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

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

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

Level One: The Fast of the Body

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

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

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

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

The Prophet said:

“‏ الصِّيَامُ جُنَّةٌ ‏‏“

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

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

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

Level Two: The Fast of the Limbs

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

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

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

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

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

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

Level Three: The Fast of the Heart

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

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

Allah says:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aisha was reported to have said: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Small Habits That Hold It All Together

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

Read Qur’an daily.

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

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

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

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

اللَّهُمَّ إِنَّكَ عَفُوٌّ كَرِيمٌ تُحِبُّ الْعَفْوَ فَاعْفُ عَنِّي

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

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

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

They Were Never Meant to Be Separate

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

The Prophet brought all three together in one hadith: 

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

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

The Question Worth Asking

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

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

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

Related:

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

– What Fasting Demands From Us | Mufti Taqi Uthmani

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind the Scenes of this Question

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

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

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

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

The khalifah framework

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The shepherd years — why ordinary seasons matter

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

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

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

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

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

The metric conversation

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

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

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

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

These are the questions that shape a life.

Discussion questions for families

For teens:

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

For parents:

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

For discussion together:

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

The bottom line

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

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

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

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

Continue the Journey

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

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

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

Related:

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

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

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

Tony Burke expected to discuss incident with Australian federal police commissioner Krissy Barrett on Wednesday

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A Muslim community is reeling after police opted not to immediately arrest a man accused of crashing an iftar dinner and hurling racist abuse.

The 37-year-old man, described as partially undressed, forced his way into an iftar dinner gathering at a community hall in the Ballarat suburb of Alfredton in Victoria on Sunday.

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I am responsible for 22 members of my family and unable to start one of my own.

Ramadan is considered the month of fasting, but many Muslims are unable to fast due to health reasons. Allah has therefore exempted them from fasting as an act of mercy. Those exempted are encouraged to engage in other acts of worship that are manageable for them.

The Qur’an, after all, reveals that:

“Allah does not burden a soul beyond that it can bear…” [Surah al-Baqarah; 2:286]

This exemption—and the redirection towards other acts of worship according to one’s health circumstance—already conveys that accessibility is a form of mercy. It lays the foundation for disability justice by ensuring that those with disabilities are included in Ramadan through manageable acts of worship. Fasting is one act of worship, but it is not the only accepted act of worship.

We can further understand how Ramadan guides us towards disability justice, especially in terms of accessibility as mercy, through Laylatul Qadr.

Laylatul Qadr—Multiplying Reward Through Mercy

Laylatul Qadr, the Night of Power, multiplies even the smallest acts of worship as a form of mercy. These acts can include praying, giving charity, reading the Qur’an, showing kindness, and any form of remembrance of Allah .

The Qur’an reveals that:

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

The fact that it multiplies even the smallest acts of worship—to the extent that it is better than a thousand months of worship—demonstrates that mercy and justice ensure everyone can partake in divine reward. No one is excluded from participation. Disability justice, as defined by contemporary scholars, insists that justice means giving people with disabilities the right to participate fully in society. It is the recognition of dignity through ensuring inclusion facilitated by accommodation. Laylatul Qadr models this by preventing believers from being excluded from magnified reward.

Night-Time Accessibility and Divine Accommodation

It is also significant that Laylatul Qadr occurs at night rather than during the day. Muslims fast only during daylight hours, and fasting is not counted among the acts of worship specific to Laylatul Qadr. This timing ensures that those unable to fast are not deprived of reward for fasting during Laylatul Qadr. Instead, they stand on equal footing, and are able to attain maximum reward through their sincere efforts in other acts of worship. Muslims are also not rewarded based on the quantity of worship but on the sincerity of striving. This makes Laylatul Qadr inherently accessible as a form of mercy.

It is through understanding the purpose behind Laylatul Qadr, and why Allah has decreed it to be better than a thousand months, that we can further see the extent to which Laylatul Qadr is a guide towards disability justice.

According to the tafsir on why Laylatul Qadr is better than a thousand nights, Ibn Kathir notes that the Prophet Muhammad was shown the lifespans of earlier nations that lived for centuries. He, therefore, worried that his Ummah—with shorter life spans—would not be able to match their deeds. Allah , in response, gifted Laylatul Qadr for his nation, so that one night’s worth of worship equates to a thousand months.

This divine gift demonstrates accessibility as mercy and accommodation at the highest level. Allah adjusted the scale of reward to ensure equity for a community with shorter lifespans. Accessibility here means accommodating out of mercy so that everyone can participate fully and fairly. This is the essence of disability justice: providing accommodations out of mercy to ensure equitable participation.

Short Supplication as Accessibility

It is not only the purpose behind Laylatul Qadr, its timing, or its forms of worship, but also the supplication encouraged on this night that guides us further in understanding accessibility as mercy and disability justice.

The Prophet taught Aisha a simple—yet important du’a—for Laylatul Qadr that all believers are encouraged to recite:

              “Allahumma innaka ‘afuwwun tuhibbul-‘afwa fa‘fu ‘anni”  

“O Allah, You are Most Forgiving, and You love forgiveness; so forgive me.” [Sunan al-Tirmidhi]

This short accessible supplication shows that minimal effort—in the form of a short supplication—can carry significant weight. Accessibility in worship is, therefore, not about doing less. It is rather ensuring that every believer has a way to connect with Allah and seek His Mercy.

