were set as follows: "All relations with the Banu Hashim and the Banu Muttalib will be severed until Muhammad is surrendered. Marriage with them will not be allowed. No trade will be conducted with them, nor will any goods be bought from or sold to them. They will be prevented from trading with other tribes during the forbidden months."
The merciless boycott decision was the last move of the polytheists before shedding blood. Siyar sources tell us that during the siege, hungry children cried out for three years in the neighborhood of Abu Talib, and a handful of Muslims who tried to survive with bone and leather scraps endured a very severe test of hunger.
Looking back at history; while contemplating that sadness, struggle, trial, paying the price, resisting have been the duty of Muslims since the beginning, we also see that despite the change of time and place, ease does not come without difficulty, victory without resistance, miracles without patience. But the oppressors have not changed either. Their intentions, methods, goals have always been the same.
After making a short reading on Gaza and going to the year of sorrow, recalling the boycott incident of the polytheists affected me differently this time. They chose to collectively punish their people in order to capture our Prophet, now the deviant Zionists are besieging their people with various blockade methods to capture Gaza. You must have seen those horrifying images. Just as Abu Jahl prevented conscientious people from helping at the entrances and exits of the neighborhood where Muslims lived, the Jews also lie down in front of aid trucks waiting to enter Gaza through the entry gates. They delight in the cries of hungry children. Apparently, preventing trade gives satisfaction to the Zionists without killing without using weapons. So, what have those who continue to trade with Israel done exactly? Are they just making money, or are they complicit in the blatant oppression inflicted on the people of Gaza? Indeed, why don't we, as Muslims who no longer have any meaning, besiege the modern-day Abu Jahils? Why don't we stop consuming? We cannot even resist the Coca Cola imposition that sabotages our Ramadan months, even the will to resist fasting. We surrender right from our iftar tables.
Despite everything, Ramadan has arrived. The excitement of its encompassing has spread. This Ramadan may be that Ramadan. May fasting hold us and not let us go, inshallah. May this Ramadan bring relief to Gaza and give us courage as well. Amen.
