I have always loved Ramadan. Every year I find myself waiting for it long before it begins. When the month finally arrives, it feels as though time slows down in a beautiful way. My heart feels lighter, my mind calmer, and everything around me seems to carry a different kind of peace.

But if I’m honest, the part of Ramadan that moves me the most is the last ten nights.

As the month comes closer to its end, something shifts. The nights feel quieter, more meaningful, almost as if they are inviting us to pause and reflect. There is a sense that these final days hold something special, and that every moment matters more.

For me, fasting has never been only about staying away from food and drink. It creates space in my life. Space away from the daily routine, the distractions, and the constant rush of responsibilities. During these final nights especially, that space becomes an opportunity to reconnect with Allah in a deeper way.

Ramadan reminds us that fasting is not just a physical act but a spiritual one. It teaches patience, discipline, and empathy for others. The Qur’an beautifully reminds us:

“O you who have believed, decreed upon you is fasting as it was decreed upon those before you that you may become righteous.” [Surah Al-Baqarah 2:183]

This verse has always resonated with me, especially when I reflect on my time in Gaza. Living through war and uncertainty changes the way you see the world. Food was not always guaranteed, and some nights we went to sleep hungry. Yet even in those difficult moments, faith remained strong.

Fasting in those circumstances was not simply an act of worship—it was a reminder that strength comes from Allah . Hardship did not weaken faith; in many ways, it strengthened it.

Ramadan in Gaza taught me gratitude in ways I had never experienced before. Every meal felt like a blessing. Every prayer felt more meaningful. Even the simplest moments carried a sense of appreciation that is easy to forget in more comfortable times.

As the last ten nights of Ramadan arrive, that sense of reflection becomes even stronger. These nights remind us that Ramadan is not just about completing the fast, but about seeking closeness to Allah and making the most of the time we have left in this blessed month.

And at the heart of these nights is Laylatul Qadr.

Allah tells us:

“The Night of Decree is better than a thousand months.” [Surah Al-Qadr 97:3]

This verse always fills me with hope. It reminds me that even small acts of sincere worship can carry immense value. A single night of prayer, reflection, and heartfelt du’a can hold rewards beyond what we can imagine.

Laylatul Qadr is a reminder that what truly matters is our relationship with Allah . Not the things we own or the achievements we chase, but the sincerity in our hearts when we turn to Him.

The last ten nights are also a beautiful time to guide the next generation. Teaching children about prayer, kindness, and charity during these nights helps nurture their faith and shape their character for years to come.

In the end, fasting is not just about hunger or thirst. It is a journey of the heart.

My experiences have taught me that even in the most difficult circumstances—when life feels uncertain and overwhelming—faith can still grow and flourish. Ramadan reminds us that true blessings are not always what we see or possess, but the connection we build with Allah .

May Allah allow us to witness Laylatul Qadr, accept our fasting and prayers, and help us carry the lessons of Ramadan with us long after the month has passed.

 

Related:

– The Last Nights Of Ramadan in Gaza: Starvation, Supplication, And Survival

– We Are Not Numbers x MuslimMatters – Ramadan In The Time Of Genocide

The post Entering The Last 10 Nights: What Ramadan In Gaza Taught Me About Gratitude appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Zionism wants “everything for itself,” scholar says.

On a rainy Ramadan afternoon, a mysterious traveler knocks on a troubled family’s door as they are about to eat iftar.

This is a three-part story. The three parts will be published three nights in a row, inshaAllah.

Part 1

* * *

Lemons on the Ground

It was a Friday afternoon in Ramadan, and it was winter. I’m a 30-year-old Egyptian-American history professor, and not much of a cook. But in Ramadan, I try to do my share, so my sister and I were in the kitchen, working to prepare iftar.

That was the moment when the pilgrim appeared. I call him the pilgrim, but he had a name, and even so, he could have been anyone or anything. I’ll never know.

The sky outside was the gray of a bedsheet forgotten on a clothesline. The yard was flooded, looking like a shallow green swimming pool. There were squirrels living out there, and I wondered how they stayed dry in weather like this. We had a big lemon tree in the front yard, but we had not picked the ripe fruits, and many lay on the ground rotting. I was busy with work these days, but I should have asked Momy, my sister’s teenage son, to collect the lemons. All he did, when he wasn’t in school, was play video games in his room.

My sister Zahra – at forty years old, ten years my elder – closed the oven.

“The mahshi looks good,” she commented. “I’m glad I went with zucchini, they’re super fresh right now.” Glancing at me, she saw where I was looking.

“Why didn’t you pick those damn lemons?” she snapped. “Do you know how wasteful that is? Those are organic lemons. Do you have any idea how much they cost in the store? No, because you don’t shop, Amir, you don’t do anything. You go to work, go to the gym, come home, and treat me like a servant. And when you’re at work, we’re stuck here like prisoners, because there’s only one car.”

I could have barked back. I could have pointed out that since her husband, Waleed, divorced her three years ago, she lost her nursing job two years ago, and then came to live with me, I had supported her and her son without complaint. My salary not only paid all the bills, including for the food we all ate, but also her phone and her son’s, their clothing and other personal needs, and I had even paid for the gaming console that Momy spent all his time on.

As for the car, I was only a junior college professor, having completed my PhD two years ago. My salary was decent but not lavish. I couldn’t afford two cars.

I was tired of fighting with Zahra. Okay, yes, her life had taken a bad turn, and I was the only one around for her to take it out on. Even her son avoided her. In the end, I merely said, “You’re right. I’ll collect them tomorrow inshaAllah.”

“You always say that. I can tell you this, Amir, if this were my house, things would be done differently.”

Recriminations

This was a frequent line of attack. The house was a Craftsman, built in the 1920s, and designed with many whimsical flourishes, like integrated bookcases in the living room and a built-in window seat beside the bay window. It was built with all-natural materials, including stone and brick, and a wide front porch.

We had grown up here, Zahra and I, and our brother Ali. When our parents passed away a decade ago, they left their considerable life savings to Zahra, as she was married with a young child, and they left the house to Ali and me. Zahra hadn’t complained at the time, as she’d gotten the better end of the deal. But now that her inheritance was gone – invested in her husband’s failed business- my ownership of this house seemed to rub salt in her eyes.

As for Ali, he’d gone to law school and become a successful litigator. He owned a Chicago penthouse and hardly cared about this old house. We rarely saw him.

“And trust me,” Zahra went on, “if I owned this house, you would pull your weight around here, or you’d be out on your ass.”

This was too much. I should have said, “I’m fasting.” After all, isn’t that what the Prophet ﷺ taught us? I had heard the hadith often enough that I could recite it in Arabic or English: “Fasting is a shield. So the person observing the fast should avoid sexual relations with his spouse and should not behave foolishly and impudently, and if someone fights with him or abuses him, he should say to him twice, ‘I am fasting.’”

But no one could rile me up like Zahra. It was like I was a broken piano and she knew just which keys to hit to make the worst off-note sounds. So I lashed out.

“And if it were up to me,” I snapped, “I’d be married, and Samina and I would live together in this house, and maybe we’d have a child by now. But we in this house are all just like those rotting lemons out there, aren’t we?”

Zahra’s face turned red. She had lifted the lid on the pot of molokhiyyah, but her hand shook so badly that the lid clattered to the floor.

“I’m sorry we ruined your life!” she screamed. “I’m sorry for being born!” She stormed out of the room.

I shook my head. This was no way to spend a Ramadan afternoon. I should not have said that. I mean, it was true, certainly. Two years ago, I’d been engaged to a lovely young Pakistani-American woman. She was tall, outgoing, and religious, and maybe too beautiful for me, but for some reason, she admired and respected me. I had planned to marry her and bring her here to live with me, in this hundred-year-old, two-bedroom house.

When Zahra came to stay with me, I put my marriage plans on hold, since Zahra had one bedroom, Momy had the other, and I slept on the sofa. I did it willingly, because I cared about my big sister, and because her life had gone from teetering on the edge of a cliff to plunging over the side.

I had imagined that my sister would stay with me for three or four months, until she found a new job and got back on her feet. But two years later, here she still was. She refused to apply for nursing jobs, saying that she was burnt out and needed more time.

My fiancée Samina, meanwhile, had broken off the engagement. I swallowed hard, remembering it. What was my future now? A life single and unloved, a barely relevant professor making no contribution to the world?

Keys in the Stream

I picked up the pot lid, wiped it clean, and covered the molokhiyyah. There was also a pan of slow-simmering chicken and peppers on the stove. Under normal circumstances, Zahra would never have left it to me. I spooned a bit of the sauce, blew on it, and tasted it. Then I added a generous squeeze of lemon and a dash of cayenne, along with a touch of oregano and a little more pepper. Zahra might complain, but I liked my food spicy. Served her right for leaving me to handle everything.

I didn’t know how much more I could take. Zahra and I had occasionally clashed in the past, but not like this. I remembered a time just before she’d gotten married when the three of us – Zahra, me, and our middle brother Ali – went on a hike in the Sierras, near Shaver Lake. Ali and I used a fallen log to cross over a stream, but Zahra was reluctant. Finally, she said to toss her the car keys, and she would go back and wait in the car. I was about to say no, we would find an easier trail, but Ali went ahead and chucked the keys, which fell short and landed in the stream.

There was an instant in which we saw the strong current carrying the keys away, dragging them over the river rocks – then Ali and I were in the stream, splashing and slipping, trying to catch the keys, as Zahra roared with laughter. We caught the keys, changed our clothes in the parking lot, and we all went to a diner in Shaver for hot food and coffee.

That had been one of the last truly fun moments we’d shared. After she got married, she gradually lost her sense of humor. And sometime around four years ago, it was like someone had flipped a switch to activate the anger center in her brain. Her tongue became sharper than a scimitar. Lately, I spent more and more time at my university office, or at the gym. I had muscles popping out everywhere. But all I really wanted was peace and quiet.

A Stranger

As I tended to the food, I considered my upcoming course on El-Hajj Malik el-Shabazz, known to most people as Malcolm X. My parents had been immigrants, but I was American, and my heroes were Americans: Sitting Bull, John Brown, Lucy Parsons, Cesar Chavez, Muhammad Ali, and more – but none more so than Malcolm.

I wanted to do more than just teach a course. I had the idea to establish an annual Malcolm X youth conference, where we would bring young thinkers, poets, and scholars from all over the world to celebrate Malcolm’s legacy. We would take Malcolm’s ideas out of the history books and into the lives of these youth.

But how could I do that? It was a huge undertaking, and I was just a nobody junior professor in a small Central California city.