Year-Round Accessibility as a form of Mercy and Disability Justice

Laylatul Qadr may be a single night, but its lessons on accessibility as mercy should be incorporated throughout the year. Disability should never be a reason to discourage someone from attending prayers at the mosque or studying Islam.

l human beings have spiritual needs, including those with disabilities. Muslims with disabilities must be accommodated to learn, grow, participate, and worship just like everyone else. This is not only their spiritual need but also their dignified human right.

Just as Allah adjusted the chance to seek reward due to our shorter lives, communities must adjust structures for believers with disabilities. Accessibility is a year-round obligation. Justice means ensuring that every believer is given the space to participate—whether through prayer, du‘a, reading the Qur’an, or acts of kindness. This space extends beyond homes and mosques to the wider community.

Laylatul Qadr is a night that multiplies reward to compensate for human limitations. Disability justice prioritizes mercy to be embedded within societal structures as a form of mercy. Just as Allah magnifies reward for shorter lifespans, and places the greatest blessing at night when fasting is not required, we must magnify opportunities for Muslims with disabilities. Accessibility is not simply an act of mercy—it is justice and empowerment that is meant to be facilitated throughout Ramadan and beyond.

 

Related:

– Ramadan, Disability, And Emergency Preparedness: How The Month Of Mercy Can Prepare Us Before Communal Calamity

– [Podcast] Muslims and Disability: A Way Forward | Sa’diyyah Nesar

The post Accessibility As Mercy: How Laylatul Qadr Guides Towards Disability Justice appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Children in Gaza struggle to learn after Israel’s genocide robs them of schools and homes.

Israel’s raid on Birzeit University in January the largest since October 2023.

In early February, the Fiqh Council of North America released a fatwah permitting the giving of zakah funds to political campaigns in America. This topic spurred significant debate, including a dissenting fatwah from other members of the Fiqh Council of North America. So where does this leave you, the average Muslim American?

This round-up provides a list of the different discussions around this subject, to provide help readers explore the topic in more detail and consider for themselves the consequences of this fatwah.

Original Fatwah:

A Joint Fatwah Issued by the Fiqh Council of North America and the Assembly of Muslim Jurists of America

This fatwah, signed by fourteen scholars from the FCNA and AMJA, provides validation for the concept of giving zakah funds to political campaigns, though this fatwah is portrayed as somewhat conditional. These include donating to institutions rather than individuals, limiting the contribution to 1/8th of one’s total zakah portion, and “reasonable signs to believe that such funds would help the cause for which it is being raised.”

Dissenting Fatwah:

Dissenting Opinion to the Council’s Position on Zakāh: A Jurisprudential Case for Restrained, Non-Clerical, and Holistically Accountable Zakāh Practice in North America

This dissenting fatwah, signed by five scholarly members of the FCNA, rebuts the original fatwah by challenging the premise of the fatwah, an exploration of the reality of Islamophobia and the limited impact (if any) of zakah given to politicians, and a re-centering of the spiritual factors around zakah.

A Roundtable Discussion:

Safina Society | Ramadan & Zakat with Dr Hatem al-Haj & Shaykh Hamza Maqbul 

This roundtable discussion featuring Dr Hatem al-Haj, Shaykh Hamza Maqbul, and Shaykh Shadee Elmasry provides varying perspectives on the matter of donating zakah contributions to political campaigns. This topic includes clarification around the Maliki madh’hab’s legal restrictions around the category of “mu’allafat al-quloob” as recipients of zakah funds.

Theory Vs Practicality:

On “Giving Zakat for Political Campaigns”: Why theoretical permissibility is not the same as practical viability, and why the difference matters for your zakat.

Shaykh Joe Bradford approaches the topic from the perspective of theory vs practical reality. He addresses the serious consequences that the original fatwah will result in, as well as critiquing the foundations upon which the fatwah was based.

A Coalition of Objecting Scholars:

Purify Zakat: A Formal Statement Issued by a Coalition of American Scholars Representing the Four Madhhabs, Rejecting the FCNA/AMJA Fatwa as Methodologically Unsound and Harmful to the Rights of the Poor.

This website includes a statement signed by 47 American scholars from all four madhaahib, expressing strong objection to the original fatwah and its premises. The statement includes an assessment of the academic veracity of the fatwah, its internal contradictions, and the the socio-spiritual consequences of this fatwah. The website also includes separate statements from scholars of the Maliki, Hanbali, Hanafi, and Shafi’i schools of jurisprudence, detailing their specific responses and critiques to the original fatwah. Additionally, a statement is provided from the American Fiqh Academy, the faculty of Dar al-Qasim, and video analyses by Shaykh Suhaib Webb and Shaykh Shadee Elmasry.

A Detailed Breakdown

A Detailed Analysis and Comprehensive Breakdown of the FCNA/AMJA Zakat Statement

Shaykh Abdul-Sattar begins by challenging the assumptions posed in the question that led to the original fatwah, provides a detailed definition of “mu’allafati quloobihim” per each madh’hab, and raises concerns over the failure of tanqih al-manat and tahqiq al-manat with regards to this fatwah.

Other Perspectives:

• Keep Zakat Sacred: A Right Of The Poor, Not A Political Tool
• Op-Ed: Can Zakat Be Used For Political Campaigning? An Argument In Favor
• Zakat Does Not Belong Here 

What contributions to this discussion have we missed? Share your thoughts in the comments below!

