Dina Al-Mahdy, Tuesday 3 Mar 2026

Dina Al-Mahdy examines how screens, schedules, and algorithms are reshaping Ramadan, raising questions about what it means to fast, reflect, and slow down in an accelerating world

With extended periods of time spent waiting for Iftar and taking part in lengthy taraweeh prayers, which foster communal warmth, Ramadan has traditionally been a time when the pace of life matched the rhythms of the body and communal experiences. Evenings were not optimised; they were just lived.

Modern Ramadan, on the other hand, is fast-paced and shaped by schedules and screens, rearranging the customary experience into a format determined by algorithms and technology.

Before the phone vibrates to announce the sunset, the day has already been interrupted by dozens of other notifications. Hunger, which used to be the main physical sign of fasting, is now overshadowed by the constant buzz of electronics. Ramadan still occurs every year, despite the fact that it is no longer a silent arrival.

Sociologist Adel Shaaban stresses the value of hearing different generational viewpoints in order to comprehend the changes taking place in Ramadan customs. He contends that although Ramadan of course still has religious significance, technological advancements have fundamentally changed its social structure.

The shift from a group ritual to a personalised practice made possible by digital platforms and customised schedules is a reflection of larger societal shifts.

Ramadan used to be announced in older Cairene neighbourhoods long before the official sighting of the crescent moon. The texture and atmosphere of the streets changed. Shop windows were stocked with lanterns, functional lights rather than ornamental items at that time. Housewives modified their grocery shopping schedules. Children rehearsed songs they hardly knew how to sing. Everything was altered, even the air. The smell of baking bread and fried onions permeated the atmosphere, which felt slower and heavier in the late afternoon.

Mahmoud Magdi, who was born in 1945, remembers that “we didn’t plan Ramadan weeks in advance.” It just appeared as if it were a season. “What we had, not what we had imagined, was what my mother prepared. The silence in the house, rather than a clock, told us it was almost time for sunset. We sat together after Iftar, simply sat. Nobody enquired about what we would tune in to. The room was sufficient in and of itself. Without using the word, Ramadan taught us to be patient,” he says.

In this sense, patience was a prerequisite for structural stability rather than a moral accomplishment. The lack of continuous entertainment made it harder to pass the time because it was difficult to fill. Hunger made the focus more acute. Waiting turned into a group activity. The cannon, the call to prayer, and the mesaharati’s footsteps, who would wake people up for the pre-fasting meal, were practical time markers rather than sentimental or nostalgic symbols.

According to Shaaban, “external temporal discipline” governed earlier Ramadans. The cannon signalling the end to the daily fast, the call to prayer, and store closings were examples of external signals that governed time rather than human beings. “People didn’t choose to be slow in Ramadan,” he claims. “Slowness was inevitable.”

People had to wait, put up with things, and change collectively because they had no other choice. “Ramadan was a collective framework that slowed life down by default for the majority of the 20th century,” he said. “It was ingrained in the way the day, the street, and the family operated, so people didn’t have to consider holding back.”

He said that in the period from the 1940s to the 1970s Ramadan took place in a face-to-face society that was defined by the neighbourhood, the local mosque, the extended family, and a limited number of shared media outlets, such as the radio and state television. In this setting, fasting and worship were socially controlled behaviours supported by closeness, regularity, and mutual visibility rather than just personal preferences.

In the past Ramadan was characterised by social gatherings and physical proximity while waiting for Iftar, which promoted equality and a sense of community. By serving as extensions of homes, public spaces encouraged social interaction. The conditions for worship were not ideal because mosques were crowded with people during lengthy prayers and were expected to be uncomfortable.

Today’s Ramadan, by contrast, is increasingly influenced by digital distractions and pre-planned agendas, making it a faster-paced and more customised experience, since screens and algorithms now govern the holy month’s rhythm.

GENERATION Z: Ramadan had already undergone significant transformations by the time the generations born in the late 1970s and early 1980s reached adulthood.

The evening was now dominated by television. During the height of Ramadan, families gathered around the television. Advertising grew. Over time, consumption rose. However, the experience as a whole still remained communal, shared, and predicated on physical presence.

Yasmine Mohamedi, a teacher who was born in 1982, describes the Ramadan that existed when she was young. “It was still shared. We waited for the TV shows together, but we also fought over them. My father insisted on taraweeh, and my mother insisted on doing the dishes first. It was packed, boisterous, imperfect, and extraordinarily colourful,” she said.

“Today, each of us now spends Ramadan alone with our own screens, even though we are in the same room.”

Ramadan used to be experienced in the family living room and organised in accordance with broadcast schedules that applied to the entire country. Everyone watched the same shows at the same time on television, she said, and the streets were deserted during a popular series. Discussions the next day were also based on a shared point of reference.

“Even after that, time resisted total control. The start of the programmes was delayed, and power outages interfered with evenings. The children went to bed before the shows ended. There was a sense that Ramadan could not be fully mastered, in addition to frustration,” she said.

