For Ramadan: Harira

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Ramadan began last week. I have some Muslim friends on Facebook, so I see lots of “Ramadan kareem!” messages going back and forth.

The Islamic months don’t correspond to the seasons as ours do; their year is roughly 354 days long, so Ramadan happens roughly twelve days earlier every year. In 1984, my first year in Morocco, the first day of Ramadan was roughly the first of June. (There was some trouble that year. It’s not officially a new month until the new moon is sighted in Mecca, and the weather was bad that year in Saudi Arabia. Finally, around the third or fourth of June 1984, Ramadan was declared to be officially begun, almost by default.)

Summer is a bad time for Ramadan, and June is the worst of all, because June days are the longest days of the year. Muslims are enjoined to fast from the time in the morning when it’s light enough “to distinguish a black thread from a white thread” to the prayer-call at sunset. “Fasting,” in this sense, means no eating, no drinking water (very devout Muslims won’t swallow when they’re brushing their teeth, and there’s a lot of spitting in the street going on, because swallowing your own spit might qualify as drinking), no sex, no smoking (tragic in a culture like North Africa where everyone smokes).

That first year, in 1984, I tried to fast. I couldn’t do it. I realized, after two or three days, that no one could see me eating during the day if I just closed the window blinds.

Later, in Tunisia, I was more casual. I knew I was a “kouffar” (unbeliever), and so did everyone else, so I closeted myself in my office and smoked and drank water and coffee to my heart’s content. One of my Tunisian coworkers, who’d studied extensively in Europe and who was very worldly, joined me.

Then, a day or two later, someone else joined us.

After about two weeks, the whole office was smoking with me, on and off. It was okay, because they were with an unbeliever, and I was exerting an undue irreligious influence on them.

Ah, kids, those were the days.

There was a restaurant in Tunis not far from our house, which was also not far from the az-Zeituna mosque, one of the most famous mosques in Tunisia. During Ramadan, about fifteen minutes before sunset, we’d go there. They’d seat us and serve us soup.

But no one ate.

We waited for the boy at the mosque to give us the signal that the evening call to prayer was complete.

Then, in unison, we all dipped our spoons into our delicious thick chicken / tomato / chickpea soup, and broke our fast.

Here’s a recipe for harira, the traditional Ramadan fast-breaking soup:

Harira

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Makes about 12 cups

·         1 whole chicken breast, halved

·         4 cups chicken broth

·         4 cups water

·         a 28-to 32-ounce can whole tomatoes, drained and puréed coarse

·         1/4 teaspoon crumbled saffron threads

·         2 medium onions, chopped fine

·         19-ounce can of chick-peas, rinsed

·         1/2 cup raw long-grain rice

·         1/2 cup lentils

·         3/4 cup finely chopped fresh coriander

·         3/4 cup finely chopped fresh parsley leaves

·         dried chick-peas, picked over water

In a heavy kettle (at least 5 quarts) simmer chicken in broth and water 17 to 20 minutes, or until chicken is just cooked through, and transfer chicken with a slotted spoon to a cutting board. Add to kettle tomatoes, saffron, onions, chick-peas, rice, and lentils and simmer, covered, 30 minutes, or until lentils are tender. Shred chicken, discarding skin and bones, and stir into soup with salt and pepper to taste. Soup may be prepared 4 days ahead (cool uncovered before chilling covered).

I find this recipe incomplete. It needs ras al-hanout, the traditional North African seasoning (you can buy it online, or make it yourself from regular ol’ supermarket seasonings), and some eggs (Ramadan harira usually has pieces of hard-boiled egg in it).

Also: if you make this soup, serve it with lots of Italian or French bread, for scooping and dipping.

And if you don’t feel like cooking soup the long way, especially during this long dismally hot summer, I’ve discovered that Campbell’s makes some very nice soups in plastic bags, which are pretty authentic. Their “Moroccan Chicken with Chickpeas” is a very passable Moroccan shorba, verging on harira.

Pinch a penny and spend a couple of bucks and buy a packet of it, and enjoy it.

With some Italian bread, and a lemon wedge to squeeze into it.

Ramadan kareem.

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The recent unrest in the Muslim world

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You almost certainly know about the recent unrest in the Muslim world, and the riots, and the death of the American ambassador to Libya.

 

 

I subscribe to a Tunisian news service – one of those things that just gives you the headline and the first sentence – and, last Thursday, it was “Le film qui tue!” (Translation: “The killer movie!”)

 

 

Oh no, I thought.

 

 

You see, this whole manifestation in the Arab world was brought about – supposedly – by the release of a movie mocking the Prophet Mohammed. This movie was – supposedly – made by a Jewish American.

 

 

Except that the movies was probably never made as such, and the man behind the project was an Israel-hating Egyptian Copt, who is (apparently) living in the USA.

 

 

More than that, though; the idea that the movie was the impetus behind the killing irritated me. Aristotle teaches us that, while guns may be the material causes of death, the real causes are the people who pull the trigger.

 

 

But then I read the article in webdo.tn.

