At the heart of these reactions lies something deeper: the internalized Islamophobia that permeates our society. Many in the West carry unconscious biases against Islam, shaped by decades of stereotypes and fear mongering. For them, Ramadan is not a universal practice of refl ection but a foreign ritual tied to suspicion. By fasting, I challenge these prejudices, and in doing so, I become a target of them. Yet what critics miss is that this practice is not about erasing who I am. It is about expanding my capacity for empathy. Fasting Beyond Faith Angela Jennings, TSN Staff Writer I come from a family rooted in Orthodox Christian tradition, though we were never especially religious. We carried the identity more as culture than as faith – celebrating holidays, marking life milestones and maintaining tradition without strict practice. Religion was a backdrop, not a guiding force. In 2023, I made a decision that surprised both my family and myself: I began observing Ramadan and fasting annually. This choice was not about adopting a new religion. It was about honoring the principles Ramadan represents: discipline, gratitude, humility and empathy for those who suffer. What began as a single act of solidarity has grown into a personal tradition I intend to carry forward, even in the face of misunderstanding. To some, it may seem unusual that I would choose to fast during Ramadan. For me, though, fasting is about cultivating empathy through self-denial. The hunger pangs, the parched throat, the fatigue – these sensations strip away comfort and privilege. They remind me of the millions who do not have the luxury of breaking a fast at sunset because famine, war or poverty already dictate their reality. Occasionally, I also engage in liquid fasts outside of Ramadan. These voluntary sacrifi ces highlight the difference between choosing discomfort and living without choice. They ground me in gratitude while reminding me of my responsibility toward those less fortunate. Ramadan is more than abstaining from food and drink. It is a practice of self-control, refl ection and generosity. Traditionally, Muslims are called to give to charity and to let hunger foster solidarity with the poor. When I fast, I embrace this ethical spirit. Ramadan becomes a month-long lesson in humility; a time to pause, refl ect and give where I can. This practice has taken on deeper meaning as the world bears witness to humanitarian crises. Palestinians, in particular, have endured famine-like conditions, food insecurity and human rights violations. Images of families rationing bread and children going without meals weigh heavily on me. When I fast, I think of them. Choosing hunger when others cannot avoid it is a form of solidarity—however small— that keeps me connected to their struggle. Continuing this tradition is not only an exercise in discipline but also an act of remembrance for those whose humanity is too often erased in political discourse. My decision has not been free of criticism. Friends, relatives and acquaintances have questioned why someone from a Christian background would embrace a Muslim practice. Some call it “confused,” others “performative,” and still others see it as betraying cultural roots. Page 13 Despite the pushback, I persist. I persist because empathy requires action, not just sentiment. I persist because discipline, even when misunderstood, sharpens the self. I persist because aligning myself with the suffering of others, even symbolically, is a refusal to remain indifferent. Every year, I begin Ramadan knowing the questions will follow. Yet the clarity it brings, the solidarity it fosters, makes it worthwhile. My decision shows that practices rooted in religion can carry universal lessons. Prayer, meditation, fasting and giving are framed in faith but speak to deeper human needs: humility, interdependence and justice. By fasting during Ramadan, I embrace a practice that underscores our shared humanity. Compassion is not confi ned to one faith; humility is not restricted to one tradition. Ramadan’s lessons are open to all who are willing to listen. I do not know what my life will look like decades from now, but I know this: fasting during Ramadan has become a personal ritual I intend to uphold. It anchors me each year in refl ection and responsibility. As long as people go hungry against their will, I will continue to fast by choice. As long as societies perpetuate Islamophobia, I will resist it through action. And as long as empathy remains radical in a divided world, I will continue to embody it.
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