Ramadan TV dramas became the most sought-after time of year for advertising, and they also marked the beginning of Ramadan’s commercial intensification. A new struggle between indulgence and moderation emerged as consumption rose in tandem with tradition. But even as consumption grew, it was still felt collectively.

“Everyone in the family would laugh at the same jingles, complain about the same old, repetitive advertisements, and take in the same cultural cues,” Mohamedi said. She thinks that at that time when Ramadan arrived, the market had not yet become fully organised.

During Ramadan, this generation also struck a balance between decadent Iftars and spiritual aspirations, she said. After a night of watching TV, there were lengthy prayers. People freely expressed and eventually let go of feelings of pleasure and guilt, striking a balance between leisure and long prayers. Because of such observance, there was no need for constant affirmation, allowing for faith and imperfection.

Today, however, Ramadan is very different for today’s youth. It is no longer confined to the living room, the neighbourhood, or even the TV schedule. It is divided into posts, reminders, comparisons, and video clips on phones.

What makes today’s Ramadan different is not so much the existence of technology as the lack of boundaries. In earlier decades, Ramadan had disadvantages. The television and the electricity could go off. The streets grew quieter, stores closed, and traffic decreased. Today, there is no end in sight to the digital age. Taraweeh prayers are immediately followed by scrolling. Alerts and notifications disrupt contemplation and introspection. The sacred and the profane coexist on the same screen, often in less than a minute.

Algorithms do not distinguish between devotion and distraction. The Quran is recited following a cooking class and a sponsored Ramadan outfit advertisement. Consumption and piety coexist peacefully, and the individual must resolve any conflicts on their own.

Shahd Abdel-Hakim, born in 2010, says Ramadan can be intense and heavy. “My phone tells me when Iftar is,” she says. “I don’t watch entire series on TV. I just watch snippets. You feel like you’re falling behind when everyone talks about being productive, finishing the Quran, and improving themselves in Ramadan. Although I enjoy Ramadan, there are moments when I feel like I’m just trying to catch up.”

Her comments draw attention to a paradox at the core of modern Ramadan. A month that used to put an end to daily stresses and pressures now brings new ones with it. Today’s productive culture just adapts and changes rather than pausing for a fast. Worship is packaged with attainable objectives. When spirituality is attained, contentment results.

In a digital environment that rewards visibility, worship is increasingly framed through visible milestones and public routines, turning private struggle into endeavours that feel measurable and comparable.

Shaaban says that the transition from social enforcement to personal control is the biggest change in fasting in Ramadan. Fasting used to be a group endeavour overseen by family and the community, but these days it depends on self-control, frequently made possible by apps and other digital tools. Fasting is still a common practice, but the discipline has shifted from social norms to personal accountability, he says, with many people handling their fasting journey by themselves in a distracting setting.

The individual believer thus bears new burdens as a result of these boundaries collapsing. Where structure used to set boundaries, self-regulation now has to do the same. The need to detach, concentrate, and slow down is presented as a moral decision made by the individual rather than as a social issue or a shared condition.

FASTING: During Ramadan today, there can be a significant contrast between fasting and constant consumption, especially on social media where users display their laden Iftar tables and daily routines.

This calls into question the efficacy of abstaining from food while consuming excessive amounts of information online, casting doubt on the development of religious practice in the digital age.

Sociologists note that although Ramadan is still important to Egyptian culture, platforms that prioritise speed and visibility are increasingly influencing it. It is more difficult to replicate the strong sense of community that was once fostered by traditional communal activities like sharing resources among neighbours and participating in public spaces. The essence of Ramadan, which used to be about slowing down society, is now frequently about speeding up as a result of more and more screens and algorithms, changing how people experience the holy month.

For Shaaban, greater digital visibility has also changed the value system shaping Ramadan. Once-private activities like pilgrimage, hosting Iftar, and charity are now made public through platforms that reward visibility. As donations are increasingly evaluated by metrics like likes and shares, this change improves efficiency and outreach but creates conflict between public displays of charity and sincere intention (niyya).

As a result, charitable deeds are becoming more performance-oriented, which raises questions about the sincerity of giving as the line between self-presentation and generosity blurs.

Shaaban cautions that the authenticity of religious practices may be being jeopardised by the digital transformations afoot during Ramadan. He draws attention to the possibility that the visibility of these actions could cause a change from sincere devotion to mere performance, where the desire for public recognition overshadows intentions.

Charity, which has historically been framed by humility and anonymity, has been affected by this shift because public acts now encourage comparison and competition, making it more difficult to maintain the ethical focus on intention in the face of ongoing external validation.

Boredom, which used to be a crucial component of Ramadan customs, is one of the silent victims of this change. The long afternoons that seem to drag on forever, the empty hours before Iftar, the hours of taraweeh were all formative if not productive times. They made room for introspection, dialogue, and relaxation.  

Nowadays, boredom is seen as a problem that must be fixed. There is always something to watch, listen to, or peruse. Time is filled before it can stretch. Regardless of how people prefer to consume the media, the important thing is not to grow bored. For many, before it can be prolonged, time must be used.

