Gendered Scripture

            Reading into the 97^th Sura (Al-Qadr) was my first attempt to deeply comprehend and attempt to register the complexity of the interpretation of the Qua’ran. Interpreters of the are split on whether “qadr” should be translated as “Destiny” or “Power” as well as whether or not it is definitely a Meccan sura. Discovering the heated debates around where and when each sura was revealed to Mohammad and learning a bit about his migration and followers, I tried not to just draw parallels to the Bible.

            The more I learned about even this piece of the Qua’ran, the more similarities and differences between what I read and know about how the Bible was conceived occurred to me. This particular sura was revealed on one of the last nights of Ramadam, probably the 27^th night when the fasting was ending. This is generally a celebration and reflection on the journey of Ramadam and is also a night that is a child’s first attempt at fasting. Worshippers may stay up all night to pray or meditate. The divine and human are close to one another, so Al-Qadr is one of the most mystical nights.

            The biggest difference in this holy scripture for me, however, came with the gendered text. The gender dynamic of the Qur’an is found in this sura:

We sent him* down on the night of destiny.

and what can tell you of the night of destiny

The Night of Destiny is better than a thousand months. 

The angels come down, with the spirit upon it by permission of their lord, from every order.

Peace she is until the rise of dawn.

            The him in the first iyat is supposed to refer to the Qur’an, as it was revealed to Mohammad. The “her” is the Night; this amazing happening is referred to as feminine in this very masculine religion. This is personification, and when, at the center of the sura, the angels come down on “it,” this could be the Spirit, the Quar’an, or the night being inseminated. The insemination of the night, Sells, argues, is parallel to Mary being divinely inseminated and becoming pregnant with Jesus. However, since the personification is not “complete,” translators do not feel completely sure. I feel much the same way, but it makes me wonder more about the translation and interpretation of the Bible across language in a new way.

Narrative

At the conference last week, there were many different papers that had come from a seminar on the Apostle Paul. They all worked to reinterpret Paul's work for the modern age, focusing on how he applies to concepts like islamophobia and environmentalism. He is an interesting figure for sure, first bashing Christianity as a Jew, then converting and bashing Judaism. Current scholarship is working on reinterpreting him, and this is a phenomena that we also encountered in our study of the Torah and the role of women in Half the Kingdom. I think this is a hugely worthwhile action- we must update and adapt our understandings of these texts to keep them relevant and informative in the framework of our modern world. This occurs in Islam as well: As we saw with the Imam last week, Qur'an interpretation changes to add inclusivity over time as well. The discussion of the gender fluidity was a fantastic example of thought changing and adapting over time. We are constantly reframing context as we gain more information, forgetting that which needs to be left in the past to move forward.

I wonder where alternate texts come into this conversation. We are editing historical narratives, but what happens if we look for alternate narratives based off the work that history has forgotten? Or what happens if we acknowledge all the other influences that the past has had. For example, so much of popular understanding of Christianity comes from Paradise Lost, but no one addresses this.

We discussed narratives at the conference, and it has clearly got me thinking about the narratives we engage with in class.

Up to Interpretation?

            According to Tariq Ramadan’s New York Times article, the Quar’an acts like a bridge between an individual Muslim and the creator. It is the word of God. Through the text, God is speaking to the individual and the individual’s values and individual Islamic values. In Christianity, I feel like God is sending a message through the Bible. This message is then supported by many examples, which reinforce the message. These are meant to be deciphered by God’s followers, but have been used for many different reasons.

            Although the Qur’an is God speaking directly to all Muslims, it is accepted that the readings can be interpreted and have meaning for an individual, just as Christianity generally believes and some Jewish sects suppose. Additionally, when Muslims interpret God’s message and the content of the Qua’ran, the interpretations embody and engulf the ethics and the moral values of Islam as a whole, which is similar to the Judeo-Christian tradition, as I understand it.

            As a “good” Christian or Muslim, a follower is expected to take the values God gives—communicated through Scripture—and use them positively in his or her life.

            The Qua’ran, so far, sounds more concrete. The message seems less flexible, stronger and MUST be followed than what I have learned of the Torah and Bible. I do not yet know whether or not this is a product of my understanding of people who are culturally associated with Muslim countries, as I am more familiar with Judeo-Christian theologies and cultures. With this in mind, it seems to me that as world views progress, interpretations of both the Bible and the Torah are more flexible than those of the Qua’ran.

To Open

As I was looking at the opening prayer of the Qur'an, I realized that people have a tendency to say something when every they begin something new. Its like the ribbon cutting at a new store or building. There is this whole routine that occurs before the store is opened. First there are speeches and there are toasts and often a party or something of the kind. It ends with the ribbon being cut and then the store opens. It does not matter what the store or building is, there is almost always this ceremony at the beginning. I realized that this is very similar to the start of prayer service, whether Jewish or Islamic. For Jews, services always start with the Shema, or the call to service. It does not matter what Torah portion is being read that day, the Shema is always chanted at the start. The same seems true for Islamic prayer service. They always begin with the prayer The Opening.