 

 

I was much reassured. True to my experience of Tunisia and Tunisians – thoughtful and intelligent – the author weighed the tension behind Islamists (who are spoiling for a fight with the West) and Islamophobes (who would like to spark a fight, and then create as much havoc as possible).

 

 

Both are to blame for the general situation.

 

 

Chris Stevens’s death is certainly the fault of the Islamists. I wonder if the simultaneity of the riots in the Muslim world has been very carefully planned (you’ll notice that it took place in September, not long after the commemoration of 9/11).

 

 

And the Egyptian / Copt / American provocateur, who produced the “movie,” also appears to have known what he was doing, provoking Muslim reaction at a very key time.

 

 

Partner and I are going to France in a few weeks. France (and especially Paris) is inhabited by a lot of North African Muslims.

 

 

We will let you know what we find out.

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For Hanukkah: Jewish superheroes

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Speaking as a Gentile, of all the Jewish holidays, I like Hanukkah best.

 

 

Fine, it’s not a High Holiday, it’s an observance.  The gifts are bush-league: chocolate coins, colorful pencils.  Maybe, if you’re lucky, you get a shirt and pants.  But the candles are pretty.  And it’s eight days long.  And who doesn’t like potato pancakes?  Or playing dreidel?

 

 

But I was especially amused to find the above image on Tumblr recently.

 

 

Evidently Ben Grimm – the everlovin’ blue-eyed Thing from Marvel Comics – is Jewish!  

 

 

I love the yarmulke, and the prayer shawl, and most especially the big smile, and most most most especially the fact that this was drawn by classic Marvel artist Jack Kirby (born Jacob Kurtzberg).

 

I like the idea of Jewish superheroes.  They’re fictional characters right alongside Miss Elizabeth Bennett and Artur Sammler and Genji, so why not?  I looked online, and found that Doc Samson (who’s a sort of semi-Hulk in the Marvel universe) and Volcana (a heroine/villainess in the Marvel world) are both Jewish, as are a few others.  (Evidently the DC universe is non-denominational.  Although I would not be surprised to discover that the Kents brought up Clark as a Methodist.)

 

 

A Kuwaiti Muslim writer named Naif al-Mutawa has, for the past few years, been developing a line of Muslim comics called “The 99.”  The backstory is that a group of Medieval Muslim thinkers / philosophers / clerics harnessed the energy of the 99 names of Allah, but a villain tried to absorb all the power himself; he mostly failed, but the energy of the 99 names went out into the world, and has been absorbed by 99 other people.  One by one they come forward: The Light, The Powerful, The Listener, the Healer, the Destroyer.

 

 

I like this too.

 

 

We still love mythology, don’t we?  And superheroes are the playactors in our modern versions of those miracle stories and myths.  Did you notice, in last summer’s “Thor,” that the title character died to save his friends, and came back to life?   And I seem to recall the very same thing happening in 2006’s “Superman Returns.”  And think of all the angst and cosmic love triangles in the various X-Men stories –

 

 

Enough.

 

 

Cosmic drama and resurrection are terrific things, but sometimes it's nicer to have candles and potato pancakes and chocolate money.

 

 

Gut yontif, Ben Grimm, wherever you are.

 

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Ramadan blog: Welcome Ramadan!

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Now (more or less) begins the holy month of Ramadan.

 

 

(Actually, it depends upon when they actually sight the new moon in Mecca. In 1984, my first year in Morocco, the weather in Mecca wasn't very good; there were actually one or two days between the Muslim month of Cha'ban and the beginning of the month of Ramadan that didn't have Muslim dates. After a little delay, they began Ramadan by default.)

 

 

During my first Ramadan in Morocco, I tried to fast.  Most foreigners do. I lasted about three days. (You're supposed to go without food, smoking, drinking, and sex during the daylight hours. If you can distinguish the difference between a black thread and a white thread, it's daytime, and you fast. In Kuwait and Saudi Arabia, you'd be arrested if they even suspected you were cooking or eating during daylight hours.)

 

 

Tunisia was more forgiving. I knew by my second or third Ramadan that, as a kafir, I wasn't required to fast; I only needed to eat and drink and smoke out of sight. (Some of my Tunisian co-workers and friends ended up joining me in my office - with the door closed - eating and drinking and smoking. And, the farther we got into Ramadan, the more people crowded into that little office. But – you see? - they were in the company of an unbeliever. It was okay!  I was a bad influence!)

 

 

I remember the wonderful rich succulent meals served at sunset on Ramadan evenings, and the sticky honey-laden pastries, and the long nighttime promenades. No one slept much.  Everyone was cranky during the day. (During my first Ramadan in Tunisia, I said something my boss thought was stupid. He slowly turned and banged his head against the wall. “He's not fasting,” he muttered dramatically in French under his breath. [He knew I understood French better than Arabic, so it was mostly for my benefit.] “He just doesn't understand.”)

 

 

By my last Ramadan, in 1987, I remember walking through the Tunis medina, and seeing a fat German tourist in shorts eating an ice-cream cone in daytime, and I was shocked.

 

 

To all my Muslim friends: ! رمضان كريم 

 

 

 

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