Related:

Where Does Your Dollar Go? – How We Can Avoid Another Beydoun Controversy

Faith In Action: Zakat, Sadaqah, And Islam’s Role In Embracing Humanitarianism In A Globalized World

The post Can You Give Zakah to Politicians? A Round-Up 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.

Six nights. Six struggles. One theme.

Week 3 of “30 Nights with the Quran” went somewhere that Islamic content rarely goes — into the interior life of Muslim teenagers with honesty and without flinching. Doubt. Empty prayer. Depression. Grief and loss. The feeling that Islam is a burden. Guilt and shame. Addiction.

This recap is for the parent who wants to understand what their teenager may have received this week — and what it means for how you show up for them.

The thread that ran through every night

Each night of Week 3 told a different story with a different struggle at its center. But every story had the same movement at its core.

Ibrahim ﷺ brought his need for reassurance directly to Allah. Hanzalah brought his spiritual low to the Prophet ﷺ. Ayyub ﷺ cried out from years of suffering — raw, unfiltered, exactly as he was. Yaqub ﷺ poured his grief out before Allah and no one else. Ka’b stood before the Prophet ﷺ and refused to construct an excuse.

In every case, the turning point was the direction they turned toward. The person stopped carrying their struggle alone and brought it — exactly as it was, without managing or cleaning it up first — to Allah.

That is the movement Week 3 was teaching. From carrying it alone to bringing it to Allah.

If your teenager watched this week, that is the seed that was planted. The question for you as a parent is: are you the kind of person they can practice that movement with?

What each night was really saying to your teenager

Night 15 — Doubt: Your teen learned that doubt is not the opposite of faith, and that Ibrahim ﷺ — Allah’s beloved friend — needed reassurance. They were given permission to bring their questions to Allah rather than bury them.

Night 16 — Empty Prayer: Your teen learned that spiritual lows are human and expected, that the Prophet ﷺ explicitly addressed it, and that the prayer done when you feel nothing may be the most valuable prayer of all. They were encouraged to keep showing up even when it feels hollow.

Night 17 — Depression: Your teen learned that depression is not a lack of faith, that Ayyub ﷺ suffered for years and was called righteous, and that seeking clinical help is following the Sunnah of seeking treatment. They were given permission to acknowledge that they are struggling and to seek help.

Night 18 — Grief: Your teen learned that Yaqub ﷺ wept until he lost his sight and the Quran recorded it without criticism, that pouring grief out before Allah is the Prophetic model, and that the wisdom behind loss is often invisible from inside the pain. They were given permission to grieve honestly and to bring that grief to Allah.

Night 19 — Islam as Burden: Your teen learned that all people are a slave to something, that desire never satisfies, and that Allah promises a genuinely good life — hayatan tayyibah — to the believer who does good. They were given a vision of what obedience produces, not just a list of what it prohibits.

Night 20 — Guilt and Shame: Your teen learned that guilt and shame are different, that Ka’b ibn Malik’s radical honesty before the Prophet ﷺ was what saved him, and that there is no refuge from Allah except in Him. They were encouraged to stop hiding and start returning.

What this week revealed about the teenage interior

One of the things Week 3 made visible — and that parents most need to understand — is how much Muslim teenagers are carrying alone.

The shame around doubt. The embarrassment around empty prayer. The fear that depression means weak faith. The grief that has never been properly expressed or released because Muslim grief is supposed to look composed. The desire that feels shameful to name. The addiction that has never been told to a single person.

These are not edge cases. They are the normal interior life of a significant proportion of Muslim teenagers in the West today.

And most of them are managing it alone — not because they don’t need support, but because they have not been given a safe place to bring it.

Your teen’s willingness to bring these struggles to you depends almost entirely on one thing: whether they have evidence that you can hold difficult truths without withdrawing love, without panicking, without making their struggle about your feelings.

That evidence is built over years — in small moments, in how you responded to smaller failures, in whether you have modeled your own vulnerability and return to Allah in front of them.

Week 3 gave your teenager permission to bring things to Allah. Your job is to be a safe human being they can practice that with.

The common parenting mistakes Week 3 was pushing back against

Across the six nights of this week, several patterns of parental response kept appearing as things that make each struggle worse:

Performative faith expectations. Expecting teenagers to present a composed, certain, spiritually elevated version of themselves — and responding with alarm or disappointment when they don’t. This teaches them that their real interior state must be hidden.

Theological short-circuits. Responding to depression with “just pray more,” to doubt with “Muslims don’t ask that,” to grief with “have sabr,” to shame with “make tawbah and move on.” These responses are not wrong exactly — but they are incomplete, and when delivered without sitting with the struggle first, they communicate that you don’t understand what your teenager is actually dealing with.

Making their struggle about you. “How could you feel this way after everything we’ve done?” “What will people think?” “This is shameful for the family.” These responses center your feelings over their wellbeing and guarantee that they will not come to you again.

Isolation as discipline. Withdrawing warmth, connection, or relationship in response to a teenager’s spiritual struggle. This is the opposite of what every story this week modeled. Every turning point happened when someone was met — by Allah, by the Prophet ﷺ — not when they were pushed further away.

What Week 3 is asking of you as a parent

Be the person they can bring things to.