My train of thought was interrupted when I glanced out of the kitchen window and saw a stranger standing in front of the house. It was the pilgrim, though I did not know that yet. He was tall and olive-skinned, wearing a brown pack that hung heavily from his shoulders. His wavy black hair fell to his shoulders. He was painfully thin and wore faded jeans, a long-sleeved green army shirt, a pair of battered brown boots, and a Palestinian kefiyyeh around his neck.

I had never seen the man before. It wasn’t like I owned the street. The sidewalk was public property. But he wasn’t walking by, or standing on the sidewalk. He was standing in our yard beneath the big lemon tree, his head tipped back, as if enjoying the pale sunlight on his face. I saw him lower his gaze as he studied the lemons on the ground. Then he drew a cloth sack from his brown pack, bent over, and began sorting through the lemons. Whenever he found a good one, he put it in the sack.

I smiled. At least someone would get use out of those lemons. Then the sun caught something reflective on the pilgrim’s pack and glinted in my eyes, making me blink and look away. When I looked again, the man was gone.

Seven Minutes Left

Cupping my mouth, I called out that it was almost time for iftar. I proceeded to set the table with plates and silverware, and a jug of guava juice. Then I warmed three loaves of Arabic bread in a fresh pan.

When no one came, I went upstairs. Momy was playing a video soccer game with his headphones on. I liked that he chose that instead of war games, though a book would be better. I pulled the headphones off and grinned. “Iftar.”

I knocked gently on Zahra’s door.

“I heard you!” she shouted. “I’m coming.”

Soon we were all downstairs. There were seven minutes remaining until the Maghreb adhaan. We set dates and grapes on the table and filled the water glasses.

“There was a guy outside collecting the lemons,” I commented.

“What?” Zahra’s eyes were wide. “Our lemons? Did you call the police?”

I gave her a quizzical look. “Of course not. He was taking the ones on the ground. And he had on a kefiyyeh.”

Zahra shook her head. “I don’t get you. You let a stranger come onto our property.”

“There’s three minutes left,” I said, changing the subject.

We sat, and I raised my hands and thanked Allah for the food and for making us Muslims. I asked Allah to have mercy on my parents and on our family. I asked Allah to liberate the Ummah from oppression, and to free my Egyptian homeland from tyranny.

Lastly, I asked Allah to bring me a good Muslim woman with whom I would live in happiness. I did not ask specifically for Samina, even though I knew she was still single. She had left me, and though I still loved her, I would trust Allah to bring me someone better.

Momy, watching his phone like the eagle of Salahuddin tracking a rabbit, let us know that it was time to eat.

That was when a knock sounded at the door.

* * *

Come back TOMORROW for Part 2.

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:

Cover Queen: A Ramadan Short Story

Impact of Naseehah in Ramadan: A Short Story

 

The post The Pilgrim [Part 1] – A Ramadan Story appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

This series is a collaboration between Dr. Ali and MuslimMatters, bringing Quranic wisdom to the questions Muslim families are navigating.

Raising Children Who Build for Eternity — Legacy, Sadaqah Jariyah, and the Long Game

There is a conversation most Muslim parents never have with their teenagers.

Not about career choices or university applications — those conversations happen constantly. Not about religious practice — that happens too, sometimes too much and too anxiously.

The conversation that almost never happens is this one: what are you building that will outlast you? What tree are you planting whose shade you may never sit in?

That conversation — about legacy, significance, and the long game — is what tonight’s episode is about. And this guide is for the parent who wants to bring it home.

Why legacy is a teenage conversation, not an adult one

Most parents think that the concept of legacy is something only for those who are older — when they have established themselves, figured out their direction, accomplished something worth building on.

That instinct is understandable and mistaken.

Legacy is not built later. It is built now — in the habits, the character, the knowledge, and the orientation toward Allah that your teenager is developing right now. The seed planted at seventeen has been growing for decades by the time a person reaches forty. The character built in adolescence is the foundation everything else will rest on.

Sheikh Muhammad al-Shareef — the educator and founder of Al-Maghrib Institute whose story tonight’s video tells — dreamed of what he would build when he was less than 20. He founded Al-Maghrib in his latter twenties. He was forty-seven when he passed away. The trees he planted are still growing.

The legacy conversation is not premature for your teenager. It is overdue.

The Islamic framework for legacy — what Islam actually teaches

The Prophet ﷺ said: “When a person dies, his deeds come to an end except for three: sadaqah jariyah — ongoing charity, knowledge that is benefited from, and a righteous child who prays for him.” (Muslim)

This hadith is the most complete Islamic account of legacy available — and it deserves careful attention from parents who want to raise teenagers with a long-game orientation.

Sadaqah jariyah is broader than the classic examples of wells and masajid suggest. Any resource invested in something that continues to benefit people after you are gone qualifies. The institution built. The program started. The fund established. The project launched. The principle is: put something into the world that keeps giving.

For teenagers, this means that the projects they begin now — however small, however local — can be sadaqah jariyah. The health fair organized at the masjid that becomes an annual event. The tutoring program started for younger students. The school initiative that will one day become a k-12.  The community initiative launched and then handed off. Small beginnings with the right intention can become ongoing charity that outlasts the person who started it.

Knowledge that is benefited from is Sheikh Muhammad al-Shareef’s primary legacy — and it is available to every Muslim regardless of whether they found an institution. Knowledge shared genuinely, carried by the person who received it into their own life and passed on to others, is sadaqah jariyah. Your teenager doesn’t need to be a scholar. They need to share what they know with sincerity and care.

Quick example: I remember a Muslim convert who visited Mexico with a dawah group. They knew so much more than him, but he just focused on teaching surat al-Fatihah to every person who accepted Islam. His intent was to benefit from each time they recited it. We all know surat al-Fatihah alhamdulillah, but did we every consider that possibility, and the potential for serious return in the hereafter?

A righteous child who prays for their parents is perhaps the most personally relevant form of legacy for Muslim parents reading this — because it is a description of what you are building right now. The du’a your teenager makes for you after you are gone is your sadaqah jariyah arriving. Which means that raising a child who prays for you is itself an act of planting a tree whose shade you will benefit from in the most literal possible sense.

The Sulayman ﷺ lesson for parents and teenagers

Prophet Sulayman’s ﷺ request — “grant me a kingdom such as will not belong to anyone after me” [38:35] — makes many Muslims uncomfortable. It sounds like the request of someone seeking glory for its own sake.

But Allah gave it to him. And praised him as an excellent servant in the same moment.

The lesson for your teenager — and for you — is that ambition rooted in the right intention is not un-Islamic. The desire to build something significant, to leave something that outlasts you, to ask Allah for the resources and the platform to do something meaningful — this is a legitimate and honored aspiration when it comes from a heart already turned toward Allah; the heart seeking the pleasure of Allah.

The conversation worth having with your teenager is not: be humble and don’t want too much. It is: want greatly, ask boldly, and make sure what you’re building is for Allah rather than for yourself.

Sulayman wanted an unprecedented kingdom. What does your teenager want to build? Have you asked them? Have you told them that asking Allah for it — specifically, boldly, repeatedly — is exactly what a prophet did?

That conversation could change everything.

The quiet majority — redefining success for your teenager

One of the most important things tonight’s video communicates — and one that parents need to reinforce explicitly — is the significance of the quiet majority.

Most of Al-Maghrib’s students did not become scholars or community leaders. They went on with their lives. But they were transformed. They approached their careers differently. They raised their children differently. They interacted with society differently — because of what they learned.

That quiet transformation — unglamorous, invisible to the world, measurable only in the changed texture of ordinary daily life — is, in aggregate, the most important part of Sheikh Muhammad al-Shareef’s legacy.

Your teenager does not need to be famous to leave a significant legacy. They need to be genuinely transformed — and to live that transformation in the ordinary choices of an ordinary life. The doctor who treats every patient as khalifah. The teacher whose students remember one thing that changed how they saw the world. The parent whose children grow up with taqwa. The friend who showed up when it mattered.

The quiet legacy is the legacy that actually changes the world. Help your teenager aspire to it.

Practical guidance for parents

Have the legacy conversation explicitly. Ask your teenager: what do you want to build that will outlast you? Not as a pressure question — as a genuine invitation to think about the long game. If they don’t have an answer, that’s fine. The question itself plants a seed.

Name the gap together. Look at your community, your masjid, your neighborhood together. What needs doing that nobody is doing? Sheikh Muhammad al-Shareef saw a gap and designed something to fill it. Help your teenager develop the habit of noticing gaps and asking: could I be the one to fill this?

Model sadaqah jariyah visibly. What are you building that will outlast you? Do your teenagers know? Do they see you investing in things that will benefit people after you are gone? Legacy is caught as much as taught.

Make du’a for legacy together. The Sulayman ﷺ du’a — asking Allah specifically and boldly for the resources to build something significant — is a du’a you can make as a family. Ask Allah together for what you want to build. Let your teenager see you making that du’a. Let them make their own version of it.

Honor the people whose shade you’re sitting in. Who planted the trees whose shade your family benefits from? Name them. Tell your teenager their stories. Make du’a for them together. That practice builds ummah consciousness, gratitude, and the understanding that they are part of a chain — and that their job is to extend it.

Warning signs that legacy orientation is absent or distorted

Complete short-term thinking — no capacity to defer gratification, no interest in building anything that takes longer than a few months. This is not a moral failing, but a developmental signal that the long-game orientation needs cultivation.

Legacy as performance — the desire to be famous, recognized, and celebrated rather than to genuinely contribute. This is the riya conversation from Night 24 applied to legacy specifically. The distinction between building for visibility and building for impact is worth making explicit.

Paralysis in the face of the question — “I’m too young,” “I’m too ordinary,” “I don’t know what I’m good at.” This is often fear masquerading as humility. The response is the examples: Dawud, al-Bukhari, Sheikh Muhammad al-Shareef — all of whom began in obscurity, all of whom built something that outlasted them.

Discussion questions for families

For teens:

1. What gap do you see in your community, school, or masjid that nobody is filling? What would it take to begin addressing it?
2. If you could ask Allah for anything — specifically, boldly, the way Sulayman ﷺ asked — what would you ask for? What do you want to build?
3. Who is someone whose legacy shaped you — someone whose tree you’re sitting under right now? What did they plant in you?

For parents:

1. Have you told your teenager what you are building that will outlast you? Do they know what your sadaqah jariyah is or could be?
2. How do you talk about success in your home — in terms of achievement and recognition, or in terms of genuine contribution and transformation?
3. What tree are you planting together as a family right now?

For discussion together:

1. Read the sadaqah jariyah hadith together. Which of the three forms of ongoing legacy does your family feel most called to? What would it look like to begin building it?
2. What is the gap in your community that your family could be the ones to fill?
3. Who are the people whose du’a we should be making tonight — the ones whose legacy shaped ours?

