Sometimes the body feels like an enemy of the soul.
Knee pain can make the elderly Orthodox Jew's trek to the synagogue unbearable. Gluten intolerance might force the Sikh to decline sacred pudding. Migraine sometimes keeps the Christian worshiper in bed on Sunday morning.
For Muslims, health problems can get in the way of fasting for Ramadan, one of the five pillars of the faith. Clear rules help followers navigate this situation: If the condition is temporary, the person can make up the fast later. If it's permanent, the believer should donate enough to charity to feed another person for each day skipped.
Portland-area Muslims describe fasting as a source of joy, community and spiritual growth. Exemption doesn't feel like a get-out-of-jail-free card. It feels like being sidelined.
We talked to three Portland-area Muslims who face chronic illness during the Islamic holy month. Today, as Muslims celebrate the end of Ramadan, we share their stories.
'It hurts emotionally'
Fikret Corbadzic's voice was weak, faltering as he spoke soft Bosnian to the women who cared for him.
"He says, 'It hurts emotionally that I cannot fast,'" said his 39-year-old daughter, Behireta Corbadzic. She immigrated to the United States in 2000, and brought her parents over two years later.
Her father has colon cancer. He's been sick with the disease since 2009, and dealt with prostate cancer in 2003. In years past, he's had to cut back on Ramadan observance, alternating his fasting days to avoid losing weight.
This year, his withering body is too frail to fast. It's the first time in his adult life that he's had to give up the Ramadan fast entirely.
His wife, daughter and granddaughter — who live with him in an outer Southeast Portland apartment — are careful not to talk about how rewarding the nighttime meal feels or quote verses about how fasting brings believers closer to Allah. Not in Bosnian, anyway. They can tell he feels left out.
Behireta Corbadzic glows when she talks about Ramadan. She wishes it was year-round, she said. Fasting renews the spirit and the gut.
Her father interjects, quietly, pointing to himself. She translates: "He said, 'Look at me. I want to be close to God, too.'
"If I could, I would fast 30 days after Ramadan for him," she said. But that's not how the rules work. The family met the obligation to donate to charity, but it's just not the same. She relayed her sentiments in Bosnian, and he smiled.
"That means a lot to me, but I know you can't do that," he replied in Bosnian. He patted her knee, stood and shuffled to the kitchen.
Finding solace in alternatives
Ramadan came and went in the late 1980s without Maher Shaheen batting an eye. He was in his early 20s then and had little regard for Islamic spirituality. He'd grown up in a fairly secular Palestinian family, but had fallen in love with the language and power of the Quran by his 30th birthday.
"It's a never-ending riddle," he said, raising his eyebrows excitedly. He came to the U.S. when he was 13 and speaks without an accent.
He instilled Islamic values in his sons, Omar and Yusuf, and built family traditions into the annual Ramadan fast. When he was diagnosed with diabetes at 35, he didn't want to let go of those experiences. He continued to fast for Ramadan despite the disease, but felt dizzy and sick.
"I thought if I pretended I didn't have it, it would go away," he said.
Doctors forbade him from fasting. Early on, the Beaverton salesman ate meals in secret so as not to make fasting tougher for his hungry teen sons.
Now, he's intentional about observing the holy month in other ways, though he doesn't consider himself a particularly devout Muslim. He prays more than usual, he said, and tries to watch his language. He donates much more to charity than is needed to feed just one person for each day of the fast, just to be safe.
"It gives me solace that I can do that," he said.
Earning her blessings
Many Muslims believe the reward for good works is multiplied 70 times during Ramadan.
Roomina Ahmed isn't about to miss out on that. She's had diabetes for six years, but continues to carefully fast each day during the holy month.
The 58-year-old must monitor her blood sugar levels and be careful to avoid simple carbohydrates during night and early morning meals. She avoids exercise and limits work to just a few minutes a day, which easy to do these days. The research chemist isn't teaching any classes right now.
It's worth it, she said. By persevering, she believes she is storing up blessings in this life and the next.
"I am a good Muslim," she said. Not a single hair has escaped her deep purple headscarf. "I fasted even when I was pregnant."
Resting her arms, swathed in plum fabric embroidered with pink blooms, she counts the rewards she's already received: friendly neighbors, successful children, a strong Muslim community. She lives within a couple miles of the Bilal Masjid and serves on the board of the Islamic Society of Greater Portland.
She was worried about this particular holy month because of the unusually long days, she said, but, as in years past, the fast has been more fulfilling than challenging.
"I don't feel hungry, I don't feel thirsty, I don't feel tired," she said, smiling. "Each and every second we have a blessing."
-- Melissa Binder
mbinder@oregonian.com
503-294-7656
@binderpdx