When you're being chased out of Eid ul-Adha prayer because of a baby

Hope everyone is having/had a blessed Eid ul-Adha 1435.

This was the first year that I was not alone in the women's section of the mosque, since being married. I'm largely unmosqued, mostly because I hate going to a mosque and then having to be separated from the Dutchman - with the exception of the Tokyo Camii (Mosque), where we prayed side-by-side in one of the first rows. (Being a musafir or traveller can buy you a lot of leeway, just plead ignorance.)

I know I'm not alone in having this sort of separation anxiety. Many other couples made up of one partner who is not raised Muslim, may similarly feel anxious being handed over to the 'sisters' or 'brothers' (ie total strangers) in a completely different part of the mosque. (I mean, somehow total strangers can be more helpful just because they are of the same sex?) That being said, I'm very proud of the Dutchman for being able to hold his own among these 'brothers' (after I prep him on what to expect).

This month marks the fourth year I've been in the Netherlands, and also four years of this blog! (So much for the initial title, A year in NL). It's also the fourth year that I've been going to the Indonesian mosque in my town. It's three storeys high, and the main prayer space is on the second floor (there's a complimentary balcony for women). The first floor houses some classrooms and a kitchen.

Spot the complimentary balcony

As with many other mosques that make space for women, during big congregations like the two Eids, this mosque repurposes the first floor classrooms into special rooms for women and children. All men go into the main area space, while the female congregation is split into four different spaces: the (complimentary) balcony, two or three saff or rows in the main hall, and two rooms on the first floor: one for women with children, and one for women without children.

I've always been a big supporter for equal and equally decent prayer spaces, and ever since I saw the room labelled 'women with children' four years ago I've told myself, hell no. By putting all the children into one room, it becomes extremely chaotic because the children don't see the imam and learn how to carry themselves during a congregation. Nothing against the need for children to play and run around - in which case why confine them to a room with women trying to get the best of both worlds? Just set aside a room dedicated to fun and games, get a few adults to watch them and ta-da, everyone's a winner. (By the way, this arrangement is exactly what several mosques in Singapore organised during tarawih sessions in Ramadan earlier this year.)

I rave about this mosque because of the low wooden barrier (lower than waist-height) that seems to nominally demarcate the male and female praying spaces in the main hall. But this year, with little Nootje I had to face the attitudinal barriers head on.

When we arrive at the mosque a good 30 minutes before the Eid ul-Adha prayer is due to start, I wave off the Dutchman into the main entrance and I go round to the side entrance. I saunter up the stairs to the main area space, carrying Nootje in my arms. I find a spot near the door ( to make a quick exit if he starts bawling) in the front row, look around for the Dutchman in case I decide to pass Nootje over to him, and settle down.

The takbir is being chanted over a booming microphone, which freaks out Nootje a bit. He unusually lets me carry and rock him in my arms, hardly moving (very rare since he doesn't like being held unless we're walking or bouncing him) since he's an hour overdue for a morning nap - I have high hopes that he will zone out through the noise or maybe even fall asleep (a mum can dream can't she!).

There's a mother on my left, with a 1.5 or 2 year old girl in a pink dress, who is sitting quietly. Not five minutes pass when one of the women who is working today as an usher for all the congregants tell me that babies are not allowed in the main hall. I decide not to point out the toddlers in the men's area, who are shrieking. The mother beside me quietly sneaks away to the second row and her little girl almost melts into the pipes along the wall - she's just as stealth as her mum!

I have so much to tell this woman who's trying to chase me down to the vrouw met kinderen room. 

Did she know that God loves the laughter of children? That the Prophet would shorten the prayer if he heard children crying in the congregation? That the Prophet's original mosque was relaxed and inviting? That if families were so highly regarded in our religion, they should be able to sit and worship together in the mosque, which is meant to symbolise society? That asking me to leave the area because I was holding a baby made me feel like a baby is unclean, unholy and unworthy?

Instead of all that, I fumble out an answer in half Indonesian and half English and respond to her order as if it was posed to me as an option: it's okay, I'm staying here. She looks confused and tries her command again, this time in Dutch, stressing that "it's the rules". Another woman chips in with English, because I'm beginning to look like a right tourist who doesn't understand anything anyone is saying.

By this time, another mother has taken the empty space to my left, and she has two children: one looks about 6 or 7 and the other is older. She helpfully tries to encourage me into leaving ("This is the first time I'm here [in the main hall]. All these years I've been downstairs.") but this only makes me determined to not banish myself.

I simply shrug and smile to both women and assure them that I'm not taking extra space and that Nootje will be quiet. Mosque lady is not satisfied, but happily she moves away to usher more women downstairs as the main hall is filling up. Woman to my right is ambivalent, and no one comes to my support. Clock is ticking... ten more minutes to prayer. I continue rocking Nootje and whisper the takbir in his ear.