The bottom line

Your teenager is standing at the beginning of the long game. The seeds they plant now will be growing for decades. The character they build now is the foundation everything else will rest on. The knowledge they pursue, the habits they form, the trees they plant — these are not preliminary to their legacy.

They are their legacy. Beginning now.

Help them plant something worth leaving. Help them ask Allah boldly for what they need to plant it. Help them understand that the shade they leave is already needed — by people they may never meet, in a future they may never see.

That is the long game. And it begins tonight.

Continue the Journey

This is Night 25 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Night 26 — Taqwa: The Foundation of Everything You Build

For daily extended reflections with journaling prompts, personal stories, and deeper resources, join Dr. Ali’s email community: https://30nightswithquran.beehiiv.com/

Related:

The Why Behind Our Actions | Night 24 with the Qur’an

30 Nights with the Qur’an: A Ramadan Series for Muslim Teens

The post What Will You Leave Behind? Legacy in Islam | Night 25 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

By hosting US bases and colluding with Tel Aviv, Arab states helped bring the destruction they had hoped to avoid.

A monthly digest of key developments in Palestine showcasing powerful images by photojournalists.

No call to prayer. No children playing. Few late night gatherings and hardly any standing mosques. Gaza’s holy month has been a silent one.

Fve Palestinians killed by Israeli settlers in occupied West Bank.

What if someone told you that $30 of your $100 donation went not to buy food or care for children, but into the personal bank account of the person who asked you to give?

The co-authors of “Where Does Your Dollar Go? – How We Can Avoid Another Beydoun Controversy” join Zainab bint Younus on the MuslimMatters podcast to break down the issue of commission-based charities. Are commission-based fundraisers even halal? What do professional fundraisers hold as ethical conduct? Does Muslim fundraising culture need to change?

Tune into this episode for the answers to all this, and more!

Related:

Zakat Eligibility of Islamic Organizations

Can You Give Zakah to Politicians? A Round-Up

The post [Podcast] Is Your Sadaqah Paying an Influencer Instead of Going to Charity? | Mufti Abdullah Nana & Dr Shafi Lodhi appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

This series is a collaboration between Dr. Ali and MuslimMatters, bringing Quranic wisdom to the questions Muslim families are navigating.

Raising Children with Ikhlas in the Age of Social Media — Sincerity, Performance, and the Slow Drift

There is a parenting challenge that didn’t exist a generation ago — and most Muslim parents haven’t fully reckoned with it.

Your teenager is growing up in an environment where virtue is performed publicly by default. Where the good deed undocumented is the good deed that didn’t quite happen. Where the metric of whether something matters is whether people responded to it.

And you are trying to raise a Muslim whose good deeds are for Allah.

Those two realities are in direct tension. And tonight’s episode addresses that tension directly.

This guide is for the parent who wants to understand what their teenager received tonight — and how to reinforce it in a home environment that takes ikhlas seriously.

Why this topic is more urgent now than ever before

The Prophet ﷺ described riya — doing good for an audience other than Allah — as al-shirk al-asghar, the minor shirk. And he said it was what he feared most for his ummah — more than the major sins, more than the Dajjal.

His reasoning, as the scholars explain, is that riya is internal and invisible in a way that external threats are not. The Dajjal can be fled from. Riya has to be confronted within.

Your teenager’s generation faces this challenge at a scale no previous generation has encountered — because the architecture of their social environment is specifically designed to make riya the path of least resistance. Every platform they use rewards performance, visibility, and the optimization of content for audience response. Every metric they are surrounded by measures external validation.

This does not make your teenager uniquely corrupt or weak. It makes them human, in an environment specifically engineered to exploit the human desire for belonging and recognition. Understanding this should produce compassion, not judgment — and a commitment to giving them the tools the environment doesn’t provide.

What Qabil and Habil’s story teaches that most Islamic education misses

The story of Qabil and Habil is usually taught as a story about envy and murder — the first sin committed between human beings after the exit from Jannah.

But the Quranic account begins one step earlier than envy. It begins with the offering.

Habil brought his best — the finest of his flock, held nothing back. Qabil brought the lowest quality of his harvest — something he didn’t value, that cost him nothing real.

Allah accepted Habil’s offering and rejected Qabil’s.

The standard question asked about this story is: why did Qabil kill Habil? The more important question — the one that leads to the ikhlas lesson — is: why was Qabil’s offering rejected in the first place?

The scholars are clear: the rejection was not about the category of the offering — agricultural produce versus livestock — it was about the quality of what was given and the intention behind it. Habil gave his best because he was genuinely giving to Allah. Qabil gave his worst because he was going through a motion — performing the act of offering without the substance of it.

And when the performance was exposed — when the acceptance went to his brother and not to him — Qabil’s response was rage. The rage of someone whose performance didn’t get the reaction it was supposed to get.

That distinction — between the grief of sincere rejection and the rage of performance disappointed — is one of the most practically useful tools you can give your teenager for examining their own intentions. When your good deed doesn’t receive the response you hoped for, which reaction do you feel? That reaction is data.

The slow drift — what parents need to understand

One of the most important things tonight’s video communicates — and one that parents need to understand clearly — is that riya is almost never a decision. It is a drift.

Your teenager is unlikely to consciously choose to do their good deeds for an audience rather than for Allah. What is likely is that the drift will happen gradually, imperceptibly, through the accumulated effect of an environment that constantly rewards external validation.

The stages of the drift, as the classical scholars identified them:

It begins with a genuinely sincere act. Someone notices and responds positively. The positive response feels good — as it should; Allah created human beings to value belonging and recognition. The good feeling becomes part of the motivation. The motivation gradually becomes mixed. And eventually, without any single conscious decision, the deed is being done primarily for the audience.

The signal that reveals how far the drift has gone is the deflation that appears when a good deed goes unseen. When the prayer is made and no one notices. If that deflation is present — and significant — something has shifted in the foundation of the intention.

This signal is not a condemnation. It is information that can be addressed — through the practices the video described: the secret deed and the tajdid al-niyyah, the renewal of intention before each act.

Your role as a parent is to help your teenager develop the habit of self-examination that makes catching the drift possible before it goes too far.

The Imam al-Bukhari model — what to teach your teenager about legacy and ikhlas

The story of Imam al-Bukhari that tonight’s video tells is one of the most powerful illustrations of ikhlas in the Islam — and it deserves extended attention in your home.

Al-Bukhari arrived in Baghdad to the greeting of tens of thousands. He left alone, driven out by the envy of scholars who spread rumors about him. He returned to obscurity. He died in a small village with almost no one present.

Yet, before every single hadith he recorded — in what would become the most authenticated book in Islamic history after the Quran — he made ghusl, prayed two rakaat, and made istikharah regarding the authenticity of what he was about to record.

Every hadith. Ghusl. Two rakaat. Istikharah. For years.

That practice — invisible, unglamorous, known only to Allah — is the foundation of a book that a billion people have benefited from for a thousand years.

There is a conversation worth having explicitly with your teenager about this: the relationship between ikhlas and legacy. The deed done purely for Allah — without regard for audience, recognition, or immediate reward — carries a weight that nothing else does. Al-Bukhari’s work outlasted every critic, every rumor, every empty hall by a millennium.

Your teenager is building something right now. The question is what it is built on — and for whom.

The 59:19 warning for parents

Tonight’s video also introduced an ayah that deserves careful attention from parents as well as teenagers:

“And do not be like those who forgot Allah, so He made them forget themselves.” [59:19]

The application to parenting is direct and somewhat uncomfortable.

Muslim parents who are primarily raising their children for the approval of the community — whose primary anxieties are about what other Muslims will think, whose primary measures of success are whether their children appear religious enough in public — are, in a very real sense, modeling the very dynamic this ayah warns against.

If your teenager grows up in a home where Islamic practice is primarily performed for a community audience — where the question is always “what will people think?” rather than “does this please Allah?” — they will absorb that framework. And they will apply it to their own practice.

The ikhlas conversation begins not with your teenager, but with you. Are you modeling a relationship with Allah that is genuinely between you and Him — or a performance of religiosity for a community audience?

That question is worth sitting with honestly before the conversation with your teenager begins.

Practical guidance for parents

Create a culture of the secret deed at home. Make it a family practice to regularly do good things that no one will know about. Give sadaqah anonymously together. Do acts of service without documenting or mentioning them. Make the secret deed a normal, celebrated part of your family’s Islamic life — not the exception but the expected.

Talk about motivation explicitly. When your teenager does something good, make it normal to ask: what was behind that? This builds the habit of examining motivation, rather than just evaluating the action.

Separate Islamic practice from community performance carefully. Be intentional about which aspects of your family’s Islamic practice are for Allah and which are for community visibility. Where the two have become confused, work to disentangle them. Your teenager is watching.

Share the Bukhari story in full. Read it together. Ask: what would you have done in the empty hall? What does his response — “I came with an intention and I didn’t want to abandon my intention” — say about what ikhlas actually looks like under pressure?

Discussion questions for families

For teens:

1. When was the last time you did something good that no one knows about? How did it feel compared to things people saw?
2. What does al-Bukhari’s response in the empty hall — “I came with an intention and I didn’t want to abandon my intention” — mean to you personally?

For parents:

1. Are you modeling ikhlas for your teenager — or are you modeling the performance of religiosity for a community audience? Be honest.
2. How does your family handle public recognition of good deeds? Do you celebrate the secret deed as much as the visible one?
3. When your teenager’s good deed goes unnoticed or unappreciated — how do you respond? Do you reinforce Allah’s awareness, or do you focus on the injustice of the lack of recognition?

For discussion together:

1. Read Al-Ma’idah 5:27 together — the story of Qabil and Habil’s offerings. What does Habil’s response tell you about what ikhlas actually looks like under pressure?
2. What is one practice our family can build together to protect and strengthen our ikhlas?
3. If no one ever saw or knew about any good deed our family did — would we still do them with the same effort and care?

The bottom line

Your teenager is growing up in an environment where the performance of virtue is not just possible, but sadly, the default. Where every good deed can be documented, shared, and measured by audience response.

In that environment, ikhlas — doing good for Allah alone — is not the path of least resistance. It is a spiritual discipline that has to be actively cultivated, protected, and practiced.

The tools exist. The secret deed. The check of the deflation feeling. Tajdid al-niyyah. The example of al-Bukhari in the empty room.

Give your teenager those tools. Model them yourself. Build a home where the question is always: who is this for?

The One who was watching before anyone else was — is still watching. And His reward does not require a caption.

Continue the Journey

This is Night 24 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Night 25 — What Will You Leave Behind? Legacy, sadaqah jariyah, and planting trees whose shade you won’t sit in.

