At iftar time, a mysterious traveler enters a troubled family’s home and calmly claims he has come to give something and take something.

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

Part 1

* * *

Call Me Ismail

I got up to answer the door. Zahra was suspicious of strangers, and as for Momy he had that odd fear of human interaction that was common among kids who’d grown up in the Covid era. It made me sad sometimes.

The stranger stood there, a smile on his face. He was a bit taller than me, and though his long hair was black, his eyes were a very light brown, almost hazel. He had a short beard, and the few fine lines around his eyes told me he was older than I’d first thought. About thirty, maybe. My age. His face was gaunt, and his clothes were clean but worn. He carried a faint, pleasant scent. Some kind of cologne or incense. There was something familiar about it.

“As-salamu alaykum,” he said. His voice was kind, almost soft.

“Wa alaykum as-salam wa rahmatullah.”

The man held out the cloth sack. “I collected some of your lemons for you. Shame to let them go to waste.”

I took the bag, smiling quizzically. “Do I know you, brother?”

“Hard to say. People call me Ismail. I have some things to give you, and some to take.”

It was not an answer, I knew, that would go over well with Zahra. Sure enough, she appeared beside me, arms crossed, lips tight. “We could call the cops on you for trespassing. And we don’t want whatever you’re selling.”

The stranger did not defend himself. He simply regarded her with a kind of deep respect, as if her anger deserved dignity.

“I do not want money,” he said. “If I am not welcome, I will leave. I have far to travel yet.”

“We are done here,” Zahra snapped.

I did not close the door.

“Are you fasting?” I asked.

Zahra’s head whipped toward me. “Amir.”

“Have you been fasting? Do you have food?” I repeated, looking at him.

There was the faintest pause before he nodded.

“I am fasting,” he admitted, with a humility that was almost disarming. “I could take a few of your lemons for my iftar, if you don’t mind. And I’ll be on my way.”

“SubhanAllah.” I shook my head. “Don’t talk crazy. Come inside. Eat with us.”

“Amir, no,” Zahra hissed. “People do not do this. We don’t know this guy. He could be a maniac.”

“He seems decent to me,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “And he’s our Muslim brother. Feeding a fasting person in Ramadan is one of the highest forms of ibadah, you know that.”

“He just said he’s going to take something.”

“If he steals the silverware we will survive.”

Secret Ingredient

Ismail stepped inside, then knelt, unlaced his battered brown boots and placed them neatly by the door. We led him to the table. It was past time for iftar, and each of us wasted no time in saying a quick private dua, and then starting on the dates.

“Who are you?” Zahra demanded. “Where are you from?”

The stranger smiled widely, as if Zahra had just paid him a compliment. “I am a pilgrim. My name is Ismail. I’m Palestinian.”

“A pilgrim?” Zahra said. “You’re going to Hajj? And what, you’re asking for donations, right?”

“Let’s pray Maghreb,” I said, “before it gets too late.”

I asked Ismail to lead the salat. I don’t know why, except that his aura was spiritual and solemn, and I had the idea that he might even be a hafidh. But he refused, saying, “A man is the imam in his own home.”

After salat we sat to eat. Momy was quiet and passive, and Zahra was still angry, so I served the food. Even though she’d been fasting all day long, Zahra only picked at her food, while Momy ate hungrily. He was only sixteen yet already six feet tall. But he needed to fill out. I asked him how school was going.

“I got As in my mid-terms. Someone’s been spray painting swastikas on the walls at school. The administration says they’re investigating.”

“Oh! MashaAllah for the good grades. You always do well, I know. That’s crazy about the racist stuff.”

He shrugged. “It’s everywhere. Nobody cares.”

“Never mind that,” Zahra said. She pointed her fork at Ismail. “I want to know why you’re here.”

Egyptian Molokhiyyah soup

“Not for money,” Ismail replied. He used a wedge of Arabic bread to scoop some molokhiyyah, then popped it into his mouth. “MashaAllah, so good,” he said. “Who made this?”

I pointed to my sister.

“It’s amazing,” the traveler said. “I can taste the lemon, garlic and coriander, but there’s something else. Something bright yet slightly earthy.”