You don’t need to have perfect answers to their doubt. You don’t need to fix their depression or resolve their grief or cure their addiction. You need to be a safe place — a human being in whose presence they can say something true and not be met with panic, judgment, or withdrawal.

Watch tonight’s video with your teenager if you can. Or share it. Let the Week 3 recap be an opening — a way of saying: this week happened, I watched it, I want to know how it landed for you.

The conversation doesn’t have to be deep at first. It just has to begin.

Resources from Week 3

• Khalil Center (khalilcenter.com) — Muslim mental health support covering depression, grief, and addiction
• Purify Your Gaze (purifyyourgaze.com) — Muslim-specific recovery program for pornography addiction
• 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988 if any struggle has become a crisis
• Surah Yusuf — the Quran’s most complete portrait of suffering, patience, and restoration. Read it together this week.
• Surah at-Tawbah 9:117-118 — Ka’b’s forgiveness. Read it, and the accompanying tafsir, with your teenager.

Discussion questions for families — Week 3 reflection

For teens:

1. Which night this week landed hardest for you? What did it name that you’d been carrying?
2. Is there something you’ve been managing alone that you’ve been afraid to bring to Allah — or to anyone else?
3. What does it mean to you that every prophet and companion in this week’s stories brought their struggle directly to Allah without cleaning it up first?

For parents:

1. Which night surprised you most — either in its content or in how you think your teenager may have received it?
2. Is there a struggle your teenager might be carrying for which you haven’t created a safe space so they can bring it to you?
3. How do you model bringing your own struggles to Allah in front of your children?

For discussion together:

1. What is the difference between managing a struggle and bringing it to Allah?
2. Which story from Week 3 resonated most with you, and why?
3. What is one thing our family can do differently — practically — to make it safer to name struggles rather than hide them?

Looking ahead: Week 4

Next week — Purpose, Legacy, and the Long Game — moves from the interior to the horizon. From what you’re struggling with to what you’re building. From surviving to contributing.

Week 3 cleared the ground. Week 4 is about what gets built on it.

The bottom line

Your teenager spent this week being told — through Quranic stories and prophetic examples — that they don’t have to carry it alone, and that it is very human to experience the emotions covered. That Allah meets people exactly where they are. That the turning point is when we turn fully to Allah and make Him our refuge.

Your job is to be a human embodiment of that same message.

Be the person they can turn toward.

Continue the Journey

This is Night 21 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Week 4 begins — Purpose, Legacy, and the Long Game

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

Related:

I’m Addicted and I Can’t Stop | Night 20 with the Qur’an

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

The post Doubt, Depression, Grief, Shame, Addiction: Week 3 Recap | Night 21 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

This morning, my daughter woke up before Fajr. She beamed at my groggy face, “Baba, I’m doing my first fast today.”

She’s young enough that she doesn’t have to. But she wanted to fast. Just like she wanted to go to the masjid with me.

She was excited. She practically bounced through the parking lot in the dark.

After salah, we stayed. She sat beside me on the carpet and reviewed her memorization, the last fifteen surahs of the Qur’an, her small voice reciting with care and concentration. It was one of those moments you hold onto as a parent: your child, in the house of Allah ﷻ, willingly, joyfully turning the words of Allah ﷻ over on her tongue.

That afternoon, we went back for Jumu’ah. My wife brought her to the women’s entrance.

They stopped her at the door.

Kids are not allowed inside. They can go pray across the way, in the other building, where they can run around.

My wife tried to explain. She’s not here to run around. She was here this morning. She was sitting quietly reviewing Qur’an just a few hours ago, in this very building, on this very carpet.

It didn’t matter. They would not let her in.

And then my daughter’s face broke. Not in anger. In confusion, tears rolling down her cheeks. Quietly. The kind of crying that is harder to witness than screaming.

She looked up at me and asked:

“Baba, why won’t they let me inside the masjid?”

I didn’t have an answer for her. There isn’t one.

The imam’s answer when I asked him after jumu’ah — after I told him it was her first fast, that she had prayed Fajr in this very masjid that morning, that she was crying at the door — was a shrug. Children were welcome to play or pray in the neighboring school building’s cafeteria room. They weren’t welcome in the musallah.

A Policy in Search of a Precedent

What happened to my daughter is not unique. Across North America, a troubling trend has taken root in our masajid. More and more communities have adopted blanket policies barring children from entering the main prayer halls, especially in Ramadan and jumu’ah. The justifications are familiar: children are noisy, they distract worshippers, they run through the rows, they disrupt the khutbah.

Some of these concerns are understandable on a surface level. Anyone who has prayed in a masjid has experienced the patter of small feet during a quiet moment of du’a. But the question is not whether some children can sometimes be disruptive. The question is whether barring children from the house of Allah ﷻ is an appropriate action, and whether such a policy has any basis whatsoever in our tradition.

It does not.

The Prophetic Precedent Is Not Ambiguous

There is no authentic hadith in which the Prophet ﷺ barred children from his masjid. There is no report in which he instructed parents to leave their children at home. There is no narration in which he scolded a mother or father for bringing their child to salah. What we have, instead, is the opposite. A consistent, unmistakable pattern of welcome.

Shaykh Muhammad Nasir al-Din al-Albani, one of the most prominent hadith scholars of the twentieth century, addressed this question directly and at length. In a recorded exchange on his program al-Hudā wan-Nūr, a questioner put the matter to him directly: a child under seven wants to go to the masjid. Should the father allow it? The questioner assumed the answer was no. Al-Albānī responded with a better question: what about the father who takes his son to the masjid without the son having asked?

