Prof. Dr. Michel Desjardins
I study and teach about religion. All kinds, past and present, large and small. Laurier has been my academic home for the past quarter century. When you read this, I will be retired. My hunger for understanding human nature drove me to the academic study of religion, and has nurtured my studies over the years.
For over a decade, my research attention has been directed to the role that food plays in people’s religious lives today. In that context, Eid ul-Adha (Kurban, Bakrid, Hari Raya Haji, etc.) is deeply interesting to me—and to my wife Ellen, with whom I’ve done much of this research. We’ve read studies on the topic, interviewed dozens of Muslims across the world, published on the topic, and experienced Eid ul-Adha in person in Egypt and China.
I would like to take this opportunity to share some reflections on my personal experiences of Eid celebrations, from the viewpoint of a sympathetic, fairly well-informed outsider.
Let me start with perspective. Eid practice is usually described from the perspective of the giver rather than the receiver—for example, the basic recommendations for dividing the meat: a third to strangers (mostly those who are poor), a third to acquaintances, and a third for one’s family. But what is it like to receive this generosity? Our Eid experience in Lijiang, China, in 2012, gave us one little insight from those who receive the charity.
Ellen and I arrived at the Chinese mosque that October morning just as young people were leaving the building, following their morning prayers. We soon saw that most of them were university students. Later we would learn that they had moved to this ancient town from different places to study. As they were having a group picture taken of themselves on the steps, somebody noticed us standing close by. They quickly invited us to join them, and two bus rides later we found ourselves in a restaurant with about sixty people enjoying an Eid meal.
The food, which kept coming, course after course, was provided at no cost by the owner as part of his Eid contribution. He was delighted to have foreigners (and non-believers) share the experience. Even without the help of alcohol, the conversations got louder, and people’s faces shone more brightly. Two professors, being true to their profession, made speeches (to the importance of learning, and the need to care for one another wherever we may be), and the restaurant owner beamed.
For those of us on the receiving end of the owner’s generosity, it felt like we had been welcomed into someone’s home with open arms. No distinctions were made. No formal thanks were expected. There was no explicit religious dogma. Ellen and I came away from the experience touched by these acts of generosity.
Our Eid experience in Cairo in 2007 was equally fascinating, but different. There too the early morning mosque service had just concluded when we arrived, and families were lingering in the courtyard before heading home—the young girls in their pretty new clothes, adults distributing treats to the children as they emerged from prayer, people chatting in the cool December morning sun.
Goats, sheep and cattle were tied to trucks in the distance, and some were pacing inside fenced areas beside the mosque. We could identify the butchers by their rubber boots and the knives sticking out of the leather sheathes that covered their calves. They too were pacing in the background, smoking, caught up in a personal world that seemed distant from the crowd that had emerged from the mosque, who in turn seemed oblivious to the animals and the butchers.
When the last family was about half a block away, attention turned to the animals in the courtyard of the mosque. The first, the largest bull, unexpectedly escaped as he was being brought from the holding area in the back of the mosque. We all scattered. He was eventually caught and sacrificed. Then the small group of butchers started the process of killing the rest of the animals, one by one, and cutting the flesh from the bones.
Beside me, as all this was happening, was a recent convert to Islam, a young Black American, who was capturing the images on his iPhone and transmitting them to family in Chicago. His excitement was palpable. ‘What are you thinking about now?’ I asked as we both stood beside the next animal being prepared for slaughter. “Becoming part of the ummah,” he responded. “I am now part of all this! And I know that Muslims around the world are sharing in this event as I am.”
I lifted my eyes and saw several young boys who had climbed the fence and were watching. I thought of a previous conversation I’d had with a Somali Canadian family who had noted the significance of the rite of passage for a young male when he kills his first animal for Eid ul-Adha. I wondered whether these boys were thinking of the time when they would be personally involved.
Five hours later, after seven animals had been slaughtered, the courtyard was almost as it had been when the families emerged from their morning prayers. Skin, bones and entrails were gone, and the stones had been cleaned with hoses. What remained were several tables of cut-up meat, ready to be distributed. The faces of the poor people carrying plastic bags, looking through the courtyard fence, made it clear that they were eager to get the fresh meat.
As we meandered through the city that day, we saw meat donations dropped off in courtyards, alongside roads, and beside housing complexes. We saw people sitting on curbs, picking meat off the bones. We witnessed more animal slaughter in people’s back yards and courtyards. Raw meat could be seen everywhere in this grand city.
These Eid experiences in Cairo lead me to reflect on three issues.
First, I think of the magnitude of what happens across the world on this occasion, the vast number of people involved in making food available to others, including the labour of those who raise the animals and slaughter them. I also imagine the cooking that takes place in people’s homes, reproducing recipes that often go back generations. The expense, too, comes to mind: people who can afford to buy animals for slaughter on average pay the equivalent of several weeks, or more, of salary, then proceed to give away much of the food. There is also the use of Eid as a rite of passage: when will someone kill their first animal for this ceremony? Among Muslims and non-Muslims there is certainly much to be learned from how Eid is celebrated in different parts of the world.
Second, I hope that future Eids (and Hajjes) will kill fewer animals. I say this as a vegetarian, a lifestyle I’ve chosen out of concern for animal rights, environmental sustainability, and personal health benefits. I’ve often heard the expression “meat is sacred in Islam.” But my profession has taught me that religions are always changing. I also know that Muslim views of animals have changed over time (e.g., read Richard Foltz’s Animals in Islamic Traditions), and that there are historical precedents in Islam for different treatment of non-human animals. My hope is that, just as an animal was substituted for Abraham’s son in the Biblical and Qur’anic narratives, other types of food can increasingly be substituted for meat in the 21st century Eid celebrations as we honour life: our own, that of other living creatures on this earth, and the planet as a whole.
Third, I ponder how best to deal with poverty. On the whole (I realize it’s more complicated!), Eid is grounded in a traditional model: feed those who cannot feed themselves. This model is clear: it’s appreciated by those in need, it makes those who give feel good about themselves, and it’s Qur’anically supported. What’s not to like about it? Well… Eid comes and goes, and poverty remains, everywhere. Charity takes place globally, and we all need to think of how to reduce poverty in ways that build dignity and self-sufficiency. A globally-celebrated festival like Eid, in the hands and hearts of more than a billion people, has the power, not only to feed the poor once a year, but to profoundly change the world.
Young people will be key. If my university experiences with students at Laurier are typical, I have faith in the power, passion and insight of young Muslims to lead the way in sustaining and adjusting their Eid practices, in dialogue with other people who are engaged in making positive differences in the world.
In closing, let me say that I’d welcome feedback from you on this article (mdesjardins@wlu.ca). And for those of you celebrating this year, may your holiday be blessed!
