Lebaran is the start of a new year after the month of fasting. It is a time for asking and bestowing forgiveness. It is also then a time to greet each other and wish each other a good (or better) new year.
The traditional greeting is a slight bow at the waist, both hands slightly extended forward, palms and fingers straight and flat together. The bow and hand gesture traditionally comes with a slight parting of the fingers at the second knuckle. The other person will lean forward, fingertips extending into the opening. The greeter with the parted fingers will gently close around, and then both will pull back at the torso till their fingers are parted. Somewhere in there you utter the key phrase, “Mohon maaf lahir batin,” (roughly ”I beg forgiveness for [my] outer and inner [life]). They do the same to you.
The idea is that the new year is a new beginning in every way. Poor relationships are reconciled. Wrongs are erased. The guilt dragging down one’s soul is gone. The acts of forgiving and being forgiven allows one to to be free to begin anew. This is a vast oversimplification, but it is sufficient for the time being.
Today’s story enters at this juncture. For context, read “A Death in the Family” and “Welcome To the…. Part 1”.
Neighborhood Meet ‘n Greet
A circle of approximately 30 people gathered on our street. I did not recognize most of them except for our neighbor across from us and Ibu RT. Ibu RT saw us and waved us over to the circle. She explained to everyone that this was the first year since COVID that we could fulfill this custom, and so we would do just that.
This is a beautiful idea. We hail from a country where many people do not know, or at least regularly interact with, their immediate neighbors. Even less so if the neighbor is a jerk. Yet here, at the beginning of a new year, we ask for the forgiveness of every neighbor and gently resolve to be better ones this year.
At least, such would be the case if I was a functional adult with cultural knowledge. I went around the circle with the proper posture but without the words. I walked and bowed my way through muttering little more than “Maaf”’s and “Selamat”’s.
Worse, I was unsure about the social protocol. While my mouth muttered, “Maaf” or “Selamat”, my brain was sending alarms in rapid-fire. “Ah! He surrounded my fingers! Wait…. who grabs whom? Should I do the same for this next guy? Ah…. okay we did not touch. Was I supposed to? Okay, an older lady. Should be okay; we don’t make physical contact with ladies. Oh! She touched my fingers! Mmmm… younger lady. Open my fingers? Definitely not. Stop short? She looked like she was going to touch the tips… Mmm… oh man I hope she’s not offended. Oh hey, this is a little guy. Hmmmm…. he put his forehead to my hand. Do I do this with the super-seniors?” Between the bowed heads and our masks, it was absolutely impossible for me to discern what anyone was thinking. I was left alone with my uninformed, wild speculations.
I am at least comforted by the fact that I haven’t been in the neighborhood long enough to offend anyone. Up to this point, I’ve never played loud music, made a fuss, or asked others to lower their volume. I could thus afford to not ask for forgiveness because I had nothing to forgive. Unless I offended them because they assumed that I could presume to not ask for it. I either started off the new year with my neighbors very well or very poorly. I’m grateful it won’t matter a year from now.