Ramadan and I‘tikaf
By Asim Ahmad
Ramadan is around the corner and seasonal words associated with the
holy month such as moonsighting, fasting, iftar, and suhur will soon
punctuate our vocabulary during Ramadan. One word that is a part of
the seasonal troupe, which doesn’t quite make it to our lips so often is
i‘tikaf. In fact, some of us cringe at the word, but not because it leaves a
sour taste in our mouth. It is what the word represents that scares many
away. In my own personal observation, I rarely hear imams and speakers
discuss i‘tikaf when the subject of Ramadan is brought up. Rewards and
blessings, du‘a, maghfira, fasting and its rulings, and a litter of other
Ramadan-related topics will be sermonized, but i‘tikaf usually remains
off the radar. Why is that?
I‘tikaf is all about seclusion and
solitude, a reason for many to run
the other way when they consider
its ‘frightful’ implications (even if
those implications contain healing
properties for the soul). I‘tikaf is often
seen as a complete lockdown that
confines one to the masjid with little
to no connection or communication
with the outside world. Whether
or not that is what i‘tikaf truly is is
another matter; what is interesting is
that we are visibly unsettled with the
idea of physical and psychological
separation from the material world.
This is also why we are confronted
by signs in the masjid to silence
our cellphones since not only we
cannot turn them off out of willful
forgetfulness, but find it impossible
to rid ourselves of these technological
pests for even the period of time it
takes to commute to the masjid and
pray salat there.
Our elusive nature to the topic of
i‘tikaf is symptomatic of a universal
crisis we are facing today as an
Umma. It is not so much that we are
disunited, a hackneyed argument
that has gone too far uncontested,
but that we are pained by separation
from our overconnected world and
do not even listen to our better
conscience when we confess about
how we would love to change for the
better yet our schedule constrains
us and does not let us put our lives
back on track. We know we are mortal
beings and that separation from this
world is imminent, and as Muslims,
our religious literature contains the
most coherent narrative about the
meaning of life after death. For us,
the transparency in that narrative
should make us all the more prepared
and cautious, and yet we balk at
the thought of a temporary break
from our schedule to do i‘tikaf. It
is rather ironic that as much as we
fear detachment from the world,
we love captivity to a nexus of
connections. These connections are
to various people, some of whom
we love and care for and some of
whom we don’t, and the farrago of
things that constitute our mundane
life. Captivity to these connections
means an inability or unwillingness to
disconnect from them, either out of
need or want. We are imprisoned by
these connections because they keep
us firmly grounded to the world and
make us complacent to our ultimate
destination. We can understand this
better with a scenario presented in
a familiar Islamic tradition. I have
taken leisure to modernize certain
details of the scenario for our readers
to understand it more meaningfully:
a businessman is on his way to a
distant destination and reserves a
room in a hotel for the night. He
stops in, and the minute he enters, he
falls in love with this magical room.
Everything about the room, the
furniture, color scheme, and layout
fills his heart and eyes with pleasure.
He decides to settle down for life.
Being a wealthy man, he rents the
room for the next few months and
settles down in his adopted home. His
obsession with the hotel room has
imprisoned him to the room, but the
issue is that he is quite comfortable
in his imprisonment. His wife and
children are waiting, his employees
are waiting, and the bills are waiting.
His phone is off the hook, bombarded
by calls. He wants to leave and assures
everyone he will be there shortly, but
when he looks around, he realizes
that he could never separate from
this beloved room, which holds his
heart captive to it. The pressure
builds up; responsibilities, demands,
and tasks that need to be done. To
release himself of this self-captivity,
he must think outside the box. He
must withdraw from the room long
enough to lose focus of its enchanting
effect on him. He must disconnect
from all the thoughts that enslave
him to the room, the furniture, the
design, the layout and color scheme,
and he must rethink his life. With
some pragmatism, he will realize
that the room, no matter how blissful
10 May - June 2020 | AL-MADINAH