Brothers barely escape alive from Israeli airstrikes on UNRWA headquarters in June.

Wasim lost his leg and his father to an Israeli airstrike and remains separated from his mother in the south.

Unsung heroes work with minimal equipment but unyielding determination.

Islam was 22 years old and pregnant when an Israeli strike killed her and 18 members of her husband’s family in northern Gaza.

Abubaker Abed remembers Deir al-Balah as it was, mourns the way it is and celebrates its beauty and resilience.

The Messenger of Allah ﷺ used to command us to fast the days of the white (nights): the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth of the month. He said: “This is like keeping perpetual fast.”

—Qatadah ibn Malhan al-Qaysi

 [Sahih according to Al-Albani]

***

[This Islamic short story is adapted from The Brothers’ Grimm “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”]

 

The Birth of a Beauty

Once upon a time, a widow watched as snow fell on her husband’s grave, like steady, gentle tears. Her beloved dedicated his life to letting Muslims know when it was time to pray. But rather than being a mu’adhin, he was a muvekit—the man who maintained the hands of the Sarajevo Clock Tower with his own. He took great pride in his work, and she did as well. This was the only public clock in the world that held time according to Allah’s decree.

Many moons had passed since his passing. But time went on, as it always does, and she would often pass the ebony windows of the clock tower that counted the hours from sunset, and not from midnight. 

One evening, she decided to visit the masjid alongside the clock tower. As Maghrib approached, she thought to make du’a for the thing her heart wanted most. But when she lifted her hands, she found something strange: that she was bleeding. A cut from the tree branches, perhaps? Still, it was a sign of health, and in desperation, she called, “Ya Allah, grant me a child as ivory as snow and ebony as the wood in the frame.”

There was a shining sense of hope throughout the dark days of her ‘idda. The sad widow was going to be a happy mother! And as for the child, she hoped and prayed that he, too, would be a muvekit like his father.

But Allah ﷻ chose differently for the small family. The widow eventually parted this world, while a baby girl was welcomed in it. She was as her mother asked, with snow-white skin and hair black as night. Midwives chose to call her “Lejla,” because she was a beauty like none other in the heart-shaped land.

Mirror, Mirror

The imam, who knew the deceased muvekit, called the congregation to action soon after the janazah of the widow. “Is there anyone who could take in the child, and raise her as their own?” he asked on the pulpit. “Who would like to keep the sunnah of our Prophet ﷺ alive?”

One lady raised her hand. But her heart was dark. The envy deep within her boiled after hearing a beautiful child was born. For her to foster Lejla meant that she would appear not only pretty, but pious to the community.

The woman was a witch; so adept at her craft, that she had trapped a jinn within a mirror in her home. Daily, she inquired of it:

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the fairest one of all?”

Even after she took Lejla in, the jinn inside the mirror replied: “You are the fairest one of all.”

What seemed to be innumerable tolls from the clock tower rang. Lejla went from a little girl, to a young woman, to a fine lady in a matter of years. But the mirror’s response remained the same, and the wicked witch had no cause for concern.

Until one day, he answered:

“You are most fair, my lady, it is true,

but Lejla has become much fairer than you.”

In a rage, the witch schemed how to be best rid of the girl. The community was fond of her, and would never forgive the witch if anything were to happen. As she plotted and planned, she decided that the crime would have to be a discreet one.

The huntsman she often paid to procure game for their household was perfect. She always paid him handsomely, and didn’t suspect that he would betray her. When she summoned him to her side, she ordered: “Let Lejla join you on one of your hunting trips. And let her be your prize. All I ask is that you bring me her heart.”

“Bring me her heart!” [unsplash (camilo jimenez)]

Suspecting nothing, Lejla joined the huntsman as an excuse to leave the house. For a reason she couldn’t explain, her foster mother had become unkind to her. She was afraid that she had done something wrong.

“Do you know?” she asked the huntsman. “Perhaps I have eaten too much of our food, or thanked her too little. Or perhaps I have not complained more than I have cleaned. Perhaps I should die from my ingratitude.”

This moved the huntsman’s heart, and he decided to spare hers. “Run away, you poor child!” he begged. “Never return to the city!”

Before Lejla could protest, a wild boar appeared. Frightfully, Lejla obeyed him, and he remained behind to slay it.

As agreed upon, the witch received a heart. While the huntsman thought it would only serve as proof of Lejla’s death, the witch had more sinister plans. When she boiled, salted, and ate the heart, she hoped that she would take some of Lejla’s beauty for herself.

With All Her Heart

Lejla entrusted herself to Allah. With a shaky bismillah beneath her breath, she ran wherever a path was carved. There was no time for her to worry about the branches cutting apart her clothes and mud caking her feet. But even the animals avoided her, and miraculously, she entered the deepest part of the forest unharmed.

The only sound in the glen was that of her own heavy breaths. A half-full moon spotlit a small house, smaller than she had ever seen. Cautiously, she crept up to the door and knocked. 

No answer.

Again, she knocked, and said salaam. Exhausted, and still fearful of the dark forest, she tried to open the door. It did not even creak as she stooped down to step inside. The house, she thought, must be well maintained and well lived-in.

And it was. She called out over and over, but despite signs of life, the house was empty. There was a table with seven chairs, seven plates, seven forks, seven spoons, seven mugs, and seven knives. Behind that were seven beds.

Lejla assumed that there would be seven sets of other things, but she was so tired that her brain refused to count much else. After rummaging through the house, she found a bowl of seven apples and ate one while seated on one of the chairs. She gripped the fork of one set and the knife of another and used another plate to eat the pieces after she had cut them up. She then poured herself a mug of water, and, thinking better than to leave the dirty dishes out, washed them all in the basin nearby. Finally, she settled into the first bed that she saw. Her last thought was that she hoped her seven hosts would be merciful to her—but if Allah had already been thus far, then there was no need to worry.