For daily extended reflections with journaling prompts, personal stories, and deeper resources, join Dr. Ali’s email community: https://30nightswithquran.beehiiv.com/

Related:

Your Place in the Ummah | Night 23 with the Qur’an

30 Nights with the Qur’an: A Ramadan Series for Muslim Teens

The post The Why Behind Our Actions | Night 24 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Ramadan has a way of surfacing what we usually manage to keep buried. 

Through our constant snacking, scrolling, and background noise playing, we rely on small escapes throughout the day without noticing. When this blessed month arrives and strips away our regular coping mechanisms, the old grief, the shorter fuse, and the fatigue suddenly loom. The self remains exposed and, for many, pained and unsettled.

The Qur’an Foreshadows Difficulty – and Trains Us for It

Ramadan’s intensive schedule mirrors the discomfort and disruption that life’s trials bring to the believer. 

How beautiful then, that Allah frames Ramadan as the month of the Qur’an [Surah Al-Baqarah 2:185], which repeatedly returns us to sabr (patience, steadfastness, endurance) in moments of difficulty. The Qur’an does not mention patience once but returns to it again and again, as if anticipating how quickly we succumb to pain:

 

“And be patient, [O Muhammad], and your patience is not but through Allah . And do not grieve over them and do not be in distress over what they conspire.” [Surah An-Nahl 16:127]

“So be patient. Indeed, the promise of Allah is truth. And let them not disquiet you who are not certain [in faith].” [Surah Ar-Rum 30:60]

 

“O you who have believed, persevere and endure and remain stationed and fear Allah that you may be successful” [Surah ‘Ali-Imran 3:200]

“O my son, establish prayer, enjoin what is right, forbid what is wrong, and be patient over what befalls you. Indeed, [all] that is of the matters [requiring] determination.” [Surah Luqman 31:17]

“And We will surely test you with something of fear and hunger and a loss of wealth and lives and fruits, but give good tidings to the patient” [Surah Al-Baqarah 2:155]

Patience is not the Absence of Pain

These verses do not promise exemption from pain; rather, they soberly remind us to expect difficulty. However, the Qur’an does promise orientation within the pain through the practice of sabr, inviting us into an active spiritual effort. The Qur’an illustrates that the one who demonstrates patience actively resists the narratives that pain tempts us to believe: that we have been abandoned, that we are deserving of punishment, that this pain is meaningless, that ease must be sought immediately at any cost. In other words, we understand that patience does not magically remove pain, merely that impatience (i.e., panic, despair, agitation) compounds it. Patience involves staying upright in the midst of discomfort without surrendering to despair, resentment, or a diminished opinion of Allah . 

The Prophet ﷺ embodied this understanding of patience. When people came to him, overwhelmed by hardship, his counsel was often simple and direct: be patient. Nowadays, some may misinterpret such advice as a platitude or a dismissal of pain. However, neither the Qur’an, nor the Prophet ﷺ, romanticize suffering. Rather, the teachings from the Qur’an and sunnah explicitly suggest that personal growth, purification (tazkiya), and moral formation are all benefits to be earned from practicing patience. 

Why Modern Life Is Making Us Spiritually Brittle

This approach stands in stark contrast to modern life, which sells us instant escape at every moment. Comfort, convenience, and immediate gratification beckon to us, quietly compel us to soothe every discomfort, even at the lowest level. As a result, we collectively lose our tolerance for difficulty, leaving us increasingly brittle and emotionally dysregulated. 

True sabr, as our scholars have taught, invites an inner struggle to remain intact when everything in the lower self (nafs) demands immediate relief. Through purposeful steadfastness, sabr disciplines the nafs. Fasting in Ramadan is our 30-day invitation to forgo our usual appetitive coping mechanisms in search of higher self-based modalities until the relief of the adhan at Maghrib echoes through the speakers. Ramadan, then, recalibrates our relationship to discomfort itself. 

Sabr and Self-Soothing: Two Languages for the Same Work

But what does it look like to be patient? How does one actually do that? In contemporary therapeutic language, the ability to regulate one’s nervous system in moments of stress without resorting to numbing or dismissive behaviors requires self-soothing. Self-soothing may very well be the modern adaptation of sabr in that it is about containment, allowing a person to remain present and grounded even in the midst of pain. 

Practicing self-soothing might look like deliberately pausing to breathe before responding right away to a message that triggers anxiety (i.e., heart rate spikes, thoughts race). The message remains, but you meet it from a place of steadiness rather than pain. Practicing self-soothing might also look like accepting that a season of life has shifted, when “home” has moved, and what once felt close now feels distant. There is grief in that awareness, and time cannot reverse the movement. Self-soothing offers the quiet work of tenderly cradling what feels heavy.

As a tradition, Islam understands patience as an active spiritual discipline. Shaykh ad-Darqawi once captured the concept of sabr with disarming clarity when someone was overwhelmed with dismay, stating, “Relax your mind and learn to swim.” Sabr, practiced through self-soothing, asks us to breathe deeply, trust that we are being carried, and remain afloat even when sometimes all we can manage is to keep our head above water.

Practices That Strengthen Spiritual Endurance

Suggestions for self-soothing practices abound. Anyone looking for self-soothing techniques rooted in an Islamic paradigm may strengthen their ability to endure through the following:

• Regulating breath: Slow, intentional breathing is one of the most effective ways to calm the nervous system and quell spiraling thoughts. I like to pair breathwork with remembrance through dhikr, anchoring every breath in the Divine Presence.
• Physical containment: Therapeutic practices recommend a self-hug to create a sense of safety. One may wrap oneself in one’s arms or use a weighted blanket to wrap around the body. We remember that Sayyida Khadija enfolded the Prophet ﷺ in a cloak following the frightening encounter in the cave. 
• Repetition and ritual: Ritual grounds and comforts us. Fixed acts such as wudu and salah – when the body instinctively moves from muscle memory – provide stability when external circumstances scream instability. 
• Grounding through sound: Sound, or melody, has a powerful regulatory effect on the brain. The Qur’an – literally translated as The Recitation – describes itself as a shifa, or healing. The melodic recitation of the Qur’an provides spiritual and neurological stability. 
• Meaning: Distress intensifies when pain feels random or meaningless. After one uses the above somatic therapies to contain the pain felt in the body, one may move into reframing the hardship as purposeful. The Qur’an consistently explains that Allah sees our struggle, our pain, and is with us through it all. Sabr sustains this meaning, reminding us that nothing is lost with The Most Compassionate.

When Meaning and Melody Carry Us

The last two suggestions in this list provide the motivation behind “The Trials Playlist,” a small collection of Qur’anic chapters to play on audio when we find ourselves in the midst of hardship. Think of each chapter listed as a “track,” not in a trivial sense, but as points of return when in need of melody and meaning. Each “track” can be listened to in Arabic, allowing the cadence of recitation to do its neurological and spiritual work, or in English (for example, through The Clear Quran app), so the meanings can be received directly.

The playlist is by no means a fixed list, only my personal go-tos in my work as a chaplain. Reader, you should feel free to substitute chapters that speak to you personally. But for those who want somewhere to begin, here is a starting list.

The Trials Playlist, or Qur’an Chapters for Hard Days Access the ready “playlist” here.

• Al Fatiha (The Opener) – The anchor chapter, nicknamed Al-Shifa (The Healing), we return to again and again, often described as an intimate conversation between Lord and servant. We begin here to welcome Allah’s blessings and Divine openings as we seek Him.

Centering verse: “You [alone] we worship and You [alone] we ask for help.” [1:5]

• Ad-Duha (The Morning Hours) – Revealed to Prophet Muhammad after a painful pause in revelation as reassurance that silence is not abandonment and a reminder that Allah is always there. 

Centering verse: “Your Lord has not abandoned you, nor has He become hateful of you.” [93:3]

• Ash-Sharh (The Relief) – Closely paired with Ad-Duha in meaning and comfort, providing a reframe of hardship as an experience that carries ease within it, encouraging us to look for the ease in the midst of the difficulty. 

Centering verse: “Surely with hardship comes ease.” [94:5]

• Yusuf (Joseph) – A poignant narrative of overcoming immense adverse experiences through sustained patience and trust in Allah’s unfolding Mercy. It also honors grief in the story of Ya’qub and his model of endurance. 

Centering verse: “I complain of my anguish and sorrow only to Allah.” [12:86]

• As-Sajda (The Prostration) – A sobering reminder of Allah’s Majesty and complete Governance. For those feeling wronged and unseen, it restores moral clarity. 

Centering verse: “It is Allah Who has created the heavens and the earth and everything in between in six Days, then established Himself on the Throne. You have no protector or intercessor besides Him. Will you not then be mindful?” [32:4]

• Ta-Ha – Known for the account connected to Umar ibn al Khattab’s turning point toward Islam. A steadying surah for those feeling overwhelmed. Heartfelt reminder that Allah sees all of our trials and challenges, and He is preparing us for our destiny. Every story within repeats the lesson that whoever walks this path with Allah as their Companion will find every obstacle surmountable. 

Centering verse(s): “You are always watching over us.” [20:35] … “So We reunited you with your mother so that her heart would be put at ease, and she would not grieve. ˹Later˺ you killed a man ˹by mistake˺, but We saved you from sorrow, as well as other tests We put you through. Then you stayed for a number of years among the people of Midian. Then you came here as pre-destined, O  Moses!” [20:40]

• Al-Kahf (The Cave) – A weekly stabilizer (encouraged to read on Fridays) that trains us in priorities and how to conduct oneself in the midst of challenges. In particular, the story of Musa with the righteous teacher provides an important perspective about tests, trials, and Allah’s intricate Plan. Musa’s teacher repeatedly reminds Musa (and, by extension, all of us) to practice patience in the face of what we cannot comprehend.

Centering verse: “How can you be patient with what is beyond your knowledge?” [18:68]

• Al-Hadid (The Iron) – A teacher once advised me to read this surah when I feel depleted because the chapter’s name suggests strength and fortification, provided through multiple reminders of the akhirah as our ultimate goal. It reassures us that what is meant for us will reach us, and what reaches us is never fully ours anyway. 

Centering verse(s): “No calamity [or blessing] occurs on earth or in yourselves without being written in a Record before We bring it into being. This is certainly easy for Allah. [57:22] “We let you know this so that you neither grieve over what you have missed nor boast over what He has granted you.” [57:23]

I pray that each of these chapters offers you companionship, a way to remain present with pain. This patient presence includes an ongoing effort to regulate the self without abandoning trust in God, to endure discomfort without fleeing meaning, and to remain oriented toward the Divine when relief is slow to appear. 

