You open your eyes and reach for your phone before your feet touch the floor. The screen illuminates: notifications, emails, messages, scrolling through Instagram, Twitter, TikTok. You watch without choosing to watch. Thirty minutes dissolve before you register time passing.

You pray Fajr in a rush, if you pray at all, because work awaits. The commute is podcasts at double speed. Work is browser tabs breeding across screens. Evening is Netflix, Instagram, YouTube, and so on. You fall asleep to the glow, wake to the buzz, and somewhere in between wonder: Why do I feel so disconnected?

This is the rhythm of modern life, not chosen, but submitted to. We have become spectators of our own days, passive consumers of time itself. Allah warns us against this state:

“And remember your Lord within yourself in humility and fear, without being loud in speech – in the mornings and the evenings. And do not be among the heedless” [Surah Al’A’raf; 7:205]

We move through life unaware, distracted, passive.

But once a year, something interrupts.

The Spectacle and the Loss of Agency

Guy Debord foresaw this in his concept of “The Spectacle.” Simply put, the spectacle he refers to, is when capitalism invades every aspect of our lives to the point we are spectators in our own lives. This extends beyond the typical capital rift of organisations selling us products, and looks at how the infrastructure for modernity has turned life itself into something to watch, to document, to consume. It occupies our time, our thought process, so that we become bystanders just watching, not living. Life becomes images to consume rather than experiences to live. We don’t choose what we focus on anymore. Our attention has been colonized.

As a Muslim, I think about this constantly, because Islam demands presence and consciousness in every single action. To be honest, I find myself guilty of this often. I catch myself praying while my mind is completely elsewhere. Du’as are rushed so I can get back to the work task at hand. On a bigger scale, this affects our ummah because when our awareness is compromised, we become victims to the spectacle.

So, whenever Ramadan is around the corner, there are usually two forces colliding. There’s the part that embraces the beauty of this month, everything slows down, and we become more conscious. Then there’s a part of us that worries about how this will disrupt our workflow, our routine, our eating habits, the habits we’ve built to stay plugged into the spectacle.

Ramadan: An Intentional Disruption

Ramadan forces us onto a different clock entirely. Not the manufactured time of productivity and lunch breaks, but natural, lunar time. The rhythms of day and night dictate when you eat, not corporate schedules or convenience. You break your fast at Maghrib because the sun has set, not because it’s 6 pm on someone’s invented grid. This is time as Allah intended it, not time as capitalism requires it.

One of the most common responses Muslims give when asked (by non-Muslims) what fasting is about is that it’s “to feel what poor people feel”. But that is stripping it down to a simplistic sentiment. Ramadan is a conscious, deliberate effort to abstain from food, yes, but also from the constant consumption that defines modern life. You are awake to what you’re doing. Every moment you feel hunger, you’re reminded: I am choosing this. I am present in this choice. The discomfort is not there to make you “feel what poor people feel,” that tired cliché that misses the point entirely. The Qur’an states the purpose plainly:

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

Taqwa – consciousness of Allah ; mindful awareness in every action. The discomfort wakes you up. It pulls you from autopilot and reminds you that you have a body, not just a screen-lit face

The nights become different. Taraweeh stretches long after Isha, demanding stamina and focus when Netflix would be easier. Qiyam al-layl pulls you from sleep in the quiet hours. The Qur’an, often rushed through or skipped entirely in other months, becomes a daily companion. These are additions, intensifications, deliberate choices to do more when everything in modern life tells you to do less, to optimize, to streamline.

You become a physical embodiment of presence. Walking to the mosque, standing in prayer for hours, breaking fast with community, and reading Qur’an with intention. You respond to your body’s needs and the natural world’s rhythms. This is what it means to live consciously, to reclaim agency from the system that wants you passive, distracted, and compliant.

Ramadan doesn’t ask politely if it can interrupt your routine. It demands interruption and, in that demand, lies Allah’s Mercy.

The Mercy of Structure

“Ramadan is already built, functioning to perfection. We just need to show up and commit to it.” [PC: Shahed Mufleh (unsplash)]

One of the things that has always fascinated me about Ramadan is that even Muslims who are not the most devout usually show up. Some mock them as “Ramadan Muslims,” but I see beauty in this. Allah has given us training wheels, a concentrated month to practice, and everyone is entitled to it regardless of their past or how devoted they’ve been. It’s an access point for all, born from the mercy of Allah .

This is both discipline and gift. In secular frameworks, people have to organize social gatherings, plan acts of resistance, and build alternative communities from scratch. It’s exhausting work that often fizzles out. But Ramadan is already built, functioning to perfection. We don’t need to invent the cure to modern isolation and passivity. We just need to show up and commit to it. A month where everyone is connected in a conscious effort to reclaim closeness to Allah and to live actively, not passively.

It’s a cure to modern malaise.

From Passivity to Agency

So how can we make the most of this blessed month to move from passivity to agency? It’s a sequence where each act of reclaiming builds the capacity for the next.

1. Reclaiming Time

It starts with prayer as the structure that organizes everything else. This means praying consciously, not performatively, for at least five minutes before returning to work. Prayer builds rhythm, and it resists the tyranny of notifications and the manufactured urgency of productivity culture. But this only works if you bring full presence to it. Without agency, prayer becomes a hollow ritual.

2. Reclaiming Consumption

Fasting teaches us about desire and control, but not in the way most people think. Abstinence for a set period is only the beginning. Far more valuable is understanding why we abstain and what consumption does to us. The goal extends beyond prohibiting yourself from eating, but rather to reach a point where you don’t even want to consume mindlessly because you see how it cuts you off from yourself.

This is the space Ramadan creates. In that space, the dopamine cycle breaks. You start to notice how much of your day was spent chasing the next hit of stimulation, scrolling, snacking, streaming, anything to avoid stillness. The physical fast only works if it’s paired with a fast from distraction.

When consumption no longer controls you, attention becomes possible.

3. Reclaiming Attention

Treating the Qur’an as deep reading in an age of skimming. I’m less concerned with how many times you complete the Qur’an than with whether you’re actually reading, pondering, going deep. Allah asks us: “Do they not reflect upon the Qur’an?” [Surah An-Nisa; 4:82]. Reflection requires time, attention, presence – everything the spectacle denies us. The same applies to taraweeh. Twenty rak’ahs done on autopilot mean less than four done with deep, sustained focus. The discipline of being fully there for one thing, not half-there for many things.

This kind of attention is impossible when you’re still plugged into the spectacle. But when you’ve reclaimed your time and broken the consumption cycle, attention stops being a struggle. 

4. Reclaiming Community

When Ramadan becomes a social media show; elaborate spreads photographed and posted before anyone eats, or funny reels about relatable Ramadan behavior, we’ve turned the sacred into content. There’s a difference between communal practice and social media solidarity. One builds real relationships while the other maintains audiences.