She slept until ‘Asr. In the fading daylight, the masters of the home finally returned. They were stout dwarves, sporting seven white beards, seven hardy boots, and seven bags of minerals from the Sarajevo mountains. It didn’t take long for them, after lighting all seven of their candles, to realize that there was an eighth person in their home.

The first one, Muhammad, asked: “Who sat in my chair?”

The second, Ahmad, asked: “Where is my plate?”

Al-Mahi, the third, said, “My mug isn’t here, either!”

Al-Hashir and Al-Aqib remarked that their knife and fork were gone, too, while Sadiq pointed out a missing apple from the bowl.

Finally, the seventh dwarf, Amin, asked: “Who’s this in my bed?!”

The young girl was still fast asleep, even after each dwarf shined their candles around her. 

“SubhanAllah!”

“I’ve heard of her!”

“The muvekit’s daughter!”

“The one with ivory skin—”

“scarlet lips—”

“an ebony hijab!”

“Lejla!”

Suddenly, Amin was all right to have an intruder in his home. But they all struggled to figure out how they might wake her up.

“Do you think she’s prayed already?”

“What if she’s missed Dhuhr?”

“She’s a traveler, she can combine!”

“But what if she missed Fajr, too?!”

“Let her sleep! She might not be praying in the first place!”

“What if she’s actually dead?”

“She can’t be! Look…”

Their chatter eventually woke Lejla. She gasped at the sight of them, and they all looked startled in turn. Muhammad was the one to shush them and press his hand to his chest. The others followed suit, and Lejla giggled at their earnestness.

“Lejla the Muvekit’s Daughter,” one whispered in awe. 

“We’ve met your father, you know!”

“And those that came before him.”

“We helped build that clock tower, you know.”

“Oh, be a little humble, we just collected the wood for it.”

“And the gold it was gilded in!”

“… Please forgive my brothers. Salam. How did you stumble upon our home?”

Beaming, Lejla told them everything—her stepmother, the huntsman, and her perilous journey through the forest. Again, they exclaimed with subhanAllahs and Allahu akbars. Lejla felt as though she were talking to young children and not old dwarves. 

Then they all began mumbling to themselves, and Muhammad cleared his throat to announce a verdict. “Lejla, it would be an honor for us to host you. We have a spare room for guests.”

“Oh, please, I couldn’t stay without helping, at least a little.” Lejla shyly looked down at her hands. “It would be an honor for me to serve you, the ones who helped build the Clock Tower. While you all are mining, I can keep this house for you.”

Again, the dwarves began mumbling. Some didn’t want to impose on the young lady, and others agreed that they could use the help. Muhammad once again asked, “Are you sure you’d like to do that?”

“With all my heart,” Lejla answered.

“Then let us feast!” one of the dwarves cried.

“After she prays!”

“Shh! What if she’s not praying?”

“But what if she already did pray?!”

“If she hasn’t, she’ll be making du’a against you!”

“Forgive us, Lejla! Forgive us!”

The White Days

That evening would be a special one. The seven dwarves told Lejla about a tradition they’d been keeping for hundreds of years—fasting the White Days. Every thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth of the lunar month, when the moon was at its brightest and fullest, they would spend their days reciting Qur’an as they worked and their afternoons in du’a. Lejla loved the idea, and vowed to make their suhoors and iftars spectacular. It was also Rabi al-Awwal, the birth month of the Prophet ﷺ, and so she felt that she had to make this occasion extra special.

The poisoned apple [(PC: János Patrik (unsplash)]

Thankfully, the dwarves had many sunnah foods in stock. Cucumber, figs, dates, olives, barley, milk, honey… the morning came and the food went, but Lejla had never felt so full.

That morning, on the thirteenth day, the dwarves left early to go to the mountains. Before parting from Lejla, they warned her to keep watch about herself, as she would be alone until they returned for Maghrib.

But not for long. Despite having eaten the heart, Lejla’s stepmother once again took to the mirror to confirm her triumph:

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the fairest one of all?”

“You are most fair, my lady, it is true,

but Lejla is still much fairer than you.

Deep in the forest, she lives and works in wait,

because the huntsman prevented her from her fate.”

Envy engulfed the wicked witch once more. She commanded the mirror to show her a path to where Snow White was. Then she disguised herself as a peddler, traipsing through the trees.

“Beautiful things for sale!”

Lejla was in the midst of preparing for iftar when she heard this call from the windows. From the window, she replied, “I’ll not buy anything today, sister.”

“No need to buy anything. You may merely look at what I have.” The peddler showed her shawls that were drenched in poison. But the fumes smelled only like perfume. To Lejla, the shawl was beautiful in every which way—and she decided to buy it. 

“You’ll look beautiful in it,” the peddler murmured.

No sooner had she put it on that she fell to her knees and collapsed.

“You used to be the beautiful one,” the lady responded, cackling as she left the home. The dwarves, fortunately, arrived within minutes. Their noses wrinkled from the stench of the shawl, and they plucked it from Lejla and tossed it from the window. She awoke as if from a deep sleep.

“Alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah,” they repeated. “Wherever did you get such a thing, Lejla?”

“A woman was selling it outside.”

“It must have been your stepmother in disguise. Thank Allah that we were able to get the poison off of you in time!”

“If it truly was poisoned,” she mused thoughtfully, “then Allah must have protected me from the beginning. Are fasting the White Days so powerful?”

“Indeed, indeed,” they said. Though Lejla was tired, she decided to fast the next day, too. On the fourteenth, the wicked woman once more conversed with her mirror,

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the fairest one of all?”

“You are most fair, my lady, it is true,

but Lejla is still much fairer than you.

They removed the shawl, she stirred awake,

it will take much more to make her break.”