Finally! The prayer starts, and it's an exercise in balancing a 8kg weight while bowing and prostrating without putting any hands on the floor. Takbir seven times with one hand, and hope that the communal and extra loud "Ameen" doesn't startle Nootje. He doesn't mind the shift in orientation during the ruku', and I make an almost-there prostration with him right under me. 

After the prayer ends, he is looking super tired (nap is two hours overdue by now) so I pop out a boob under my hijab to feed him. He contentedly nurses to sleep and I get to listen to 15 minutes of the sermon. And no one seems to mind the two toddlers running around in the men's section during the prayer. (The section which, by the way, had two extra rows free, which could have been filled up with women.)

The imam tells us the story of how when God created Adam, God told all the malaikat (angels) to prostrate to the first human being. They all did so, except Iblis. Iblis believed that being created from fire was better than being created from clay. Because Iblis disbelieved, he was sent out of Paradise for his arrogance (7:11-18).

(Side note: I'm often quoted this story from the Qur'an by those who think that whatever I write or post is controversial, or that I'm being arrogant and stepping over my God-given womanly boundaries, whatever those may be. Essentially, likening me to Iblis... stay classy, guys.)

But I love how the imam interprets this story. To him, the moral of the this parable is that even though God creates beings from clay, fire and light, all the creations lived in Paradise together. While we humans, all made out of earth and are all flesh and blood, can't even live together on Earth. 

Post-sermon selfie

Circumcision: Choice Not Coercion

This post was originally published on Aquila Style on 25 Nov 2013

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Circumcision keeps a man clean, neat and healthy, right? As it turns out, however, not every guy who was circumcised at a young age is happy with what he’s got left. These stories of regret (and anger) surface sporadically from two communities that routinely circumcise newborn or young boys for religious reasons (Muslims and Jews),[i] as well as from a country that does it for primarily health reasons (the United States).

Discussions by Muslims around circumcision usually centre around male circumcision. This is perhaps not surprising, since in many Muslim communities (Indonesia, Turkey and Morocco, for example) a huge party or feast is organised around the boy who is soon to be a man. In Singapore, it used to be the norm to circumcise a boy just before puberty (a tradition carried over from Javanese migrants) and have a big celebration. This norm has lost favour over having the procedure done discreetly at younger and younger ages, sometimes before the baby has even left the hospital at a day old.

But what is the difference between male and female circumcision? Although female circumcision might be more accurately called female genital cutting since it ranges from a prick on the clitoral hood to a complete removal of the clitoris and inner labia,[ii] I retain the term “circumcision” because in many Muslim communities it is referred to with the same word, sunat or khitan, as male circumcision. Just like female circumcision, there are different types of male circumcision done at different times (newborn, toddler, prepubescence) and for different reasons (aesthetics, phimosis, infection, religious tradition).

In this article I refer only to non-therapeutic (ie, done without medical reasons) circumcision done on boys and girls before they reach the age of majority (ie, ranging from newborns to teenagers).

Religious justifications

The religious sources often cited to justify male circumcision are also the same ones used to justify female circumcision. These sources include a verse from the Qur’an accompanied by two hadith, as the verse alone does not exactly refer to the act of circumcision.

The Qur’anic verse often quoted is 3:95, which tells us to follow in the millah, or the way of Prophet Abraham (the verse later explains that we are to follow his monotheistic beliefs). The two most cited hadith are one that reports that Prophet Abraham circumcised himself at the age of 80,[iii] and another that includes circumcision as one of “five acts of fitra”[iv] (but is the only irreversible act among the other four acts of personal hygiene).
The four other acts of personal hygiene are removing pubic hair, plucking or shaving the armpit hair, trimming the moustache, and clipping the nails.

Muslims who are against female circumcision also use the same hadith to justify why girls should not be cut. For example, a representative of the Egyptian mufti has stated that female circumcision has only social roots, not religious ones.[v]

It is also important to point out that circumcision is seen as a purely religious topic (sometimes explained together with health reasons), and anyone who attempts to discuss this topic will have their authority questioned. In other words, unless you’re a (male) Islamic scholar, it’s going to be difficult to be taken seriously.

Dr Sami Aldeeb Abu-Sahlieh, a Palestinian-American lawyer, has written extensively on this topic, pondering the question of why discussions around circumcision remain gendered. He argues that the texts used to promote circumcision among Muslims (which are virtually always the same) are in fact gender neutral, making the issue more about political agendas rather than religion.[vi]

Circumcision is seen as harmless, or even beneficial in many Muslim communities

Both male and female circumcision cut parts of the genital organ that have similar roles; both the male foreskin and the female clitoral hood serve to protect a spot on the human body with the highest concentration of nerves. Each area also plays an important part in sexual arousal and satisfaction: the male glans and the female clitoris. Both procedures also privilege the parents’ religious identity over the child’s capacity to shape their own future.