Zahra lifted her chin proudly. “Sumac. Americans aren’t familiar with it, but it elevates savory dishes.”

I knew this, but I was surprised to hear Zahra say it. She usually kept her recipe secrets to herself.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Zahra said, but her tone had softened. “Why are you here?”

“I have things to give, and things to take.”

A Great Man

“What does that even mean?” Zahra snapped, annoyed again. “And why our house? Out of all the Muslims in Fresno, what brought you to our door?”

“Your father was a great man.”

I’d been about to take a bite out of a chicken leg, but I looked up sharply at the mention of my father. “You knew our father? He died twenty years ago. You would have been a kid.”

“He gave the most amazing khutbahs,” Ismail said. “It wasn’t just Islamic instruction. He made you feel like anything was possible, subhanAllah. Like you could do anything, you could change the world. And when he recited the Quran, his voice would pass right through your chest into your heart, and echo for hours afterward.”

My mouth hung open. That was exactly what my father was like. He’d passed away when I was ten, and there wasn’t a day since then that I didn’t miss him. With a few words, Ismail had brought him back to life again.

Zahra set her fork down and sat back in her chair. “Someone could have told you that,” she protested, but her tone carried no conviction. “What masjid was it?”

“Masjid Al-Madinah of course. But the old masjid, when it was a rented storefront across from City College. They had a ping pong table and an air hockey table in the backyard. Your dad would play air hockey against the kids, and he always lost. Everyone knew he was losing on purpose, but no one cared. And he always had butterscotch candies in his jacket pocket for the kids. Allah have mercy on him. He was a man you don’t forget.”

“I’d forgotten about those candies,” I said, and rubbed my face to forestall tears that threatened to spill.

“So give us what you have to give,” Zahra said.

“Do you mind if I eat first?” Ismail pleaded. “I haven’t had a proper meal in days.”

“I’m not satisfied that -”

“Let the brother eat,” I said firmly. When I used that tone, Zahra knew I was serious. “Anyway,” I went on, “I have something to tell you.”

Zahra glared at me, lips pursed. “What?”

“I’ve made a decision. I’m going to buy a scooter. For myself. I’ll leave the car to you from now on.”

She sat back and put her hands on her thighs. “Okayyy…” she said slowly. “That, umm…” She shrugged. “That would be fine.”

I almost laughed at her inability to say thank you. But laughing at her would have ruined everything. Instead I merely nodded. “Alright then,” I said.

“Alright then,” she echoed.

Worse Places

When we were done eating, Zahra brought out the remainder of a lemon cake she’d baked yesterday, and a pot of tea for everyone.

“This house,” Ismail said between bites, “has a kind soul. It feels like a lot of good memories have been made here.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Zahra muttered. “Another way is to say it’s a prison for people who have nowhere else to go.”

He looked at her, and there was no pity in his gaze, only understanding.

“I have been in worse places,” he said simply.

She narrowed her eyes. “Like what?”

“Oh, I’ve slept in homeless shelters, alleys, and parks. The parks are actually nice, I like being out under the stars. But the jails.” He shuddered. “Jails down south are especially no fun.”

I saw Zahra stand halfway up, as if she would run away. “What do you mean, jail? What were you in jail for?”

Ismail shrugged. “Vagrancy, mostly. Some towns don’t appreciate a stranger pitching a tent in the local park. Disturbing the peace, a few times.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

“I stood on a fruit crate and preached Islam. I don’t do that everywhere. But some places have a hopeless feeling, like everyone has given up, and shaytan has come to fill the void. I couldn’t leave a place like that without speaking a word of truth.”

Zahra was back in her chair, but I could tell from the tension around her eyes that she was far from relaxed. “So you’re a crazy person, is that it?” she said.

The traveler laughed. “Maybe so.”

I was thinking that if this man was crazy for doing that, then all the Prophets were crazy, for had they done any differently? We American Muslims were so modern, so removed from the reality of our own history, but in the end, didn’t every Muslim owe their faith to a man standing in the middle of a hostile crowd, speaking the truth?

The Giving

“Well,” Ismail said. “May Allah reward you for this amazing meal, and bless this home, and bless your hands, sister Zahra.” He lifted his pack from the floor. “It’s time for the gifts.”

