Supererogatory

As of today, the most popular article on Religion Dispatches, where I’m a Senior Correspondent–and where I blog frequently–presents my thoughts on Richard Dawkins’ terrible tweet.  

I’ve also added my thoughts (or I should say my disappointments with) President Obama over his stance on Syria, and the lack of vision and strategy we are receiving from the White House.

The movie is really worth watching; the soundtrack was wonderful, too. Moved by what I saw, I wrote the following.

Pour me a cup of poetry, Saqi
Should I say how I feel
with the ink in this chai or the tears from my eye?
These three and God alone
Us four know not – not yet – the coolness under His throne

A few friends have reached out to me, asking for advice on what to see and do in Istanbul, Turkey (since I’ve served as a tour guide there.)  There is of course a lot you could do there, since it’s one of the world’s greatest cities, but I’ve shared the below to be of some benefit, God willing.  By no means should you consider this to represent all there is you can see or do, but it’s a good start, especially for the thoughtful Muslim tourist.

1. See Sultan Ahmet’s Blue Mosque, Aya Sofya, and spend some time in Fatih neighborhood (the major sites).  Nearby is the Grand Bazaar, and right outside it one of my favorite mosques, Nuruosmaniye.  Right outside the Cemberlitas tram stop—God bless that tram—there’s a traditional hammam.  Go there to feel violated and refreshed all at once.  (Private men’s and women’s sections.)

2. The Fatih Sultan Mehmet Mosque has been restored, and is worth seeing.  Pray Fatihah for him outside the mosque.

3. Cross the Galata Bridge. But before you do, check out Yeni Camii, the Spice (“Misir”) Bazaar and the Rustem Pasa Mosque, tucked into that complex.  It’s funny that the “new” mosque—Yeni Camii—is older than many countries.  But that’s why we love Istanbul.

4. Walk up to Suleymaniyye Mosque.  This is, by far, my favorite great mosque of Istanbul; I can spend hours inspecting the newly-restored masterpiece, the greatest of Sinan’s works, I think, in Istanbul.  It’s a simple delight, and the little details will make your heart melt—for example, the calligraphic invocation of Bilal al-Habashi by the muezzin’s maqam.

5. After you exit Suleymaniyye, go to Mimar Sinan’s grave, which is open-air.  Right behind it, descending, is Mimar Sinan Caddesi (Mimar Sinan Avenue.)  Walk down the decline and you’ll soon see, on the left are a number of cafes.  They may not look that impressive, but walk all the way up—say to Mimar Sinan Café.  (I wrote about it here.)

They are fantastic—if you go to the topmost levels, which have ridiculous views of Istanbul and Suleymaniyye.  If you can time it to be there for maghrib, when the sun goes down over Istanbul, to the sound of a melodious adhan, I swear it’s a bit of heaven.  The mosques are lit up excellently at night, and I believe the Blue Mosque may be stared at, mindlessly, for longer than you imagine.

6.  Once across Galata, check out Beyoglu, the neighborhood made famous by Taksim Square the Gezi Park protests; walk up and down Istiklal Caddesi, preferably on a weekend evening.  There are so many fascinating stores, cafes, restaurants and other things to do here that it’s hard to describe except to say—give yourself time.

7. For a very cool and more relaxed vibe, go along the waterfront in Ortakoy, and especially check out the Dolmabahce Mosque and the cafes nearby.  I’m not a fan of Dolmabahce Palace, at all, but it’s nice to catch one of the public ferries that leave from Galata to go up and down the Bosphorus.  This simply must be done, but try to get on as early as possible so you can sit atop the ship and really enjoy the fantastic views.  Then you know why Istanbul has been a city of Emperors and Caliphs—where else would you want to be? 

8. Before leaving Ortakoy, stop by Kilic Ali Pasa’s Mosque.  To understand why he’s so important, read Giancarlo Casale’s ground-breaking work beforehand.

