As fasting ends, the lessons of Ramadan linger

Before we began our three-day Eid al-Fitr holiday, marking the end of Ramadan, I came across an article in a Saudi newspaper with a checklist of what makes a successful Ramadan.

First on the list: Recognizing that one can change for the better and acquiring patience and strong will. This month my deficiencies have shone as if spotlights were directed at them.

The article continues: Successful fasting means not only abstaining from food, drink, and lust from dawn to dusk, but also being honest, patient, and forgiving. I lose my temper with my children and argue with my sisters regularly. But because I'm fasting and conscious of Ramadan's requirements, I have become aware of that single moment, as quick as a finger-snap, when a person gives themselves the green light to lose their temper.

Be more charitable, says the article.

On Tuesday I made some quick calculations to figure out my zakat, money for the poor due every Ramadan, which is 2.5 percent of what's left of my income after I've calculated all my expenses. A devout friend, also named Faiza, distributes zakat for herself, her family, and her friends. I collected money from my sisters and joined her.

We drove to a neighborhood called Sabeel, which is mainly populated by illegal immigrants from Somali. We got out of the car to followed a janitor who lives there and who works at the university where Faiza teaches. Children ran after each other in the dark, garbage-strewn alleys. We moved cautiously, sidestepping a thin trail of sewage.

The janitor knocked on an iron door. Inside, children ran around a dirty room. Faiza insisted on entering to make sure the people were truly needy. "Why aren't you working khala [aunt]?" she asked an old woman surrounded by three small children. "You used to be a janitor at the university, as well."

"I worked there for 25 years. Then I broke my arm and they replaced me," the old woman answered.

"God is with you," Faiza said and handed her a small envelope. We went from house to house where the stories were different, but the desperation is the same. Another woman's husband is in prison and her landlord has thrown her furniture out because she can't pay her rent.

In the car on the long ride back I was quiet; the stories and the smells stayed with me. But Faiza was bubbly, energized by her good deeds. She seemed animated even though I could see only her eyes through the slit in her face veil. "The prophet, peace be upon him, said it makes God laugh with pleasure when we give charity to the poor," she told me. "Charity can put an adulteress in heaven," she rattled on, telling me a story recounted by the prophet of a prostitute who went to heaven for giving water to a thirsty dog. "Tomorrow I'm going to another neighborhood to distribute more zakat, do you want to come with me?"

I shook my head, and she smiled. "Do you know why God prescribed zakat at the end of Ramadan? Because you've tasted for a whole month the hunger of the poor, you've empathized with them, and now you help them out. It's Ramadan coming full circle."

"But the poor are not only hungry and needy during Ramadan," I said.

"And charity shouldn't end there either," she countered. "We don't worship Ramadan, we worship the God of Ramadan. The God who said he prefers good deeds to be modest and continuous, instead of grand and infrequent."

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