The traveler reached into his pack and withdrew a small object wrapped in a square of cloth. He set it gently on the table between us and unfolded the cloth. It was an incense burner. “This is for you, Amir,” he said.

I stared at it, my hand frozen halfway to his glass.

The burner consisted of a bowl small enough to sit in the palm of a hand, fashioned from polished brass that caught the dim kitchen light and reflected it warmly. Its outer surface was covered with delicate patterns of curling Quranic calligraphy etched into a reddish enamel. The bowl rested on a curved brass base shaped like two slender branches.

“There’s something familiar about that,” Zahra said.

No kidding. It was identical to the kind my father had owned, and had kept in his study. The kind I had seen nearly every day of my childhood.

Ismail opened a cloth pouch and placed a stone of frankincense on the burner, then struck a match. The flame touched resin. Smoke breathed upward in a thin, graceful ribbon.

The scent arrived like my father’s hand touching the back of my neck. It was warm, soft and deep, and was like coming home.

The Burning Stars

My breath stopped halfway in my chest. I was not in the dining room anymore. I was not a thirty year old junior professor with stifled dreams, pining for a lost love. Instead I was nine years old, lying on my stomach on the rug in my father’s study, doing my homework as he sat in a stuffed chair, reading a book. A brass incense burner sat on his desk, and the woody, spicy scent of frankincense filled the room.

“Amir,” my father said, and I looked up.

“Listen to this. Ali ibn Abi Talib, radi Allahu anhu, said, ‘You think you are a small entity, but within you is enfolded the entire universe.’ What do you think that means?”

I sat up and made a clicking sound with my tongue as I thought. “That everyone is connected to everyone else?”

“Excellent guess. It has been interpreted in various ways. One is that a person might feel insignificant and powerless, yet within him lies the ability to change the course of history and lift others from oppression. A single person can do that. You can do that. The way you look at the world, the questions you ask. You’re a bright child and you care deeply. Never underestimate yourself. Within you is power greater than the burning stars and the spinning galaxies. That’s why Allah Subhanahu wa Ta’ala said, ‘And We have certainly honored the children of Adam, and carried them on land and sea, and provided for them of the good things, and preferred them above many of those whom We created.’ Do you understand?”

In my mind I saw the galaxies turning, and the stars blazing blue and red. “Like Ali himself,” I said. “When he was a kid, and the Prophet called his relatives and said, who will be my supporter and success.. success -”

My father moved forward to the edge of his seat. “Successor.”

“Yeah. When he said, Who will be my supporter and successor, and Ali said I will, and the relatives laughed because Ali was a skinny little kid, but the Prophet lifted Ali’s hand and said, This is my supporter and successor.”

“Yes!” My father left his chair, came down to the floor, and embraced me. “What one man has done, you can do, Ya Amir. And if no one has yet done it, you can be the first.”

“Amir!” Zahra said loudly.

I looked up and twenty years had passed, and here I sat at this table, complaining about being stuck in life, when I had all the tools I needed at my disposal. I felt dazed. I looked around and saw everyone’s eyes on me: Momy watched me curiously, Zahra with concern, and the stranger seriously, as if he knew that something important had just transpired.

I looked at the stranger – at Ismail – with a terrible, almost fearful respect. “I don’t know who you are. But thank you.”

“I don’t understand,” Zahra complained. “What just happened?”

Ismail turned his attention to Momy, who sat watching these proceedings with wide, attentive eyes. “Muhammad,” Ismail said, using Momy’s proper name. “Do you wish to receive your gift?”

* * *

Come back TOMORROW for Part 3.

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:

The Deal : Part #1 The Run

A Wish And A Cosmic Bird: A Play

The post The Pilgrim [Part 2] – Things To Give 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.

What Taqwa Actually Means — And Why the Mistranslation Is Costing Our Teenagers

There is a word at the center of Islamic practice that most Muslim parents use constantly — and that most Muslim teenagers cannot define.

The word is taqwa.

Ask your teenager tonight what taqwa means. If they say “God-consciousness” or “fear of Allah” and stop there — tonight’s episode can give them something more precise, more practical, and more actionable. This guide is for the parent who wants to understand what their teenager received — and how to reinforce it at home.

