Two days earlier, the local mosque had held an emergency meeting. A student at the local high school was complaining of flu-like symptoms after returning from a trip to California which had a high rate of COVID-19. The virus was potentially lurking around in the neighborhood.
The mosque board called an emergency meeting which was ominously switched to a conference call as there was talk of needing to not be cramped in a room together with too many people. They voted to close down Sunday School and all religious and educational programming . Then came the question of whether to temporarily suspend the sacred Friday prayer. This was a horribly tough decision to make and Sakina felt her heart sink. How do you cancel prayer? Did you even have the right to close that door.
The mosque had invited a Dr Awad, an infectious diseases specialist to speak about COVID-19. He asked to address the board on this increasingly long conference call.
"You do understand. If you don't close the mosque today, you'll be closing it by next week. This isn't about IF you'll be closing the mosque but WHEN. Why wait until you're in a more panicked and rushed situation?
Dr Awad continued to speak of the virus in certain terms. It was an unknown. Currently only the elderly and sick need worry but it would be highly contagious.
What words were these. The virus was in faraway countries, wasn't it?
But there were ominous signs everywhere. Grocery stores had established special hours for the elderly and the immuno compromised. Overseas travel was being highly discouraged. Weddings were being postponed. There was chaos at the airports. Italy was in lockdown. China had faced untold horrors for weeks. California and Virginia had declared a state of emergency. All Illinois schools, universities, major offices, banks were closed. There was no other option and the decision was made.
That Friday morning, Sakina was fielding calls and texts from disgruntled community members. Why had prayer been suspended? Sakina felt surprised. There had been reports about mass lay offs and this new scary term she was hearing 'furloughed'. College students had been ripped from campuses, had boarded trains to go home indefinitely with half an hours' notice or were scrambling to stay in housing. Her kids had canceled a long awaited trip to Europe. Schoolchildren had been sent home with bulging backpacks and an uncertain future.
Sakina looked at her phone in dismay. So many texts regarding the Friday prayer. It was an important religious injunction. No one would deny that. But compared to the sanctity of life and State ordained safety precautions. Surely people got that?? Sakina went back to reading the news. Things were looking increasingly dire as there were reports of a cluster of COVID cases at a nearby retirement home.
It was 12.30 p.m. It was right about the time that one son would be warming up the car for Jumuah and the other two children would be yelling at each other to hurry up as the parking lot would be full and they would have to walk across muddy fields. Instead, Sakina saw her youngest son walk over to the living room, lay out prayer mats and make the call to prayer. She could not recall a time when NO ONE had gone to Friday prayer. Sakina had managed to hold it together until this point. She suddenly understood it all. It was the end of normalcy. Everything had changed. She broke down into floods of tears, picked up her phone and returned every one of the unanswered texts. We are sorry that the mosque has been closed temporarily she wrote. She picked out some hopeful emojis and some prayer hands. This was the new normal. The digital world of 2020 had begun.
The mosque board called an emergency meeting which was ominously switched to a conference call as there was talk of needing to not be cramped in a room together with too many people. They voted to close down Sunday School and all religious and educational programming . Then came the question of whether to temporarily suspend the sacred Friday prayer. This was a horribly tough decision to make and Sakina felt her heart sink. How do you cancel prayer? Did you even have the right to close that door.
The mosque had invited a Dr Awad, an infectious diseases specialist to speak about COVID-19. He asked to address the board on this increasingly long conference call.
"You do understand. If you don't close the mosque today, you'll be closing it by next week. This isn't about IF you'll be closing the mosque but WHEN. Why wait until you're in a more panicked and rushed situation?
Dr Awad continued to speak of the virus in certain terms. It was an unknown. Currently only the elderly and sick need worry but it would be highly contagious.
What words were these. The virus was in faraway countries, wasn't it?
But there were ominous signs everywhere. Grocery stores had established special hours for the elderly and the immuno compromised. Overseas travel was being highly discouraged. Weddings were being postponed. There was chaos at the airports. Italy was in lockdown. China had faced untold horrors for weeks. California and Virginia had declared a state of emergency. All Illinois schools, universities, major offices, banks were closed. There was no other option and the decision was made.
That Friday morning, Sakina was fielding calls and texts from disgruntled community members. Why had prayer been suspended? Sakina felt surprised. There had been reports about mass lay offs and this new scary term she was hearing 'furloughed'. College students had been ripped from campuses, had boarded trains to go home indefinitely with half an hours' notice or were scrambling to stay in housing. Her kids had canceled a long awaited trip to Europe. Schoolchildren had been sent home with bulging backpacks and an uncertain future.
Sakina looked at her phone in dismay. So many texts regarding the Friday prayer. It was an important religious injunction. No one would deny that. But compared to the sanctity of life and State ordained safety precautions. Surely people got that?? Sakina went back to reading the news. Things were looking increasingly dire as there were reports of a cluster of COVID cases at a nearby retirement home.
It was 12.30 p.m. It was right about the time that one son would be warming up the car for Jumuah and the other two children would be yelling at each other to hurry up as the parking lot would be full and they would have to walk across muddy fields. Instead, Sakina saw her youngest son walk over to the living room, lay out prayer mats and make the call to prayer. She could not recall a time when NO ONE had gone to Friday prayer. Sakina had managed to hold it together until this point. She suddenly understood it all. It was the end of normalcy. Everything had changed. She broke down into floods of tears, picked up her phone and returned every one of the unanswered texts. We are sorry that the mosque has been closed temporarily she wrote. She picked out some hopeful emojis and some prayer hands. This was the new normal. The digital world of 2020 had begun.
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