“You know,” he said, “that the early Salaf, at the head of whom was our Prophet ﷺ, used to allow their children to enter his masjid.”

He recounted the well-known narration of a Companion who was praying ‘Asr behind the Prophet ﷺ when the sujood was prolonged far beyond what was customary. The Companion grew concerned. Had something happened to the Messenger of Allah ﷺ? He raised his head and saw al-Hasan or al-Husayn on the Prophet ﷺ ‘s back. The Prophet ﷺ did not cut the prayer short in annoyance. He did not scold the child afterwards. After the salah, he simply said: “My son was riding on my back, and I did not want to disturb him.”

The leader of the Muslim ummah, in the middle of salah, in conversation with his Lord, chose to extend his prostration rather than inconvenience a small child who had climbed on top of him. And our masajid cannot tolerate a girl sitting quietly and respectfully beside her mother?

Al-Albani was characteristically direct: it was not part of the Prophet’s ﷺ guidance to advise those who pray, men or women, not to bring their children to the masjid. Rather, he endorsed their presence. When he heard a child crying behind him in prayer, he would shorten his recitation to free the mother. “I begin the prayer intending to lengthen it,” he ﷺ said, “but then I hear the crying of a child, so I shorten it in order to free his mother for him.” The entire rhythm of communal worship was recalibrated around the reality that children were present and that their presence was good.

He could have done, al-Albani observed, what many of the ignorant imams do today and complain, “Why do you bring your children to the masjid and disturb us?” He did nothing of the sort. The word al-Albani used to describe these imams was jāhilīn. Ignorant. It was a word he deployed intentionally. They do not know his ﷺ guidance.

The Masjid Is the Best of All Places

“A child who prefers the house of Allah ﷻ to any other place a child could want to be is cause for joy. And the increasingly common response in our communities is to turn that child away at the door.” [PC: Hasan Almasi]

But al-Albānī did not stop at refuting the no-children position. He argued that if a child, even one too young to understand what prayer is, asks to go to the masjid, the parent should take them.

“Even if it were just to play,” he said. He repeated it. “Even if it were just to play.”

This is the part that people resist most. The suggestion that a child might come to the masjid not to sit in perfect stillness but simply to be there. To associate the house of Allah ﷻ with joy and the presence of family.

Al-Albānī understood this as a matter of tarbiyah, spiritual formation. “If a child was raised like that, and then wants to go to the masjid instead of the streets or alleys, then this is a blessing and glad tidings. So the father, or even the mother, should take advantage of this phenomenon and facilitate the way for the child to go to the masjid.” The word he used for what a child’s desire to attend the mosque represents was bushrā. Glad tidings. The same word the Qur’an uses for divine good news.

A child who wants to be in the masjid is a blessing. A child who prefers the house of Allah ﷻ to any other place a child could want to be is cause for joy. And the increasingly common response in our communities is to turn that child away at the door.

The prophetic ethos regarded the presence of children not as a problem to be managed but as an unambiguous, unreserved good. And when the inevitable happened, when a child did something “not becoming in the masjid,” as al-Albani put it, the prophetic response was not expulsion but accommodation. “And what distraction can you think,” al-Albani asked, with something close to amusement, “that can be greater than the Leader of Mankind ﷺ being taken as something to climb and ride on?”

“If this were to happen today,” al-Albani continued, “there would be shouting from all corners of the masjid: ‘You made the prayer too long for us, O Shaikh … why did you bring the boy?'”

Then his conclusion: “They don’t know the guidance of the Prophet ﷺ, they don’t know his kindness and compassion for his Ummah.”

The Lesson at the Door

Every masjid that bars children from entry is teaching those children a lesson. The lesson is not “learn to behave, and you can come back.” The lesson is “you do not belong here.”

We will wonder, in ten or fifteen years, why our youth are disengaged. We will lament their absence from the spaces that were supposed to raise them. We will have forgotten how many of them we turned away.

Our masajid should be places where a child’s first fast is celebrated, not where her tears are the price of a quiet khutbah.

A Call to Masjid Leaders

Parents have responsibilities. We should teach our children the etiquette of the masjid. We should teach them to lower their voices, to respect the space, to understand that salah is a time for stillness. This is part of tarbiyah.

But tarbiyah happens inside the masjid, not outside it. You cannot teach a child to love and respect a place they are forbidden from entering. You cannot instill in them the etiquette of a space they are barred from experiencing. The masjid is where they are supposed to learn these things, not in a building across the street or in a separate room in a corner or in a basement disconnected from the musallah where they are exiled so adults can pray in undisturbed comfort.

The Prophetic model was not to remove children from the masjid but to accommodate their presence within it. Al-Albani captured this beautifully: if those who complain truly knew the Prophet’s guidance, “they would be gentler with children. They would not criticize someone who brought his child to the masjid. Rather, they would assist him in raising his child to love the masjid, to respect it, and to learn its etiquettes.”

To every masjid board, every imam, every administrator who has implemented or is considering a policy that bars children from the main prayer space: there is no Islamic precedent for what you are doing. The Prophet ﷺ did not do it. His companions did not do it. The scholars who devoted their lives to preserving his Sunnah have said, plainly, that it contradicts his guidance. Managing a masjid is difficult. Not every parent does their part. None of that changes the fact that the precedent that exists in the sunnah condemns the approach you have taken.