She spent all day coming up with a new plan. Now, she was a beggar, an old woman with drawn-on wrinkles on his face, stooped over with a cane. Trading whatever she could to get by.

Lejla’s heart melted at the sight of her. She left the dwarves’ cottage, and offered her apples. The old woman muttered something kind under her breath and gave her an ornate kohl holder in return. It was stunning to the eyes but would stun them, as well. The old woman walked away with a smile that could have frozen hearts.

By the time Lejla applied the kohl at the table, she fell over on top of it. The dwarves found her there moments later. One retrieved a towel, poured it with water, and wiped it from her eyes. Thankfully, she revived. Again, she attributed it to Allah’s mercy that came in so many ways—the timing of the dwarves, the protection from the poison, and the weak nature of her stepmother’s magic.

On the fifteenth day, the wicked woman attempted her plot for the last time.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who in this land is fairest of all?”

“You, my lady, are fair, it is true,

but Lejla is still much fairer than you.

They rubbed off the kohl, she opened her eyes,

she is less likely to believe your lies.”

Lejla had given her an apple. It was only fair that she would give it back.

It was almost evening when she set out into the forest again. She’d dipped the apple in poison, and only one bite would send the girl into the most permanent sleep.

Lejla was outside, tending to the garden. This time, the woman walked inside, set the apple on the table, and walked away. Unseen.

It only took one question to the mirror the next morning to know that she had succeeded.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who in this land is fairest of all?”

“You, my lady, are the fairest of all.”

The Final Feast

The dwarves’ iftar that night was the saddest it had ever been. Water and dates, nothing more, as their guest had bitten down the poisoned apple. Just when they thought they were finally free of the wicked woman’s torment.

News spread in Bosnia about the muvekit’s daughter’s passing like wildfire. The entire country mourned. But none so braved the forest for her janazah, save for the muvekit’s apprentice.

The dwarves had fashioned her coffin humbly; a fresh tree that had been cut, a clean cloth from one of their beds. By the time the muvekit’s apprentice arrived, they were in the middle of another debate.

“How shall we wash her?”

“We can’t! It has to be a mahram!”

“Oh, so the woman who killed her?”

“We must press charges, we must involve the town!”

“With no evidence?!”

“The woman has a jinn mirror! That does not sound innocent to me!”

“Enough arguing, please, we must pray over her…”

“What if she isn’t dead?”

The eighth voice was none other than the muvekit’s apprentice. As a man of repairs and science, he always believed that impossible fixes were only impossible for humans.

The dwarf brothers regarded him warily, but the muvekit’s apprentice was insistent on this premise. He asked them the story up until now. Soon enough, there were tales and triumphs against the other attempts on Lejla’s life.

“If Allah protected her twice, he would protect her a third time. And even more.”

Gently, he applied his gloves and opened her mouth. The bitten apple piece fell out, and Lejla awoke. The beautiful story only continued from there. Lejla recognized him—she was one of the few people who truly got to know her for her character and not merely for her lineage. The only one she missed in the woods.

The dwarves did quick work organizing a nikkah instead of a janazah. While the young couple were married in the mosque, they stormed to the qadi, the poisoned apple pieces, the shawl, and the kohl container in their hands. 

The stepmother’s house was stormed. Poison was everywhere, and the cruel woman was put to death as muvekit’s daughter and muvekit’s apprentice lived happily ever after.

–

[The Sarajevo Clock Tower is a real place. It is currently manually maintained by our brother, Mensur Zlatar. May Allah ﷻ reward him]

 

Related:

– Halaa And Gaafar [Hansel And Gretel] – A Short Story

– Asha and the Washerwoman’s Baby: A Short Story

 

The post Lejla And The White Days [Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs] – A Short Story appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

One year on, the evidence is overwhelming.

Mohammed Saeed al-Ustaz, aged 7. Shot dead by a sniper on his way to buy milk. (His is the body in the picture below.)

Every so often, when an appalling atrocity of the Israeli occupation force against a Palestinian child is exposed in western mainstream or social media, there will be a Zionist loudly condemning the report as a “modern-day blood libel”. In today’s Observer, there’s a piece by Howard Jacobson, a long-established columnist with the standard Zionist views of mainstream British Jewry, likening the coverage of the Gaza genocide to the mediaeval myth in which Jews were accused of killing Christian children to use their blood to make matzo, or unleavened bread, for Passover. This myth originated in England, after a young boy was found murdered in the Jewish quarter in Lincoln; the boy was buried in a tomb in the city’s cathedral and the myth spread far and wide, being used as a pretext for pogroms against Jews in eastern Europe as recently as the end of World War II. Jacobson claims there is an ‘echo’ of the blood libel in media coverage of the Israeli destruction of Gaza, and now also Lebanon:

Hence the hurt, the anger and the fear that Jewish people have been experiencing in the year since Hamas’s barbaric massacre of Israelis on 7 October and the no less barbaric denials, not to mention celebrations of it, as night after night our televisions have told the story of the war in Gaza through the death of Palestinian children. Night after night, a recital of the numbers dead. Night after night, the unbearable footage of their parents’ agony. The savagery of war. The savagery of the Israeli onslaught. But for many, writing or marching against Israeli action, the savagery of the Jews as told for hundreds of years in literature and art and church sermons.

Here we were again, the same merciless infanticides inscribed in the imaginations of medieval Christians. Only this time, instead of operating on the midnight streets of Lincoln and Norwich, they target Palestinian schools, the paediatric wards of hospitals, the tiny fragile bodies of children themselves. Even when there are other explanations for the devastation, no one really believes them. Reporters whose reports are proved wrong see no reason to apologise. No amendment of their calumnies. What is there to apologise for? It could have been true.