Psychologists, however, argue that introspection and self-reflection necessitate boredom.  Accepting discomfort and letting one’s thoughts wander are two crucial components of this practice. It allows the mind to wander, contemplate, and sit uneasily. For a long time, boredom was institutionalised as a component of the spiritual framework of Ramadan. Rituals may still exist, but their disappearance may be the cause of many people’s belief that something intangible has been lost.

Once unavoidable, boredom also served as a social glue. In addition to encouraging memory, storytelling, and intergenerational interaction, shared boredom sparked conversation. Grandparents told the same Ramadan stories each year, not because they did not have any new ones, but because it was comforting to repeat them. By transferring the tales from generation to generation, oral history was produced in place of a digital archive.

These days, however, there is little room for such transmission because algorithmic entertainment takes up many people’s free time. Stories are replaced by content, and immediacy is more important than memory. Even though the cost is small, it all adds up over time. There is less time for introspection when there is no boredom, and there is less material for memory development when there is no introspection.

Another shift is the transition from a shared sense of time and way of living to personalised experience. In the past, Ramadan was coordinated. Families watched the same shows, prayed, fasted, and broke the fast together.

Today, Ramadan can be customised to personal preferences. Prayer reminders are personalised. Content is personalised. Even Iftar times can be impacted by location apps. The sense of a shared local or national rhythm has diminished.

This does not mean that the community has vanished, however; rather, it has evolved. Group discussions take the place of street meetings. Livestreams take the place of in-person interactions. Donation links, as opposed to in-person interactions, facilitate charitable giving. The threat is not digital mediation per se, but isolation. When Ramadan becomes an individual activity instead of a communal event, its social component is compromised.

Shaaban claims that because there are so many digital resources available today, religious practice has become a place of constant choice. “When believers have access to hundreds of reciters, sermons, and interpretations, worship becomes both customisable and fragmented. The ability to make decisions can subtly change commitment into sampling and continuity into comparison,” he says.

RAMADANS PAST: In this way, nostalgia has emerged as a yearning for a different relationship with time rather than a wish to return to a simpler era. Instead of giving up modern conveniences like air-conditioning, medical knowledge, or technology, there is yearning for a different conception of time.

Shaaban says that nostalgia of this sort is more than just a yearning for the past; it is a critique of the present. “People miss a social order that protected them from constant choice, constant exposure, and constant self-evaluation. They are not necessarily looking for traditional food or streets,” he says.

Nostalgia in this sense emerges when people feel overburdened by having to manage everything alone.

Ramadan’s transformation therefore can reflect themes of displacement and loss as its core values of moderation, patience, and attentiveness are overshadowed by consumerism and speed. Shaaban highlights how the shift from a highly localised to a more globalised religious experience has weakened the social ties that are usually fostered through group activities. Ramadan has become more uncomfortable as a result of this shift because its moral foundation clashes with modern life.

In this context, nostalgia appears as a critique of these changes, pointing to a dissonance in the way human rhythms and time are currently aligned, particularly as Ramadan invites believers to pause in a world that is becoming faster and faster.

The significance of Ramadan today does not reside in its former splendour, which in any case cannot be restored due to the absence of prior conditions. Instead, it raises the risk of upsetting the hectic pace of modern life.

Families are beginning to reclaim traditions, such as not using phones during Iftar and selecting local mosques over Internet streams. Others are simultaneously making the most of technology. The month provides a platform for exploring the complexities of contemporary life, encouraging a shift from productivity to embracing silence and giving time meaning. Rather than retreating from life, this evolution reflects a desire to redefine interactions within it.

The concept of memory during Ramadan has thus evolved; whereas in the past, memories were treasured through repetition, social media may now jeopardise authentic recollections. The idea of a “slower” Ramadan varies depending on socioeconomic factors, with varying experiences due to options and financial constraints. Some may find the month exhausting, while others may find slower, more meaningful moments in it that conceal the systemic injustices that impact different groups.

Ultimately, Ramadan remains a period that heightens the awareness of time, highlighting a common yearning for leisure and significant, communal experiences in a technologically advanced world. This collective intent emphasises regaining control over one’s time and developing a greater presence in the moment rather than just longing for past traditions.

Shaaban claims that while Ramadan was a communal and embodied ritual in earlier decades, it is now a form of worship lived through screens and platforms that occurs across individual timelines. The issue is not that faith has disappeared, but rather the way it is practised.

He says that the shift is essentially one of form rather than meaning. Ramadan’s religious significance has not diminished. “However, rather than being a collective, embodied ritual, it is now a screen-based experience,” he said.

“The challenge of Ramadan today is not how to believe in a digital world, but how to recover shared rhythms in a time structured around individual feeds.”

In the end, the question is not whether Ramadan was once better before screens took over, but rather whether it can still offer resistance to them. For as long as anyone can remember, the month has been about reevaluating goals, intentions, appetites, and personal focus. In a time when algorithms rule, regaining even a tiny bit of slowness becomes a silent act of defiance and the chance to sit down and give yourself some time to stretch.

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* A version of this article appears in print in the 5 March, 2026 edition of Al-Ahram Weekly

Short link: https://english.ahram.org.eg/News/563343.aspx