I think of my daughter’s face, the confusion in her eyes, the tears she could not hold back. And I think of the words of Allah ﷻ that al-Albani quoted in closing. Words that were, by Allah ﷻ’s decree, recited in tarawih the very night my daughter was told she did not belong in the musallah. The word of Allah ﷻ describing His Messenger ﷺ:

“He is concerned by your suffering, anxious for your well-being, and gracious and merciful to the believers.” [Surah At-Tawbah 9:128]

May our masajid become worthy of the same description.

***

The following post-section engages with the scholarly literature in more detail and is intended for readers, masjid boards, and imams who want to examine the fiqh basis for these policies.

A Note on the Scholarly Record

The most frequently cited paper in English supporting bans on children coming to the masajid is Jamaal Zarabozo’s “Bring Children to the Mosque,” presented at the AMJA 12th Annual Conference in 2015. Zarabozo surveys the relevant hadith literature and compiles fatawa from across the madhahib and from contemporary scholars.

A critical review of the paper reveals two significant problems: one of omission, and one of misapplication.

The Omission

Zarabozo cites Shaykh al-Albani extensively throughout the paper. He relies on al-Albani’s grading of the hadith of Shaddad (the prolonged prostration), al-Albani’s authentication work in Sahih Sunan Abi Dawud, and al-Albani’s judgment in al-Ajwibah al-Nafi’ah that the hadith “Keep your children away from your masajid” is weak. Al-Albani’s technical hadith work appears on nearly every page.

What does not appear anywhere in the paper is al-Albani’s substantive fatwa-level position on the very question under discussion.

In a well-known recorded session from his program al-Huda wan-Nur, al-Albani addressed this question directly. He did not merely authenticate the relevant hadith. He interpreted them, drew juristic conclusions, and rendered a judgment: children should be welcomed in the masjid, even if they come only to play.

This is not an obscure recording. Al-Huda wan-Nur is one of the most widely circulated collections of al-Albani’s scholarly output. For a paper that treats al-Albani as an authoritative voice on hadith authentication to then omit his direct, recorded ruling on the topic the paper surveys is a notable gap. The most expansive scholarly position in favor of children’s access to the masjid, delivered by a scholar the paper otherwise relies upon, is absent from the discussion. That this paper has nonetheless become the default reference for North American masjid boards crafting children’s access policies makes the omission not merely academic but consequential.

The Misapplication

The second problem is more consequential for how the paper is used in practice.

Zarabozo’s survey of scholarly opinions, from Imam Malik to Ibn Taymiyyah, to Ibn Uthaymin, to the Standing Committee of the Leading Scholars of Saudi Arabia, is presented as a range of positions, some more restrictive and some more permissive. But when one reads the positions carefully, a consistent thread emerges that the paper itself acknowledges but that masjid administrators routinely ignore:

Not one of the scholars cited supports a blanket ban on children.

Every restrictive opinion in the paper conditions its restriction on behavior, not on the mere fact of being a child.

Imam Malik stated that if a child does not fidget due to their young age and would stop if told to do so, there is no harm in their presence. He restricted children who play around due to immaturity, not children as a category. Ibn Uthaymin went further in both directions at once: he stated that bringing children who will disturb those praying is impermissible, but then immediately added that children should not be made unwelcome, should not be removed from their places in the rows, and that gathering children together away from adults actually increases disruption. The Standing Committee of the Leading Scholars of Saudi Arabia — Bin Baz, Afifi, and bin Qaood — ruled that children are not to be prevented from attending the masjid with their guardians. Al-Fauzan specified that children under seven may be brought if it is known they will not disturb those praying.

In every case, the operative criterion is the child’s conduct, not a categorical exclusion. The scholars who placed conditions on children’s attendance placed those conditions because some children are disruptive, not because childhood itself is disqualifying.

When a masjid adopts a policy that bars all children from the musallah regardless of their behavior, the child who is running and the child who is sitting with her Qur’an treated identically, it is not implementing any of these scholarly opinions. It is implementing an administrative convenience and draping it in the language of fiqh.

 

Related:

– Podcast: Spare The Rod, Spoil The Child? Corporal Punishment & Islamic Education

– The Key To Raising Children With The Book Of Allah? Getting Them Started Young

 

 

The post She Cried At The Door Of The Masjid: A Case For Children In Mosques appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Communities secretary tells MPs that government has to act against record levels of hate crimes

A new definition of anti-Muslim hate will not restrict freedom of speech, the communities secretary has pledged, as he said that “clear expectations” will still be set for new arrivals and existing communities in Britain to learn English.

MPs were told by Steve Reed that the government had a duty to act against record levels of hate crime against Muslims, but that “you can’t tackle a problem if you can’t describe it”.

Continue reading...

With Trump’s Board of Peace short on detail and filled with outsiders, people fear they may lose their homes and lands.

New leader chosen amid ongoing US, Israeli attacks. Donya Abu Sitta talks about Ramadan in Gaza as Israel closes crossings.

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

The Secret Shame — A Guide for Muslim Parents on Pornography, Guilt, and the Road Back

This is the piece most Muslim parenting content typically avoids.

