[EXPAT VOICE]
Terawih in İstanbul: An action-packed event

Guidebooks on Turkey that touch on Ramadan practices often mention terawih as if it is a somber, night-long prayer wherein the faithful Turks that have made their way to a mosque after breaking their fast spend the evening seeking out a connection with God. Clearly the writers of these works have never been to a terawih prayer in Turkey. When the evening’s prayers began with the night prayer that is performed year-round, the scene I observed in Süleymaniye seemed at first to be a classic mosque scene. The men were lined up near the imam at the front of the mosque, in straight lines, shoulder-to-shoulder, as is the tradition. The women’s lines had a lot more gaps in them, with giggling and shrieking children running around, mothers and older sisters exasperatedly trying to get the children to behave -- an impossible task. A stern-seeming man could not take the noise anymore and, as a few of the children ventured in their revelry into the men’s area of the mosque, he took hold of some, marched them back to the women’s side, repeating to the women as a whole: “Is this your child? For the love of God!” Finally some embarrassed but resigned mothers came and scooped up their children, only to have them run off again in a few minutes.

The scene itself, while universal to Muslims in some ways, is not without a distinctly Turkish character. Children in American mosques have far less space to play in, and little to do other than climb up and down stairs and run around, making noise and attracting attention. In Süleymaniye little boys and girls run across wide open spaces once traversed by sultans, viziers and princes; they climb up stairs designed by Mimar Sinan and their giggling -- albeit disruptive -- voices ricochet off domes and arches that have echoed voices for four-and-a-half centuries. The beauty and style of the mosque itself represents the finest of Ottoman architecture.

As the terawih prayers began, it became clearer still that the terawih was not taking place just anywhere in the world, but in Turkey. I curiously eyed a few tourists that were sitting a few yards away from me, trying their best to look respectful and unobtrusive. I wondered briefly why they were there -- unless you’re praying or you really have a thing for Quran recitation, terawih isn’t exactly a spectator sport. Terawih is traditionally a total 20-unit prayer, though some mosques nowadays reduce the number to eight, prayed in sets of two-unit prayers. In the US and many other countries, it is prayed more or less without a break and often the recitation is long as the imams attempt to complete one-thirtieth of the Quran each night so that they may complete the entire recitation during Ramadan. This can make for a long and laborious terawih prayer, lasting one-and-a-half hours or more, depending on the speed of the reciter.

In Turkey, while there are no doubt those who choose to spend long nights during Ramadan in prayer and contemplation in the mosques, their doing so certainly has nothing to do with terawih. Practicing Muslim Turks will often tell Muslims from other countries in a tone of religious snobbery that all mosques in Turkey observe a full 20-unit terawih, a reference to the fact that in many Muslim countries the traditional terawih prayer has been reduced to eight units. Here each set of two units is proceeded by a chanting of blessings and salutations sent upon the Prophet Mohammed. The imam then leads two units of prayer, reciting only a few lines of the Quran in each unit, at a pace noticeably faster than is the non-Turkish norm. Imagine my surprise -- being used to an eight-unit terawih prayer that lasts a minimum of 90 minutes -- as each set of prayers took less than five minutes. As I moved up and down with the other women in my line at a nearly dizzying pace, I wondered if I had stumbled into some other type of prayer session unknown to me. I also experienced a brief pang of commiseration with bobble-head car ornaments. A Turkish friend told me a story about a mosque named Molla Fenari. The terawih there is famed to be performed so quickly that people have nicknamed its imam “Molla Ferrari.” Last week the mufti of Turkey’s Bolu town warned at a meeting with other Turkish religious officials that terawih prayers should not last less than 25-30 minutes.

After every four units of prayer, there is about a minute break where everyone in the mosque just sits while the imam and others lead a singing of a brief ilahi -- a song that praises God or extols the characteristics of the Prophet Mohammed. Some people get really into it -- the tourists (I now know why they come to terawih) rocked back and forth and hummed along. I half-expected the congregation to produce lighters from their pockets to hold in the air and sway to the hymns about Islam. All that was missing was a marching band. After the song finishes, more salutations and blessings are sent upon the Prophet and the next two sets of two-unit prayers are performed. The entire 20 units takes no more than an hour, including the musical intermissions, and then people are free to go home to their families or friends or pursue whatever other activities they have planned for the evening. In the US, terawih is a serious business and a definite commitment. Turkish terawih, to me, lacks some of the soul of its American counterpart. All the trappings are there -- a mosque, a (small) congregation and Quran reciters with beautiful voices. The heedless speed and over-festive atmosphere, though, leave something to be desired spiritually.