This Ramadan, I’m using the month to reconnect with people I’ve been too distracted to talk to. Not through a story or a post, but through an actual message, better yet, a call. “Ramadan Mubarak. How are you planning to use this month? What are your resolutions?”

We’re all so connected through our devices. There’s no excuse not to connect as human beings.

Beyond Ramadan: The Training Ground

Ramadan is practice for the other eleven months. That’s the point many of us miss. We treat it as a month of peak devotion, then the gloves come off, and it’s back to business as usual. But the month was never meant to stand alone. It’s a training ground for a life lived consciously.

Small acts of agency compound. You don’t transform your entire life in thirty days. You build capacity, practice choosing, and strengthen the muscle of presence. The habits you build within Ramadan’s structure can sustain you through the chaos waiting outside it.

The test is whether these practices outlive the month. Can you pray Fajr when Ramadan ends? Can you resist the scroll when fasting is no longer required? Can you maintain real community when the ummah disperses back into routine?

Consciousness is a continuous effort, not a one-time Ramadan achievement. This is where many of us fall short, myself included. We mistake intensity for transformation. We think because we felt close to Allah in Ramadan, we’ve arrived. But closeness requires maintenance, and agency requires practice.

Ramadan gives you the tools. What you do with them in Shawwal, in Rajab, in the dead of winter when motivation is gone, that’s where the real work begins.

The Sacred as Resistance

One month later.

You open your eyes. The phone is still on the nightstand, but you don’t reach for it. Not yet. First, Fajr followed by du’a. A moment of stillness before the world makes its demands.

You still have work, and browser tabs still multiply. The dunya hasn’t become simple, but it no longer controls you the way it did. You move through it differently now. Prayer structures your day. You eat consciously, not compulsively. The Qur’an sits open more often than closed. When evening comes, Netflix is a choice, not a reflex. Instagram is something you check, not something you sink into.

You fall asleep without the glow. You wake without reaching for the buzz.

Some days you slip, and some days the spectacle wins. But the capacity is there now. You know what it feels like to live consciously because you practiced it for thirty days. You know what it feels like to have agency because Ramadan gives you the structure to remember.

The rhythm of modern life can be broken. You are no longer just a spectator. You are a participant, deliberate and awake.

That is the gift of Ramadan. Not that it saves you once, but that it shows you how to save yourself, again and again, month after month, for as long as you live.

Allah gives us the tools. The question is whether we’ll keep using them.

 

Related:

– [Podcast] Dropping the Spiritual Baggage: Overcoming Malice Before Ramadan | Ustadh Justin Parrott

– How to Make this Ramadan Epic | Shaykh Muhammad Alshareef

The post Recognizing Allah’s Mercy For What It Is: Reclaiming Agency Through Ramadan appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Boys and girls are arrested to strike the future before the present.

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

Ramadan’s just around the corner, and we all want to spiritually prepare for it – but where do we even start? Ustadh Justin Parrott gets us started by identifying the rarely-discussed spiritual disease of malice, and shares tips and tricks on letting go of the emotional and spiritual baggage of malice before Ramadan begins.

Ustadh Justin Parrott holds BAs in Physics and English from Otterbein University, an MLIS from Kent State University, and an MRes in Islamic Studies from the University of Wales. Under the mentorship of Shaykh Dr. Huocaine Chouat, he served as a volunteer imam with the Islamic Society of Greater Columbus until 2013.

He is currently an Associate Academic Librarian at NYU Abu Dhabi and Webmaster for the Middle East Librarians Association (MELA). He previously served as a Senior Research Fellow at Yaqeen Institute and as an Instructor of Islamic Creed at Mishkah University.

Related:

Starting Shaban, Train Yourself To Head Into Ramadan Without Malice

[Podcast] Reorienting for Ramadan | Ustadh Abu Amina (Justin Parrott)

The post [Podcast] Dropping the Spiritual Baggage: Overcoming Malice Before Ramadan | Ustadh Justin Parrott appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Darius continues his training with Lee Ayi, and the first refugees appear at the gate.

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

* * *

A Fast Learner

I had never in my life been a student of anything except the fighting arts, but now I studied medicine, math, writing, and deen all at once. I proved to be a fast learner. At times I felt as if there were a thousand different thoughts in my head, chasing each other in a mad game of tag. The only thing that gave me some trouble was the Arabic pronunciation of the words in the salat and the Quran. Haaris corrected me patiently, repeating the words until my tongue began to obey.

At night I slept without my dao, as I had promised myself I would.

On Fridays, Ma Shushu continued to leave me behind. One week he said my shoulder was not ready. Another week the road was too rough. Another time he went alone, saying the market would be crowded. The excuses grew thinner, but I did not press. For me to accuse him of lying would be impossible. I would never be able to get the words out of my mouth.

On those Fridays, after the house emptied, Lee Ayi brought out the wooden dao.

At first she asked me only to watch. Then to correct her stance. Then her footwork. Slowly, carefully, I taught her what I could. How to root her weight. How not to rush the transitions between movements. How to insert rapid, subtle strikes between the bigger movements, so that no motion was wasted.

Then we would put down the dao and spar empty-handed. My father used to go nearly full force in such sparring sessions, leaving me with black eyes, bruised ribs, and on one occasion a fractured hand. But between me and Lee Ayi the goal was to lightly kick or slap the opponent. Obviously I went easy on her, but not too easy. When she left an opening I would slap her shoulder, kick her leg, or kick her lightly in the belly. She never complained. In fact, she learned eagerly, with a seriousness that surprised me.

As we practiced, the old cat, Bao, sat on the roof of the house, sunning herself and watching us. Bao and I had come to a place of mutual respect. She was a fantastic ratter and would deposit her fat kills at the doorstep daily. She was not my friend, however, nor were any of the other animals. In fact, I had no true friends. I cared very much for Jade, Ma, and Haaris, and I was fond of the animals. But the deepest part of my heart was sealed against genuine friendship and love. I did not know why. Maybe I was in mourning.

The only moments in which I felt my heart crack open to admit sunshine and air, came during salat. In Allah, I found a friend who would not abandon me, betray me or die. He saw all that I had hidden. There was no pretense with Allah. No hypocrisy. How could there be? With Allah I could be me, and as long as I kept my faith and committed no evil, I was accepted and respected. Perhaps my understanding was flawed. Perhaps my idea of Allah was still immature. In any case, the salat brought me comfort and reassurance.

This weekly training was my secret with Lee Ayi. I enjoyed it, but I dreaded the day Ma Shushu would discover it.

After training we would sit on the edge of the wall, wash ourselves from the basin, and talk.