 

Related:

– The MuslimMatters Ramadan Podcast Playlist 2025

– Quranic Verses For Steadfastness For The Valiant Protesters On Campus

The post The Trials Playlist: A Chaplain’s Set To Steady Your Heart appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Ramadan arrives every year wrapped in images of community — crowded masjid halls, long iftar tables, families gathered in warm circles of light. But some believers enter the sacred month quietly, carrying a loneliness they don’t know how to name – even at this point in the holy month.

Some walk into Ramadan without a masjid that feels like home. Without a community that sees them. Without the comfort of belonging.

They fast alone. They break their fast alone. They pray in the corners of their bedrooms while the world posts pictures of taraweeh rows and communal du‘ā’.

And yet… Allah sees them.

He sees the believer who worships in isolation, not by choice but by circumstance. He sees the one who longs for a spiritual home but finds none. He sees the heart that feels uninvited by people yet refuses to turn away from Him.

In Surah ad-Duha, Allah reminds the Prophet ﷺ:

“Did He not find you lost and guide you?” [Surah Ad-Dhuha 93:7]

This verse is not only history — it is a lifeline. It is for every believer who feels spiritually displaced. It is for the ones who enter Ramadan with a quiet ache, hoping this month will stitch something inside them back together.

Because the truth is this: Ramadan is not owned by communities. It is not owned by masajid. It is not owned by those who have spiritual abundance.

Ramadan belongs to Allah — and Allah gives it to whom He wills.

For the spiritually homeless, Ramadan becomes something different. It becomes a sanctuary built not by people, but by God Himself.

When you eat suhoor alone, the angels keep you company. When you break your fast in silence, Allah is the One who witnesses it. When you pray taraweeh in your room, your footsteps are written in the heavens. When you whisper du‘ā’ with no one to say “ameen,” the angels say it for you.

Your worship is not small. Your worship is not lacking. Your worship is not unseen.

Sometimes, the most beloved acts to Allah are the ones done far from the eyes of people.

So even at this point in Ramadan, if you feel spiritually homeless, make this your du‘ā’:

“My Lord, expand for me my chest. Make my path gentle. Make my heart a home for Your light.”

Let this be the month where you stop waiting for a community to invite you in — and instead allow Allah to invite you to Himself.

There is still time. May this Ramadan be a sanctuary for your uninvited heart. May Allah make you among those He draws close in the quiet, in the unseen, in the places where only He can find you.

And may you discover that you were never spiritually homeless — you were simply being guided home to Him.

 

Related:

– The Many Faces Of Ramadan

– When Ramadan Arrives To Heal What Life Has Broken

 

The post Ramadan For The Spiritually Homeless appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

A new report traces the ordeal of one family, from the killing of three brothers to the torture of survivors.

Tel Aviv envoy seeks to allay business lobby’s fears of sanctions.

My Lord, I cannot account for the praises that are due to You; You are as You praise Yourself.

Sublime is the Countenance of Your Face; Exalted is Your position. You do as You will by Your Power and Ability, and You decree as You want by Your Honor.

O Allah, we seek refuge in You from knowledge that does not benefit; and from a heart that is not humbled in devotion to You; and from an eye that does not weep (out of love and Fear of You); and from inner cravings that are never satisfied; and from a supplication that is not heard.

I take refuge in the perfect words of Allah from His anger & punishment & from the evil of His servants & from the touch & appearance of devils.

Ya Allah there is no strength or ability except by Your Leave. Ya Allah, I ask You the request of the weak & needy. Ya Allah by the sacredness of this Month that is soon to end, I pray to You alone for my need.

I ask for security from fear, a cure from every ailment, prosperity after austerity, happiness that ends sorrow, love that bars hate, rizq that I share with others, children that grow under Your Hidaaya & parents that live long & worship You until the end.

La hawla wa laa quwata illa bik.

Ya Allah give me sabr in calamity, temperance in anger, humility in success, forgiveness in offense, kindness in authority & charity in wealth.

Ya Allah bless us with the Quran. Allow me to learn of it that which I know not and permit me the remembrance of that which I was led to forget. Ya Allah illuminate my heart with Your Words, release my stress with its rhythm, elevate my spirit with its message, cleanse my error with its healing and increase my love for You through its Wisdom. Ya Allah cure us with Al-Quran and protect us with its blessing.

Ya Allah, forgive me & forgive those who forgive me.

Ya Rabb, You alone open hearts & remove feebleness from it. Ya Rabb strengthen our stance through qiyam & weaken our lewd desire with siyaam. Lift our fear with the Quran and extinguish our sins with generosity. Brighten our eyes with righteous children and bless us with the dua of our parents. Ya Rabb allow us comfort in our spouse& fill our home with compassionate mercy.

Ya Allah, I seek Your forgiveness for all the times I spoke when I should have listened; became angry instead of patient and reacted when I should have waited.

Ya Allah, I seek Your Forgiveness for indifference when I should have encouraged; criticized when I should have educated and reprimanded when I should have forgiven.

Ya Allah, Forgive those who wrong me & let my prayer for them be Light for me.

I take refuge in the perfect words of Allah from His anger & punishment & from the evil of His creation & from the touch & appearance of devils.

Ya Allah, I call You & want none but You. I call upon You, with All Your Names, for All Your Kindness that removes harm and secures tranquility. I call to You with Your treasured Name that unties the binds, & cures the ailment & replenishes the weak. Ya arhama-raahimeen renew my faith & expel my doubt and provide me what others are withheld.

Ya Rabb! To You alone I raise my hands in supplication, bend my back in adoration & dust my face in prostration.

Ya Allah Your blessings are incalculable & my requests are many. But You are the Light of the Heavens & the Earth, & with You is the Matter in its entirety.

I beg nearness to You through righteousness in word, deed & conscious intention.

Ya Allah, to You I complain & with You I find comfort. To You I supplicate and with You is the answer.

To You I turn & with You I find protection.

To You I vow & with You is my ability.

Ya Rahman ya Raheem, Ya Hayyu ya Qayyoom, biraahmatika astagheeth! Your Mercy I seek.

Related:

What Shaykh Muhammad Al Shareef Taught Us About Making Dua

Beyond Longing – Dua: A Deliberate Act Of Divine Love

The post Speaking to Allah in the 10 Nights of Ramadan | Part 1 appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

This series is a collaboration between Dr. Ali and MuslimMatters, bringing Quranic wisdom to the questions Muslim families are navigating.

Raising Children Who Feel the Ummah

There is a specific kind of Muslim parent anxiety that doesn’t get talked about enough.

It’s not the anxiety about whether your teenager is praying or fasting or wearing hijab — as important as those things are. It’s the anxiety about whether your teenager feels like they belong to something. Whether they have a community that is real enough, warm enough, present enough to support them when things get hard.

Because you know — perhaps from your own experience — that a Muslim who truly feels they are part of the ummah is a very different person from a Muslim who practices alone. And you’re not sure, looking at your teenager, which one they are becoming.

Tonight’s episode addresses that directly. And this guide is for the parent who wants to understand what their teenager received — and what you can do to reinforce it at home.

The loneliness diagnosis

The cultural context tonight’s video opens with is worth sitting with as a parent: your teenager’s generation is the most connected and one of the most lonely in recorded history.

This is not a peripheral observation. It is the central challenge of raising Muslim teenagers in the West today — because the ummah’s answer to loneliness only works if the ummah is functioning as it was designed to function.

The Prophet ﷺ described the Muslim community as a single body — one in which every part feels the pain of every other part, and the whole system responds. That is the design. That is what Islam offers your teenager as an alternative to the hollow connection of social media and the transactional relationships of peer culture.

But for that offer to be real — for it to be something your teenager can actually access — it has to exist somewhere near them. It has to be embodied in a community they can show up to, be seen in, and be held by.

The question for Muslim parents is not just: does my teenager understand the concept of ummah? It is: does my teenager have actual experience of it? Have they felt the body respond to them? Have they seen what it looks like when Muslims show up for each other at real cost?

If the answer is no — or not yet — then building that experience is part of your work as a parent.

What the single body hadith actually demands

The hadith of the single body is quoted frequently in Muslim communities. It is less frequently practiced.

What it demands — taken seriously — is that the wellbeing of every Muslim is your business. Not in an intrusive or controlling sense, but in the sense that a body takes its own health seriously. You don’t ignore a wound in your finger because it’s far from your heart. You respond.

For Muslim parents, this means several things practically:

It means your home should be a place where the struggles of the broader Muslim community are felt and prayed for — not just noted and scrolled past. When your teenager sees you stop at news of Muslim suffering somewhere in the world and make du’a — specifically, by name, with genuine feeling — they are learning what ummah consciousness looks like in real life.

It means your family’s relationship to your local Muslim community should be one of investment and presence, not just attendance. The difference between a family that shows up to the masjid and a family that is genuinely embedded in the community — present for each other’s joys and hardships, available when someone needs them — is the difference between knowing about the ummah and experiencing it.

It means that when your teenager struggles — with doubt, depression, shame, or any of the things Week 3 addressed — the community around them should be the kind that responds, rather than judges. And if it isn’t yet, you can work to make it so.

Kuntum khayra ummah — raising a Muslim who understands their role in the world

One of the most important gifts you can give your teenager is a correct understanding of kuntum khayra ummah — and that means correcting two common misreadings before they take root.

The first misreading is arrogance. “We are the best ummah” read as superiority — as a reason to disengage from or look down on the non-Muslim world. This reading contradicts everything the Prophet ﷺ modeled and produces Muslims who are isolated, self-referential, and unable to fulfill the actual purpose of the ayah.

The second misreading is passivity. “Allah said we’re the best, so we must be fine as we are.” This ignores the fact that the ayah defines the best ummah by three active qualities — enjoining right, forbidding wrong, and believing in Allah. It is a description of what you do, not a permanent status you hold regardless of your actions.

The correct reading is both humbling and galvanizing: you are part of a community that was brought forth — ukhrijat, sent out — for the benefit of all of humanity. Lil-nas — for people. Not just for Muslims. For the whole human family.

This means your teenager’s engagement with the non-Muslim world around them is not a compromise of their Muslim identity. It is one of the primary expressions of it. The Muslim teen who is known in their school for integrity, kindness, and showing up for people regardless of their background — that teenager is living kuntum khayra ummah in a suburban high school.

Help your teenager understand that their presence in the broader world is purposeful. They are not there despite being Muslim. They are there as Muslims — brought forth, for the people around them.

The inheritance conversation — what your teenager owes and what they will pass on

One of the most powerful sections of tonight’s video is the invitation to trace the chain of how Islam reached your teenager — through the generations of ordinary Muslims who kept the prayer alive, the Quran memorized, the community functioning, until it eventually reached your family.

