Friday was Eid-i Qurbon (Иди Қурбон), known elsewhere in the Muslim world
as Eid al-Adha (adha and qurbon are both Arabic words for
sacrifice, the later used in the Persian world). Somehow amongst all of the
times I have heard and read about Ramadan and Eid al-Fitr, the second great
festival of Islam escaped my notice. Tajikistan has helped me rectify that
omission, by hearing about Eid-i Qurbon from Tajik friends, and reading about
it, and experiencing it. Like the holiday, this blog post encompasses too much:
celebration, language, giving, religion, contradictions, traditions, vacation
and family.
I asked the American Corner Coordinator, Madina, to explain it to me. She explained that it is the "Feast of Sacrifice," celebrating Abraham's near sacrifice of his son, and thus passing his test of faith. It is the end of the Muslim year, and the time when people go on Hajj to Mecca. The festival always two months after Ramadan, and so cycles about eleven days earlier each year. Some people fast for ten days before Eid-i Qurbon. During the holiday, people spend time with their families, and visit older relatives. Those who are able should sacrifice a sheep, and share the meat with family, friends, and those less fortunate.
I was obligated to take photos for my parents and my local
coffee shop. My parents sent me the coffee via a coworker's husband's
visit to Dushanbe and then an Embassy delivery north. The coffee is from Misha's, the Alexandria coffee shop
that my dad and I visited every Saturday morning from when I was three
years old through high school. On their fridges, Misha's
posts photos of people holding their coffee cups in far away places. I
would like to think I have made some sort of record.
I held a cup from home and it felt like a fall holiday, so Sarah and I started
talking about our Thanksgiving traditions at home. For our Thanksgiving holiday here, we plan pumpkin pie and a
bird and some cranberry sauce via Bishkek if we are lucky. Perhaps even some
American Football - we have a ball at the American Corner. I can practice being
thankful for what I have learned and had time to think about, and plan for how
to explain our own holiday in its own glory of story and history and
contradictions and tradition all wrapped in language.
I asked the American Corner Coordinator, Madina, to explain it to me. She explained that it is the "Feast of Sacrifice," celebrating Abraham's near sacrifice of his son, and thus passing his test of faith. It is the end of the Muslim year, and the time when people go on Hajj to Mecca. The festival always two months after Ramadan, and so cycles about eleven days earlier each year. Some people fast for ten days before Eid-i Qurbon. During the holiday, people spend time with their families, and visit older relatives. Those who are able should sacrifice a sheep, and share the meat with family, friends, and those less fortunate.
When a thirteen-year-old on student said "Congratulations
on our holiday!" Thursday morning, I explained that though "Eid-e mubarak" does translate
"congratulations," that's not usually what we say in English. We like
to say "Happy [insert holiday]," or "Have a good holiday."
Imagine my delight when I learned later in the day that many people say "Иди нагз гозарид (Eid-i nagz gozareed)," which translates almost
exactly to "Have a good holiday."
On Thursday afternoon, I spent
time with some American Corner volunteers taking food to families in need. One
of the volunteers had been inspired to put out a donation box earlier in the
week, and on Thursday the money was collected and taken to the grocery. They
came back with flour, rice,
buckwheat (grechka), sugar, oil,
black tea, soap and shampoo. We grabbed at the items hastily to put
together fourteen bags in the road behind the taxi so we wouldn't have to lug
the food to the Corner on the fourth floor. Five of us piled into the taxi to look for the homes on the list
that the mosque had provided. The others joined us later via mashrutkeh and
walking. As we walked to a house, we played the "What is this in
English/Tajik?" game ("Sunflower" is офтобпараст - oftobparast - lit. sun-worshipper, which is delightfully similar.
We spent ages as they tried to explain to me a small bird is in the hopes I
would know the English name.). The experience was entirely similar to Thanksgiving and
Christmas volunteering run by schools and churches at home.
I first heard Abraham's story at church when I was young: God
tested Abraham's faith, asking him to sacrifice his son. Abraham was ready to
cut Isaac's neck when an angel appeared to stop him and he sacrificed a ram instead.
Since he has passed the test, God made a covenant with Abraham: he would have
as many descendents as stars in the sky.
When I heard the story in church
it was mostly upsetting ("Mom, would you kill me if God asked you
to?" The answer better be 'no').
Of course that is exactly why it is a powerful illustration of faith.
But I got a very different
reading junior year in a seminar entitled "Bible as Literature" with
an inscrutable old professor named Leslie Brisman. It was a secular class based
in the English department, and involved comparing different translations and
discussing the text in relation to the documentary hypothesis of the Pentateuch
(four different authors). Brisman delighted in surprising us with literary analysis, and I particularly remember his explication of Genesis 22. If there are different authors, one intends the story's moral much as
I first understood it: God sends his angel to stay Abraham's hand. Another
reading - if verses 11 and 12 are excluded - is that an angel did not appear,
but the ram did, and Abraham took advantage of its
presence to sacrificed it instead of his son. The moral of this story is not blind
obedience but ingenuity and problem-solving in the face of a difficult task;
can he obey to the extent that is reasonable, and figure out when not to obey.
I was interested to read (a translation of) the passage in the Koran.
I had heard that it is Ishmael who is nearly killed, not Isaac, but figured the
message is the same. There is an interesting twist, though: Abraham actually
asks his son whether he is willing to die. Ishmael agrees, which is seen as a
sign of his own faith and maturity. The faith of both father and son is
important. This is in contrast to Genesis' Isaac, who seems to be ignorant of
what is going on, though smart enough to catch on to the fact that something is
not quite right since he notices that there is no sheep as they are headed to
the sacrifice. Abraham basically lies and tells him not to worry about it. Both
versions of Abraham show him as a father to one boy - in one personal and
emotional moment. This is more relatable than Abraham, Father of Three
Religions. The scripture gives a story which is then layered and refracted through the rituals of Hajj and Abraham's vast legacy; this is a time to celebrate.
I
experienced the celebration on Friday mostly as a holiday in the British sense;
no work or school. The streets were quiet without the gangs of
black-and-white-uniformed children. Somon bazaar was closed. It rained for the
first time in the months I have been here, which led to Sarah and I sleeping in
and then making a luxurious breakfast of crepes (banana and nutella) and
American coffee. The afternoon was clear and chilly, but not cold. So we went
out on a walk, and realized that fall has come as we walked over fallen leaves
and past yellow trees. We walked over the river and through the mosaics to
Ismoil Somoni's statue.
I was obligated to take photos for my parents and my local
coffee shop. My parents sent me the coffee via a coworker's husband's
visit to Dushanbe and then an Embassy delivery north. The coffee is from Misha's, the Alexandria coffee shop
that my dad and I visited every Saturday morning from when I was three
years old through high school. On their fridges, Misha's
posts photos of people holding their coffee cups in far away places. I
would like to think I have made some sort of record.