The mistranslation and its consequences

“God-consciousness” is not wrong as a partial description of taqwa. But it is incomplete in a way that has practical consequences — because consciousness sounds like a feeling, and feelings come and go. You cannot build a life on a feeling. You cannot make a decision in a moment of temptation by reaching for a feeling that may or may not be present.

The classical definition — from the early Muslims, from Abu Hurayrah and other Companions — is structural rather than emotional. Taqwa is the active protection of yourself from what would harm your relationship with Allah and your standing in the akhirah. It is the gathered garment. The careful step through thorns. The bowl of milk carried through a crowded city without spilling a drop.

That definition gives your teenager something to do, not just something to feel. And for a generation navigating more temptations, more distractions, and more complexity than any previous generation — something to do is exactly what is needed.

The practical consequence of the mistranslation: when taqwa is taught as a feeling, teenagers who don’t feel particularly God-conscious on a given day conclude that they don’t have taqwa — and stop trying. When taqwa is taught as a practice, the teenager who doesn’t feel particularly spiritually elevated can still choose to carry the bowl carefully. The practice doesn’t depend on the mood. The mood often follows the practice.

The fear conversation Muslim parents need to have

This is the section of tonight’s guide that I suspect will be most uncomfortable — and most necessary.

Many Muslim parents in the West have, consciously or unconsciously, sanitized fear out of their children’s relationship with Allah. For understandable reasons — we don’t want our children to experience religion as threatening, we want them to love Allah, we want their Islam to be a source of comfort rather than anxiety.

But the removal of fear has produced a generation of Muslim teenagers who have essentially no functional consequences for their religious choices. They love Allah in the abstract. They don’t fear His accounting in the concrete. And without that fear — the fear that the angel is recording, that the bowl is being watched, that every drop spilled will be accounted for — taqwa is impossible.

Ibn al-Qayyim’s analogy of the bird is the framework every Muslim parent needs: one wing is fear of Allah’s punishment, the other is hope for His mercy and reward, and the body of the bird — the core — is to worship Allah because He is deserving of it. All three are essential. Remove any one and the bird cannot fly.

The goal is not to terrorize your teenager. It is to raise a teenager who genuinely understands that their choices have weight — that the angel is real, the recording is real, and the accounting is real — alongside a genuine love for Allah and a genuine hope in His mercy. That combination produces a Muslim who can actually navigate temptation. The love alone, without the fear, produces a Muslim who loves Allah in theory and makes whatever choice is most convenient in practice.

Have the fear conversation with your teenager. Not as a threat — as a completion. You’ve given them the love wing. Give them the fear wing too. Let them fly straight and stable.

The bowl of milk story — what to discuss at home

Tonight’s video tells a wisdom story about a young man who came to a shaykh asking how to lower his gaze. The shaykh’s answer — carrying a bowl of milk through a crowded city under threat of public humiliation — is one of the most elegant pedagogical illustrations of taqwa available.

The story is worth retelling at home and discussing explicitly — because it connects several threads simultaneously that your teenager has been building across the series.

It connects to Night 2 — the imposter syndrome episode. The teen who felt disqualified by their weaknesses, their limitations, their particular struggles. Allah — al-Aleem, al-Khabeer — sees not just the outcome, but what had to be overcome to achieve it. He sees the hand that trembled trying not to spill. That is not a threat. It is the most profound comfort available.

It connects to Night 20 — the pornography and addiction episode. The young man in the story came asking for a technique to lower his gaze. The shaykh gave him a foundation instead. The practical strategies for resetting the brain matter — but without taqwa underneath them, strategies alone are furniture on a floor that doesn’t exist.

It connects to Nights 24 and 25 — ikhlas and legacy. The person carrying the bowl doesn’t need the audience’s reaction — they’re focused on not spilling. The person with taqwa plants trees even when no one is watching — because Allah is always watching, and that is enough.

Discuss the story together. Ask your teenager: what is the bowl you are carrying right now? What does carrying it carefully look like in your specific life this week?

Taqwa as the capstone of Week 4

Tonight is the theological capstone of Week 4 — and Muslim parents who have been following the series will recognize why it had to come here, at the end of the week, after purpose and ummah and ikhlas and legacy.

