By Mara Butt
The clear skies above Pendle were the peachy colours of California sunsets as we drove through narrow Lancashire roads in search of the moon. The wind was robust and my two-year-old niece, Mayah, was jumping with excitement as she shouted: “Eid moon! Eid moon!”
Every year, annual leave requests and community dinners are logistical nightmares as Muslims try to explain that we cannot know the exact day of Eid until hours before. (I book two or three days off just in case). The reason is that Islamic tradition dictates that Hilal, the crescent moon, must be sighted with the naked eye to usher in the celebration. If no moon is sighted, then the month ends naturally at the end of 30 days, with Eid the day after.
It can be a touchy issue within the Muslim community as “moon wars” — a derogatory term — can split family celebrations and cause public disputes. But the matter should be handled with the appropriate etiquette according to Islamic tradition, with messy disputation (which should be handled intra-communally) frowned upon and considered divisive.
But why is there so much debate about when Eid starts? To put it simply, it depends on whose moon sightings you follow, and the scholarly interpretations for how to do this vary.
For many years, the British Muslim community did not have a tradition of local moon sightings, relying on countries such as Saudi Arabia or Morocco instead. Islamic rulings suggested that where there is a lack of visibility (due to cloud coverage for example, which is common in the UK), then the closest Muslim country is to be followed.
Others believe that if the moon is seen anywhere in the world, then Eid should be announced with the help of a “global moon sighting”. Furthermore, there is debate about whether the moon should be witnessed by people or whether astronomical calculations, like the kind used in Turkey, should be permitted.
It’s the focus of pioneering organisation New Crescent Society, which is attempting to do the unthinkable and unite the Muslim community. With the help of Islam, some common sense, and science, it hopes to standardise the day of Eid so that Muslims can celebrate the day together. Like our localised prayer times, it hopes for the same with the Islamic calendar. It’s making waves already.
Imad Ahmed, a PhD student at Cambridge University — where he is studying this topic in depth — founded the organisation eight years ago. It has since been part of a partnership with the Royal Observatory of Greenwich, the centre of the system of timekeeping as we know it today.
His Islam and astronomy events have sold out every single month for eight years in a row, with more than 11,000 attendees. The organisation has presented at the Natural History Museum, the Mayor of London’s Office, Trafalgar Square, and at Stonehenge. Since the humble beginnings with one or two people, his enthusiasm has spread to thousands who now conduct their own moon sightings across the country.
For the first time in years, countries including Jordan, Syria and Egypt, did not follow Saudi Arabia’s sighting. In fact, some scholars in the country have told others to stop following them and rely on their own sightings.
Contrary to popular belief, the Islamic calendar is not a lunar calendar but an observational one, says Imad, a fact that is his “favourite”, because “it shows that timekeeping is a human practice”. Beyond attempts to unify and standardise the practice of the Islamic calendar in the UK, Imad believes the practice has far deeper implications on spirituality, wellbeing, and our overall worldview.
“Today, we say our day starts at midnight, which is an arbitrary moment of time,” he told the Religion Media Centre. “But for every ancient system of timekeeping, the day ends when the light of the day ends. As you watch the sunset and you see the purple, pink sky, you know my day has come to an end and a new day begins at night. I think we’ve lost a bit of connection with nature there because the sunset is less meaningful to us.”
But what started out as a curiosity has turned into a movement. “As we started to teach people how to sight the moon for the calendar month, it really took off. When I began there were one or two of us, but at the start of Ramadan, there were thousands of people looking for the moon, huge groups of people.”
Moonsighting locations are announced on the group’s social media pages and locations are spread across every corner of the UK. They include, Bristol, Exeter, Nelson, Preston, Cornwall, Jersey, London, Birmingham, Brighton, Manchester, Bolton, Sheffield, Rotherham, Bradford, Leeds, Dundee, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Cardiff, Swansea, Pembrokeshire and more.
“They’ve all been inspired through New Crescent Society to go out and look for the moon every single month. We began the process by training people and setting up moonsighting locations around the country. And as we began that journey, we found it’s perfectly possible to have our own Islamic calendar here.
“But what I didn’t anticipate is how popular it would be, like how many people want to go out and sight the moon, and I have to say it’s very popular among families. Mums and children love to go.”
People like Mona Musa-Grey, a mother of four. When Mona visited Senegal as part of her spiritual path of discovery in 2014, she realised that the locals did not follow Eid according to a global date. She was intrigued by the prospect of a local moonsighting, and decided to dig deeper, reading books on the subject and reaching out to experts. “I went back to school,” she says, laughing.
“As Muslims, we’ve become intolerant of differences,” she says. “What I liked about Sheikh Ibrahim Niass [who wrote the book Mona came across], was the balance. You don’t follow a local moonsighting all by yourself in the middle of nowhere with nobody to pray with, because then you don’t have any prayer. If people are celebrating on different days, then celebrate with them, be festive with them, even if you’re fasting.” But, she says, it’s important to come to your own conclusions too and satisfy yourself that you know when Eid is.
The importance of community meant that she became involved in sighting groups, taking her four children (three boys and one girl aged between eight and 15) along with her. In west London, perched atop the remnants and rubble of the old Wembley Stadium in Northala Fields, Mona, her husband and children, search for the new crescent every month. Her first sighting was “surreal”. What started as a handful of people soon grew, and the year after the location was “packed” with enthusiasts.
“The sun sets, you look in that direction, and one person sights the moon and usually points it out. There’s a rush of excitement. It’s like a football match. You think you’re about to lose (if it’s cloudy and you don’t see it), and all of a sudden the clouds part and your team scores a goal in the last minute and you win.” It feels apt as the new crescent is called the Hilal, which has links with Hallelujah, a word for a moment of spontaneous joy and praise.
“Everyone brings food, we pray together, we eat together and we talk about the stars, the planets, and the moon,” she continues. “It’s very communal. My children love it. It’s almost like we can’t have Eid now until we’ve seen the moon, it’s become a part of our routine.”
While for some the process is communal, for others it is a sacred duty. Qasim Abbas, a musculoskeletal specialist by day, is often alone in the hills of Pendle when he views the moon. In Lancashire, moon sightings haven’t taken off as much as they have in other areas. When we join him, he is a solitary figure joined by one newbie, Usman, as he joins the New Crescent livestream. The sighting of the moon must be “witnessed” by others, and this is often done through a livestream where numbers are scarce.
“It’s an obligation for someone in the community to witness the moon for their area,” he said. Pendle is often cloudy, and he says people often don’t return when they can’t see the Hilal. But tonight, the horizon is absolutely clear with a few sparse clouds among the orangey-grey. The crescent emerges, hides for a few seconds and then re-emerges in bright splendour. Qasim’s passion is palpable.
“We’re always wondering how to unite the Muslim community,” he says. “This is it. Islam is an eternal thing, this practice shows that even a person on a deserted island can fulfill all their obligations, just by looking up at the sky. You can know when to pray, when to fast. Islam is simple, this is simple.”
