A backwards look at an upcoming bayram

One of the Prophet Abraham’s main trials was to face the command of God to kill his only son. Upon hearing this command, he sadly prepared to submit to God’s will. Then, God revealed to him that his “sacrifice” had already been fulfilled. Abraham had shown that his love for his Lord superseded all others, that he would lay down his own life or the lives of those dear to him in order to submit to God. Since that time, a sacrifice of a lamb or cow has been offered up yearly, first by Jews and then by Muslims.

Although Eid al-Adha is always on the same day of the Islamic calendar, the date in the Gregorian calendar varies from year to year as the Gregorian calendar is a solar calendar and the Islamic calendar is a lunar one. This difference means Eid al-Adha moves ahead in the Gregorian calendar approximately 11 days every year. The date of Eid al-Adha may also vary from country to country depending on whether the moon has been sighted or not. In the Muslim calendar, a holiday begins after the sunset of the previous day, so observant Muslims will begin to celebrate Eid al-Adha on the sunset of Thursday, Nov. 26 -- the day my friend arrives.

Some years ago, when I was living in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, I had an experience that has influenced part of my life in Turkey. My late husband had managed to rent us the upper half of a villa owned by a Kuwaiti couple. At first, life was very quiet there, after I had adjusted to the prayer calls five times a day. Then one morning I woke to hear a sheep bleating. I had become accustomed to an occasional rooster crow, and I would not have been surprised by the raucous bellow of a camel -- but a sheep? My cultural understanding of Islam grew considerably that day as I learned about Eid al-Adha. The sheep bleating in the courtyard below had only hours to live. His fate had been determined hundreds of years before he was born.

Although my late husband and I were not Muslim, we firmly believed in following major customs of the country in which we lived. Giving to the poor also fit in well with our Christian beliefs. In Saudi, we went annually to one of the sheep markets held in a vacant sandlot only blocks away from our villa. We would point at a likely looking sheep, which then was marked with a red stripe and off it went to the location we had designated for its demise and distribution to the poor. This searching for a healthy “ship” (as “sheep” was pronounced there) became a habit over six years.

My first experience in İstanbul of a Kurban Bayramı has influenced my own charitable donations for five years. In Turkey, animal sacrifices are to be performed by designated butchers at a government-approved sanitary building. However, years ago the lines were long and the chopping up of the beasts of the field took ages. So ordinary folk flocked to empty, grassy hillsides which were filled all that Sunday with sheep and cows being slaughtered and divided up on huge sheets of plastic. These were neither orderly nor sanitary events. After driving past one such hillside, my further participation was courtesy of local TV.

Reportedly, the freelance butchers donated a seventh of each sacrifice to poor people who hauled off their bloody chucks of animal parts in makeshift cloth bags. Many of the butchers were slipping and falling in the mud remaining from the past week of snow and rain. Over 1,500 İstanbul butchers were reported to be injured while performing their holiday duties. I can understand why. Also on the news were numerous videotaped sightings of escaped and angry sacrificial bulls running in panic and being chased around the city streets -- frightening passers-by. I did wonder what became of those animals. The news reporters left out that part of the story.

The father of the young man, Serkan, whom I call my Turkish son, is a professional butcher in Kayseri. In that first year, I, along with others, sent the father money. He sacrificed a bull according to both traditional and hygienic principles. Much to my surprise, after all the meat had been properly shared, I received a hefty package of beautifully cut steaks and chunks of stew meat. To ensure its freshness, Serkan brought it via an hour’s plane flight, instead of his usual 12-hour bus ride.

I was delighted, not just to have this excellent meat, but to be included as part of the family and the traditions of my adopted land. Every year since, I have given money either to Serkan or to a local butcher to assist in the purchase and slaughter of an animal and its later distribution to the local poor.

As for the charming tradition of young men and children kissing a woman’s hands and then touching her hand to their foreheads, it can be a bit of a shock to a foreigner. Luckily my young friend Serkan was the first to do so 10 years ago; thus I am no longer wildly startled when some young boys grab my hand and give it a gentle smooch. I nod graciously as befits a respected mama or auntie. Now I actually have come to expect such salutes. And I always carry sweets in my purse.

It is said that rain always comes on the third day of Kurban Bayramı. In this manner, God is washing away all of the blood shed in His name. There is no forecast of rain yet, but I am assured in my heart there will be at least a few sprinkles. Those of you who plan to come to İstanbul during the holiday, be sure to bring an umbrella.

I don’t believe Bob Dylan meant any disrespect when he wrote the following “Highway 61” lyrics. To me, he was drawing attention to an important religious event by connecting it to an almost forgotten American icon.

Oh, God said to Abraham, “kill me a son.”

Abe said “man, you must be puttin’ me on.”

God said “no,” Abe said “what?”

God said “you can do what you wanna, but

The next time you see me comin’, you better run.”

Well, Abe said “where you want this killin’ done?”

God said “out on Highway 61.”

My street in Sultanahmet bears no resemblance to the historic Highway 61 in America, yet I look forward to a well-packaged bit of sacrificial meat. I will give thanks.