This conversation is worth having explicitly at home. Not as a guilt trip — your teenager didn’t choose the inheritance and doesn’t owe a debt they can’t repay. But as a source of identity and responsibility.

Do you know how Islam reached our family? That question, asked genuinely and answered honestly — with stories, with names, with the specific details of your family’s Islamic history — gives your teenager a sense of being part of something larger than their individual life. A chain that came from somewhere and is going somewhere.

And then the forward-facing question: what are you building that someone after you will receive?

That question reframes your teenager’s ordinary choices — whether to maintain their practice, invest in their community, be a consistent example of Muslim character in their school — as acts of chain-building. Acts of passing something on.

They are always passing something on. The only question is what.

The jama’ah — why community is not optional

One of the clearest teachings of tonight’s video is that the jama’ah — the Muslim community — is not a lifestyle preference. The entire structure of Islamic practice assumes community. Jama’ah prayer. Friday prayer. Zakat. Marriage. Janazah. None of these make sense in isolation.

For Muslim parents in the West, this means that finding, building, and investing in a local Muslim community is not optional enrichment for your teenager’s Islamic life. It is a structural necessity.

This is harder in some contexts than others. Many Muslim families live far from a masjid or in communities where the local Muslim population is small or scattered. A number of teenagers find the masjid culture alienating — dominated by older generations, conducted in languages they don’t speak, not designed with them in mind.

These are real challenges. But the response to them cannot be withdrawal. It has to be engagement — finding what exists, investing in it despite its imperfections, and where necessary, building what doesn’t exist yet. This entire series, in fact, is an effort to do just that – build something for the needs of our young Muslims – the next generation.

Your teenager’s generation is, in many Western Muslim communities, the generation that will either build the institutions that the next generation needs — or leave a gap that will be very hard to fill. That is not a burden to place on a teenager. It is an inheritance being placed in their hands.

Help them receive it with the seriousness and the excitement it deserves.

Warning signs that ummah disconnection has become serious

Normal teenage ambivalence about the Muslim community — finding the masjid boring, feeling like they don’t fit in, preferring their non-Muslim friends — is not cause for alarm. It is developmentally expected and can be addressed through the practical steps above.

The following indicate something more serious:

• Active rejection of Muslim identity — not just ambivalence about the community, but a desire to distance themselves from being Muslim altogether.
• Complete social isolation — no Muslim friends, no connection to any Muslim community, and no non-Muslim friendships either. Isolation from all community simultaneously.
• Expressing that they have no one to turn to when things are hard — that there is no community, Muslim or otherwise, that would show up for them.

If these are present, the work needed goes beyond community investment — it likely includes the mental health support resources from Week 3, and a deeper conversation about belonging and identity.

Discussion questions for families

For teens:

1. Do you feel like you belong to the Muslim ummah — not just in theory, but actually? What would make that feeling more real?
2. Who in your life — Muslim or non-Muslim — have you shown up for recently in a way that cost you something?
3. What does kuntum khayra ummah mean for how you engage with the non-Muslim people around you at school?

For parents:

1. Does your teenager have actual experience of the ummah functioning as a body — of Muslims showing up for each other at real cost? If not, how can you create that experience?
2. How do you talk about the broader Muslim community at home? Do your teenagers hear you speak of it with love, with investment, with the language of belonging?
3. Have you told your teenager the story of how Islam reached your family? Do they know the chain they are part of?

For discussion together:

1. Read the hadith of the single body together. Which part of the Muslim ummah do you feel most connected to? Which part feels most distant?
2. What would it look like for our family to be more involved in our local Muslim community — not just attending, but genuinely present?
3. What are we building together, as a family, that the generation after us will receive?

 

The bottom line

Your teenager is part of something fourteen centuries old, spanning every nation on earth, held together by a shared testimony and a shared direction of prayer.

That is not abstract. That is an identity, a community, and a responsibility — all at once.

Your job as a parent is to make that real for them. To give them actual experience of the body functioning. To help them understand that they were brought forth — specifically, deliberately — for the benefit of the people around them.

They are not just themselves. They never were.

Help them live like it.

Continue the Journey

This is Night 23 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Night 24 — Doing Great Things for the Right Reasons: Ambition, Ikhlas, and the Danger of Doing Good for the Wrong Master

For daily extended reflections with journaling prompts, personal stories, and deeper resources, join Dr. Ali’s email community: https://30nightswithquran.beehiiv.com/

Related:

What’s My Purpose? | Night 22 with the Qur’an

30 Nights with the Qur’an: A Ramadan Series for Muslim Teens

The post Your Place in the Ummah | Night 23 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Zakah is often described as a financial obligation. Yet in reality, it is one of Islam’s most profound acts of spiritual discipline, shaping how believers understand wealth, responsibility, and trust in Allah .

Allah says in the Qur’an:

“Take, [O, Muhammad], from their wealth a charity by which you purify them and cause them increase, and invoke [ Allah’s blessings] upon them. Indeed, your invocations are reassurance for them. And Allah is Hearing and Knowing.” [Surah At-Tawbah 9:103]

The Prophet ﷺ also reminded us:

“Charity does not decrease wealth.”[Sahīh Muslim]

Zakah is often reduced to a number.

2.5%.

A calculation entered into a spreadsheet. 

A reminder set in a calendar. 

A transfer made before a deadline.

For many of us, this is where our relationship with zakah begins, and sometimes where it quietly ends. We fulfil it because it is the third of the five pillars of Islam, and because we do not wish to fall short. And while obedience is never small in the sight of Allah , zakah was never meant to be confined to arithmetic alone.

Zakah purifies wealth, but more importantly, it purifies the heart that holds it.

This is why the Qur’an speaks of zakah not merely as charity, but as purification.

In the Qur’an, Allah repeatedly pairs prayer with zakah, reminding us that worship is not confined to private devotion. How we handle our wealth reflects our imaan. What we release for the sake of Allah says as much about us as what we guard.

Understanding Nisab and Calculating Zakah

Zakah becomes legally obligatory when a Muslim’s wealth reaches the nisab – the minimum threshold, and a full lunar year passes while it remains above that amount. At that point, 2.5% of qualifying savings and assets become due.12

Classical jurists derived the nisab from Prophetic guidance that fixed the threshold at twenty dinars of gold or two hundred dirhams of silver. In contemporary terms, scholars approximate this as about3:

• 87.48 grams of gold
• 612.36 grams of silver

In the Hanafī madhhab, the value of silver is typically used to determine the nisab threshold and eligibility for zakah. The other schools of law generally calculate the nisab based on the value of gold.

Because the value of these metals fluctuates, the monetary value of the nisab changes throughout the year.4 When a person’s qualifying wealth reaches this threshold and remains above it for a lunar year, zakah becomes obligatory.

This ruling applies equally to men and women. Islam recognises each legally responsible Muslim as financially accountable before Allah . In the Hanafi school, zakah is obligatory upon a Muslim who is legally responsible (sane and mature) and possesses wealth above the nisab. In some other schools of law, zakah may also be due on the wealth of minors if it reaches the nisab, with a guardian responsible for paying it on their behalf. This diversity of interpretation reflects the careful legal reasoning developed by scholars across the Islamic tradition. Zakah, therefore, is tied not to gender or status but to ownership and responsibility.

Wealth may be visible or quiet: savings accumulated over time, gold received as gifts, inheritance, investments, business income. Yet Islam counts what we own, not how publicly we hold it.

Zakah generally applies to liquid wealth: savings, cash, investments, business assets, and, according to many scholars, gold and silver. Everyday essentials such as clothing, furniture, mobile phones, electronic devices or the home one lives in are not subject to zakah. If one’s wealth does not reach the nisab, zakah is not due. The law of Allah is not burdensome; it is measured, precise, and merciful.

There are also scholarly differences, particularly regarding jewellery. In the Hanafi school, gold and silver jewellery, even when worn, are considered zakatable if they reach the nisab5. Other schools generally regard personal jewellery intended for regular use as exempt.6

What matters most, is following sound and reliable knowledge with consistency rather than anxiety.

The Inner Meaning of Zakah

Beyond the rulings lies something deeper.

Zakah is not generosity; it is a right of those whom Allah names in the Qur’an: the poor, the indebted, the vulnerable, those striving in His cause.7 It is not about rescuing others; it is about restoring balance. It acknowledges that wealth circulates by Allah’s Decree and that some of what we hold belongs, by right, to others.

Allah says:

“And in their wealth there is a known right,

for the one who asks and the one deprived.” [Surah Al-Ma’arij 70:24–25)

Letting go of 2.5% can still feel difficult. In a world that teaches us to prepare for every uncertainty, releasing wealth requires trust. Zakah gently disrupts the illusion of control. It reminds us that security does not lie in accumulation, but in reliance upon the Provider.

Even its structure contains mercy. If wealth drops below the nisab during the year, the zakah year resets. If it remains above the threshold, zakah is due only on what one owns at the end of the lunar year. Precision replaces panic.

It is also important to distinguish between zakah and sadaqah. Zakah is fixed, obligatory, and rights-based. Sadaqah is voluntary and expansive.8 One cannot replace the other. Together, they cultivate a heart that gives with discipline and compassion.

From Calculation to Consciousness

There is barakah in intentionality.

Zakah given mechanically fulfils a duty. Zakah given consciously softens the heart. Before transferring the amount, pause. Name it for what it is: worship. Gratitude. A recognition that what you hold is a trust from Allah .

Ultimately, zakah is an invitation – an invitation to align faith with finances and devotion with justice. It teaches that spirituality is not abstract. It lives in quiet calculations made for the sake of Allah .

Perhaps this is the deeper secret of zakah: it loosens the heart before it lightens the account. It teaches us to release without fear and to trust the One who promises that nothing given in His cause is ever lost.

When a believer gives zakah with awareness, they affirm that provision comes from Allah , that dignity belongs to every member of the ummah, and that nothing given sincerely for His sake is ever lost.

As the Qur’an reminds us:

“Say, “Indeed, my Lord extends provision for whom He wills of His servants and restricts [it] for him. But whatever thing you spend [in His cause] – He will compensate it; and He is the best of providers.“ [Surah Saba 34:39]

 

Related:

– Keep Zakat Sacred: A Right Of The Poor, Not A Political Tool

– Can You Give Zakah to Politicians? A Round-Up

1    Zakat calculator | Islamic Relief UK 2    How to calculate the Zakat – IslamQA3    Zakat Nisab – IslamQA 4    Nisab Value – What is Nisab? – Zakat and Nisab | Islamic Relief UK5    How does a Wife Who Has No Source of Income Pay Zakat on Her Jewellery?6     Zakat on jewellery | Islamic Relief UK Does One pay Zakat on Gold Jewelry? – IslamQA 7    Qur’an 9:60 (Sūrat al-Tawbah). 8    Difference between Zakat and Sadaqah | Islamic Relief UK

The post Zakah: More Than The 2.5% – Where Wealth Meets Worship appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Most of us grow up understanding Ramadan as the month you stop eating and drinking from Fajr to Maghrib. And that’s true. But if we’re truly honest with ourselves, that framing barely scratches the surface of what fasting is actually asking of us. 