9. There are so many neighborhoods in Istanbul; one of my favorite is Nisantasi.  I love the small shop there called Kagithane; they have a decent website, and if you’re into cool notebooks, t-shirts, magnets, and more creative gifts, they definitely have a nice selection—and there are nearby stores where I found some amazing and wonderful antiques.  The Grand Bazaar is an experience, but it’s too sensory-overload/tourist madness for me.  I also like Tophane; these neighborhoods are charming and a nice way to go beyond the touristic.

10. For restaurants, try Asitane for original Ottoman cuisine.  You’ll need to cab it there, because it’s outside the city walls, but they will happily get you a cab back.  It’s in the middle of nowhere but has a great reputation.

11. If you have extra time, check out the mosque of Sokollu Mehmed Pasha; see also Casale’s book for why he was important.  (A Bosnian, by the way—the Pasha.)  Around the time of the mosque’s construction, a flood damaged the Ka’ba and little bits of the black stone are placed on the mihrab.  They’re quite tiny, but that’s kind of cool.

12. There’s great shopping right by the Blue Mosque in a semi-sunken shopping arcade.  More the tourist fare, but far calmer and saner than the big bazaars.  If you want to do Western shopping, check out Kanyon Mall.  

13. There are three sites in Istanbul associated with the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him; the first is Topkapi, whose museum contains the sacred treasures, including the Swords of the Caliphs; the second is the mosque of Muhammad Fatih, for he and his army were praised by Muhammad; and the third is the mosque of Khalid ibn Said, also known as Abu Ayyub Ansari. 

The latter companion, may God be pleased with him, died in a failed Umayyad siege of Istanbul.  Try your best to do fajr at his mosque, especially on a weekend.  (Thanks to Ataturk, and quite deliberately against the spirit of the weekend, that’s Saturday and Sunday.)  Be there in time for the adhan, and plan to be there for several hours.  I’m not joking.  It’s like spiritual drowning.

Afterwards check out Halit Pasa for breakfast; unbelievable.  If you have the energy, head over to Pierre Loti café for amazing views of the city. 

14. Sadly, Istanbul has a fair number of pickpockets—keep an eye on your belongings especially in crowded places, and if you are traveling with women, make sure to move as a group.  The sad, pathetic and disgusting sin of groping isn’t unknown, and when we’re in a group, I prefer the men to stand around the women to prevent that from happening. 

15.  Like museums?  Istanbul Modern is amazing; there are also countless galleries, boutiques, antiquities shops, musicians’ workshops, and the like, in the city.  I find a nice afternoon stroll always uncovers the unexpected and the amazing.  You can visit the city walls, but they’re kind of out of the way; if you have the time, check out Uskudar, which is on the Asian side and accessible by the above mentioned public ferries.

16.  A few months back, I was in Istanbul, in part to cover the protests, and I was taken to a place called Huqqa in Kurucesme, which is a high-end, alcohol-free shisha joint with beautiful views over the Bosphorus.  Sometimes I like to go to places like that just to feel like I’m part of a part of a country, not just skimming the surface.  Turkey’s remarkable for its dynamism, energy, and democratic culture–it’s an energetic and visionary place, and it’s hard not to feel inspired by its past and present.

17.  Drink apple tea.  Drink tea generally.  Familiarize yourself with public transport.  This is a huge city and takes a toll, so make sure to plan out your day and give yourself breaks and stay hydrated.  I’m all about hydration.  It’s practically my middle name.  

I’ll update this post as often as I can. 

Stars are powered by fusion; in their superhot cores, the lightest elements are pressed together, by almost unimaginable force, into heavier elements, unleashing furious bursts of energy, which we perceive as light, though like the fullness of the world, we can only physically capture, through our eyes, part of this output. As stars die, they seek, almost like living beings, to desperately fuse, out of heavier elements, still heavier elements, but their cause is doomed. They die. 

Some unimaginably–the weightiest become black holes, disappearing from our horizons–some spectacularly–they implode and explode–and some sadly–fading away, into small and pathetic things. But through their deaths comes life. Yours and mine.   It is fusion, and specifically the fusion at the desperate end of a star’s lifespan, that produces the heavier elements, which in turn have rained down onto Earth from comets and comes into us from afar–needless to say, these elements, which include the elements necessary for our existence, do not come “from” the Earth, but from the cosmos around the Earth.

