Everyone around me seemed to be irrationally angry. I felt my neck tighten – a defensive reaction – but tried to stay calm and think logically. Why is everyone freaking out because my daughters, who are Muslim, are fasting for Ramadan?

This is not the first time we’ve been in the United States during Ramadan. And it’s not the first time that people we know get concerned and even embarrassed that we fast (e.g., “how can you come to the party if you aren’t going to eat?”). But it is the first time I’ve had an organized children’s program threaten to kick my daughters out if they refused water during the sunlit hours.

They do have a point: It’s terribly hot. The girls are engaged in extensive physical activity. If they don’t drink, they could get dehydrated. They could get headaches, feel tired, even faint.

My daughters don’t agree: “It’s our religion. No one else has the right to tell us if we can follow our religion or not.” True, I tell them, but the children’s program isn’t saying they can’t fast. They are saying the girls can’t participate in the program’s physical activities if they are fasting.

From a strictly legal perspective, I see two sides. On the one hand, the program doesn’t want liability for any short- or long-term harm caused to them by not drinking during physical activity. That’s understandable. But on the other hand, they aren’t forcing other children to drink. They offer liquids and encourage drinking, but they don’t watch the children, measure their intake, and pull them out of activities if they don’t drink a predetermined minimum amount. How can they enforce their “must drink” policy (never before articulated) only on my children, the only Muslims in the program?

But the legal perspective isn’t the interesting one to me. The interesting (and painful) question concerns mothering. Every single reaction to my daughters’ fasting implied that a good mother would not allow her children to fast, and especially not when they are at camp during a hot summer.

Am I a bad mother?

On a normal summer day, I do require my children to drink lots. I mandate massive amounts of sunscreen. And I’m known on more than one continent as the “bedtime police” because I’m so inflexible about getting enough sleep. So why am I lax about eating and drinking during Ramadan? It’s not because I’m a blind follower of religion. There are lots of aspects of Islam and all organized religions that I don’t accept and would have difficulty tolerating. Believe me, I’m not the type to accept anything just because it’s written in a book.

I support my daughters’ observance of Ramadan because I believe it has value. I realize it even more now as I contemplate all the criticism I’m getting. It seems that many people in the US take things for granted, for example, that people are entitled to be comfortable even when others around them aren’t and that personal freedom is more important that collective obligation.

How can I explain this to a person who has never fasted for Ramadan, Lent, Yom Kippur, or any other voluntary reason? How can I put into words that on the other side of the pain in your stomach that moves to your head and makes your knees weak is a state of deep calm in which you realize that physical comfort enables certain kinds of understanding but denies other kinds of understanding? How can I help them understand that when you’re fasting, and nearly everyone around you is fasting, there is a profound sense of togetherness that you can’t reach when daily disparities between the well-fed and the hungry define everything else? And how can I convince them that after the first few, hard days, you begin to appreciate how strong you are in ways you never knew?

So I take a deep breath and say to my critics: “There are one billion Muslims in the world.” Most of them fast for Ramadan and they go on living.”

“They don’t do hard, physical activity all day in the heat,” they answer back.

“Some of them do. Some Muslims are farmers and construction workers and traffic cops.”

“But they don’t work as hard as Americans!”

Ouch. That hurt, though I can see some truth in it. People do slow down a lot during Ramadan. They do reschedule their days to sleep more and stay out of the heat. So I wonder why the camp can’t just let my kids fast, but let them take it a bit easier when they need to?

The critics: “In California, you’d get fired if you didn’t drink water at work.”

“What? You mean employers can fire Muslims for fasting?”

“The employer will get fined if workers health is at risk.”

(I am getting angry.) “Really? Then have they banned fast food, which is a known risk to health? Smoking? Stress?

Them: “I would NEVER allow my child to play even one soccer game without drinking.”

Ouch again. They are saying plainly that I am a bad mother. Does that mean that something like one half billion Muslims are “bad parents” because they respect the obligation to fast for Ramadan and consider it normal for their children to fast? Would I be a better mother if I pulled my girls out of a valuable camp experience so they could sleep all day?

For Muslims, fasting during Ramadan is an obligation, not a choice, but I don’t force my children to fast. They choose to fast, and I believe they are mature enough to make that decision. Even my youngest daughter, only 8 years old, often chooses to fast half the day and sometimes the whole day. By letting her decide, she learns the limitations of her own body, and she reaps the benefit of making her own decisions. Like the youngest, the older two have found there were days when they couldn’t fast, and they “made up” those fast days later in the year. Islam accounts for the fact that people get sick, travel, etc.