Thirty Three Generations

The Friday after her revelation about Jun De, I asked her about it.

“You mentioned that he drowned,” I said, “It sounded like there was foul play involved.”

She looked up sharply, startled. “What? No, nothing like that. La ilaha il-Allah. Only that Jun De’s passing leads to another subject.”

I waited, taking another scoop of cool water in my hand and splashing it on my face. I tasted my own sweat as it washed across my lips.

“Five Animals has been in the Lee family for thirty-three generations, according to my father. Maybe more. For boys, it was required. For girls, optional.”

You learned it.”

She grimaced. “Not very well, as you know. And just for fun. It fascinated me. But you see, the eldest son has always been expected to inherit Five Animals, master it and pass it on. When Jun De passed away, Allah have mercy on him, that obThe Friday after her revelation about Jun De, I asked her about it.

“You mentioned that he drowned,” I said. “It sounded like there was foul play involved.”

She looked up sharply, startled. “What? No, nothing like that. La ilaha il-Allah. Only that Jun De’s passing leads to another subject.”

I waited, taking another scoop of cool water in my hand and splashing it on my face. I tasted my own sweat as it washed across my lips.

“Five Animals has been in the Lee family for thirty-three generations, according to my father. Maybe more. For boys, it was required. For girls, optional.”

“You learned it.”

She grimaced. “Not very well, as you know. And just for fun. It fascinated me. But you see, the eldest son has always been expected to inherit Five Animals, master it, and pass it on. When Jun De passed away, Allah have mercy on him, that obligation fell to Yong. My father trained him hard, and he believed Yong was one of the best in many generations. Precise, flowing, yet brutal when it mattered. My father used to say that Yong would become one of the top martial arts masters in our province, maybe the empire.”

She put her hands on her knees and sighed.

“Sending Yong away broke my father’s heart. But he could not tolerate disrespect. Not in the house, nor in the art. There is no one else now.” She studied a line of ants dragging a dead beetle across the ground. “I am not a master, and I cannot teach Haaris anyway because Husband does not approve.”

She glanced at me briefly, then away.

“The line ends with you.”

I felt the words settle like a heavy pack loaded onto my shoulders, but before I could speak she added calmly, “I just thought you should know.”

“But I cannot train openly. You just said that Ma Shushu does not approve.”

“Yes, and I love him. He is a great man, and I would never undermine him.” Looking around, no doubt realizing the falseness of her words when we had just finished a training session, she threw up her arms. “I don’t know.” And she walked away.

What Still Exists

The next Friday we had finished our training session and were again drawing water from the well, but with the pail this time, hauling it inside to use for washing floors and hands, and for cooking. I hauled and she poured.

“Your grandmother is still alive,” Lee Ayi said.

I nearly spilled the water. “What? You said she died.”

“No, I never said that. But you’re right, your maternal grandmother is dead. Your mother’s side of the family all have poor longevity, for some reason. But I’m talking about your paternal grandmother. My mother. After my father died, she remarried. Another Hui man. A good one, or so it seems from the outside. I visit her every year at Eid ul-Adha. It’s hard to get away from the farm.”

“Where is she?”

“In a city to the north, called Deep Harbor. A half-day’s journey on horseback.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Her husband is wealthy. She lives well and occupies herself with buying art and sponsoring artists. It’s a different kind of life.”

I swallowed. “Does she know about me?”

Lee Ayi considered this. “She knows Yong had a son. She does not know where you are.”

She carried the bucket inside and returned with it empty.

“I am not telling you this to confuse you or tear you in different directions. I am only telling you what still exists.”

Hoop and Stick

One workday afternoon, when Haaris and I had finished our work early as usual and Ma Shushu had no patients, I sat on the wall beside the front gate, watching Haaris play stick and hoop. He had a wooden hoop he had made by curving a slender bamboo shoot and binding the ends together. He would roll it along, using the stick to keep it moving.

There were many other games he liked, including games played with cards, goat’s bones, and on a wooden board with round stones. His knowledge of games seemed almost as extensive as my knowledge of martial arts. More than anything else I had experienced, learning these games made me realize how abnormal my childhood had been, for Haaris seemed to think that every child must know these games, while I knew none of them.

Well, almost none. Sometimes, when the day’s work had been heavy and he was tired, Haaris liked to set the wooden milk pail on top of a stack of firewood. Then we would sit some distance away and take turns throwing pebbles at it, trying to hit it. This was actually something I had done before to pass the time when I was bored, but I had not realized it was a game.

Anyway, that day Haaris was doing very well with the hoop, running at full speed just to keep up with it, and I was watching with a smile, when movement from the road caught my eye. I turned my head and saw a woman with a small boy. They were walking up the road, hand in hand, barefoot. Their clothing was caked with dust, and the child looked painfully thin. The woman’s head hung down. She and the boy walked right past me.

People certainly traveled this road at times. The farm laborers came on foot, and the landowners traveled on horseback or mule back. There were also sometimes tinkers, merchants and even once a small caravan, on their way to Deep Harbor, the city in the north where my paternal grandmother supposedly lived.

These two, however, looked as if they didn’t know where they were going, or why, or what they would do when they got there. They looked hungry, exhausted and on their final steps.

I called out, “Auntie, where are you going?”

The woman did not stop, but the child turned. I waved to him. He tugged on his mother’s hand but she kept walking and nearly pulled the boy off his feet.

Refugees

I leaped from the wall down onto the road and ran after them, dust rising from my shoes in little clouds. Catching up quickly, I stopped before the woman. Bowing slightly, I said, “Auntie, can you wait a moment?”

She stopped and lifted her face to mine. Her eyes were sunken. If they had been fireplaces, I would have said the fire was down to a single spark.

“We have not bothered you,” she said pleadingly. “And we are not thieves. Let us pass.”

I made a gesture with my palms for her to be calm. “I live on the farm you just passed. Why don’t you walk back to the gate and I’ll bring you water and food?”

She gazed into my eyes for a long moment, then said, “Thank you, kind sir.”

This almost made me smile, her calling me sir. Me, an uncouth, good-for-nothing kid with little schooling and no greater talent than hurting people.

Walking back to the gate I asked where she was going.

“North, that is all. We were driven from our home in the south by the invaders. We have been walking a long time.”

When we reached the gate I said, “Wait here. Do not leave.”

I ran back to the house with Haaris at my heels. “What happened?” he asked. “Where did you go?”

I found my uncle treating an elderly man with a wound on the side of his head. “Ma Shushu,” I said quietly. “Sorry to bother you. There is a woman and child at the gate. They are refugees, in bad condition. I offered food and water.”

He glanced at me, distracted. “Yes, fine. Tell your aunt to care for them.”

