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[ Monday, November 29, 2004 ]

 

All it takes is an hour.

"God bless you."
"May the force be with you."
"Thank you."

Their eyes lit up and they smiled widely in appreciation as I handed them trays of food. They were not the prettiest people what with their shaggy, unkempt hair; jagged, black nails; spotted hands; ungraceful movements; ragged clothing; and musty smell. But they were without a doubt genuine, grateful, and polite.

I watched as they sat at the long tables covered with colorful table cloths and cheerful flowers in vases. They were predominantly black and white, mostly male, young and old. I recognized many of the faces from seeing them daily on Berkeley streets. Some of them didn't fit the stereotypical mold because they looked well-dressed; nevertheless, they were there, sitting side by side and enjoying a hot meal.

"Sir/Ma'am, are you finished?" I'd ask, before taking their trays and stacking them on the carts. As I passed by a seated man layered to stay warm, he motioned me over and seemed upset. I hoped that I hadn't done anything wrong. He repeated himself before I realized that he was indignant about the fact that I was taking the trays: "I don't know who they think they are. They can take it themselves. You shouldn't have to do it." Surprised and touched at his concern, I explained that it was ok and that I preferred doing what I could to help. Later, he let me take his tray.

Another man asked me if I was a student and what group I'm with. When I told him I was representing the MSA, he smiled and said, "It's good to see you all here." Passing by another muhajjabah volunteer, I overheard a man asking her about hijab. So many opportunities for dawah, if we only knew.

As I looked around me, I was reminded of the Ramadan iftars. I thought about the Prophet (salallahu alayhi wassallam) and how he cared for the downtrodden. And I felt grateful to have had a chance to serve them, even if it was only for one meal.

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