Post by Love N Lust on Feb 7, 2006 0:46:27 GMT
just got this e-mail from my cousin in california nd thought I would post it here as well
A Story I read in a News Paper called the Patriot News in the East Coast
Sikhs accept changes but remain true to faith
Sunday, February 05, 2006
BY MARY WARNER
Of The Patriot-News
Two Jehovah's Witnesses come knocking at a door in Fairview Twp. Nirmal
Singh invites them in.
These three intensely religious people talk for an hour. Then, as the
Witnesses prepare to leave, one of them makes a special effort to connect
with his host in the turban.
"I'm very sorry for what's happening in Iraq," the man says.
Singh, who's cordial and urbane and has a hearty laugh, finds this story
very funny. He says the man who mistook him for an Arab still visits and has
become his friend.
But the story also expresses a frustrating reality for American Sikhs like
Singh, a retired Indian Army colonel and business executive who has lived in
the U.S. since 1987.
Their religion is off the radar screen for many Americans, even as the broad
turbans that Sikh men use to wrap the hair they never cut become a more
common sight here.
Sikhism is a monotheistic religion that developed in India in the 15th
century -- an offshoot of Hindu and Muslim sects that stressed intense love
for the deity, scholars say -- and traveled as Indians migrated with jobs
and families.
Sikhs remain far outnumbered in America by Buddhists, Hindus and Muslims,
whose communities also grew after U.S. law eased in 1965 to allow more
immigration from the East.
Still, the Center for Sikh and Punjab Studies at the University of
California, Santa Barbara, estimates the community has grown to about
250,000 in the U.S. -- most of them on the coasts.
Midstate Sikhs reached numbers sufficient to establish a temple 12 years
ago.
Physicians, engineers and businesspeople -- including Jay Sidhu, now chief
executive officer of Sovereign Bank -- were among the founders of the Blue
Mountain Gurdwara in Bethel Twp. More than 100 people worship there each
Sunday.
The birthday of a 17th-century Sikh guru was observed one January Sunday in
the simple, one-story cream-colored building tucked amid brown Berks County
farm fields.
He was Gobind Singh, the teacher who established the distinctive Sikh
markers, including uncut hair, at a time when Sikhs were under pressure from
India's Muslim rulers.
The guru also urged Sikh men to take the name Singh and Sikh women to take
the name Kaur.
"Tradition of hospitality":
Sikh services are mostly songs, sung from the holy book. A man accompanied
by drums and a harmonium was chief singer that recent Sunday.
A group of eight college women, home on break and dressed in bright saris,
also took their turns. Sikhism does not define gender roles for worship.
An English translation of the Punjabi words was flashed on a screen. "To
embrace God's name is to possess horses and elephants," went one passage.
And another: "Run away, O sins. The creator has entered my home."
The passages came from the anthology of hymns and prayers called the Guru
Granth, which Sikhs treat with deep reverence.
The book sat on a platform beneath an ornate red and gold canopy. As the
singing continued, people approached the book singly or in family groups and
knelt, foreheads to the floor.
After communal prayer, in a sign they received God's blessing, people ate
the prashad -- a paste of fried sugar, butter and flour scooped from a big
metal bowl and distributed, hand to hand, among the worshippers.
Nirmal Singh, who wrote a 2003 book called "Exploring Sikh Spirituality,"
said Sikhs rejected the Indian caste system at their founding and remain
emphatically egalitarian.
The last element of their service is always a communal meal, with everyone
seated together on the fellowship hall floor -- a scene the caste system
would forbid.
The menu that Sunday was lentil soup, spinach, salad, bread and a yogurt
dish called raita. Families take turns preparing the food, dipped from metal
buckets for the congregation.
Sikhs have a "tradition of hospitality, both intellectually and physically,"
said John Hawley, religion professor at Barnard College in New York.
At the Parliament of the World's Religions in Barcelona in 2004, he
recalled, Sikhs prepared food for everyone.
Second generation:
Before the temple in Bethel was built, Dr. Gursharan Singh of Orwigsburg
would get up at 4 a.m. on Sundays to make his hospital rounds and then drive
his four kids two hours to a temple in New Jersey.
Sikhs do not proselytize, he said, but they want religious community for
their children. They learn Sikh history and Punjabi -- the language of the
holy book -- at the temple.
"If they don't know their foundation, they're going to shake," said Singh's
wife, Mickey.
The American experience is changing Sikhs in some ways.
For one thing, Sikh parents sometimes decide it's best for sons growing up
in America to cut their hair like other boys.
Conventional haircuts -- along with sweatshirts that said "Nittany Lions" or
"Cancun" -- were common among the boys and young men celebrating the guru's
birthday in Bethel.
To enter the temple, they tied small orange scarves around their heads like
bandannas, in place of turbans.
Gurinder Singh, professor at the Center for Sikh and Punjab Studies,
predicted that uncut hair will remain important to American Sikhs but they
will also increasingly accept haircuts. "That's the way the tradition
evolves," he said.
Many Sikhs came to America from the Indian state of Punjab, where they are a
majority, and now are faced with preserving a minority faith among their
children.
Amarpreet Ahluwahlia, a 14-year-old ninth grader at Pottsville High School,
is active with her family at the gurdwara. She said she often talks about
religion with her Christian, Muslim and Hindu friends.
"I'm the only Sikh in the school," she said. "But all of my friends are
really religious and very philosophical.
