This is not the week anyone planned to have, and this is not the story I planned to write. Our most eloquent voices are struggling to find the words to make sense of the latest atrocities, not to mention those we rightly fear may be coming.
Thursday night, Charlotte’s Muslim community invited the public to partake of an Interfaith Iftar dinner to celebrate Ramadan. Several hundred attendees gathered at the Islamic Society of Greater Charlotte.
We removed our shoes for a tour of the masjid (mosque) and observed an afternoon prayer. Then everyone gathered in the large gymnasium set with round tables bearing flowers and platters of fruit and dates. A woman named Thafseera, dressed in black-and-white with a coordinating hijab, beckoned us in and found seats in the crowded hall for our small group.
Speakers from sponsoring organizations welcomed us, discussed their community outreach programs, and condemned acts of violence. “We are all part of the same human family,” one proclaimed. Others urged us to reach out to our neighbors. “It’s hard to hate up close,” said Charlotte-Mecklenburg Chief of Police Kerr Putney.
Keynote speaker Imam Khalil Akbar described growing up in Georgia in the era of Jim Crow laws, and the struggle for identity. “Most of my people are Christian,” he explained, and added, “but when I come home, they know: ‘No pork.’”
During the month-long Ramadan observance, Muslims fast each day until sunset. Because Islam follows a lunar calendar that’s 11 days shorter than the 365-day solar calendar, the holy month falls during different seasons from year to year. In winter, daylight can last less than 10 hours. This year, on June 16 there were slightly more than 14-and-a-half hours during which observers abstained.
The talks and blessings concluded at 8:40. Together we ate dates and sipped water to break the fast. Then we lined up at long buffet tables where our hosts served us chicken, lamb, rice, salad, hummus and pita. As we chatted with our tablemates from India, Thafseera came by. She asked if we wanted more hummus. “It’s delicious; I enjoyed it so much,” I replied, declining politely so as not to appear greedy. Moments later, a plate full of the creamy spread and slices of pita appeared – followed soon after by honeyed baklava.
We exchanged email addresses and cell phone numbers, and as we made our way to leave, our hosts handed out small glass jars of dates.
The next morning I looked more closely at my jar. It bears two labels. The one on the side reads “Ramadan Kareem” (a blessing for generosity), and “Thank you for coming!”
The round label bears the name of the American Islamic Outreach Foundation. The words are curved in semi-circles around a small graphic design. That design depicts two hands, in slightly different shades of gray. Those hands are clasped together – in a handshake.
