A version of this article originally appeared in The Spectator, the student newspaper of Stuyvesant High School in New York City.
Late next Wednesday night, while most of the East Coast is falling asleep, I will be wide awake alongside the rest of the Muslim world. My grandparents will be at our local masjid, joining a sweeping congregation to worship deep into the night. My brother will be off at his Muslim Student Association’s iftar dinner, and my father will be downstairs, buried in his Quran and working on his Arabic pronunciation. I, however, will be trapped in an endless void of assignments, preparations for back-to-back-to-back tests, and a perpetual exhaustion that never seems to fade. As I scroll through my homework assignments and remember the prayers I have yet to complete, I know my night will be a long one—just like every night in Ramadan is as a student at Stuyvesant High School in New York City.
As a Muslim, these nights are the most important of my year. Ramadan is the ninth and holiest month on the Islamic calendar, representing when Allah, or God, revealed the Quran to the Prophet Muhammad. As outlined in one of the five pillars of Islam, Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset each day, and the value of good deeds is multiplied, while sins—backbiting, cursing, and more—are especially discouraged. Every second is gold during Ramadan, especially after sunset; Muslims spend their Ramadan nights performing a lengthy extra prayer, Taraweeh. Connected by faith and self-reflection, the Muslim community flocks together in these 30 days, cultivating the best possible versions of themselves.
But while Muslims across the globe focus on religion, the rest of the world remains unchanged this month—including at my high school. In my four years here, balancing Ramadan and my increasingly dense workload has only become more challenging. Last year was especially difficult since Ramadan lasted all of March, which became a jam-packed month at Stuyvesant, with no breaks or days off. Balancing my religious, familial, and academic obligations left me burnt out, sick, and feeling as though I had squandered the meaningful month.
This year, my Muslim peers and I received an ever-so-slight reprieve during the first days of fasting, since Ramadan began during our week-long mid-winter break. Upon our return to school this Monday, however, the combined personal and academic load will remain strenuous; while school-based pressure has dissipated for me as a second-semester senior, younger students—especially juniors, whose SATs are approaching—will struggle to remain afloat.
While I don’t expect the world to stop for my religious practices, it is fair to expect some respite from academic or extracurricular obligations, or at least more understanding and acknowledgement from faculty—especially considering roughly one-tenth of the student population is Muslim, according to surveys of each class level by our school newspaper, The Spectator. Stuyvesant must take a more active role in treating Ramadan, and all cultural and religious holidays, with respect.
Last year, insufficient consideration for Ramadan’s religious significance created a scheduling conflict and exhaustion that Muslim students had to bear on their own. In my experience, many non-Muslims see Ramadan only as ‘the month Muslims can’t eat,’ missing its spiritual importance, especially that of the final 10 nights. In 2025, Stuyvesant’s spring Open House fell on the 27th night of Ramadan, which is commonly believed to be Laylatul Qadr, or “the night of power”—a night of immense value in Islam, representing the exact date when the Quran was first revealed. On this night, blessings are multiplied beyond comprehension: Every prayer read, word of Arabic recited, and act of charity completed matters more than on any other day.
As a member of Stuyvesant’s honor society, ARISTA, and our freshman mentorship organization program, “Big Sibs,” I was expected to remain at school until 8 p.m. to lead incoming freshmen families on school tours, then still complete my homework after my hour-long commute home from Manhattan to Queens. This made it taxing to dedicate my night to prayer and spiritual reflection; after getting home at 9 p.m., eating my first meal since sunrise, and doing my homework, I was drained.
My night would have been easier if Muslim students had been allowed to leave the Open House earlier. Instead, Big Sib and ARISTA student executives, under administrative guidance, emphasized the importance of staying for the duration of the event. It also would have been easier if ARISTA and Big Sibs, both of which are largely student-run but have heavily-involved faculty advisors for the Open House, had offered more food for Muslim students. The juice and snacks they did provide to break our fast were thoughtful but not nearly enough after a full day of fasting and with tiring tours still to conduct.
The Open House wasn’t the only scheduling conflict with an Islamic holy day last year: Senior prom was scheduled on Eid al-Adha—one of two major Islamic holidays, during which Muslims spend their mornings praying and their evenings with loved ones. Luckily, neither of these scheduling conflicts are happening this year.
Still, Muslim students must quietly bear the demanding combination of religious and academic obligations for much of Ramadan, typically without the accommodations that are granted to students during other busy times. During SING! season—the inter-grade musical competition that requires students to stay at school until unholy hours—many of my teachers choose to delay tests or limit homework to help participating students survive their workloads. Ironically, Ramadan has overlapped with SING! season in recent years, but my teachers haven’t offered similar reprieves to Muslim students who were spread thin for different reasons.
While all of my teachers acknowledged SING! exhaustion last year, only one acknowledged the beginning of Ramadan. This year, none of my teachers mentioned it ahead of our mid-winter break—during which the holy month began—despite acknowledging Valentine’s Day or Lunar New Year. I find it hard to believe that they and the rest of the Stuyvesant community were unaware of Ramadan’s start; most calendars note it, and it was included in the school’s weekly newsletter.
I’ve watched other holy times be disregarded too, with teachers giving extra homework over or tests after mid-week holidays, including Eid, Lunar New Year, and Diwali. The added work is deemed manageable since students ‘have extra time with the day off.’ However, the students for whom those times are not a ‘day off’ but a long-awaited holiday deserve an undisturbed respite.
Of course, my school’s administration might argue that they face an inherent challenge in meeting all the varied requests and needs of their diverse student body; though this is true, they could do more than noting Ramadan in a weekly newsletter.
In the newsletter, they might also inform students that they can submit an individual request for accommodation based on religious observance or practices, as there’s a New York City regulation that requires all public schools to at least consider these kinds of asks. Those requests could cover some of what I’ve seen is missing, including limits to homework, or even more robust food offerings to break fasts during evening club activities. Still, a request is not a guarantee that a solution will be provided, nor will all students feel comfortable making requests; some may be hesitant to stand out or ‘make things difficult.’ Some of these accommodations—or simply more acknowledgement of our exhaustion—would be more effective if built in.
Making tradeoffs between academic success and a rich social and personal life comes with being a student at a demanding high school like Stuyvesant, but failing to fully recognize and support our religious and cultural practices crosses a line.
Taking steps to provide that support during Ramadan wouldn’t be hard. To start, in the weeks before the month begins, the administration can work with our Muslim Students Association to draft an email, notifying teachers that Ramadan is approaching and explaining how it might affect Muslim students. That would create more open, understanding communication and make students more comfortable reaching out for help.
Stuyvesant could do something similar ahead of other religious or cultural holidays, since we have no shortage of clubs that could provide guidance on what teachers and administration should know about how holidays might affect students. When possible, the administration might even consider making days after major religious holidays no-testing days, or at least offer practicing students make-up exams.
Stuyvesant draws much of its beauty from its diversity; our community is composed of cultures and religions that stretch the globe, which we must celebrate and encourage. As important as academics are, school is more than just tests and homework—our educational institutions should shape students into individuals ready to make their mark on the world. Four years at Stuyvesant should allow us to flourish as people, not just numbers on a transcript. Rather than asking students to pick and choose between crucial aspects of their lives, we must work to provide an environment where they can embrace all that truly matters.