Not because the topic isn’t important — it is arguably the most urgent issue facing Muslim teens today. But because it is uncomfortable. Because naming it feels like acknowledging something parents would rather not know about. Because the conversation feels impossible to start.

This piece is for the parent who is willing to have the impossible conversation.

The scale of what we are dealing with

Pornography is, by every available measure, the most widespread secret struggle among Muslim teenagers today — cutting across gender, background, level of religious practice, and family environment.

Research consistently shows that the average age of first exposure to online pornography is about 11 years of age for many kids — often accidental, through devices with unrestricted access. By the time a Muslim teenager is in their mid-teens, the probability that they have encountered pornography is very high.

Surveys have found that about 60% of Muslim youth view pornography on at least a monthly basis, though sometimes a weekly basis. Of these kids, more than 80% were males and anywhere between 17-30% were females, so it is not only a boys problem.

Maybe even more surprising for most parents is the fact that kids that otherwise consider themselves “religious” view pornography just as much as those who don’t see themselves as religious. Of those who reported viewing pornography, 70% describe themselves as regularly or very practicing and believe that viewing pornography is immoral.

The question is not usually whether they have seen it — it is what happened next, and whether they have anyone to talk to about it.

Most do not. The shame is too intense. The fear of parental reaction is too great. And so, they carry it alone — sometimes for years — while the addiction deepens and the shame compounds.

The first thing Muslim parents need to understand is this: if your teenager is struggling with pornography, it does not mean you failed as a parent. It does not mean they are a bad Muslim. It means they are a teenager in the digital age, dealing with something specifically designed by industries of extraordinary sophistication to be as addictive as possible — without adequate support or open conversation.

What pornography addiction actually is

Parents sometimes respond to the idea of pornography “addiction” with skepticism — surely it is just a habit, a weakness, something that could be stopped with enough willpower and Islamic commitment.

This underestimates what we are dealing with.

Pornography addiction is a recognized behavioral addiction that exploits the brain’s dopamine reward system in ways that are structurally similar to substance addiction. Repeated exposure causes the brain to downregulate its dopamine receptors — requiring more stimulation to produce the same effect, producing withdrawal-like symptoms when access is removed, and creating powerful cravings that override rational decision-making in the moment.

This is why a teenager who genuinely wants to stop — who makes sincere tawbah, who prays, who cares about their faith — can still find themselves falling again. It is not hypocrisy. It is neurological reality. The brain has been rewired, and rewiring it back to a state that avoids this addiction takes time, support, and practical strategy — not just spiritual resolve.

Understanding this is not making excuses. It is understanding the enemy accurately enough to fight it effectively.

The Islamic framework: guilt, shame, and tawbah

Islam makes a distinction that is essential for parents to understand and communicate to their teenagers.

Guilt says: I did something bad. Shame says: I am something bad.

Guilt, correctly directed, leads to tawbah — to turning toward Allah in genuine regret and return. It is the conscience functioning correctly.

Shame, when it becomes overwhelming and is not redirected toward Allah, leads to paralysis, hiding, and deeper entrenchment in the very behavior that caused it. It tells the teenager: you are too far gone, your tawbah means nothing, Allah has already given up on you, so you might as well indulge. Every one of those messages is false. And every one of them comes from Shaytan, not from Allah.

The Prophet ﷺ said: “Every son of Adam sins, and the best of those who sin are those who repent.” (Tirmidhi — hasan) The design of Islam assumes human failure and builds in a response: tawbah.

Allah says about Himself that He is At-Tawwab — the Ever-Relenting, the One who returns in mercy again and again. This name is not incidental. It describes something essential about who Allah is in relation to sinning, returning human beings.

Your teenager needs to know — clearly, from you, without shame attached to the message — that the door of tawbah is open. That falling does not disqualify them. That what Allah asks is not a perfect record but a returning heart.

The story of Ka’b ibn Malik — what it says to your teenager

Tonight’s video tells the story of Ka’b ibn Malik — one of the companions of the Prophet ﷺ who missed the Battle of Tabuk without excuse, endured 50 days of complete social ostracism, and received forgiveness that was recorded in the Quran permanently.

The reason this story matters so much for teenagers struggling with secret shame is the specific parallel it offers:

Though Ka’b’s sin was public, and your teenager’s struggle is private, yet the shame feels just as crushing, just as isolating, just as paralyzing as what Ka’b experienced.

The turning point in Ka’b’s story was not the end of the punishment. It was the moment he and his companions reached the absolute bottom of their shame and realized: there is no refuge from Allah except in Him. [9:118]

What saved Ka’b was not a perfect record. It was radical honesty. He refused to perform innocence he didn’t have. He stood before the Prophet ﷺ and said: I have no excuse.

Of course, your teenager should not confess to you, to the imam, or to anyone, as in Islam the believer is encouraged to keep their sin private. But they do need to bring that same radical honesty before Allah — in du’a, in salah, in the private truth of their own heart.

And if they can find one trustworthy person to walk alongside them — carefully, wisely chosen — that honesty extended to another human being can be the beginning of genuine freedom.

What parents must understand about shame and communication

The single most important variable in whether a teenager seeks help for this struggle is whether they believe their parent can handle hearing about it.

If a teenager has learned — from experience, from observation, from the general atmosphere of the home — that certain topics produce anger, withdrawal of love, or unbearable disappointment, they will not bring those topics to their parents. They will manage alone. And isolation is exactly the condition in which addiction deepens.

