by Niken Paramita

Created on: December 15, 2009

Eid al-Adha for me means two things: Eid prayer and the ritual of cattle slaughtering. The latter is of course more identical to Eid al-Adha, but the prayer definitely has its own sacred moment.

 The serene atmosphere begins at the previous day. The Takbir is performed at every mosque, notifying every Moslem to prepare themselves for the big day. The next morning, I would get ready for the Eid prayer by not taking another dose of slumber after doing Subuh prayer. Talking about holy day.

 I would take off to the nearest mosque at 5.30 in the morning with my family. Yes, the sooner, the better; front row in the mosque becomes everyone’s aim, so we have to set off as early as possible.

 As we - my family and I - arrive and set our praying outfits, we then wait for the prayer to begin and continue mouthing Takbir and, sometimes, other prayers. This is especially my favorite moment. Uttering praises to God helps me dig my faith deeper and strip off all the doubts and confusion that are popping out the whole year. It seems hyperbolic and idealistic but, really, in the times when I am down in the dumps, I find that God is like the greenest, shaded tree in the middle of barren highways. It’s true.

 Some people, however, choose to neglect this opportunity. They chat, or get busy with their prayer outfits, or turn their head left and right trying to find their acquaintance or relatives, or focus on their cell phone and send “Happy Eid al-Adha” messages to every breathing creature they know. These people mouth Takbir only when they do not have anything to do, or have done all of the above things. The praises are dry; for me, they hardly become any worshiping at all.

 Enough with those people.

 6:00 a.m. The imam announces that the Eid prayer begins. The row is set so that we, the jami’a, would stand neatly and organized. Here we go; the imam exclaims the Takbir and we all together follow his movement. How peaceful, how solemn the surrounding circumstance is. This is the moment where I can set aside my worldly concerns and concentrate on thanking God for the gift and happiness I receive.

 The two-rakat Eid prayer has been performed. It is now the time of Eid sermon. I have to admit that this is the least thing I look forward from ritual of the Eid prayer. (And this sentence comes from someone who says that Eid prayer is a sacred ceremony; how odd.)

 Going home from the mosque, I shake hands with other female jami’a I meet. It seems to me that the small tranquil moment ends too soon. As the jami’a scatters to different directions and continue their own affairs, I sense that the Eid prayer serves “just” as a momentary drizzle in a humid summer, or a comet passing by in the dark sky. It is something that will be missed, but not learned.

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