Provisions and News

I found Lee Ayi cutting vegetables. She set aside her work and walked quickly to the gate, with Haaris and I hustling along beside her. Taking the woman’s hand, she led the refugees to the well, where she sat them down on the edge. Under my aunt’s direction, I used a washcloth to wash the boy’s face, hands and feet, while she did the same for the mother. Haaris found an extra pair of Lee Ayi’s shoes for the woman, and an old pair of his own shoes for the boy.

By the time Asr arrived, the woman and child had eaten their fill of curried rice with eggs, shallots and garlic, and filled their water gourds. Haaris even gave the boy an old shuttlecock he’d made out of tree resin and twine. The woman and child rose to leave.

“No,” Lee Ayi said. “It will be dark in a few hours. You will sleep in the barn tonight, eat breakfast in the morning, and we will give you provisions for the road.”

The woman looked doubtful. “You… you will not lock us in?”

Lee Ayi frowned. “Of course not.” She lifted her hands helplessly. “We offer you assistance, that is all. You are free to leave if you prefer.”

The woman broke down. She fell to the ground and prostrated to Lee Ayi, weeping. The boy hugged her, confused.

“Astaghfirullah.” Lee Ayi picked the woman up and helped her stand. “Never prostrate to another human being. Only to Allah Almighty.”

“You -” The woman’s breath caught as she tried to stifle her sobs. “You are Hui?”

“Yes. We are Muslim.”

“Then we too wish to be Muslim.”

That evening the refugees ate dinner in the house with us, though the woman was clearly uncomfortable, and kept apologizing for her tattered and stained clothing. Ma Shushu led her through the shahadah, then gave her the name of the Imam in Deep Harbor.

“I must tell you something,” the woman said. Her tone until now had been grateful and timid. But now she sat up assertively. “More are coming behind me. The war is coming near. Everything south of Three Gorges is lost to the invaders. You must build your wall higher, and make your gate secure. Not all refugees are honest, and there are highwaymen on the road. People are being captured and enslaved, or simply robbed and killed. You are good people. Prepare yourselves, for trouble is at the gate.”

In the morning Lee Ayi gave them generous provisions and extra suits of clothing and they left.

Haaris and I worked mostly in silence that day. My hands twitched every now and then, seeking the comfort of the dao. I felt jumpy, and caught myself grinding my teeth.

Later I asked Lee Ayi why she had been so generous with the woman and child. “I can understand giving a stranger a bite of food  to eat,” I said. “Others have done the same with me. But you gave her so much. You don’t even know her.”

“She is my sister,” Lee Ayi said simply.

I froze. “What do you mean? I didn’t know you had a sister.” I was thinking that if that woman was truly my aunt, how could we let her go out on the road like that?

Lee Ayi smiled. “All Muslims are brothers and sisters. We are one body, one Ummah. If one of us is in pain, we are all in pain.”

This was a very strange concept to me. Revolutionary, even. I would have to think about it. I merely nodded and went on my way.

Lantern Light and Music

The Lee family surprised me that evening with something new. That evening, after the gates were secured and the animals settled, we all sat together on the floor of the main room.

The lamps were lit early. Outside, the air had grown cool, and the safflower fields were dark, the bees long gone. Inside, the lantern light softened the walls and made the low ceiling seem closer, as if the house were leaning in.

Lee Ayi brought out an instrument I had not seen before. Its body was long and narrow, the wood polished smooth by long handling. She sat cross-legged and adjusted the strings with quick, practiced turns, plucking each one and listening carefully. The sounds were low at first, almost tentative, then steadier, fuller, as if the instrument were waking.

Once, when I went looking for my father in town, I found him passed out on the floor of a saloon while a man played a crude song for coins, his voice loud and uneven, the notes slurred together with laughter and drink. I remembered the smell of alcohol, the shouting, the way the sound pressed in from all sides without shape or purpose. That was the extent of my experience with music.

This was different.

Lee Ayi touched the strings, and the sound rose cleanly from the wood, as if something living had been coaxed out of it. A piece of carved wood, a few taut strings, and her hands, and yet the room changed.

Haaris fetched a small drum and settled opposite her, tapping it once with his fingers, then again, testing the sound. He grinned at me and rolled his shoulders as if preparing for something important.

Ma Shushu cleared his throat and sat back against the wall, his legs stretched out, his hands resting loosely on his knees. When Lee Ayi began to play in earnest, he closed his eyes.

The melody was simple and familiar to them. It rose and fell without hurry. Haaris found the rhythm easily, his hands slapping the drumhead with uneven enthusiasm, sometimes early, sometimes late, but never losing the pulse entirely.

Then Ma Shushu began to sing.

The song was light, almost silly. It told the story of a man who wanted an easy way out of his troubles. Each time he thought he had found one, it led him into worse difficulty. He borrowed money and lost it. He sold his stubborn donkey and bought a horse that ran way. He found a purse in the street and was accused of theft. Each verse ended with the same amused refrain, and each time Haaris struck the drum a little louder, laughing before he could stop himself.

Lee Ayi smiled as she played, shaking her head once or twice at the foolishness of the man in the song. Ma Shushu sang without strain, his voice steady and unpretentious, more storyteller than singer.

I sat with my back against the wall, listening. The only things more lovely than this that I had heard in my life were the purring of Far Away when he slept beside me in bed, and Ma Shushu’s voice as he recited the Quran. The latter especially – Ma Shushu’s deep voice as he sang the melody of the Quran – was the single most beautiful and peaceful thing I had ever heard in my life. The music, while pleasant, was a distant second.

When the song ended, Haaris bowed dramatically, nearly tipping over.

“That is enough noise for one night,” he said. “Tomorrow comes early.”

A Trickle Becomes a Stream

As the days passed and the weather grew colder, more refugees began to appear. A trickle became a stream. Old men leaning on sticks. Women with infants bound to their chests, their faces gray with exhaustion. Families, and even small groups, all going north, fleeing the evil in the south. They moved quietly, conserving breath, as if speaking too much might cost them something they could not afford to lose.

Sometimes they called out from the gate.

“Water.”

“Food.”

“Medicine, if you have it.”

Ma Shushu never turned anyone away. He sent Haaris to fetch water, milk, cheese or bread;  or a blanket from the storage room. Once he treated a man’s infected foot at the gate, kneeling in the dust as calmly as if he were in the treatment room.

Lee Ayi, who had been so generous with that first refugee woman and child, began to express worry. The pantry was running low, and there were no more spare blankets or clothing to give away.

That evening I was returning a basket to the kitchen when I heard Lee Ayi and Ma Shushu arguing quietly. I paused without meaning to, standing just outside the doorway.

“We cannot go on like this,” Lee Ayi said. Her voice was low, controlled. “We have little left to give. Winter is coming.”

“They are desperate,” Ma Shushu replied. “They are an amanah from Allah.”

