A Night of Connection: Reflections on CAIR’s Iftar in Oklahoma City
How a simple evening meal became a powerful reminder of community, faith, and our shared humanity
There’s something magical about breaking bread together during Ramadan. The air feels different – lighter, warmer, filled with that special Ramadan spirit that connects us all. Last night at CAIR Oklahoma’s annual iftar in Oklahoma City, I was reminded once again of how these simple gatherings can become profound moments of connection, reflection, and community building.
A Reunion Three Decades in the Making
As I walked into the venue with my Stillwater friends, I could already sense the energy in the room. Eight of us had made the journey together – the director of our local Islamic Society, some of our dedicated young men, and myself. There was laughter in our car, that easy camaraderie that comes from shared purpose. We talked about the work CAIR does, how they stand up for our rights when others try to silence us, how they educate when others spread ignorance. By the time we arrived, I already felt that familiar Ramadan warmth in my chest.
I was eager to reach the place. I knew I would meet someone I had known for so long, I spotted the familiar face – someone I first met in 1991. Thirty five years. Three decades since I last heard. It was Mr. Nihad Awad, whom I knew for such a long time. Yet when I spoke with him, he did not know me! Have I grown that much old, I wondered!?
We fell into conversation like old friends, reminiscing about the years gone by, marveling at how far we’ve both come. He shared stories of his journey – the challenges, the triumphs, the ways our community has grown and changed. In that moment, I was struck by how Islam connects us across time and space. A simple iftar dinner became a bridge between past and present, between generations of Muslims working to build something better.
This is the beauty of our community. We carry our histories with us, and in sharing them, we strengthen the bonds that hold us together. That conversation reminded me why gatherings like this matter so much – they’re not just about food or fundraising, but about maintaining the living fabric of our ummah.
The Work That Binds Us
Later in the evening, I had the chance to speak with CAIR Oklahoma’s president. What struck me most wasn’t the scale of their work (though it is impressive), but the passion behind it. Here are people who could be doing anything with their time and talents, yet they’ve chosen to stand on the front lines, defending our rights, educating our neighbors, building bridges where others try to create divisions.
We talked about the challenges – the rise in Islamophobia, the political climate, the constant need to defend our basic rights just to be treated equally. But we also talked about the victories. The legal cases won. The minds changed. The young Muslims finding their voices. In that conversation, I saw the face of hope – not naive optimism, but the determined hope of people who refuse to accept injustice as normal.
This is what CAIR represents to me: not just an organization, but a promise. A promise that someone is watching out for us, that someone will speak up when we’re silenced, that our community has defenders who won’t back down. In times when Muslims often feel under siege, that promise means everything.
The Meal That Nourishes More Than Bodies
Of course, no iftar would be complete without the food – and what a feast it was! The spread was incredible: perfectly spiced lamb that fell apart at the touch of a fork, fragrant rice that carried the scent of cardamom and cinnamon, dates so sweet they tasted like honey. And the desserts! Baklava that crunched just right, kunafa that stretched in golden threads, strong Turkish coffee to wash it all down.
But it wasn’t just about the food. There’s something sacred about breaking fast together. In that moment when we all raised our dates to our lips, when we said “Bismillah” in unison, when we shared that first sip of water – we weren’t just individuals anymore. We were a community. A family. Bound not just by faith, but by this shared experience of hunger and gratitude, of restraint and reward.
Why These Gatherings Matter
As the evening wound down, I found myself reflecting on why nights like this stay with me long after they’re over. It’s not just the good food or the inspiring speeches (though both were excellent). It’s something deeper:
- They remind us we’re not alone. In a world that often makes Muslims feel isolated, these gatherings say: You have a community. You have people who understand you, who stand with you.
- They turn strangers into family. I met people last night I’d never seen before – young activists, new Muslims, longtime residents. Yet by the end of the evening, we were sharing stories and laughter like old friends.
- They connect generations. Seeing our youth engaged in the work, hearing their questions and ideas, gives me hope for our future.
- They make our faith tangible. Islam isn’t just about prayers and fasting – it’s about this. About showing up for each other. About building a society where justice and mercy matter.
As we approach the final third of Ramadan – those precious nights when Allah’s mercy is closest – I’m reminded that these gatherings are more than social events. They’re acts of worship. They’re how we live our faith in the world.
Driving home last night, with the Ramadan moon hanging low in the sky, I felt that familiar mix of gratitude and determination. Gratitude for the community I’m part of, for the people who work so hard to protect our rights, for the simple blessing of breaking bread with fellow believers. And determination to do more – to give more, to show up more, to be part of building the kind of community we all deserve.
Ramadan teaches us that hunger can be sacred, that restraint can be powerful, that coming together can be transformative. Last night at CAIR’s iftar, I saw all of that in action. I saw a community that refuses to be divided, that stands up for justice, that welcomes everyone to the table. In a world that often feels dark, that’s a light worth gathering around.
With gratitude and hope,
Hatim Hegab
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