Every conversation in Week 4 has been building something. Purpose: what are you building and for whom? Ummah: who are you building with and for? Ikhlas: what keeps the building from being hollow? Legacy: what will the building outlast?

Taqwa is the foundation all of it rests on. The khalifah who has no taqwa loses their orientation and starts building for themselves. The ummah member who has no taqwa stops feeling the body’s pain when it’s inconvenient. The person seeking ikhlas who has no taqwa has nothing to anchor the intention to when the audience’s approval is available. The legacy builder who has no taqwa plants trees for recognition rather than for Allah.

Taqwa is not the fifth topic of Week 4. It is what Week 4 was always about — revealed at the end because the other four conversations were the context that makes it land.

Warning signs that taqwa is absent

Complete absence of religious consequence-awareness — the teenager who genuinely believes their choices have no weight, that Allah will forgive everything automatically, that the accounting described in the Quran is not personally relevant to them.

The inability to maintain Islamic practice in private — the teenager whose practice exists entirely for a social audience and disappears when no one is watching. This is the ikhlas conversation from Night 24 applied to taqwa: the bowl is only carried carefully when the servant is visibly present.

Functional antinomianism — the teenager who loves Allah in general terms, but consistently makes choices that contradict what Allah has commanded, without apparent internal conflict. The love without the fear produces exactly this: a pleasant relationship with a deity who makes no demands.

Scrupulosity without foundation — the opposite problem: anxious, rule-focused religiosity that is driven by fear alone without love or genuine orientation toward Allah. This produces exhaustion and eventual collapse rather than the steady, sustainable practice that taqwa is designed to support.

Discussion questions for families

For teens:

1. Before tonight, how would you have defined taqwa? How has the definition changed — and what does the new definition ask of you that the old one didn’t?
2. What is the bowl you are carrying right now? What does carrying it carefully look like in your specific life this week?
3. Which wing is stronger in you — fear or hope? What would it look like to strengthen the weaker one?

For parents:

1. Have you given your teenager both wings — fear and hope — or have you emphasized one at the expense of the other? What would a more balanced conversation look like?
2. How do you model taqwa in your own life in a way that your teenager can see? Not the performance of religiosity — the actual, private practice of carrying the bowl carefully?
3. Is there a specific area of your teenager’s life where you suspect the bowl is being spilled — where a taqwa conversation, rather than a rule conversation, might be more effective?

For discussion together:

1. Read Surah al-Talaq 65:2-3 together. Where in your family’s life right now do you need a makhraj — a way out you cannot currently see? Make du’a for it together.
2. Retell the bowl of milk story in your own words to each other. What details stand out to each person?
3. What is one specific practice your family can adopt this week that reflects the definition of taqwa — the active, deliberate carrying of the bowl?

The bottom line

Taqwa is the foundation. Not a feeling — a practice. Not a mood — a discipline. Not God-consciousness in the abstract — the active, vigilant protection of your book of deeds from everything that would harm it.

Your teenager has spent 26 nights building something. Help them understand what it all rests on.

The bowl is in their hands. Help them carry it carefully.

Continue the Journey

This is Night 26 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Night 27 — The Muslim You Are Becoming

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

Related:

What Will You Leave Behind? Legacy in Islam | Night 25 with the Qur’an

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

The post Taqwa: The Foundation | 30 Nights with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

O Allah, I beseech you with Your Blessed Names as the One & Only, the Relied upon. I call out to You by Your Greatest Name – the Eternally Living, the Sustaining of All, to bless my children with righteousness.

ٱللَّـَـَـَـْہم
أني أدعوك بأسمك الواحد الأحد
الفرد الصمد وأدعوك بأسمك الأعظم الحي القيوم
أن تمنن علي بصلاح أحوال ذريتي

My Lord, increase their life span & bless their health, strengthen them with obedience & worship of You.

ٱللَّـَـَـَـْہم
أمدد في أعمارهم مع الصحه
والعافية في طاعتك ورضاك ..

My Lord, help me raise up the young, strengthen the weak and cure the infirm.

ٱللَّـَـَـَـْہم
رب لي صغيرهم
وقوي لي ضعيفهم
وأشفي لي مريضهم ..