I’ve come to realize that fasting, in the fullest sense, isn’t just about the stomach. It never was. The scholars of our tradition described fasting as having three distinct levels, each one deeper than the last, each one asking more of us than we might be comfortable giving.1 And understanding all three isn’t just an academic exercise. It’s what separates a Ramadan that changes you from a Ramadan you simply get through. The honest question we should all be sitting with is: which level am I actually at? 

Now, as we enter the last ten nights, that question becomes even more urgent. These are not ordinary nights. These are the nights the entire month has been building toward. Don’t let them pass as just more days of hunger and thirst. Let them be the nights where all three levels of fasting come fully alive. 

Level One: The Fast of the Body

This is where most of us live, and there’s nothing wrong with starting here. The fast of the body is the foundation: no food, no drink, no intimate relations from the time of Fajr until the sun sets. Allah makes the purpose of this crystal clear:

“O you who believe, fasting has been prescribed for you as it was prescribed for those before you, so that you may attain taqwa.” [Al-Baqarah 2:183] 

Notice that Allah didn’t say fasting was prescribed so we could lose weight or detox. He said that it has been prescribed for taqwa. God-consciousness. That heightened awareness that there is a Creator watching, that our choices matter, that we are more than our appetites. 

What I find profound about this level is what it’s really training for. The purpose of abstaining from lawful sustenance, food that is halal, water that is clean, isn’t punishment. It’s re-ordering. It’s teaching the self, deliberately and repeatedly, to prioritize the spiritual over the physical. Every time your stomach growls and you choose not to eat, you are proving something to yourself: I am in control of my body, not the other way around. That is genuinely powerful, and we shouldn’t take it lightly. 

The Prophet said:

“‏ الصِّيَامُ جُنَّةٌ ‏‏“

“Fasting is a shield.” [Bukhari & Muslim] 

A shield protects you. It keeps harm away. But a shield only works if you actually hold it up. And a lot of us put the shield down at Iftar. We go from restraint all day to a table overflowing with food, and somewhere in that transition, the discipline we built quietly dissolves. The physical fast is meant to carry through to how we eat when we break it, too, with moderation, with gratitude, with intention. 

In these last ten nights, especially, be mindful of how much you eat at Iftar and Suhoor. Heavy meals make heavy hearts. If you want to stand in Tarawih and Tahajjud with focus and presence, treat your body as a tool for worship, not a reward to indulge after a long day. The body’s fast, when honored all the way through, is what gives you the energy and clarity to make the most of these blessed nights. 

Level Two: The Fast of the Limbs

This is where Ramadan starts to get uncomfortable, in the best possible way. The Prophet said something that should stop us in our tracks: 

“Whoever does not give up false speech and acting upon it, Allah has no need of him giving up his food and drink.” [Bukhari]

Read that again. Allah has no need of it. Not that it’s less rewarded, not that it’s incomplete. He has no need of it. That’s the full weight of this hadith. It means that fasting without controlling what comes out of our mouths, what we look at, what we listen to, and how we treat people, is missing the entire point. 

The fast of the limbs is a full-body commitment. It means guarding the tongue from gossip, slander, and pointless argument. It means lowering the gaze from what Allah has made forbidden. It means not letting your ears become a dumping ground for things that don’t please Him. Your hands, your feet, your eyes, your whole self is fasting, not just your digestive system.

In the last ten nights, this level takes on even greater weight. These are the nights where Laylatul Qadr may fall, and we want every part of us to be in a state worthy of meeting it. Guard your tongue in these nights. Step away from arguments, from gossip, from anything that would weigh your record down on a night that is better than a thousand months. Let your limbs fast so your heart can soar.

What this level produces, beyond the individual, is integrity and social responsibility. By training these moral faculties during Ramadan, we align our outward actions with whatever we’re trying to build inwardly. And the beautiful thing is that these habits don’t have to stay in Ramadan. Integrity, empathy, and patience with people; these are Ramadan gifts that are meant to be taken with you into Shawwal and beyond.

Level Three: The Fast of the Heart

This is the level that Imam al-Ghazali wrote about at length, what he called tazkiyah al-nafs, the purification of the soul. And it is the rarest of the three, because it requires something the other two levels don’t: complete sincerity, with no audience.

The fast of the heart means that your inner world, your intentions, your thoughts, your desires, are also turned toward Allah . Not just your visible actions. It means you’re not fasting to be seen fasting. It means you’re guarding against the subtle sins that nobody else sees: the envy that rises when you see someone else blessed, the arrogance that quietly settles in when you feel your worship is going well, the pride that makes you slow to apologize, the grudges you’ve been carrying so long you’ve forgotten they’re even there.

Allah says:

“Call upon Me; I will respond to you….” [Ghafir 40:60] 

That ayah is an open door. The fast of the heart is about walking through it, consistently, privately, sincerely. It’s the du’a you make when nobody’s watching. It’s the Qur’an you read not because it looks good on your story, but because something in you genuinely thirsts for it. It’s the moment you feel envy rising and you choose to make du’a for that person instead of letting bitterness take root. 

Allah also describes the people of taqwa in Surah Adh-Dhariyat:

“And in the hours before dawn, they would seek forgiveness.” [Adh-Dhariyat 51:18) 

Not once a year. Not only in Ramadan. In the pre-dawn hours, consistently, as a way of life. That is the fast of the heart. It doesn’t clock out when the month ends. 

And in these last ten nights, the fast of the heart is what determines whether Laylatul Qadr truly lands in your life. You can stay awake all ten nights, but if the heart isn’t present, if it’s distracted, hardened, or performing for an audience, the night passes without its full gift. But a heart that has been fasting, purifying, and turning toward Allah all month? That heart is ready. These nights are made for it. 

The Last Ten Nights: Don’t Let Them Pass You By

Aisha was reported to have said: 

“When the last ten nights began, the Prophet would tighten his belt, bring his nights to life, and wake his family.” [Bukhari & Muslim]

Three things. He exerted himself. He prayed through the night. And he woke his family. Not just himself. His family. There is something deeply powerful in that last detail. The Prophet did not keep Laylatul Qadr to himself. He called his household to it. He wanted them to share in it. 

Wake your family. Gently shake your spouse. Tap your child on the shoulder. Call your parents if they live nearby. Tell them to get up. Tell them these nights are unlike any other. You may be the reason someone in your home catches Laylatul Qadr. What a gift that would be, both for them and for you. 

Pray at night. Even if it’s just two rakʿahs after everyone has gone to sleep, stand before Allah alone, in the quiet, and give Him those moments. The night prayer in these ten nights is one of the greatest acts of worship you can offer. The Prophet said: 

“Whoever stands in prayer on Laylatul Qadr out of faith and seeking reward, his previous sins will be forgiven.” [Bukhari & Muslim]

Previous sins. Forgiven. That is what is on offer on these nights. Don’t sleep through it.

Give sadaqah. Give generously. Give consistently. Every single night of the last ten. Because if Laylatul Qadr falls on the night you gave, your sadaqah carries the reward of having been given for over a thousand months. The Prophet also said: 

“Sadaqah extinguishes sin as water extinguishes fire.” [Tirmidhi] 

You don’t have to give a large amount every night. But give something. Give with intention. Give thinking about the person on the other end who needs it. Let your wealth fast too, by releasing it for the sake of Allah . And if you can, give to causes that serve the ummah in lasting ways; orphans, the poor, communities without access to clean water or Islamic education. Let your sadaqah in these ten nights be a reflection of the heart that has been fasting all month. 

Small Habits That Hold It All Together

This is where a lot of us fall short, not because we lack intention, but because we don’t have a practical plan. So let’s be specific, because the transformation Ramadan offers doesn’t happen through grand gestures. It happens through small, consistent habits repeated across thirty days and carried beyond them.

Read Qur’an daily.

Not a full juz if that’s not where you are right now, but something. Even five to ten minutes after Fajr, sitting with a few verses and actually thinking about what they mean. The Prophet said:

“The most beloved deeds to Allah are those that are consistent, even if small.” [Bukhari & Muslim] 

Start small, but start, and don’t stop when Ramadan ends. 

Make sincere du’a. Not du’a as a checkbox, not a rushed list before you sleep. Actual conversation with Allah . Tell Him what’s worrying you. Tell Him what you want for your children, your marriage, your work, your akhirah. Tell Him where you’re struggling. And in these last ten nights, make this du’a often: 

اللَّهُمَّ إِنَّكَ عَفُوٌّ كَرِيمٌ تُحِبُّ الْعَفْوَ فَاعْفُ عَنِّي

“O Allah, You are the Pardoner, You love to pardon, so pardon me.” [Tirmidhi]

The Prophet taught this du’a specifically for Laylatul Qadr. Say it in your sujood. Say it between rakʿahs. Say it in the stillness of the night when the house is quiet, and it’s just you and your Lord. Mean every word. 

Show kindness consistently. Smile at someone when you don’t feel like it. Help without being asked or thanked. Give sadaqah that actually costs you something, not just the spare change in your pocket. These acts aren’t just nice things to do. They are the outward expression of an inward purification. When the fast of the heart is working, it shows in how you treat people. 

They Were Never Meant to Be Separate

Here is what I find beautiful about these three levels: they’re not a ladder you climb rung by rung, leaving the lower ones behind. They build on each other and reinforce each other simultaneously. The physical fast trains self-discipline. The moral fast nurtures ethical conduct and social responsibility. The spiritual fast strengthens the heart and cultivates a lifelong connection with Allah . All three, working together at once, is what Ramadan was always designed to produce. 

The Prophet brought all three together in one hadith: 

“When one of you fasts, let him avoid obscene speech and foolishness. If someone argues with him or insults him, let him say: I am fasting, I am fasting.” [Bukhari & Muslim]

Notice how the response to provocation isn’t a theological argument. It’s a reminder to oneself. I am fasting. That reminder carries all three levels at once. The body hasn’t eaten. The tongue won’t lash back. The heart remembers why it’s here. It’s the whole person speaking. 

The Question Worth Asking

As the last ten nights move through their days, sit with a genuinely honest question: Am I just not eating, or am I actually fasting? 

