Holidays are often a high-water mark for community spirit and feelings of belonging to the group. Which makes sense. These days are set aside deliberately as being unlike normal days. They're special, and that's why we observe them. And so studies of nationalism and ethnicity often look at holidays as times when nationality and ethnicity become incredibly salient to your conception of who you are. For instance, it's hard not to feel a little bit more American on the Fourth of July. But the same is also true of less obviously national days, like Thanksgiving-- a day that is intrinsically tied up in the story of the founding of the United States, and woven into the fabric of American culture. On days like these, we showcase traditions and deeply held cultural values. And in so doing, the boundaries of an identity, the things that define people as members of the group become visible.
Today is the Eid Al-Adha, sometimes referred to in English as "The Feast of the Sacrifice". For those who are less familiar with Islam, the festival commemorates the willingness of Abraham to sacrifice his son (in Islam, this is thought to have been Ishmael, rather than Isaac as in the Judeo-Christian tradition) to God. In China, it's primarily known as Gu'erbang Jie (古尔邦节, from the Arabic word Qurbani or "sacrifice"), and its a major day for Hui (and other Islamic communities), throughout the country. Along with the Eid al-Fitr which marks the end of Ramadan, and the celebration of the birth of the prophet Mohammed, Gu'erbang Jie is an important marker for Hui culture. When I ask my interviewees about what traditions are peculiar or special to the Hui community, celebrating Eid is always one of the first things that gets mentioned.
And so, today I set out to figure out just what Gu'erbang Jie in the heart of Beijing's Muslim community is like. I attempted to start off by making a trip to the mosque nearest my university in Beijing's northwest corner. I was under the mistaken impression that activities for the day would follow roughly the same schedule as weekly Friday prayers, with most of the events starting at about 1:30. As it turns out, that was a mistake. The prayers that kick off the day's festivities had begun at 9am. Perhaps it was just as well that I missed the time. A man at the gate of the mosque recieved me warmly, and welcomed me to tour the grounds, but said that it was good that I'd come in the afternoon. "If you'd come this morning, you wouldn't have been able to come in," he told me. I nodded in understanding.
The local imam, who I met shortly afterwards as I was walking around the grounds, informed me that Eid celebrations in Hui communities are unique from those performed elsewhere in the Islamic world. "Islamic culture blends in with local culture wherever it goes," he said. "So every country will have its own special Islamic traditions that are influenced by local culture." In Hui communities, he explained, the story of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Ishmael to God has traditionally been explained in a way that draws on culturally familiar concepts drawn from Confucianism regarding relationships between fathers and sons. "It's easier for people to understand the tenets of Islam if you explain them in a way that's familiar," he reasoned. In particular, when discussing the meaning of the holiday, he stressed the Confucian value of benevolence (仁慈, renci). "Confucius taught about the importance of renci, right?" he began."We Muslims also speak of benvolence. After all, God is supremely benevolent, ins't he?"
Before long, I decided to head down to Niu Jie, to observe Eid celebrations from the heart of Beijing's Islamic community. In the course of exchanging holiday greetings with my Hui friends via text, I learned that many of them had gone to Niu Jie to pray at the mosque there. Various reports stressed how large the crowds were. Over a thousand people in attendance, one friend mentioned. Several of them described the scene as renao (热闹), lively. By the time I arrived at around 3pm, the buzz of the holiday remained even if much of the crowd had gone off elsewhere. Little adornments throughout the neighborhood leant a sense of holiday festivity to the area. Butcher shops on the side-street next to the community mosque all dispalyed banners which wished their customers a festive Gu'erbang JIe:
Elsewhere on the street, however, the atmosphere seemed more quiet than usual. Empty tables peered through the windows of the Turfan Xinjiang Restuarant, usually packed at the dinner hour. The crowd gathered in front of the legendary JuBaoYuan Hotpot Restaurant across the street, usually so busy that would be diners can usually expect waits of over an hour and a half for a table, seemed thinner than usual. The patrons spilling out into the street on stools while waiting only comprised one row rather than the usual two or three. Such quietness underscores that the event is a family affair. For the most part, celebrating Gu'erbang Jie in Beijing means being at home with family. Messages from my friends talked about dinners with family members. For many, the day is also kind of a workday. The bakery on the side street by the mosque, of which I've become a frequent customer, kept its doors open to patrons looking to buy you xiang (a kind of twisty, pretzel-like sweet snack), sweetbreads, and stuffed meat pies to complete their meals. I asked the owner about his holiday plans. "I went to the mosque this morning," he said. "But after that it's just like all the other holidays. There really arent' too many other holiday traditions. We go home, eat you xiang and have dinner with the family."
