MY FIRST RAMADAN in Cairo, right after being married, was actually quite disappointing. Having just come from the action-packed Ramadans of Chicago, where not a single night is spent in familial solitude, the quiet that seemed to prevail in Cairo shattered my usual Ramadan excitement.

Sure, the streets were decorated in "Ramadan" lamps and lights, strung with sweet smelling jasmine. Yes, the first iftar adhan (call to prayer) brought wild kids screaming from every house into the streets blowing off fireworks. True, mysterious men walked the vacant streets in the small hours of sahur time banging a daff-drum anonymously announcing the blessed pre-fast meal. But I missed the noise of home, the hustle and bustle of everyone running all over the place right before iftar.

Instead, the streets of always jam-packed Cairo, an hour before iftar, grew weirdly still and silent, as if the city was suddenly, miraculously emptied. Extended family (by which I mean all the close relations, which in Cairo is more than you can imagine) took iftar-with one another maybe twice, or three times during the whole month. It wasn't like in Chicago, where daily, massive iftars inviting halt the community were common, and expected. Ramadan in America was a time where people who hadn't seen one another for a year were reunited. The entire community for that single month was one big family. I missed that cozy feeling of togetherness.

When my third Cairo Ramadan rolled around, I decided to open my eyes a bit wider. That is when I first noticed it, something utterly wonderful, as if out of a dream or fairytale: The Ma'idat Ar-Hahman, "the Tablespreads of the All-Merciful." What a beautiful name for such a beautiful idea! They were every­where.

Large banners reading "Ma'idat Ar-Rahman* stretched fully across desig­nated streets, from light pole to light pole. I discovered it was more than just some pretty Arabic calligraphy, part of the Ramadan decor. I took a walk down one of the streets one day immediately before iftar and was shocked to see endless tables set-up, half a block long, filled with the best of food of all sorts: Meats, rice, stews, vegetables, fruits, and deliciously crispy atayif and fabulously fluffy kunafah, the tradition­al Ramadan sweets of Egypt.

The Tablespreads lined every few-blocks or so all across Cairo, for any­one-whoever-who wished to break fast there. No money. Nothing funny. An open invitation to the entire nation to come and partake together. People interested in giving sadaqah, in all of its glory during the month of Ramadan-and Egyptians are incred­ibly generous-took charge, on their own, of seeing the tablespreads laid and made available to the many who did not possess the means to enjoy breaking their fast with all the wide variety and regularity of food that comes so easily to our community. Thirty days of feast­ing together for the poor, the traveling, the wayfaring the hungrv-all the types you read about in the Quran.

Then I noticed more. On my way home, the adhan was sounded, and, much to my amazement, I saw masses of people bursting from homes and across streets, rushing; to give dates, plastic wrapped and ready, to whomev­er they found on the road at the time to break fast. They hurried even to the few cars driving by, tossing in handfuls ot lit­tle iftar packets through open windows.

I was instantly mortified by my limited view of what 1 thought made Ramadan special. With shame I real­ized that there are perhaps even better ways of enjoying Ramadan than seeing people you haven't seen in a long while, sating oneself day after day with no notice to the needy. Can anything be more satisfying than feeding the fasting poor, a stranded stranger, someone who may not have been able to do it for himself? What is Ramadan in Cairo about-Ramadan!