As my physician, who is also a sheikh, says: “Islam isn’t trying to harm you.”

Faithful people believe that God protects those who are fasting. Even people who don’t believe in God must be able to see how faithful people are strengthened by their faith.

As I write this, I have just served my girls their “suhur” meal (the meal before the sunrise, before the day’s fast starts) and I made them drink lots and lots of water. Later, I will send them to the program and they will decide if they can fast today or not. I will speak to my daughters at noon and again in the late afternoon to see how they are feeling. I will speak with the program’s staff to see if there are any behavioral alarm signals that warrant my intervention.

Most importantly, I will continue to talk to the girls about their right to practice their faith the way they choose to (based on informed and thoughtful consideration of various perspectives) and to not blindly follow what others believe is right for them– not religious officials and not camp officials either.

 

Amani Awartani, coach of the Palestinian Olympic Swim Team, told me this story with all the drama and intrigue of a Turkish soap opera, and it is my pleasure to share the inside story with you.

Amani:

“I left Palestine for Portugal on the sixth of June for the pre-Olympic open water contest. It was the first time Palestinians participated in such an event, because we don’t have access to our sea, so we can’t train in open water. It was very exciting.

I had asked a friend to look for people in Portugal to cheer for Palestine, and was thrilled when the Palestinian ambassador to Portugal, Mufid Shami, called me. He even came to the airport when I arrived, and the next day he came to my hotel and said how great it was to have Palestinians competing in Portugal.

At the beginning, I was frustrated. I am a very social person. I like to talk to people of different backgrounds. But the other teams don’t even say ‘hello’ – even if they’re sitting right next to you. The Russians stay together. The Spanish speakers stay together. There were some Arabs, but once you overcome the language and culture, there are still personality differences. I think some of the coldness was cultural differences, but some was the competitive environment. I tried to be nice, but in the end, you can’t care too much about the others.

FINA (the Fédération Internationale de Natation – the world governing body for the five Aquatic Disciplines of swimming, diving, water polo, synchronized swimming and open water swimming) delivered technical information about the swimming course. It was very nice meeting. Then, every day there were two rounds of training: morning in the pool and afternoon in the sea so the swimmers could learn the routes.

At one point, I met the Egyptians, who were very friendly and helpful. It was my first time in such a huge event. They told me I would have to get on the pontoon (a floating dock) with a feeding stick in order to feed Ahmed as he swam. I had no idea! The Egyptians kept saying, “They didn’t tell you about the rules?” I did read the rules, but didn’t see the feeding stick. It wasn’t mentioned. I guess they thought it was our 20^th time, but it was our first time in open water. Everyone else had previous experience so they thought it was known. But I didn’t know the trainer had to be on the pontoon to feed the swimmer! Thank goodness the Egyptians told me!

I was panicking a lot because I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing. I didn’t have a feeding stick. I had never heard of a feeding stick before. So Ahmed Gebrel, my swimmer, and I went downtown and were very inventive. I bought a fishing pole and attached a bottle with water tape to the stick part. We were very inventive.

The rules are that if Ahmed touches the feeding stick while in the water, he is disqualified. If I bump into another swimmer, he and I are disqualified. If I fall into the sea, I disqualify him immediately. Since the pontoon is in the middle of the sea and the swimmers are swimming around it, it’s bumpy. There were 61 trainers on the pontoon! There are five rounds in the pre-Olympic open water contest. Each round, the swimmers swim to us on the pontoon to eat, but thank goodness, they didn’t come as a group so it was a little less pressure. One of the Egyptians was kind enough to offer to sit next to me and make sure that I didn’t fall into the sea. I was scared like hell that I get would disqualified.

On the day of the competition, the weather was terrible, of course. It was raining in the morning and freezing. In water it was about 17 degrees. Lots of swimmers dropped out of the second round because of the cold. But Ahmed completed all 5 rounds. He came in 48^th of 61. He was 5^th in Asia. China was behind us. Hong Kong was behind us. I was so relieved to see him get out of the water. But it’s a huge place, and when he finished, he went off with the swimmers to land, and the trainers went to land after them. I went to the tent where he was supposed to be and I waited. I started worrying after half hour. I searched for him and asked everyone ther, but nobody had seen him or knew where he was.