My Lord, strengthen their bodies, tune their hearing, sharpen their sight, clear their congestion, mend their wounds and make them whole.

My Lord, with Your Mercy protect them from Illness, sin, mistakes, errors & misguidance as consequence of their devotion to You.

ٱللَّـَـَـَـْہم
عافهم فِيُ
أبدانهم وأسماعهم وأبصارهم
وأنفسهم وجوارحهم وأجعلهم
من المعافين من البلاء برحمتك
المعصومين من الذنوب والزلل
والخطأ بتقواك الموفقين للخير
والرشد بطاعتك ..

O Allah, cause them to obey in love their parents, without rebellion, sin or error or disrespectfulness.

ٱللَّـَـَـَـْہم
أجعلهم لي مطيعين غير
عاصين ولا عاقين ولا خاطئين ..

Ya Allah, help me raise them well with high morals & firm ethics of righteousness that blesses them & I.

ٱللَّـَـَـَـْہم
أعني على تربيتهم وتأديبهم
وبرهم وأجعل ذلك خيرا لي ولهم ..

My Lord, I entrust You with my progeny, for no trust is lost with You. I entrust You with clearing them of impediments, ailments & immorality.

I trust in You to guard them from evil that spreads by night, or envious eyes sharpened by the light of day & from the jealousy of hateful friends

My Lord, protect my children from all sides, above & beneath, right & left, front & back.

Ya Allah, let my children be reason for honour and source of my pride.

Let them be loved by those who love You & turn their hearts to my children.

ٱللَّـَـَـَـْہم
أني أستودعك ذريتي يامن
لا تضيع عنده الودائع من
كل آفه وعاهه و من سوء الأسقام
والأمراض ومن شر طوارق الليل
والنهار ومن شر عين كل حاسد،
وغل كل حاقد ومن أصدقاء السوء ، اللهم احفظهم من بين ايديهم ومن خلفهم وعن ايمانهم وعن شمائلهم ومن فوقهم..
اللهم اجعل ذريتي مصدراً لفخري واعتزازي
اللهم اجعل محبة ذريتي في قلوب عبادك وسخر لهم القلوب..

Ya Allah, bless my children with a good share in this Dunya, in Knowledge that leads to You, in Your obedience, in character & love.

اللهم ارزق ذريتي حظاً في الدين.. وحظاً في العلم.. وحظاً في الخَلق.. وحظاً في الخُلق.. وحظاً في محبة الناس ,

My Allah, elevate my children’s status amongst others & grant them successful positions that bring happiness, piety & wealth. My Lord, bless them with purity, charity, mercy, helpfulness, knowledge of You that they share with others.

اللهم عظم مكانة ذريتي وارفع شأنهم بين عبادك,
اللهم اجعلهم من السعداء الأتقياء الأنقياء, الأغنياء, الأسخياء, الحلماء, الرحماء, العلماء, الأصحاء.

Ya Allah, protect my children from humiliation & dishonour. Bring them joy that will make me happy.

اللهم لاتجعل ذريتي من الأشقياء..
اللهم أعزهم ولاتذلهم , اللهم أسعدهم وأسعدنا بهم ومعهم, ولاتشقيهم وتشقينا بهم..

Ya Allah, bless their hearing, sight & other blessings of health, intelligence & character.

اللهم أنعم على ذريتي بنعمة السمع والبصر , وجميع النعم ولاتحرمهم خير ماعندك بسوء ماعندي.
اللهم ارزق ذريتي الصحة والعافية والذكاء والنباهة,
اللهم ارزقهم حسن الخلق ,

My Lord, let my children & those entrusted to me in responsibility be proof for me on the Day of Judgement.

اللهم اجعل ذريتي ومن أوليتني امرهم حجة لي لا علي.
اللهم آمين، و صل وسلم على سيدنا محمد وعلى آله وصحبه أجمعين .

Ameen, my Lord, Ameen.

I send the most complete prayers of peace & salutations upon my master Mohammed, his family and companions.

Related:

Speaking to Allah in the 10 Nights of Ramadan | Part 1

The post Speaking to Allah in the Last 10 Nights: Du’a for Our Children | Part 2 appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

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.