Guest blogger Jenan Mohajir is extensively involved with the Muslim community through several grassroots initiatives in Chicago, Illinois. She currently serves as the program associate for the Outreach Education & Training program at the Interfaith Youth Core, where her primary focus is on building relationships between the Muslim community and the Interfaith Youth Movement. She received her Bachelor’s in Elementary Education from DePaul University in 2002 with a concentration in Islamic Studies. Jenan is originally from India and grew up in Qatar and the United States.

I remember my first attempt at fasting during Ramadan when I was ten years old. I hadn’t eaten all day and decided to sit at the dinner table watching the food, as if somehow gazing at my mother preparing family delicacies would magically make the time fly by faster. I debated sneaking a samosa, a savory potato filled fried pastry, under the table. I gestured for my best friend, a Catholic, to join me; she had come to celebrate the end of my first fast with me.

Growing up, I never really understood the meaning of fasting. I knew we were trying to put ourselves in the shoes of the less fortunate, and that fasting increased our awareness of the importance of giving to others. But the question remained: What is the significance of Ramadan to me, a young, curious American Muslim girl growing up in an culturally Muslim family in Chicago?

As I grew into my adolescence, I came upon bigger questions of Islam my parents could not answer. I grew out of my childhood faith. Fasting became a somewhat mundane ritual, the one connection to my quickly disappearing Muslim identity.

Many years later, in the spring quarter of my freshman year in college, I met my friend Melissa, who had recently converted to Islam. I realized that she knew more about Islam after two weeks of being Muslim than I had learned in eighteen years.  And I was inspired by all that she knew.

Over the next few months, I found a faith that helped me examine all the questions I had once upon a time as a curious child and a faith that helps me navigate the complexities of adulthood.

In Islam, I also found an outlet for my love and commitment to social justice and a hunger to understand all faiths more deeply. Two years ago, I took a job that honored both my love and my hunger.  I began working at the Interfaith Youth Core, a Chicago non-profit that strives to inspire a different kind of conversation about religion among young people — one that focuses on building relationships nurtured by the values we share across faiths to create a global community.

I had been at Interfaith Youth Core for less than a month when we greeted the arrival of Ramadan two years ago. Suddenly, I found myself speaking to groups of people around Chicago about the significance of Ramadan. I could see my younger self in the excited faces and hear my younger self in the curious questions of the kids with whom I spoke. I was answering those same questions that I had once asked over samosas as we broke fast.

Yet my first Ramadan as a practicing Muslim was a challenge. I wanted my Ramadan to be more than abstaining from food and water, but I was lost. When I confessed my struggle to my best friend, the one with whom I had sat waiting to break my fast for the very first time many years ago, she asked me: “Well, what did Muhammad do during Ramadan?” I did not have the answer to her question.

I started reading about the Prophet Muhammad and filled my hunger with stories from his life. I learned that it was during this month that the Quran, the holy book for Muslims, was first revealed to the Prophet. I learned that he spent his days in service to others, and his nights in worship. I learned that in Ramadan he recommended that we refrain not only from food, but also fast from anger and discontentment. He taught us how to be good hosts, how to show compassion to those around us, how to enjoin good and justice.

This year Ramadan has arrived once again bearing sweet gifts for the soul – a guest with blessings to host in our lives, our homes and our mosques. And though my learning will never be over, I have finally learned how to celebrate fully. I will spend these days with my whole community - from my best Catholic friend from childhood to my Conservative Jewish coworker to my brothers and sisters in Islam – in service, in reflection, in worship.