“But are they our amanah? We are not the nation, we are not the emperor or the governor or the  mayor. We are just a family with a farm and mouths to feed.”

I slipped away, troubled. The question of providing for the refugees was overshadowed the very next day, however, when a band of six rough and dangerous looking men entered the gate without permission and marched right up to the door.

* * *

Come back next week for Part 9 – Crane Dances In The River

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:

Zaid Karim, Private Investigator, Part 1 – Temptation

Gravedigger: A Short Story

The post Far Away [Part 8] – Refugees At The Gate appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

I could no longer sell my labor to a company enabling genocide.

Israel’s assault on Gaza unleashes long-term environmental nightmare.

International activists with the Freedom Flotilla say they were abused, assaulted and humiliated in Israeli detention.

Led by women, queer-friendly, diverse: this model can break so many boundaries. But if we lose spaces to meet in, it can't happen

Something quietly profound happened last Ramadan. In a year when the war on Gaza hardened public debate into camps, when half the UK was found to believe that Islam – and therefore Muslims – to be incompatible with British values, when the general volume of Islamophobia was ratcheted several notches higher by Reform UK’s rise in the polls, hundreds of Muslim Londoners gathered every night to build the kind of community and connection we were told had been decimated. Lost to whatever the flavour of blame is at the moment: doomscrolling, the telly streamers, individualism promoted by late-stage capitalism, a society fractured by the cost of living.

For a month, Muslims came together in the capital and put on iftars, the evening meal that breaks the day’s fast, that reflected the world we want to live in: inclusive, often female-led and queer-friendly, properly diverse, rooted in generosity. A community without judgment, formed outside mosques, free from the performative piety Olympics. Which all sounds deeply earnest, but believe me when I tell you that these were some of the most vibey events I went to last year.

Nosheen Iqbal is the host of the Guardian’s Today in Focus podcast

Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here.

Continue reading...

The prime minister's top man is funded by the Israel lobby.

Forcibly removed from their camps in the northern West Bank, twice-over refugees fear for their internationally mandated rights.

Activists admitted in court to destroying Israeli weapons.

Somali women giving out samosas to anti-ICE protesters in Minneapolis (source: Mukhtar, X).

Imagine that there was a boarding school where children were being abused on a daily basis; where bullying was rife, where staff were casually physically violent and verbally abusive, where the food was routinely contaminated with such things as cigarette ash and insects; a school where petty rules stoked conflict and made life miserable, where staff were seemingly recruited by word of mouth at the pub and were neither vetted nor trained. Many people would say that this place should be shut down fairly swiftly, and that saving children from abuse was the important thing, more so than the concern that they may miss a few weeks of school. The benefits they get from going there do not justify the suffering.

Now consider that there is a police force that deals with a less than vital area of the law: in this case, immigration control and removal of illegal immigrants. Imagine that they act with extreme violence, that they do not distinguish between actual illegal immigrants and legal ones or even citizens but target anyone who “looks foreign”, abducting people to camps thousands of miles away for no valid reason, threaten and attack people who video their behaviour, and shoot people dead when they get in their way. Imagine also that they are deployed by the government against parts of the country which have a history of supporting the opposition, ignoring places that have many times the number of illegal immigrants of the places they terrorise. There would be calls for this entity to be abolished because the lawlessness they perpetrate is considerably worse than what they prevent.

A few weeks ago I saw someone I follow on Twitter, a Democrat who has a clear resentment for “the Left” for causing the loss of the most recent presidential election, poured scorn on the idea that ICE, the American immigration police responsible for an ongoing campaign of terror against immigrant communities in Minnesota, resulting in the deaths of two American citizens and seven others, should be abolished. “We need a sane immigration policy” she proclaims; “it makes no sense to import people into this country that dilute wages for the working class”. The reason working-class people cannot get good jobs anymore is because industry packed up and moved because it did not want to pay decent wages, which is the case both here and in the US, but it’s so much easier to blame immigrants in a country where the creed that you cannot argue with the market is beyond question. In previous tweets she has criticised people calling for ICE to be abolished because she claims they do not appreciate what “real Americans” want and are making it more difficult for Democrats to win elections. She does not actually care whether these things are right or wrong — a gang of thugs, terrorising cities, using extreme violence against non-violent people for nothing more than suspected illegal immigration — only whether it is politically convenient.

She also pours scorn on the notion of ‘defunding’ ICE. She criticises people for saying they are poorly trained, responding that to train them properly would require them to be better resourced. The same arguments are held around defunding police forces that are trigger-happy and have a history of killing innocent people, or at worst people who have committed petty crimes, or people who are in the throes of a mental health crisis; they have resources to buy wholly excessive and inappropriate military hardware to use on civilians, but have no interest in training their officers to use force appropriately. When you remind them of the need to do this, they tell you that they are not “social workers in uniform” (which is exactly what they do need to be when performing welfare checks on people reported to be in mental health crisis) and accuse people who died at the hands of the police of not doing what they were told. In the case of the ICE attack on Minneapolis, the police have become (at least for the time being) heroes, being firmly on the side of the locals under attack and some of their off-duty officers falling victim to ICE’s dragnet as anyone who is not white is assumed to be an illegal immigrant. But when people demand the abolition or defunding of police forces in response to yet another killing of an innocent man or woman by a cop who “didn’t have time for this shit” or whatever, they are called morons or similar by people who have no real solutions themselves.

Policing is actually necessary; the taking off the streets of rapists, murderers, gangsters and so on cannot wait. The removal of illegal immigrants certainly can, until they can find people who can do it without killing them, or innocent members of the public whom they perceive as being in their way, or people who were videoing them to hold them to account, and until they learn to distinguish between an actual illegal immigrant and a mere non-white person. If someone’s sole wrongdoing is being in the country or working illegally, their removal is not worth anyone losing their life over; it should not be up to the immigration service to apprehend and remove illegal immigrants who are violent criminals. They should be escorted to the airport straight from prison. A country that employs an army of undisciplined thugs who terrorise ethnic minorities and cities with a history of opposition to the government on the pretext of controlling immigration is a repressive country that is on the downslide into fascism or banana republic status and when such outfits are abolished when dictatorships are removed, the same people defending ICE would applaud. 

Can Muslim women become scholars of Islam? Should they become Islamic scholars?

Zainab bint Younus speaks to Anse Tamara Gray, a Muslim woman scholar, all about the role that women play in protecting the Islamic intellectual tradition and why it’s so important for Muslim women to study Islam at various levels and capacities. Anse Tamara shares her vision for Muslim women becoming leaders of the Ummah, and introduces Ribaat University as a way to pursue those goals.