These nights are a mercy from Allah that comes once a year. No one is promised next Ramadan. No one is guaranteed another chance at these nights. So show up for them fully. Wake up for Tahajjud. Wake your family. Give sadaqah every single night. Make du’a with a broken and sincere heart. Guard your tongue. Protect your gaze. And let your heart, the heart that has been fasting and purifying all month, finally meet the fullness of what Allah placed in this month.

 

 

“The Night of Decree is better than a thousand months.” [Al-Qadr 97:3]

A thousand months. Over eighty years of worship, in a single night. It is one of the greatest gifts Allah has ever given this ummah. Don’t let it pass while you’re asleep. 

May Allah allow us to reach Laylatul Qadr with a body, tongue, and heart that all testify for us. May He accept our fasting in all its levels, forgive us where we fall short, and grant us a portion of these blessed nights that transforms whatever comes after them. 

الَّلَّهَُّم تَقََّبَّ ْل مَِّنَّا، وَا ْرزُقْنَا قُلُوبًا َصاِئمَةً عَ ْن كُ ِّل مَا لَا يُرْ ِضي َك 

O Allah, accept from us, and grant us hearts that fast from all that does not please You. Ameen. 

 

Related:

– Quranic Contemplations: The Prophet’s Understanding of the Verses of Fasting

– What Fasting Demands From Us | Mufti Taqi Uthmani

 

1    References: 1.Al-Ghazali — Ihya’ ’Ulum al-Din (The Revival of the Religious Sciences), specifically Kitab Asrar al-Sawm (The Book of the Secrets of Fasting), vol. 1, published by Dar al-Ma’rifa, Beirut. 2. Ibn Qudama al-Maqdisi — Mukhtasar Minhaj al-Qasidin (An Abridgment of the Path of the Seekers), specifically Kitab Asrar al-Sawm (The Book of the Secrets of Fasting), published by Maktabat Dar al-Bayan, Damascus, 1398 AH / 1978 CE.

The post The Three Levels Of Fasting: What The Last Ten Nights Are Really Asking Of You appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Suhoor – the pre-dawn meal – is typically shared at home. But in Sydney customers also queue outside food trucks, restaurants and cafes with extended trading hours

It’s just after midnight in an industrial courtyard in Auburn in Sydney’s west and a glow of string lights and the constant sizzle of a grill signal one of Ramadan’s newest late-night rituals. A food truck specialising in halal steak sandwiches has attracted a small crowd and a queue begins to form.

The rest of the city is largely asleep but here the courtyard hums with life as young Muslims arrive in waves after evening taraweeh prayers, chatting and checking their phones as the clock edges closer to suhoor – the pre-dawn meal eaten during Ramadan before the day’s fast begins.

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This series is a collaboration between Dr. Ali and MuslimMatters, bringing Quranic wisdom to the questions Muslim families are navigating.

When Your Teen Asks “What is the My Purpose?” — A Guide for Muslim Parents on Purpose, the Khalifah Framework, and Raising Young People Who Know Why They’re Here

At some point — usually in the teen years — a question surfaces that most Muslim parents are not prepared for.

Not the theological questions about God’s existence or Islamic rulings. Something quieter and in some ways harder: what is the point of my life? What am I actually here for?

When this question appears, many Muslim parents reach for the obvious answer: you are here to worship Allah. And that answer is true. But for a teenager sitting in a suburban school, navigating social pressure, scrolling through a feed of people apparently living their best lives — it often lands as abstract, unsatisfying, and disconnected from the actual texture of their daily existence.

Behind the Scenes of this Question

First: take the question seriously. When your teenager asks what the point is — whether they ask it directly or express it through apathy, withdrawal, or the sense that Islamic practice feels disconnected from real life — they are not being faithless. They are being honest.

The worst response is dismissal — “don’t ask questions like that” or “just focus on your studies and your deen.” This communicates that the question is dangerous rather than important, and drives it underground where it will do more damage.

The second worst response is a purely abstract answer that doesn’t connect to their actual life. “You are here to worship Allah” is true but incomplete — it doesn’t tell a seventeen-year-old anything about what to do with their specific gifts, their specific situation, their specific time.

What teenagers need is a framework — a way of understanding purpose that is both Islamically grounded and practically applicable to their real life. Tonight’s video gives them one. The khalifah framework.

The khalifah framework

When Allah announced to the angels that He was placing a khalifah on the earth [2:30], He was making a statement about the nature and purpose of every human being who would ever live.

A khalifah is a steward. Not an independent agent pursuing their own agenda, but someone entrusted with a role, accountable to the One who gave it to them.

When Allah later said to Dawud ﷺ directly — “O Dawud, We have made you a khalifah in the earth” [38:26] — He was using the same word. The same framework that describes every human being’s purpose was applied specifically to Dawud in his particular role.

What this means practically is that your teenager’s purpose is not generic. It is specific. Allah placed them — with their particular gifts, in their particular family, in their particular time and place — with a specific purpose. Their purpose is to steward what Allah gave them, in the place Allah put them, with the intention of pleasing the One who sent them.

This framework does several things that the abstract “worship Allah” answer doesn’t:

It makes purpose personal. Your teenager’s gifts and interests and opportunities are not random. They are data — indicators of what they are specifically here to do.

It makes purpose actionable. The khalifah doesn’t wait for a grand moment of significance to begin fulfilling their role. They begin where they are, with what they have, now.

It makes purpose durable. The khalifah’s metric is faithfulness to the One who appointed them — not the approval of an audience. That metric holds steady across every season of life, in obscurity and in visibility alike.

What ibadah means — closing the gap between religious life and real life

One of the most common sources of spiritual confusion for Muslim teenagers is the gap between “religious life” and “real life.” Prayer and fasting feel like one domain. School, friendships, ambitions, creative interests feel like another. And the two don’t really seem connected.

The khalifah framework closes that gap — but only if teenagers understand what ibadah actually means in Islamic teaching.

Ibadah is not limited to explicitly religious acts. The scholars — Ibn al-Qayyim most comprehensively — teach that ibadah is the orientation of the entire life toward Allah. Every action performed with the intention of pleasing Allah, in accordance with His guidance, is worship.

The Prophet ﷺ said: “Whatever you spend seeking thereby the Pleasure of Allah will have its reward, even the morsel which you put in the mouth of your wife.” (Bukhari, Muslim) The most ordinary domestic act — feeding your family — becomes ibadah through intention.

This means that your teenager’s studies, their friendships, their creative work, their athletic pursuits, their service to the people around them — all of it can be ibadah. Not instead of salah and fasting, but alongside them. The entire life, oriented toward Allah, becomes worship.

When teenagers understand this, the gap closes. There is no longer a “religious self” and a “real self.” There is just a Muslim human being whose entire life — in all its ordinary, specific, unglamorous detail — is an act of khalifah fulfilled.

Help your teenager make that connection explicitly. Ask them: what are you good at? What do you care about? How could those gifts, used with the right intention, be a part of your ibadah?

The shepherd years — why ordinary seasons matter

One of the most important things tonight’s video communicates — and one that Muslim parents should reinforce at home — is the significance of what I’m calling the shepherd years.

Before Dawud ﷺ faced Jalut, before the prophethood and the kingship and the Zabur, he was a shepherd. Years of ordinary work, invisible to anyone who wasn’t watching closely, with no indication that anything larger was coming.

Those years were not wasted. They were formative. The courage and trust in Allah that he displayed when he faced Jalut were not qualities that appeared from nowhere. They were built in the shepherd years — in the daily discipline of caring for what Allah entrusted to him, in the ordinary faithfulness that preceded the extraordinary moment.

Your teenager is likely in their shepherd years right now. And the culture they live in aggressively communicates that these years are less valuable than the years of visible achievement, public recognition, and measurable success.

As a parent, one of the most important things you can do is help them understand that the shepherd years are where khalifah is built. The character being formed now. The relationship with Allah being developed now. The habits of faithfulness and integrity being established now. These are not preliminary to their purpose — they are their purpose, right now, in this season.

The metric conversation

Tonight’s video raises something that deserves a dedicated conversation between Muslim parents and their teenagers: the question of which metric you are using to measure a successful life.

Your teenager is immersed in a culture that offers a very specific metric: visibility. Followers. Engagement. The confirmation that people are watching and approving (through likes, etc.). And that metric is not neutral — it shapes behavior, priorities, and the definition of what a life well-lived looks like.

The khalifah metric is different. The khalifah is accountable to Allah, not to an audience. The question is not whether people are watching or approving, but whether the One who appointed you is pleased.

This conversation is worth having explicitly and repeatedly — not as a lecture but as a genuine discussion. Ask your teenager: what does success look like to you right now? Where did that definition come from? What would success look like if the only audience that mattered was Allah?

These are the questions that shape a life.

Discussion questions for families

For teens:

1. What do you think you’re specifically good at — not what you think you should say, but what you actually notice in yourself?
2. If the only audience that mattered was Allah — no social media, no peer approval, no grades — what would you spend your time on?
3. What does the khalifah framework change about how you think about your ordinary daily life?

For parents:

1. Do you know what your teenager thinks they’re here for? Have you ever asked them directly?
2. How do you talk about success in your home — which metric dominates your family conversations?
3. Are you modeling the khalifah framework in your own life? Do your teenagers see you measuring your choices against Allah’s approval rather than social approval?

For discussion together:

1. Read Surah al-Baqarah 2:30 together — the announcement of the khalifah to the angels. What does Allah’s response — “I know what you do not know” — mean to you?
2. What are the shepherd years in your family’s history — the ordinary seasons that built what came later?
3. What would it look like for our family to pursue the khalifah metric together — measuring success by faithfulness to purpose rather than visibility or accumulation?

The bottom line

Your teenager’s question — what is the point? — deserves a real answer.

The khalifah framework is that answer. You are here because Allah placed you here — specifically, deliberately, with full knowledge of your gifts and your weaknesses — as a steward in this time and place. Your purpose is expressed through your specific gifts, used in your specific context, with the intention of pleasing the One who sent you.

Not vague, not abstract. That is the most personal, most specific, most actionable account of human purpose.

Help your teenager find it. Help them see that their ordinary life — right now, in the shepherd years — is already the place where khalifah is lived.

Continue the Journey

This is Night 22 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Night 23 — You Are Not Just Yourself: Your Relationship with the Ummah

For daily extended reflections with journaling prompts, personal stories, and deeper resources, join Dr. Ali’s email community: https://30nightswithquran.beehiiv.com/

Related:

Doubt, Depression, Grief, Shame, Addiction: Week 3 Recap | Night 21 with the Qur’an

30 Nights with the Qur’an: A Ramadan Series for Muslim Teens

The post What’s My Purpose? | Night 22 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.