This kind of family togetherness seemed tangible this afternoon. Niu Jie has always been a place where I've been warmly recieved, but today, holiday atmosphere seemed to have heightened the genuine warmth and openness I usually feel here. Throughout the neighborhood, I caught glimpses of genuine charity and friendliness: someone bringing a bowl of noodles to the homeless person outside the Islamic supermarket; people greeting strangers and foreign guests to the mosque with holiday greetings; smiles from everyone. On the other hand, the sheep I encountered on the street proved to be a somewhat less cheerfiul sight. To commemorate God's provision of a ram for Abraham to sacrifice instead of his son, celebrating the Eid here, I'm told usually involves butchering of sheep, both for use in Eid meals, and for donating to the poor. A friend told me that as the largest, and most important mosque in Beijing, the Niu Jie Mosque contributes a large amount to the less fortunate of Beijing's Islamic community. Despite such charitable aims, passing these sheep where they sat in truckbeds parked on the street, it was hard not feel a twinge of pity for the animals who looked incredibly aware of how the day would end for them (I should add as a side note that sights like these are probably good to remind me how far removed I am from where my food comes from. It's something I think I tend to forget, especially when I'm back in the states). In a sense this kicks off a larger holiday season. This year's Eid falls in an especially busy time of year. The traditional Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival takes place on the 27th, and China's National Day commemorating the founding of the People's Republic falls on October 1. As a result, the next week has something of the feel of a mega-holiday. People get holiday vacation time for both of the national holidays, and in Hui communities, Eid is a major day as well, leading to a pretty full week of celebration this year. In fact, some of the holiday traditions are starting to overlap. Outside the Turfan Xinjiang Restaurant on Niu Jie, some of the staff set up tables offering free samples of Hui-style mooncakes (a fig-newton like cake also made by Han Chinese that is usually associated with Mid-Autumn Festival) in hopes of enticing passers-by to purchase a case. Not recognizing what exactly was being offered to me, I asked if the samples were a treat special to the celebration of the Eid. Somewhat perturbed, the waitress in charge of the sample table remarked, "What? These are mooncakes. They don't have anything to do with Gu'erbang Jie at all."
As darkness drew in, I found myself on front of the entrance to the mosque. A few European tourist lingered after completing their tour. Down the street butchers washed their knives, dumped buckets of water out on the street, and swept up the sidewalks to conclude the day's work. Catching the soft red glow of the mosque's electronic marquee out of the corner of my eye, I stopped to take a picture. It read "恭贺宰牲佳节" or in English "Congratulations on Eid al-Adha." As I snapped a few photos on my phone, the woman who was watching the gate noticed me, and motioned for me to come in. "Don't I have to buy a ticket to tour?" I asked. This must have sounded stupid. The ticketbooth had been closed for hours. The woman repeated, "Come in, Come in, it's fine." Slowly, I entered and walked back towards the prayrer hall. As I approached the commotion of the street outside, the car horns, the traffic, the sound of people, grew faint and distant. In the quiet of the courtyard, I heard the sound of prayer emanating from inside the hall. Softly. Inside a handful of men (no more than 30, and far less than the thousands at the morning crowd), bowed quietly in prayer. A father and his young son, arriving late, racing past my post just outside the hall and scrambling to get their shoes off and join the group. The rustle of their arrival did not disturb the men in the least. I sat absorbing the quiet, watching the ritual. These few were ending the day as they had begun it: in quiet, contemplative prayer. I lingered for a moment, and quietly went on my way.
Observing a holiday from a tradition not your own can be an odd experience. It can feel alien. You're not sure how or when you can participate, or what to do when that moment comes. But today, it was hard not to get swept up in the general spirit of the day. The joy and excitement that I recieved in greetings from my friends, and saw in the interactions of people on the streets was palpable and inclusive. So I'd like to wish all of my friends and readers Eid Mubarak, in hopes that you, too, may experience some of that joyousness and exuberance today. Wishing all of the best to all of you.