I first learned about the blood libel, as well as about a number of other antisemitic tropes and conspiracy theories (notably the Protocols of the Elders of Zion), in a Jewish history module while at university in Aberystwyth in the mid-1990s. Of course, I knew about Jews before that; there had been a few at my school, and I had heard ‘Jew’ used as an insult and stereotypes about Jews being stingy, or involvement in money-lending (this stereotype was mentioned in Jane Eyre, a set text for A-level at the time, and may still be). I had learned about the Holocaust, but nothing about the persecution of Jews in Russia, which lasted a lot longer than Nazi Germany itself did. I was vaguely aware that there were still Nazis who hated Jews (alongside other ethnic minorities that were still perceived as ‘immigrant’ back then) but nothing about the historical involvement of the church in fostering Jew-hatred. I went to three Catholic schools and did not hear anything negative said about Jews until I was in boarding school, which was not church-run or affiliated.

As we saw with Jewish complaints about so-called antisemitism in the Labour party in the 2010s, many Jews think that non-Jews’ attitudes to them and to Israel are motivated by age-old antisemitic beliefs that bubble up through our unconscious, when in fact most British people do not know about a lot of these things unless they decide to study them in depth, as I did, while Jews learn about them from their families or schools. When we hear reports from doctors about treating children in Gaza who had been shot by snipers in the streets, or left to die in a car surrounded by their dead family, waiting for an ambulance that will never come because its crew have been murdered, or hear about the sheer numbers of children suffering the loss of limbs or eyes and undergoing amputations without anaesthetic, we don’t think about Jews back in mediaeval Lincoln murdering children to use their blood as a food ingredient because most of us have never heard of that myth. What we see is a nation using the methods of modern warfare to annihilate a native population that will not stop resisting the seizure of their country, given a free hand and an unlimited supply of munitions by the brainwashed leaders of western countries.

Image source: Martyrs of Gaza, via X (Twitter).

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Charred, dismembered bodies at the scene of Israeli massacre.

Six displacements, damaged hospitals and shuttered laboratories mark one man’s struggle to get medical treatment in Gaza.

Shared humanity unifies us, write leading UK figures from Islam, Christianity and Judaism

It has been a year since the brutal Hamas terrorist attacks in Israel, and the start of this devastating war in Gaza and beyond. The scale of human suffering has been horrific. As people of faith from Christian, Jewish and Muslim communities in the UK, while we may hold different views about aspects of the conflict, we stand united in our grief and in our belief that our shared humanity must bring us together. Our faiths and our humanity teach us that we should mourn for all the innocent people who have lost their lives.

We must also reject those who seek to divide us. Anti-Jewish hate and anti-Muslim hate have no place in the UK today. We must stand together against prejudice and hatred in all its forms. The UK has long been a model of different communities and religions getting along with each other. We commit to upholding and nurturing this proud tradition.
Imam Qari Muhammad Asim, chair, Mosques and Imams national advisory board; the most reverend Justin Welby, archbishop of Canterbury; chief rabbi Sir Ephraim Mirvis; Julie Siddiqui; Dilwar Hussain, chair, New Horizons in British Islam; imam Asim Hafiz; imam Monawar Hussain, founder, The Oxford Foundation; rabbi Jonathan Wittenberg; rabbi Charley Baginsky and rabbi Josh Levy, co-leads of Progressive Judaism; rabbi Pinchas Hackenbroch, chair, Rabbinical Council of the United Synagogue

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Sydney Shias reel at what they see as an invasion of their ancestral home as Sunnis decry the Australian political response

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Every single member of Panse Saleh’s extended family in Lebanon has been displaced from their home – some are sleeping in cars, others on the street or in temporary housing.

Some could have to move again as Israel continues to bombard parts of Lebanon. Sydney-based Saleh fears elderly members of her family could die – whether they stay or attempt to leave Lebanon’s south.

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Israel and Iran teeter over precipice of open war.

Brother searches for answers believing “kind person to everyone” was tortured and killed.

A Letter And A Will

After the initial bombing started in Gaza, I saw organizations posting applications for mission trips into Gaza. It seemed risky, but signing up certainly wasn’t and I hadn’t put much thought into it at that point. The real challenge began when I received the phone call offering me a spot to go. I had donated money, but I felt so helpless as many of us did and still do.

The notice of my acceptance was incredibly inconvenient given that I only had 2-3 weeks’ notice. I would have to reschedule all of my patients that had been booked for surgery. Moving them would be a big challenge given that patients often plan their lives around surgery. But I realized that the need was more pressing in Gaza. What was my inconvenience compared to what was happening there? So I moved forward, leaving the rest unto Allah .

Once I had decided to move forward, I made sure my assets had beneficiaries listed. I  then wrote a letter to my wife and kids entitled, “In the Event of my Timely Death.” Death has been written for me already and it is never untimely. It comes exactly when it should—whether you’re in a fortified bunker or in the middle of Gaza during a genocide. These aspects comforted me along with the reward provided that Allah would accept. Soon thereafter, I departed to Cairo and entered through the Rafah Crossing.

Providing Care Under A Crippled Medical System

I had stayed at the European Gaza Hospital for two weeks and at that point, there was yet no major incursion into Rafah. Some hospitals had been attacked in Gaza, but thankfully ours was still functioning.

We had three orthopedic surgeons in our group and we did around forty surgeries collectively. The local team worked with us on a rotating basis. We had other specialties present as well in our group of 20 or so doctors.

The types of injuries were quite complex—ones that would be challenging to treat even in the U.S. at a tertiary medical center. There were large soft tissue defects that accompanied the injuries. These would require multiple surgeries and eventual coverage with tissue transfer (flaps, skin grafts, etc.) done by plastic surgery. During this trip, the resources were somewhat limited, but we were able to operate and do a significant number of cases across our whole team.