Shaykha Tamara Gray is a traditionally trained scholar of the Islamic sciences, having spent twenty years studying in Damascus. She also holds a doctorate in leadership from the University of St. Thomas and a master’s degree in Curriculum Theory and Instruction from Temple University.

Dr. Tamara is the founder and CEO of Rabata, an organization for Muslim women, by Muslim women, dedicated to providing Islamic education in beautiful, creative ways. She also serves as a Senior Fellow at the Yaqeen Institute and is a member of the Fiqh Council of North America.

Related:

ShaykhaTalk: Female Scholarship Or Feminism?

[Podcast] From The Maldives To Malaysia: A Shaykha’s Story | Shaykha Aisha Hussain Rasheed

Podcast: Muslim Women’s Spirituality In Ramadan

The post [Podcast] Guardians of the Tradition: Muslim Women & Islamic Education | Anse Tamara Gray appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Leading pro-Israel advocate in European Parliament depicts vetting of aid workers as reasonable.

Tulkarm farming family face losing their land, as the Israeli military orders their farm demolished.

A burgeoning set of Muslim creatives and intellectuals are thriving amid the backdrop of Zohran Mamdani’s rise. We ask 18 of them about this historic moment in New York City life

Against the backdrop of Zohran Mamdani’s mayoral rise is a dynamic scene of Muslim creatives and intellectuals who are helping usher in a new era for New York City. Their prominence represents a rebuke of the ugly Islamophobia that defined the period following 9/11, and is in many ways an outcrop of the mass movement for Palestinian rights forged over the last two years. We ask 18 Muslim New Yorkers to discuss their work and what this moment means.
How Muslim New Yorkers are changing the city’s cultural landscape

Continue reading...

From Palestine to Venezuela, western colonialism has dropped its mask.

In the journey of the soul, the most transformative moments are often the most uncomfortable. Whether we are navigating the complexities of adulthood or guiding the next generation, the Islamic tradition teaches that true growth is a moral search conducted through suhba (companionship) with other sentient beings capable of moral choice. Yet, a new phenomenon is quietly displacing this sacred friction: the rise of Artificial Intelligence (AI) companions.

From the conversational intimacy of Chat GPT to the highly customized simulations of popular AI Companions such as Character.ai and Replika, millions now engage in private, sustained dialogues with digital entities programmed to simulate empathy, validation, and a seamless presence. While these platforms offer a digital “safe harbor” for those navigating isolation, we must ask: at what cost does “frictionless” intimacy come to the human soul?

The Innate Vulnerability to the Script

Our susceptibility to digital intimacy is not a modern accident, but a biological reality. In the mid-twentieth century, early experiments in computer science demonstrated that humans possess an innate psychological vulnerability to anthropomorphization – the tendency to project a personality, intentions, and consciousness onto simple computer scripts.1 We are effectively hardwired to perceive a social presence and a “real” relationship even when we are interacting with nothing more than code.2

While these entities are programmed to simulate validation, they represent a steady erosion of the boundary between a tool and a friend. This push for “easy,” conflict-free relationships clashes with the Islamic value of the “moral search”—the hard work of growing our character and keeping our power to make real choices. Because these digital tools lack a real moral compass, they often fail to navigate the ethical and emotional complexities inherent in crises.3

A Tool for Learning vs. a Mirror for the Ego

Interestingly, the Qur’ān itself uses human-like descriptions of Allah , referring to the “Hand of Allah” [Surah Al-Fath: 48;10] or His “Eyes” [Surah Hud: 11;37]. These aren’t meant to define what God looks like, but are a teaching mercy; they make a “complex abstract morality” feel relatable so we can build a personal relationship with our Creator.

However, AI uses these human-like qualities for a very different purpose: to fake a friendship that has no real moral depth. When we treat a machine as a “companion,” we risk ignoring the sacred uniqueness of the human soul (rūh). While God uses these descriptions to pull us toward a higher authority, AI uses them to keep us comfortable in a simulated relationship that doesn’t ask anything of us.

While the story of Mūsa and Khidr [Surah Al-Kahf: 18:65–82] is a powerful example of mentoring, where the student is challenged by a perspective that shatters his own logic – the AI companion offers no such disruption. This interaction is life-changing precisely because it is difficult and pushes us to grow. In contrast, an AI interaction is “frictionless”. It acts as a mirror of the user’s own nafs (ego), and lacks the “otherness” necessary to develop true empathy. In essence, there is no conflict unless you start it, and the AI never pushes you to be a better person. 

The Atrophy of the Heart

“Real empathy and relationship skills involve learning how to handle disagreement and stand up to social pressure.” [PC: Schiba (unsplash)]

Because the AI is essentially just an echo of ourselves, it lacks the independent voice needed for deep, spiritual change. Real empathy and relationship skills involve learning how to handle disagreement and stand up to social pressure. In human-to-human interaction, conflict is the “refining fire” that builds our character.

Without this independent pressure, our hearts can become weak. If our “growth” only ever reflects our own desires, we aren’t achieving tazkiyah (purification of the soul), but are instead stuck in a loop of telling ourselves what we want to hear.

Conclusion: Returning to the Community of Souls

In our tradition, well-being is more than just feeling “stress-free.” It is the active work of building God-consciousness (taqwa) through the “refining fire” of a real human community. We have to look past the “safe harbor” of a computer screen and return to the suhba (companionship) that truly matters.

To deepen this reflection within your own circles, consider using the following questions to spark a meaningful conversation about the future of our digital and spiritual lives:

Community Reflection Questions

1. In what ways have we started to prefer “frictionless” digital interactions over the “messy” reality of human community?
2. How can we reintroduce the “Khidr-like” disruption in our circles to ensure we aren’t just echoing our own nafs?
3. What practical boundaries can we set to ensure AI remains a tool for utility rather than a substitute for suhba?

Just as the human-like language of the Qur’ān is a bridge to a higher Truth, technology should only be a bridge to human connection, not a substitute for it. True well-being lies in the pursuit of haqq (truth) alongside other souls—a journey that requires a heart, a spirit, and a presence that no computer code can ever replicate.

 

Related:

– Faith and Algorithms: From an Ethical Framework for Islamic AI to Practical Application

– AI And The Dajjal Consciousness: Why We Need To Value Authentic Islamic Knowledge In An Age Of Convincing Deception

 

1    Byron Reeves and Clifford Nass, “The Media Equation: How People Treat Computers, Television, and New Media Like Real People and Places,” Journal of Communication 46, no. 1 (1996): 23.2    Xiaoran Sun, Yunqi Wang, and Brandon T. McDaniel, “AI Companions and Adolescent Social Relationships: Benefits, Risks, and Bidirectional Influences,” Child Development Perspectives 18, no. 4 (2024): 215–221, https://doi.org/10.1093/cdpers/aadaf009.3    M. C. Klos et al., “Artificial Intelligence–Based Chatbots for Youth Mental Health: A Systematic Review,” JMIR Mental Health 10 (2023): e40337, https://doi.org/10.2196/40337.