However, news of female circumcision, especially when coming from the so-called “barbaric” Muslim world,[vii] is more apt to make headlines – especially when something has gone wrong.[viii] Botched male circumcisions, though, hardly make the mainstream news, even though there are often reports of a boy dying from complications from their non-therapeutic circumcision.[ix]

Underlying assumptions

But I don’t want to compare the degree and extent of harm being done to boys and girls all over the world. Such comparisons often lead to defensive attitudes, because one’s cultural and religious identity becomes encapsulated in the tradition of circumcision, which is then pitted against modernity, Western international organisations, or other cultures.

Arguments about the physical harm done to boys and girls may also not convince everyone, because the procedure is seen as harmless, or even beneficial in many Muslim communities. That many baby boys cry only shortly after the procedure is interpreted as sign of little or no pain (and the procedure’s harmlessness); however, medical studies show that it is a sign of neurological shutdown from severe shock.[x] For many prepubescent boys, it is a rite of passage or a chance to feel like a “tough hero”.[xi] For girls, however, the belief is quite different: they need to be purified or else they will become “wild”.[xii]

Religious and health arguments obscure the more important issues of giving consent, and imposing control

Religious or health reasons also reveal our own assumptions about our body as God’s creation. God tells us that we were created in “the best of moulds” (95:4). But proponents of circumcision believe that all foreskins – not only those in need of medical attention – are inherently impure, no matter how much physical or spiritual purification is done. The only solution is to permanently remove it. What does it say about our belief in God if we think we are created imperfect and thus in need of a corrective procedure?

Consent and control

I think that religious and health arguments obscure the more important issues of giving consent, and imposing control over a child’s body. I don’t doubt that parents wish the best for their children, and that they are always looking out for their children’s best moral and physical interests. However, it is one thing to dress a child in a kufi or hijab, but quite another to irreversibly change their body without any medical reasons. We might recoil in horror to see a toddler seemingly being given a tattoo,[xiii] but how do we react to a toddler being circumcised?

I will not circumcise my son when he is a day old, a month old, or even 10 years old. It’s not because I am discarding a sunnah or tradition; it’s because I see circumcision as an optional act that a fully cognisant adult should undertake if she or he believes that it will help him or her become a better Muslim. By not circumcising my child before he can fully understand what it means to be a Muslim, I am leaving the way open for him to choose what he wants to do – because as parents we can only guide but we cannot force our children to believe (11:42-43). I want to raise him to have good values, and I’m not sure what kind of values a physical act like circumcision will impart.

Men are allowed to be scared, and it doesn’t make them any less Muslim

There are actually many Muslim men walking around with perfectly clean, intact penises. Just like women (cut or not), they must regularly wash themselves to keep clean, for hygiene is a part of everyday life. When people argue about the obligatory nature of male circumcision, they are often not talking about grown men. In fact, there is much leeway when it comes to the circumcision of adult men – acknowledging their fear or uncertainty.[xiv] Men are allowed to be scared, and it doesn’t make them any less Muslim.

There are Muslim women and men who have chosen circumcision for their own conscience and belief. I fully support their ability and right to decide for themselves – just as I support those who decide as adults not to do so, for whatever reason, because there is no compulsion in religion (2:256).

As for children who are supposed to be under our protection, I pray that we can support their right as Muslims to choose too – just like Prophet Abraham was allowed to choose to believe.

References

[i] See for example, ‘A young Singaporean Muslim: I am now against circumcision’ available here

[ii] ‘Classification of female genital mutilation’, World Health Organisation, available here 

[iii] Narrated by Abu Huraira, in Bukhari, available here

[iv] Narrated by Abu Huraira, in Muslim, available here

[v] ‘Mufti’s deputy reiterates: Female circumcision prohibited by religion’, Egypt Independent, 23 Jun 2013, available here

[vi] See for example, the article ‘No distinction between male and female circumcision’ here or the book Legitimisation of Male and Female Circumcision here

[vii] Rebecca Steinfeld, ‘Like FGM, cut foreskins should be a feminist issue’, The Conversation, 18 Nov 2013, available here

[viii] Sara C Nelson, ‘Soher Ebrahim Egyptian girl, 13, dies after illegal female genital mutilation’, 10 Jun 2013, available here

[ix] For example, seven botched circumcisions in Saudi Arabia caused injuries and hospitalisation, available here. See also the hospitalisation of a three-year-old Indonesian boy with haemophilia here, and the deaths of two Indian toddlers here

[x] See medical studies by Brady-Fryer, Wiebe and Lander (2004) available here, or Williamson and Evans (1986) available here

[xi] Shahnawaz Abdul Hamid, ‘Circumcision in Islam: a meaningless tradition worth discarding?”, Muzlimbuzz.sg, 11 Nov 2013, available here

[xii] Sya Taha, ‘A tiny cut: female circumcision in Southeast Asia’, The Islamic Monthly, 12 Mar 2013, available here

[xiii] Maria Vultaggio, ‘’Tattoo forced on toddler by mother’ video goes viral; but is it a hoax?’, International Business Times, 29 Jan 2013, available here

[xiv] See sources cited in ‘Considering converting: is it necessary to be circumcised?’, available here