There were two types of patients that we had seen. First those with acute injuries that had just happened (gunshot wounds, drone strikes, bombings, etc.). Second,  a much larger group with chronic injuries that never healed properly (eg. fracture nonunions, infections, malalignment, etc.) from weeks to months before we arrived. We also saw diseases that were unrelated to the war such as congenital abnormalities and tumors.

The medical system was significantly burdened as a result of a loss of manpower as physicians/nurses and other medical personnel had to look after their families. The pathology department was nonexistent. This meant that any tissue that needed analysis was placed into a container and instructions were given to cross into Egypt under a medical exemption for a diagnosis. The medical system was crippled, but it still provided care—albeit in a limited capacity. This, unfortunately, worsened substantially during my second trip—five months later in July.

My Second Medical Mission – Shuhada Al-Aqsa Hospital

Shuhada Al-Aqsa Hospital

The European Gaza Hospital had been evacuated and was too damaged to be reopened by the time I got back into Gaza. I had seen pictures of it from the locals and it was completely empty. When I had gone in February, there were 30,000 people living in and around the hospital. The hallways were filled with patients and families in makeshift tents that were made from bedsheets. The stairways had entire families living on the landing where it changed direction between the floors.

Now, I was at Shuhada Al-Aqsa Hospital which was much smaller comparatively and was located in Deir-al-Balah. It was one of two hospitals that was providing care for the nearly 1.2 million people in the southern part of the Gaza Strip. It was in a “safe zone”, but still managed to get bombed in its courtyard once when I was there, and three other times soon after I left. There was a stark contrast between my experience across these two hospitals over the five months I had been away.

After reaching Al-Aqsa Hospital, I noticed that they were only doing emergent surgical procedures. The lack of surgical drapes and gowns in the hospital brought the operating room to a halt. The hospital was well staffed from a physician standpoint due to consolidation from the closure of other hospitals. Unless someone was on the verge of dying from a brain injury or had a penetrating abdominal injury, no surgery was being performed – not even for problems that were not truly elective and needed surgery on a semi-urgent basis. This was causing excess patient morbidity and even mortality.

A Medical System On The Edge Of Collapse

Despite these shortages, the bombings continued and the medical system was showing signs of a complete collapse. The ER had no functioning CT scanner and patients were being sent to a smaller hospital for the scan only to return for their surgery. There was a large delay as a result and surgery was being put off even in cases where it needed to be done urgently. It was heartbreaking to know that patients were dying not just from the bombs and drones, but also from preventable causes related the the inadequacy of the medical system. There was nothing we could do to change this.

These problems extended to the ER as well since patients were brought in and set on the floor during the bombings. There was a large crowd of patients and bystanders that made it difficult to administer care due to the sheer traffic. We typically triage patients according to the severity of their injuries but this was not possible. Instead, people were tended to in a random disorderly fashion after being incompletely evaluated.

Saveable Limbs And Preventable Deaths

I remember a case regarding a 21-year-old male with a shrapnel injury to his knee. Given that he was breathing and alert, he was tended to minimally but was later discovered to have a vascular injury that was missed. By the time he underwent repair, his leg muscles had died. He needed an amputation above his knee for a completely preventable cause.

There was another case regarding a 4-year-old girl. She had a brain injury that led to a hemorrhage that needed urgent surgical decompression. By the time she underwent surgery, she unfortunately had fixed and dilated pupils with no brainstem reflexes indicating brain death. She was removed from the ventilator and died soon after. Although she may have never had complete neurologic recovery with urgent surgery, her age would have allowed a significantly better prognosis had the intervention been much sooner.

If these were just a small sample of cases I saw in just two weeks, how many others were impacted who could have been saved had the system not collapsed? Even if surgery was done promptly and was successful, infection was another dangerous obstacle to clear for recovery. This was related to poor sterility during surgery (inadequate drapes/gowns) as well as patient malnutrition.

Malnutrition Leads To Wounds Unhealed

Gazans have been deprived over the past ten months in their diet and this reflects on their nutritional state. Healing from complex injuries requires protein which usually comes from meat. Many people haven’t eaten meat for months and their diet often consists of rice alone. Wounds as a result get infected and this leads to re-operations, sepsis (systemic infections), and even death.

Infections usually begin from bacteria that can seed the wound from the initial injury, but they can also happen during the surgery. Since the surgical drapes are very few, the instruments get contaminated during the operation, which increases the likelihood of infection. The burden of this genocide extends to all aspects of the medical system, starting from patients’ arrival at the ER, to when they are undergoing treatment, to when they are healing from their injury or surgery. Even when they successfully heal from their injuries, patients tend to stay in the hospital since they feel it’s the safest place to be.

Destruction Suggestive Of A Post-Apocalyptic Event

The most striking difference outside of the hospital was the extent of the destruction. When I had gone before, Rafah was safe for the most part. The degree of devastation now was suggestive of a post-apocalyptic event such as nuclear war. There was not a single building it seemed that was free from having been bombed, shelled, or riddled with bullet holes. This was in stark contrast to how it looked back in February when I last visited.

People are living in tents with temperatures well into the 90s. Hygiene has suffered tremendously and disease is widespread. Entire multi-generational families are living in these tents, so there’s no privacy. Women are unable to get any relief from the heat while they are fully covered up in religious garb (hijab, niqab, etc.). In addition to the heat-related injuries, we are seeing the polio virus in the sewage around the tents and have had a confirmed case in a 10-month-old child. Gaza has collapsed as a result of this genocide and will need to be rebuilt from the ground up across all sectors of society including the medical system.

What Excuse Will We Have?

As we work towards a ceasefire, it is important to keep our hopes up. Let us also continue putting pressure on the government in order to accomplish this. Our brothers and sisters in Palestine have endured 10 months of genocide and they haven’t given up. They are solely reliant on Allah . Will we give up on them simply because it seems futile? If we had been in their position, would we want the world to give up on us?