The need to start off anything with a consistent opening is not just held to ceremonies of warship. People usually start most things in life with a consistent routine. Most people will start each day with the same routine, such as brushing their teeth. The need to start the unfamiliar with the familiar is very strong and is a part of our lives, whether in just daily life or in prayer.

adhan recitation

I had heard the call to prayer before in the background noises of T.V. or movies, but I had never taken the time to get to know the call to prayer as we had to for class today. When listening to Allahu akbar be repeated four times in I think two breaths. Being able to do that as gracefully as he did exemplifies what he is saying, that God is great. His ability to use his voice in such a magnificent way is a testament to human ability, which is a gift from God as the creator of all things on Earth. 

The rest of the call is a series of repeated versus which the transliteration allowed us to see how separate the words are giving them individuality, and the direct translation of each word brought meaning to the calls of the muzzien. This brings life to the Arabic that at first listen would have been a lot of sounds strong together lyrically. 

The last lines repeating Allahu akbar I also found as striking because of how different it was from the first four times it was uttered at the beginning of the adhan. I felt as though he was reminding us of the supreme statement that God is great, a reminder that the world around us is great, and everything that Allah has created is great, the people reciting this phrase as they pray, as well as the rest of the people of this world. No matter if they share the same deity or any deity at all, creation is great, and the call to prayer reminds its faithfuls of this. 

Plots

            Zornberg’s excerpt about God’s plot was surprising to me. Through the midrash example, it seemed like God was punishing humans before they did anything wrong. Their fate was predetermined, just like the man who had decided before he even walked into the kitchen that he would hand his wife divorce papers. If there is no way to change our fate, if we are just living into God’s plot for us, as the midrash author is starting to imply, what is the point of living?

            I believe this is an overly dark way of viewing the bible. If this is true, what is the point of serving God if there is a predetermined fate? What value is there in following God’s commandments and rules if there are no decisions to be made? All humans die at a certain point, but when it is discussed in this context, it seems particularly dark. It makes humans sound like pawns in God’s plan.

            The main reasoning behind why this would be God’s plot that occurs to me, admittedly not omniscient, is so that the world can function as a natural system. But if this is God’s plot, why do some people suffer? If he has designed everything, why did God not design it to be perfect? This pessimistic view makes it seem like God is a dark force. If he has predetermined not only the pieces on his earth but also each and every decision they will make, he controls all of life. This midrash makes me glad my view of God is less dark.

Midrash and Play: The Torah as Transitional and Transformational Object

It occurs to me that midrash is a way of playing with the Torah to address a kind of attachment disturbance between the Jewish people and God, between me personally and God. Two things got me thinking about midrash and Torah this way.  First was Avivah Zornberg's suggestion in her commentary on the book of Exodus that the Torah is both a transitional object and a transformational object. Infants and children carry, embrace, and fondle something that is a kind of "piece" of their mother whose feel, smell, or sight of reminds them of their mother when she is away.  By holding and playing with this transitional object, they can hold it together when they are separated from their significant other. Like Linus' blanket in Peanuts.  But also like Linus, when he plays with his blanket, he can transform it, in the process be himself transformed as his play gives him space to grow and develop his independence, even play at being a kind of grown-up himself.


With a transitional object, we maintain the attachment of love, affection, being cared for that we need to thrive and grow, but also the separation from our significant care-giving other that we also need to thrive and grow into our own.  The creative pre-occupation involve in playing with with our transitional/transformational object makes us both remember and forget the trauma of separation we feel.

Second was the parable of the ketubbah we studied.  It also makes this point about the importance of playing with a transitional object, and specifically applies it to scripture as being the object that makes the very painful separation of God from the people of Israel bearable, just as holding, fondling, reading the ketubbah and the promises of everlasting love and devotion enable the wife to bear her separation from her beloved husband. By playing with it, engaging in it, we can evoke the feelings of being with our parent or lover as if he were still there, even though we know very well he is not.  As our spiteful neighbors remind us.  And interestingly enough, both Zornberg's commentary on the Exodus passages, and the parable of the ketubbah in Lamentations Rabbah punctuate their interpretations with the same verse from Psalms: "If your Torah had not been my delight (or "plaything"), I would have perished my affliction." (119:92). Midrash turns Torah into something we can, we must play with to keep alive our affection for its source, but also to grow and adapt with our "plaything" to new situations without being suffocated by the love of our significant, formative parental Other.  We need space to play and grow, but we need also to feel loved and cared for as we carve out that space for ourselves, or when life's circumstances inevitably separate us from those who love us and vice versa.  We still can connect.  So yes, "If your Torah had not been my delight (or "plaything"), I would have perished my affliction."

And "THIS I call to mind and therefore I have hope." (Lam 3:20)