It is not terribly inaccurate thus to say: Life here began out there.  (When I first posted this to Facebook, a friend added: Iron has the highest binding energy per nucleon, making it the most stable. When stars are making bigger and bigger elements from fusion, they eventually generate iron. However, since iron is so stable, it actually takes more energy to fuse iron into a heavier element. At this point, the star is unable to produce more energy, and it eventually collapses and dies because of this. So that verse in Surat Hadid is additionally significant because Iron specifically is the ‘strongest’ element from the perspective of stellar evolution.)

And then I came across the 25th verse of Surat al-Hadid, which includes this passage: ’…And we sent down iron.’ Just like that. One simple verb, into which centuries of human knowledge are collapsed. God has spoken Truth. The Universe is His imagination, just as you and I are. Be and it is. And we are. The verb, “anzala” (anzalna, 'We make descend’) is the same verb, from the same root, as we use for revelation–as in His Word, coming down to us via Muhammad, peace be upon him. 

He sent down iron. 

Muhammad Iqbal, the great South Asian philosopher, said the Qur'an includes 3 types of signs (in Arabic, ayahs): The verses themselves (ayahs), historical evidences, and the natural world. Literally then iron is a sign of His Will and His Presence, just as Revelation is, and both came to us from outside and beyond the world, and it is to that realm which we cannot perceive, but which we feel especially in this month, that we are called back. No matter what you are going through right now, and maybe you’re in a bad place, remember this.

He made you not for this place, but for another. And He calls us back.

May we be joined in the gardens beyond description and entered into the company of those we love and those we admire, and may we be given peace, may we be healed of all our hurts, forgiven all our wrongs, elevated beyond ourselves, and given fullness and fulfillness in His shade. On these nights, when the heavens are apparent to us–step outside the mosque, and look up, just for a moment–think of what he sends down for us, and how this speaks to His creation of us, but what comes down comes down only for this reason: For us to ascend.

Last night I was blessed to join an old friend at the Shaykh Zayed Mosque in Abu Dhabi, which can be described as what comes about when someone who matters watches Aladdin and thinks, ‘Hey, I can afford that!’ (See also: Not your life problems.) The Qur'anic recitation was spectacular; the building anticipated paradise; and the bakhoor alone cost more than I’ll earn in my whole life, even assuming last night’s supplications were answered, which I think were altogether reasonable. 

I also learned more about the World of Islam, which is what Mitt Romney called it, by which I mean us. (Remember him? Morsi does. No one else does.)  I headed out for Abu Dhabi at 6pm, to make it in time for the fast-breaking meal, or Iftar, a journey that led to me a new vocabulary term, or actually a few, to go with my Politically Incorrect Guide, which you should print out and bind at Staples in lieu of Eid gifts–it’ll be better than what you’ve got planned (you got nothin’, I know), much cheaper (hint: think of this part like the price tag, and scrape it off, like I do, in the elevator, on the way up), and shows that 'personal touch’ us millennial monotheists are so concerned to convey. 

What I Learned (And What You’re Really Here For: 3 New Ramadan Dictionary Entries) 

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All names have been changed to protect neo-colonialism, Orientalism, and the end times. 

“Man, I can’t tell you how angry I am.”

“What gives?”

“Those Moslems are polygamous and so shameless about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ahmed was going on and on about all the dates he had…”

“I thought Moslems had to be married?”

“Yeah, but wait, it’s worse, he didn’t say he had dates he said he ‘bought them’.”

“The poor women.”

“Yeah, and of course, being Arabs, they all have the same name.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ajwa? I mean, it’s one thing to have ten dates–how does he keep them apart in his head?”

“Those animals probably don’t even treat their dates like people. Just use 'em up and spit 'em out.”

“You’re so right.”  Awkward silence.  "Oh, yeah, I wanted to tell you something amazing I learned about Arabics.“

"Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, apparently, in their culture, it’s an insult to throw your shoes at people.”

“That’s good to know, because I regularly throw my shoes and used diapers at people, and I wouldn’t have realized it would be offensive had you not told me.”

“We look out for each other.”

updated monday 18.23 dxb

Celebrate Ramadan with Ramajargon.