When we stand before Allah , what excuse will we have? How will we justify enjoying our lives in the comfort of our homes, while others suffer?  We each have to do something—no matter how small—to help the cause. This help is for now to get a ceasefire, and inshallah, afterward to support the orphans, widows, and injured. There will be plenty of work and we can’t forget them since we are all part of the same body as taught to us by our beloved Prophet Muhammad .

 

Related:

Podcast [Man2Man]: From The Frontlines Of Gaza | Dr. Jawad Khan And Omar Sabha

Prophetic Lessons From The Muslim Men In Gaza

The post Providing Medical Care During An Ongoing Genocide: A Doctor’s Account From Missions In Gaza appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Featuring peacock-shaped padlocks and a holographic Sufi master, a new museum explores the religion’s influence on Western culture – and leaves visitors wondering how the giant begging bowls were installed

Among the most emblematic paraphernalia of the Sufis is their “begging bowl”, known as the kashkul. That’s why nearly a dozen are at the centre of a new museum dedicated to Sufi culture and art, the Musée d’Art et de Culture Soufis MTO, which has just opened in Chatou, a quiet Parisian suburb on the banks of the Seine.

The kashkul is traditionally made from the nutshell of the coco de mer palm, the tree that produces the world’s biggest seed, and what makes it all the more remarkable is that it’s a fruit from Seychelles that historically washed up 4,000km away on Iran’s southern shores. The journey through the ocean made the shells extremely polished, which Sufis took as a symbol of the inner journey and cleansing the soul of all earthly desires. Forget the irony that coco de mer shells are expensive commodities these days, mainly due to their suggestive shape.

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As we slowly approach a year of being witnesses to genocide, most of us can’t help but reflect on all that has transpired over the past twelve months. One year of genocide feels long-lived, considering the realizations, disappointments, tears, and fleeting moments of growth we’ve experienced– individually and collectively, day in and out, in person and online. Contradictorily, when we measure time by the depth of falling in and out of our feelings of grief, anger, and angst, it doesn’t feel like much time at all.

One of the greatest challenges of witnessing genocide from a distance is grappling with the profound dichotomies of the world, especially when many of us feel so far removed from reality. How is it that, while bombs are indiscriminately falling on homes in Gaza, I can lay here in my warm bed, secure in that my children are safe and sound in their rooms? How is it that my social media feed is filled with picture-perfect school lunches featuring dinosaur-cut sandwiches and crinkle-cut fruits while Muslims around the world are starving? How is it that I drive to work in the morning with the biggest worry being traffic and not some random bomb going off, leaving me armless for the rest of my life? 

These stark contrasts between mainstream luxuries and devastation are overwhelming for our human brains. It’s difficult to digest such dissonance without experiencing deep cognitive unrest and immense guilt—why am I here while they are there? How can I help when it feels like all avenues of helping are limited? At what point is my help enough? Is it ever enough when it comes to witnessing genocide behind a glass screen?

The contradictions extend beyond just living situations; they have also become quite evident in how the world has reacted to injustice. On the one hand, surprising alliances and political accomplishments have been made. Gen Z, often teased for being the least disciplined generation, has turned out to be the forerunners of unapologetically demanding social justice, showing us that we, their predecessors, were more complacent than we ever knew. However, the blind unconditional support for genocide by politicians and the deafening silence from “friends” and coworkers has often created intolerable noise drowning out our small successes. The live-streamed killings in Gaza, magnified by horrors in Sudan and Congo, make everyday reality feel like some kind of dissociative nightmare.

As a trauma therapist, I will tell you that when trauma first occurs, it’s very evident because most people have a fight, flight, or freeze response, which we definitely saw in our communities last fall. But do you know what happens when the trauma persists over time? It becomes a new normal. The body adapts, but the trauma remains with no place to go. The urgency of trying to feel better subsides, and people adapt — or they think they are adapting. People become complacent, believing that the trauma is dormant, but it’s not; the horrific things we’ve witnessed have created pathogenic memories, and those memories turn into pathogenic networks, continuing to be strengthened insidiously by the nonstop injustices we see around us. While it may feel inappropriate to discuss our own mental health in light of what others around the globe are experiencing, many of us have developed untreated trauma. For some who already had complex or intergenerational trauma, the genocide has only magnified it.

As we reflect on the past year, we are reminded how momentum can wane, especially as fatigue sets in and focus becomes scattered. The key to sustaining our efforts is recognizing that there are no quick fixes for this or any long-term problem. While most people acknowledge this truth, the challenge lies in mobilizing collectively to act on it. To effectively reignite the enthusiasm we once had, we must fully embrace certain psycho-spiritual perspectives that will guide our renewed efforts moving forward inshaAllah:

Cultivating Strong Relationships for the Sake of Allah

Research shows that social support is strongly correlated with resilience in the face of adversity1, and what is stronger than a relationship done for Allah’s sake- uplifting fellow brothers and sisters, and enjoining others to do good?  In the early days of the genocide, there were many opportunities to connect and support one another through healing circles, protests, and educational lectures. We must continue to create these spaces, addressing mental health concerns in a constructive manner through teaching effective coping skills, and avoiding echo chambers of despair.

Shifting the Scarcity Mindset

The belief that there’s limited room at the top, especially for Muslims or other minorities, perpetuates a narrative of colonization and inequity. We must reject this mindset. Instead, we should strive for greater representation in positions of power beyond our mosques and Islamic schools, in our unique areas of expertise, whether it be medicine, government, business, or any other industry. When we do achieve these positions, we should shamelessly uplift like-minded individuals rather than take pride in being the only person of color, Muslim, or female in the room.