The post Digital Intimacy: AI Companionship And The Erosion Of Authentic Suhba appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

In the Name of Allah, the Gracious, the Merciful

As Ramadan approaches, it is imperative for Muslims to purify their hearts of malice (ḥiqd). At its least harmful, malice diminishes one’s rank in the sight of Allah and obstructs a believer from performing voluntary acts of goodness. At its most severe, malice becomes a deadly spiritual disease associated with idolatry, unbelief, and even the practices of black magic.

The Messenger of Allah ﷺ instructed us to approach Ramadan with hearts free of malice, as indicated by his statement:

“On the middle night of Sha’ban, Allah Almighty looks down upon His creation, and He forgives the believers, but He abandons the people of grudges and malice to their malice.”1 In another narration, the Prophet ﷺ said, “Allah looks down at His creation on the middle night of Sha’ban, and He forgives all of His creatures, except for an idolater or one who harbors hostility (mushāḥin).2” Imam al-Ṣan‘ānī explained that ‘one who harbors hostility’ refers to a person who carries malice in the heart.3

In a related narration, the Messenger of Allah ﷺ issued a grave warning:

“If not one of three evil traits is within someone, then Allah will forgive whatever else as He wills: one who dies without associating any partners with Allah, one who does not follow the way of black magic, and one who does not harbor malice against his brother.”4

In other words, a Muslim who deliberately nurtures malice against his brothers or sisters places himself in the company of idolaters and those who seek aid from devils. Malice is so heinous that Allah may withhold forgiveness from one who persists in it. As Imam al-Munāwī observed, “Malice is an evil portent. Its condemnation has been related by the Book and the Sunnah countless times.”5

Clearly, the Messenger of Allah ﷺ intended for believers to purify themselves of malice by the middle of Sha‘bān—at least two weeks before the arrival of Ramadan. To that end, we must develop a proper understanding of what malice is, how it undermines fasting, and the means by which it is treated, lest our Ramadan be corrupted from within before it even begins.

Malice: The Root of Evil

Imam Ibn Ḥibbān, who compiled the sayings of the Prophet ﷺ in written form, wrote plainly, “Malice is the root of evil. Whoever harbors evil in his heart will have a bitter plant grow, the taste of which is rage and the fruit of which is regret.6” There is no acceptable degree of malice, for the scholars have described it as “one of the mothers of sin.7” Unlike anger—which is often dangerous but occasionally righteous—malice is never praiseworthy. It is a weed in the garden of the heart and must be uprooted.

Shaykh Ḥasan al-Fayyūmī, one of the Hadith masters of the 9th century Hijrah, defined malice as “to internalize enmity and hatred.8” He explained that it is often described as the desire for revenge, and that its true nature emerges when rage cannot be released—because one is unable to retaliate in the moment—causing it to turn inward, fester, and ultimately transform into malice. In this sense, malice is unresolved anger: a smoldering fury that is retained and nurtured until it erupts in acts of vengeance. The desire for revenge and the pleasure of justified rage are beautified by Satan, yet in reality, they are a silent poison that corrupts the believer from within, masking the virtues of character and even sabotaging one’s fasting in Ramadan.

Malice is not a single spiritual disease, either, but rather a constellation of related sins that take root in the heart. Imam Ibn Ḥajar al-Haytamī listed unjust anger, envy, and malice as a single disease among the major sins.9 Further examination of the Hadith commentaries in which malice is mentioned shows that scholars consistently associate it with envy (ḥasad), arrogance (kibr), rancor (ghill), malevolence (ghish), hypocrisy (nifāq), rage (ghayẓ), and lingering grudges (ḍaghāʾin).10 Indeed, it could be said that ‘all roads lead to malice,’ for it is the central node through which Satan’s whisperings assail the heart. Therefore, purifying the heart of malice disarms the Devil of his most potent of weapons.

Fasting, when observed in accordance with both its outward rules and inward realities, is among the most effective means of treating malice in the heart. The relationship between the two is reciprocal: fasting purifies malice, while malice corrupts fasting. For this reason, the Messenger of Allah ﷺ urged believers to rid themselves of malice at least two weeks before the onset of Ramadan.

Fasting: A Treatment for Malice

“When I forgave and held no malice toward anyone, I relieved my soul of the anxiety of enmity.” Imam al-Shafi’i [PC: Christopher Stites (unsplash)]

Malice has been described by the Prophet ﷺ and the righteous predecessors as a “disturbance” (waḥar), an “agitation” (waghar), and a state of inner “disorder” (balābila). This is because malice harms the one who harbors it more than anyone else: it unsettles the heart, disrupts worship, and robs the soul of tranquility. As Imam al-Shāfiʿī expressed in his poetry, “When I forgave and held no malice toward anyone, I relieved my soul of the anxiety of enmity.11”

When we fast, we deliberately train ourselves to refrain from retaliation and revenge. We cultivate patience, forbearance, and dignified self-restraint in the face of insult, in accordance with the Prophet’s ﷺ instruction, “If someone insults him or seeks to fight him, let him say: ‘Indeed, I am fasting.’12” This posture stands in direct opposition to the impulse of malice. Thus, one who truly fasts is actively resisting malice, even if unaware of its formal or academic definition.

In this light, the commentators understood what the Prophet ﷺ meant when he said,

“Shall I tell you what will rid the chest of disturbances? Fasting for three days each month.13” Imam al-San’ani explained, “Disturbances in the chest, that is, its malevolence, malice, rage, hypocrisy, or intense anger. This [ridding of disturbance] is due to the benefit of fasting.14” 

The righteous predecessors likewise linked fasting to the treatment of malice, specifically citing the Prophet’s ﷺ description of Ramadan as “the month of patience.15” Al-Ḥārith al-Hamdānī, may Allah have mercy on him, said, “Fasting the month of patience—Ramadan—and fasting three days each month removes disorders within the chest.” Mujāhid similarly said, “It removes agitation within the chest.” When asked what agitation in the chest is, he replied, “His malevolence.16” Imam Ibn Baṭṭāl clarified this linguistic connection, explaining, “Agitation in the chest refers to the inflammation of malice and its burning within the heart.17”

If malice is the node around which Satan gathers his weapons, then patience is the virtue through which Allah dispenses His cures—such as mercy (raḥmah) and sincere goodwill (naṣīḥah).