"You tend to find similarities," she said. "We usually end up talking about
God as a whole ... about transcendence."
A Story I read in a News Paper called the Patriot News in the East Coast
Sikhs accept changes but remain true to faith
Sunday, February 05, 2006
BY MARY WARNER
Of The Patriot-News
Two Jehovah's Witnesses come knocking at a door in Fairview Twp. Nirmal
Singh invites them in.
These three intensely religious people talk for an hour. Then, as the
Witnesses prepare to leave, one of them makes a special effort to connect
with his host in the turban.
"I'm very sorry for what's happening in Iraq," the man says.
Singh, who's cordial and urbane and has a hearty laugh, finds this story
very funny. He says the man who mistook him for an Arab still visits and has
become his friend.
But the story also expresses a frustrating reality for American Sikhs like
Singh, a retired Indian Army colonel and business executive who has lived in
the U.S. since 1987.
Their religion is off the radar screen for many Americans, even as the broad
turbans that Sikh men use to wrap the hair they never cut become a more
common sight here.
Sikhism is a monotheistic religion that developed in India in the 15th
century -- an offshoot of Hindu and Muslim sects that stressed intense love
for the deity, scholars say -- and traveled as Indians migrated with jobs
and families.
Sikhs remain far outnumbered in America by Buddhists, Hindus and Muslims,
whose communities also grew after U.S. law eased in 1965 to allow more
immigration from the East.
Still, the Center for Sikh and Punjab Studies at the University of
California, Santa Barbara, estimates the community has grown to about
250,000 in the U.S. -- most of them on the coasts.
Midstate Sikhs reached numbers sufficient to establish a temple 12 years
ago.
Physicians, engineers and businesspeople -- including Jay Sidhu, now chief
executive officer of Sovereign Bank -- were among the founders of the Blue
Mountain Gurdwara in Bethel Twp. More than 100 people worship there each
Sunday.
The birthday of a 17th-century Sikh guru was observed one January Sunday in
the simple, one-story cream-colored building tucked amid brown Berks County
farm fields.
He was Gobind Singh, the teacher who established the distinctive Sikh
markers, including uncut hair, at a time when Sikhs were under pressure from
India's Muslim rulers.
The guru also urged Sikh men to take the name Singh and Sikh women to take
the name Kaur.
"Tradition of hospitality":
Sikh services are mostly songs, sung from the holy book. A man accompanied
by drums and a harmonium was chief singer that recent Sunday.
A group of eight college women, home on break and dressed in bright saris,
also took their turns. Sikhism does not define gender roles for worship.
An English translation of the Punjabi words was flashed on a screen. "To
embrace God's name is to possess horses and elephants," went one passage.
And another: "Run away, O sins. The creator has entered my home."
The passages came from the anthology of hymns and prayers called the Guru
Granth, which Sikhs treat with deep reverence.
The book sat on a platform beneath an ornate red and gold canopy. As the
singing continued, people approached the book singly or in family groups and
knelt, foreheads to the floor.
After communal prayer, in a sign they received God's blessing, people ate
the prashad -- a paste of fried sugar, butter and flour scooped from a big
metal bowl and distributed, hand to hand, among the worshippers.
Nirmal Singh, who wrote a 2003 book called "Exploring Sikh Spirituality,"
said Sikhs rejected the Indian caste system at their founding and remain
emphatically egalitarian.
The last element of their service is always a communal meal, with everyone
seated together on the fellowship hall floor -- a scene the caste system
would forbid.
The menu that Sunday was lentil soup, spinach, salad, bread and a yogurt
dish called raita. Families take turns preparing the food, dipped from metal
buckets for the congregation.
Sikhs have a "tradition of hospitality, both intellectually and physically,"
said John Hawley, religion professor at Barnard College in New York.
At the Parliament of the World's Religions in Barcelona in 2004, he
recalled, Sikhs prepared food for everyone.
Second generation:
Before the temple in Bethel was built, Dr. Gursharan Singh of Orwigsburg
would get up at 4 a.m. on Sundays to make his hospital rounds and then drive
his four kids two hours to a temple in New Jersey.
Sikhs do not proselytize, he said, but they want religious community for
their children. They learn Sikh history and Punjabi -- the language of the
holy book -- at the temple.
"If they don't know their foundation, they're going to shake," said Singh's
wife, Mickey.
The American experience is changing Sikhs in some ways.
For one thing, Sikh parents sometimes decide it's best for sons growing up
in America to cut their hair like other boys.
Conventional haircuts -- along with sweatshirts that said "Nittany Lions" or
"Cancun" -- were common among the boys and young men celebrating the guru's
birthday in Bethel.
To enter the temple, they tied small orange scarves around their heads like
bandannas, in place of turbans.
Gurinder Singh, professor at the Center for Sikh and Punjab Studies,
predicted that uncut hair will remain important to American Sikhs but they
will also increasingly accept haircuts. "That's the way the tradition
evolves," he said.
Many Sikhs came to America from the Indian state of Punjab, where they are a
majority, and now are faced with preserving a minority faith among their
children.
Amarpreet Ahluwahlia, a 14-year-old ninth grader at Pottsville High School,
is active with her family at the gurdwara. She said she often talks about
religion with her Christian, Muslim and Hindu friends.
"I'm the only Sikh in the school," she said. "But all of my friends are
really religious and very philosophical.
"You tend to find similarities," she said. "We usually end up talking about
God as a whole ... about transcendence."