Recognizing Our Individual Roles

Keeping up the momentum [PC: Houssem Bouaza (unsplash)]

Many have asked over the past months, “What can I do when it feels like nothing is in my hands?” As suggested above, Allah has created each of us with unique strengths, attributes, and opportunities. It’s important to identify our individual strengths and turn them into collective assets to help alleviate the suffering of those in Gaza and other parts of the world. Additionally, we should focus on our individual circles of influence, whatever those might look like for each of us, rather than everyone aiming to reach the elusive masses. And lastly, we must not overlook the power of dua’, as our individual and collective prayers can and will help change history inshaAllah.

Emphasizing Consistency

We must remember that the attempted eradication of the Palestinian people is a decades-long effort, not just in confiscating land but also in the psychological influence that has permeated our school systems and legislative boards. It has involved the careful crafting of policies, laws, and PR strategies, ensuring the right leadership is in place so that any dissent can be shut down quickly, if not criminalized. Remember the fable of the tortoise and the hare? We can’t be the hare anymore—overconfident and unfocused, thinking that posting every day on social media2 will undo 60 years of strategic planning. Consistency in our efforts through advocacy, uplifting each other, educating, lobbying, and protesting proactively instead of reactively is what will yield lasting results.

Abu Hurairah narrated that the Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said: “Take on only as much as you can do of good deeds, for the best of deeds is that which is done consistently, even if it is little.” [Sunan ibn Majah 4240]

Building Unity Beyond Our Differences

Last fall, our Ummah experienced a brief moment of unity in response to the shock of what happened, which was incredibly beautiful, and lasted well past our Eid celebrations over the summer. Yet, it was striking how quickly that momentum faded, especially as we recently approached the Prophet’s ﷺ birthday. We often revert to our usual behaviors, falling back into the same internal disputes that hinder our progress on a macro scale. If we are to effect meaningful change, we must move beyond these distractions and work together intentionally. We must harness our collective strength and sustain our commitment so we can focus on long-term solutions that will benefit us all, inshaAllah.

“And hold firmly together to the rope of Allah and do not be divided. Remember Allah’s favor upon you when you were enemies, then He united your hearts, so you—by His grace—became brothers. And you were at the brink of a fiery pit, and He saved you from it. This is how Allah makes His revelations clear to you, so that you may be rightly guided.” [Surah ‘Ali-Imran, 3:103]

Staying True to Our Values and Intentions

As uncomfortable as this is to say, at the height of all the activism, many things became trendy, like the watermelon gear and, understandably, the keffiyeh. New leaders emerged, social media accounts grew and some businesses made quite a profit. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but we should continuously renew our intentions to ensure that, first and foremost, our efforts are for the sake of Allah and, second, because we have a responsibility to help our brothers and sisters in need. The more sincere we are in our efforts, inshaAllah, the more barakah we will have in reaching our goals.

Narrated ‘Umar bin Al-Khattab: I heard Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) saying, “The reward of deeds depends upon the intentions, and every person will get the reward according to what he has intended…” [Sahih Al-Bukhari]

As we reflect on the one-year mark, we must intensify our commitment to uphold justice and support those in Gaza. What we do now will set the landscape for five, ten, and fifty years from now in Palestine and all over the world. Although we continue to face an uphill battle, the discourse has undoubtedly shifted, and people are awakening in ways they never have before. We have made some progress and we cannot afford to let the energy fizzle out. This will be a long-term endeavor and one that requires unity, strategic thinking, and relentless perseverance.

May Allah grant us the strength and unity to uphold justice and support those in need.

 

Related:

– 5 Steps To Grow From Passive To Active Bystanders During The Genocide Of Gaza

– Rising To The Moment: What Muslim American Activists Of Today Can Learn From Successful Community Movements During The Bosnian Genocide

1    Ozbay F, Johnson DC, Dimoulas E, Morgan CA, Charney D, Southwick S. Social support and resilience to stress: from neurobiology to clinical practice. Psychiatry (Edgmont). 2007 May;4(5):35-40. 2    Posting regularly on social media is helpful, but it can’t be our only strategy

The post A Year of Being Witnesses to Genocide: Psycho-Spiritual Perspectives To Help Grapple With Dissonance And Overcome Complacency appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Assassination of Nasrallah won’t weaken Hizballah’s resolve, says Roqayah Chamseddine in Beirut.

A father with a severely autistic son dreams of going to Hajj, but will it ever happen?

Previous Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Golden Grill

Murid was on the way home with the kids after picking up Junaid from his special school, then Mina from the Islamic school. Driving up India Street, he happened to glance into the Golden Grill, a tiny halal Syrian restaurant, and saw that the three tables were empty, there were no customers. Must be the hour – somewhere between lunch and dinner.

On impulse, he turned into the next driveway and pulled up in front of the restaurant. He rarely took the kids to restaurants because Junaid had no impulse control and would take whatever food he liked from anyone’s plate, including strangers. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the boy had a whole host of food allergies. A single bite of spicy or sweet food could give him stomach pain for hours.

But the whole family loved Golden Grill’s chicken kebabs, french fries, hummus and flavorful bulgur. Murid didn’t care much for tabouli or stuffed grape leaves, as the acidity tended to give him and Junaid heartburn. Junaid’s would be much worse, actually. There were times when Junaid ate something he shouldn’t and Murid would be up with him half the night, giving him medicine and holding him while he cried. These sorts of allergies and digestive issues were common with autistic children, but knowing that didn’t make it easier to live with.

Nine Pennies

Murid ordered all his favorites, plus something called muhammara, which he was not familiar with. Today though, he felt like experimenting. The world lay ahead of him, full of possibilities. It was as if Allah had seen how hard he’d been working, how much he loved his kids, and how he yearned for certain doors to be opened – and of course Allah had seen all of this – and had answered. Murid was not normally the adventurous type. With two challenging kids to care for, he couldn’t afford to be. In the past, Dana had always been the brave one, curious about every new thing, while Murid had been conservative, wanting to play it safe. But Dana was gone to Allah knew where, and Murid had been stuck in a deep rut for a long time, and now the doors were opening, subhanAllah walhamdulillah.