We have special Ramadan desserts. Special Ramadan sales. Special Ramadan prayers. Why not a special Ramadan dictionary?  (A: It’s bid'a.)  We’ve lost the ambition to think big (though not eat big), to aim for the stars (as opposed to each other), to eat satisfying and healthy break-fast meals (say a'udhubillah), and we’re people who actually have breakfasts (here that crazy people, we’re people too!).    

Anticipatory Iftar Induction Syndrome [AIIS]: That guy who always breaks his fast a little too early, even though he can hear the adhan just as well as you and I can.  He might even have that adhan clock that they used to sell at ISNA.  (I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t clubbing.)  No known cure is available for this strange syndrome, which violates everything we know, medically and otherwise, about Muslims and their chronological faculties.  

Cannondan: In Ottoman times, a cannon was fired three times before the maghrib adhan, to give folks a head’s up, except for the AIIS guy above, who was already digging in and chowing down.  In modern Turkish, this’d be Kannonlardanoglubeglar, which means “to fire a cannon while riding on a horse and considering EU membership”.  Today this no longer happens (neither cannons nor the EU), because Muslims generally only fire modern versions of cannons at each other, and being Muslim “miss”, except there being so many of us (guess what we can do after iftar!), some of us die anyway.  

Date: At any other time of year, you have no chance.  Now your fridge holds dozens, with more than enough to share with others.  (You could say you’re polydatous).  The especially socially awkward (known elsewhere as Muslim men) turn into insufferable date connoisseurs this time of year, though absolutely nothing about them speaks style or sense.  

‘I prefer Ajwa dates, myself, [faux cough], especially when I’m on holiday in Musandam.’  See namauzea, other causes of; also, Musandam is Arabic for 'the Hamptons.’

As for actual dates (of the non-palm tree, Ramadanesque variety), well, as long as you ask her out from a distance–like ten feet from your mouth.  Non-dictatorial Mubaraks to the guy who can get a girl to go out with him for not-coffee by asking her out while covering his mouth with one hand and using his other hand to confirm, via tape measure, safe distance.  We salute you because we cannot bow before your awesomeness.  Shirk.

Date-seed: Uncles have been convincing naive little children that, if they accidentally swallow the date seed, a palm tree will start growing in their stomach.  Uncle thinks this is funny.  Meanwhile I was vomiting all night in the bathroom, terrified a huge tree would rip open my midsection, tear through my neck, and crash through my brain, leaving me a bloody arboreal Punjabi mess.  Oh yeah I slashed your tires.  Who’s stuck in the masjid parking lot after witr now, sucker?  See also Ramadan spirit.

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Bosnia hit me hard, and for many reasons.  Helplessness.  Haplessness.  And the moral meaningfulness, or lack thereof, of it all.  When I took my first tour group to Srebrenica, I was fine as we walked through the battery factory, composed even as we watched the movie, but then it hit me, not incrementally but suddenly–like someone set off dynamite all across the weakest points of my mind.

Flooded with emotion.  Anger and rage.  I wanted, needed to punch someone.  But you can’t punch your tour group, can you?  And sobs, huge waves of grief that roiled me, that tossed and turned me, making me dizzy with tragedy.  I thought I might fall to the floor and just cry, and I had no idea I’d be so affected, or could be so affected.  So I left.  Even though I shouldn’t have.  I just walked, and walked, and walked.

One guy from our group did the same.  Walking, walking, walking.  He exited and went left.  We caught each other’s eyes and realized: There are no words for this moment.  I wandered to the prayer area, where I did ablution in the presence of some seven thousand tombstones, and I just fell to the marble, and did not know what I said, or how long I stayed, except that when I raised my head, there was my group, doing the same.

This is a poem for Bosnia, for Spain, for when prose fails and only poetry can try.

Andalucía, 1614; Mecca, Possibly, 1615

There must’ve been a last Muslim, meant to turn off the lights, 

Who took for Semitism’s stake a final fumbled step off Spanish soil.
            ‘Better,’ they said, ‘to love, to lose and to know,           
than to live in existential limbo.’
What the hell did they know?

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