I told the FINA personnel and volunteers to search. After more than 90 minutes a volunteer asked for me. I was holding back tears. I felt sick. Then they told me Ahmed was in the recovery area with hypothermia and all his sugar had burned off. They had to give him 2 kilograms of glucose. After two hours of treatment, and after they put his clothes in the microwave, he felt better. And I felt better.

Some people may be disappointed that we came 41^st of 61, but it was a success! Ahmed finished the entire five-round competition, and that’s amazing. So many swimmers couldn’t make it and dropped out. But Ahmed finished 10 kilometers in freezing water without any fault. That’s nothing to be disappointed about!

Unfortunately, some things did happen that pissed me off. One person tried to use influence to put his son in as an Olympic competitor in Ahmed’s place, but he didn’t get away with it. There was also a mix up between FINA and the Universality people, so Ahmed was taken out of the 50-meter race that he’s been training for, and he’ll be swimming in the 400-meter race instead. We even had to change flights because of that. But Sabine, our other swimmer, will still swim in the 50-meter.”

From the 21^st to 27^th of July they train twice a day in Olympic village pools. The Olympic Solidarity Committee funds both swimmers and the Palestinian National Olympic Committee funds Amani. Ahmed will swim directly after opening on July 28. Sabine swims on August 3.

I’ll be watching and cheering for the Palestinian team. Will you?

I have to be honest: I don’t like sports. I’m just not interested in watching other people play games. But Amani Awartani, coach of the Palestinian Olympic swim team, weaves a story of gender, international politics, cultural pride, and personal challenge. Through her eyes, I see the upcoming Olympics as a significant milestone for Palestinians and the rest of the world – and a lot of fun.

Did you know that Palestine was recognized by the International Olympic Committee in the 1930s? That Palestine is listed on the official website of the Olympic movement? That there is a Palestinian Olympic Committee?

In fact, this is the fifth time that Palestinians have taken part in the Olympics, the first being in 1998. Since Palestine isn’t a state, Palestinians have to compete in the World Championships that are held before the Olympics and win points that make them eligible as “participants.” Until now, all the Palestinian competitors have been swimmers.

“This is the first year we have a ‘qualified’ competitor,” Amani explains. Maher Abu Rmaileh from Jerusalem competes in Judo. She adds quickly, “You can still win a medal if you participate by winning points and are not considered a qualified competitor.”

Since there are Palestinians all over the world, I asked Amani if Palestinians in the diaspora can swim with the Palestinian team. “Sometimes we are contacted by Palestinians in the US or elsewhere who want to swim with us. It is allowed as long as they aren’t registered as swimmers in another country But generally we refuse, even if they might bring us medals. We want to give local people a chance first.” Her voice trails off as she adds, “Maybe later we could include them in the national team, but how could we support them without funding?”

Although she is coach of the Palestinian Olympic swim team, Amani doesn’t actually train the Palestinian competitors for the Olympics. Ahmed Gebrel, a Palestinian refugee in his twenties who lives in Egypt and Sabine Hazboun, who is only eighteen years old, have been living and training in Barcelona. “Sabine missed her Tawjihi, the last year of high school, in order to train,” Amani said, clearly proud of Sabine’s commitment. Expenses, including funding for their coaches, were provided by the Olympic Solidarity Committee. But next year they’ll have to raise funds themselves.

Amani tells the story with such enthusiasm, I nearly pulled out my wallet to make a contribution. In fact, I was so taken by her passion, I almost jumped onto the table at the Zaman Cafe in Ramallah where we were talking to do a little cheer.

“Although this is voluntary work, I want to do my job 100%. We’re a team. I want the team members to know I am always there for them. I tell them: ‘You swim, and I’ll take care of the rest,’” Amani says.

Amani’s own children enjoy swimming. Her son used to sneak into Jerusalem to swim, since he doesn’t have a permit, but he didn’t want to pursue it competitively. Her daughter enjoys recreational swimming, but is more serious about football and, more recently, ballet.

“Everybody has his own thing. As for me, I find it a tremendous honor for us to be standing in front of the world, recognized as Palestinians. It’s overwhelming.”

But the best part of this story is yet to come! Do you know what a feeding stick is? Check back here to find out.