So why not try something new?

Murid laughed at himself, acting as if trying a new food item was like diving into an unexplored trench.

“It’s your move, Baba,” Mina said. “Are you going to laugh at nothing like a weirdo, or play the game?”

They were playing a game called nine pennies. Murid had learned it from his mother as a child. You put nine pennies on the table in three rows of three, forming a square. Each player on his turn would take away either one, two, or three pennies in a row. Whoever was left with only one penny was the loser.

Boy Was Hungry

Junaid was walking around the restaurant, touching things, or, more often, extending his finger and almost touching them. The drinks cooler, the display counter, the register, the two other tables in the place. Sometimes he’d hum, or say an almost-word, like, “dowww,” or, “yaamm.”

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? Calling me a weirdo?”

He scooped away a row of three pennies, leaving Mina with five. She immediately snatched one away, leaving a square of four. Murid studied the square, considering his options.

“You’ve already lost,” Mina said. “If you take one I’ll take two, leaving one. And if you take two I’ll take one, same result.”

“Oh, jinx,” Murid complained, and swiped his hand through the pennies. They’d played twelve games in a row and Mina won every time. Which was especially annoying, considering he was the one who had taught her to play.

The food arrived. Murid looked around to call Junaid over, and found him standing at his side, eating a chunk of beef kebab. He frowned. Where had Junaid gotten it? He spotted one of the restaurant workers sitting with a plate of food at the table behind him. The man met Murid’s eyes and smiled, waving a hand.

Murid was mortified. Junaid had taken food off the man’s plate. He stood and approached the man.

“As-salamu alaykum brother,” Junaid said. “I’m very sorry. My son is autistic, he doesn’t understand.”

“Is no problem,” the man said. “Boy was hungry, I give it.”

“Thanks.”

Muhammara

Returning to his table, he found Mina shielding the plate from Junaid.

“This muhammara stuff is delicious, but it’s spicy,” Mina said.

“I didn’t know. Scoop it into a little dish, I’ll eat it myself.”

“No. It’s bad for your heartburn, and it’s high in sodium. Take it back.”

Murid sighed heavily. Mina was right, but it was difficult sometimes being told what to do by your own child. Mina shouldn’t have to do that, she shouldn’t carry that responsibility. He scooped the muhammara into a napkin, and pushed it to the side.

He gave Junaid a chicken kebab, and the boy went back to wandering.

Mina dipped three french fries in ketchup and stuffed them into her mouth. “How many days,” she mumbled, “until you go for Hajj?”

“Four more days.”

“And how long will you be gone?”

“Twenty days.”

“You’re leaving us with Juliana for twenty days?”

“You’ll be fine, as long as you behave. Don’t give Juliana a hard time, okay? Don’t boil the eggs and put them back in the carton, or put toothpaste in the cream cheese container, or put a fake spider in the mailbox.” (All things Mina had done to Juliana in the past).

“Well…”

“I’m serious, honey bear. No weird pranks. Be ready for school on time, do your homework and chores, and help with Junaid. If you make it easy for her, you make it easy for me.”

“She’s not our mother.”

“Trust me, I know that. Also, Juliana will take you to visit Dada and Dadi sometimes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“They’re your grandparents and they love you. Just be nice. You know what I’m talking about.”

“The incident with Aunt Ganya.”

The corners of Murid’s mouth quirked upward as he suppressed a smile. “Incident. That’s one word for it. More like a fiasco that will go down in family history.”

“She started it.”

Murid sighed.

Junaid returned to them, grabbed Murid’s face and pressed his forehead against his father’s. Murid closed his eyes. Junaid’s hands were hot on his cheeks. The boy finally released him but continued to gaze into his eyes. Junaid’s eyes were light brown with golden flecks, and filled with calm intelligence. There was something deeply peaceful in his gaze, as if he accepted the world exactly as it presented itself, asking nothing more or less from it.

Then the boy took a kebab and walked away,

Make A Deal

“Baba,” Mina said, “Will you pray for Dana when you’re at Hajj?”

Murid paused. He swallowed a bite of food, put down the fork, and met Mina’s eyes. “No.”

“Do you still think about her?”

“Yes.”

“Then why won’t you pray for her?”

“It’s not the same thing.” Subconsciously he touched the coat pocket in which he kept Hiba’s letter. He’d been carrying it around and reading it from time to time.

Mina noticed the movement. “Will you let me read that letter?”

“No.”

His daughter looked down at her plate and pushed the bulgur around with a spoon.

Junaid came back to touch base. He leaned into his father and breathed in his ear. Murid put an arm around his son and pulled him close, then kissed his cheek. Junaid held his arms out, so Murid lifted the boy onto his lap. He didn’t care how it looked. Junaid grabbed another chicken kebab and took a bite, humming as he chewed.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Mina offered. “I’ll behave myself when you’re gone if you pray for Dana at Hajj, and don’t marry anyone without me agreeing.”

Junaid squirmed in Murid’s lap, and Murid let him down.

“Counter offer,” Murid said. “I’ll pray for Dana, and I’ll consult with you before I marry anyone. But the decision is mine alone.”

Mina nodded seriously. “Deal. You still can’t beat me at nine pennies, though.”

“Yeah, well. That’s a different thing too.”

Part 6 will be published next week inshaAllah

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

Related:

Breakfast With The Khans [Act One] – A Play

A Ramadan Quran Journal: A MuslimMatters Series – [Juz 18] The Bird

The post The Things He Would Say – [Part 5]: Pray For Dana appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

My uncle’s life was irreversibly changed after an Israeli massacre at the Mustafa Hafez school.