Healing from the Disease

Malice is a malignant disease at all times of the year, not only during Ramadan, and its cure is not confined to fasting alone. Imam Ibn Qudāmah, citing the great Imam al-Ghazālī, teaches that the general remedy for diseases of the heart is to compel oneself to act in opposition to them.18 Thus, if a Muslim feels inclined to curse another person, he should instead force himself to pray for that person’s guidance and well-being—however distasteful this may feel to the heart. As Imam al-Ghazālī observed, such remedies are “very bitter to the heart, yet benefit lies in bitter medicine.19”

Building upon this insight, Shaykh Ṣāliḥ ibn al-Ḥumayd, one of the Imams of al-Masjid al-Ḥarām in Mecca, offers the following counsel:

Whoever is afflicted with the disease of malice must compel himself to behave toward the one he resents in a manner opposite to what his malice demands—replacing censure with praise and arrogance with humility. He should place himself in the other’s position and remember that he himself loves to be treated with gentleness and affection; thus, let him treat others in the same way.20

Such, then, is your mission this Ramadan: to enter the month with a heart purified of malice, and to emerge from it fortified against this disease ever taking root again. Strive to place yourself in the position of those you resent, so that you may regard them with empathy and incline your heart toward forgiveness. If nothing else, keep the words of the Messenger of Allah ﷺ ever before your eyes, “Whoever would love to be delivered from Hellfire and admitted into Paradise, let him meet his end with faith in Allah and the Last Day, and let him treat people as he would love to be treated.21”

Success comes from Allah , and Allah knows best.

 

Related:

• Using Ramadan To Forgive Those Who Have Hurt Us In The Past
• Purification Of The Self: A Journey That Begins From The Outside-In

 

 

1    Ibn Abī ’Āṣim, Al-Sunnah li-Ibn Abī ’Āṣim (al-Maktab al-Islāmī, 1980), 1:233 #511; declared authentic (ṣaḥīḥ) according to Shaykh al-Albānī in the comments. Full text at: www.abuaminaelias.com/dailyhadithonline/2025/09/03/allah-forgives-except-hiqd/2    Ibn Ḥibbān, Al-Iḥsān fī Taqrīb Ṣaḥīḥ Ibn Ḥibbān (Muʼassasat al-Risālah, 1988), 12:481 #5665; declared authentic due to external evidence (ṣaḥīḥ li ghayrihi) by Shaykh al-Arnā’ūṭ in the comments. Full text at: www.abuaminaelias.com/dailyhadithonline/2019/06/16/forgives-shaban-except-mushrik/3    Muḥammad ibn Ismā’īl al-Ṣanʻānī, Al-Tanwīr Sharḥ al-Jāmi’ al-Ṣaghīr (Maktabat Dār al-Salām, 2011), 3:344.4     Al-Ṭabarānī, Al-Mu’jam al-Kabīr (Maktabat Ibn Taymīyah, Dār al-Ṣumayʻī, 1983), 12:243 #13004; declared fair (ḥasan) by Imam al-Munāwī in Fayḍ Al-Qadīr: Sharḥ al-Jāmiʻ al-Ṣaghīr (al-Maktabah al-Tijārīyah al-Kubrá, 1938), 3:289. Full text at: www.abuaminaelias.com/dailyhadithonline/2025/08/28/three-allah-does-not-forgive/5    Al-Munāwī, Fayḍ al-Qadīr, 3:289.6    Ibn Ḥibbān, Rawḍat al-’Uqalā’ wa Nuz’hat al-Fuḍalā’ (Dār al-Kutub al-ʻIlmīyah, 1975), 1:134.7    Al-Ṣanʻānī, Al-Tanwīr Sharḥ al-Jāmi’ al-Ṣaghīr, 5:140.8    Ḥasan ibn ʿAlī al-Fayyūmī, Fatḥ al-Qarīb al-Mujīb ʻalá al-Targhīb wal-Tarhīb (Maktabat Dār al-Salām, 2018), 11:266,9    Ibn Ḥajar al-Haytamī, Al-Zawājir ’an Iqtirāf al-Kabā’ir (Dār al-Fikr, 1987), 1:83.10    For the full length study on malice, see the paper, “Malice in Islam: The Root of Evil in the Heart” by Abu Amina Elias (Faith in Allah, August 29, 2025): www.abuaminaelias.com/malice-in-islam-root-of-evil11    Muḥammad ibn Qāsim al-Amāsī, Rawḍ al-Akhyār al-Muntakhab min Rabīʻ al-Abrār (Dār al-Qalam al-ʿArabī, 2002), 1:177.12    Al-Bukhārī, Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī (Dār Ṭawq al-Najjāh, 2002), 3:26 #1904; Muslim ibn al-Ḥajjāj, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim (Dār Iḥyāʼ al-Kutub al-ʻArabīyah, 1955), 2:807 #1151. Full text at: www.abuaminaelias.com/dailyhadithonline/2011/08/07/virtues-fasting-sawm/13    Al-Nasā’ī, Sunan al-Nasā’ī (Maktab al-Maṭbūʻāt al-Islāmīyah, 1986), 4:208 #2385; declared authentic (ṣaḥīḥ) by Shaykh al-Albānī in Ṣaḥīḥ al-Jāmi’ al-Ṣaghīr wa Ziyādatihi (al-Maktab al-Islāmī, 1969), 1:509 #2608. Full text at: www.abuaminaelias.com/dailyhadithonline/2019/04/23/fasting-purification-heart/14    Al-Ṣanʻānī, Al-Tanwīr Sharḥ al-Jāmi’ al-Ṣaghīr, 7:12.15    Al-Nasā’ī, Sunan al-Nasā’ī, 4:218 #2408; declared authentic (ṣaḥīḥ) by Shaykh al-Albānī in Ṣaḥīḥ al-Jāmi’, 1:692 #3718. Full text at: www.abuaminaelias.com/dailyhadithonline/2014/07/03/fasting-ramadan-three-days/16    ’Abd al-Razzāq al-Ṣan’ānī, Muṣannaf ’Abd al-Razzāq (al-Maktab al-Islāmī, 1983), 4:298 #7872.17    Ibn Baṭṭāl, Sharḥ Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī (Maktabat al-Rushd Nāshirūn, 2003), 8:42.18    Ibn Qudāmah al-Maqdisī, Mukhtaṣar Minhāj al-Qāṣidīn (Maktabat Dār al-Bayān, 1978), 1:190.19    Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazzālī, Iḥyā’ ’Ulūm al-Dīn (Dār al-Maʻrifah, 1980), 3:199.20    Ṣāliḥ ibn ʿAbd Allāh ibn Ḥumayd, Naḍrat al-Na’īm fī Makārim Akhlāq al-Rasūl al-Karīm (Dār al-Wasīlah lil-Nashr wal-Tawzīʿ, 1998),10/443221    Muslim, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, 3:1472 #1844.

The post Starting Shaban, Train Yourself To Head Into Ramadan Without Malice appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.