This does not mean parents should be indifferent to their teenager’s struggles. It means that the way you have responded to previous revelations of failure — in smaller things, in unrelated things — has already communicated to your teenager what you will do with this.

The question worth sitting with is: has your teenager seen evidence that you can hold difficult truths without withdrawing love? If not — that is where the work begins, before the conversation about pornography ever happens.

How to open the conversation

Most parents wait for their teenager to come to them. Given the shame involved, that is unlikely to happen without an opening being created.

Here are ways to create that opening:

Normalize the topic in general terms first. Mention that you are aware this is a widespread struggle for young Muslims today. That you have heard about it from other parents, from Islamic educators, from news coverage. That you think it is important to talk about. This plants a seed without demanding immediate disclosure.

Share tonight’s video with them. Let it create the opening that you might not be able to. A teenager who watches Night 20 and hears someone speak honestly about this struggle — without judgment, with Islamic grounding — may find it easier to take the next step.

Say it directly and without drama: “I want you to know that if you ever struggle with something like this, you can come to me. I won’t be angry. I won’t love you less. And we will figure it out together.” This single statement, said once and meant, can change everything.

What not to say

Don’t say:

• “How could you? After everything we’ve taught you.” This adds shame to shame and closes the door.
• “You just need to pray more and have more taqwa.” This is true, but insufficient, and when said alone it communicates that you don’t understand the actual nature of the struggle.
• “I can’t believe a child of mine would do this.” This makes their struggle about your feelings, not their wellbeing.

Do say:

• “This is not who you are. This is something you’re dealing with, and we’re going to deal with it together.”
• “Ka’b ibn Malik missed the Battle of Tabuk and Allah forgave him and recorded it in the Quran. Allah’s mercy is bigger than this.”
• “Let’s figure out what practical help is available — this is something people can and do recover from.”
• “I love you. This doesn’t change that.”

Practical support: what actually helps

Content filtering on all devices — not as punishment but as practical wisdom. Frame it as removing unnecessary temptation, which is something the Prophet ﷺ endorsed in principle: “Tie your camel, then put your trust in Allah.”

Purify Your Gaze (purifyyourgaze.com) — one of the most established Muslim-specific recovery programs. Online, anonymous, Islamically grounded, with structured support for both individuals and families.

Khalil Center (khalilcenter.com) — Muslim mental health professionals who understand both the clinical and Islamic dimensions of this struggle.

A Muslim counselor or therapist with experience in behavioral addiction — someone who can work with your teenager individually, in a confidential setting, with Islamic framework intact.

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988 if shame has become a crisis involving thoughts of self-harm.

Warning signs that require immediate attention

The following indicate that the shame and struggle have moved beyond what can be addressed through family conversation alone:

• Expressions of complete hopelessness — “I’ll never be able to stop,” “I’m too far gone,” “Allah will never forgive me.”
• Signs of depression alongside the shame — withdrawal, changes in sleep and appetite, loss of interest in everything.
• Self-harm of any kind.
• Complete abandonment of Islamic practice alongside the struggle.
• Suicidal ideation of any kind.

If any of these are present, professional support is needed immediately. The first call is to a mental health professional, not an imam — though both may eventually be needed.

Discussion questions for families

For teens:

1. Have you ever felt like a sin you committed was too big for Allah to forgive? Where did that belief come from?
2. What does Ka’b ibn Malik’s story tell you about what Allah does with honest returning?
3. What would make it easier to ask for help when you’re struggling with something serious?

For parents:

1. Have you created an environment where your teenager believes they can come to you with serious struggles? What evidence do they have of that?
2. How do you respond — emotionally, visibly — when your teenager reveals a failure? What does that response communicate?
3. Are you willing to seek help and support for your teenager without making their struggle about your feelings?

For discussion together:

1. What does Al-Tawwab — the Ever-Relenting — tell us about who Allah is in relation to people who keep returning to Him?
2. What is the difference between a sin being serious and a sin being unforgivable?
3. How can our family be a place where struggle can be named without shame?

The bottom line

Your teenager may be carrying something tonight that they have never told a single person.

They need to know — from Allah’s words, from Ka’b’s story, and from you — that there is no refuge from Allah except in Him. That the door is open. That falling does not disqualify them. That what Allah asks is not a perfect record, but a returning heart.

Be the parent who makes it possible for them to return.

Continue the Journey

This is Night 20 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Night 21 — Week 3 Recap

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

Related:

When Islam Feels Like A Burden | Night 19 with the Qur’an

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

The post I’m Addicted and I Can’t Stop | Night 20 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

On a Ramadan afternoon, a stressed Muslim man nearly runs over a young Sikh—and learns a lesson about gratitude, and what makes a life truly blessed.

* * *

1. You’ll Sing And You’ll Cry

It was a late Saturday afternoon in Ramadan, and Hamza was in a foul mood as he sped through the parking lot. Driving his Lexus, he gunned the gas, searching for a free space near the grocery store. In his pocket was a long shopping list his wife had given him.

As if he didn’t have better things to do. His boss was pressuring him with more work every day, multiple bills were due with insufficient money to pay them, and his marriage was coming apart. Maybe coming apart was too strong, but his wife May, who he loved like a tree loves the sun, was increasingly distant. One by one they’d given up on all the things they used to enjoy doing together, until their shared life had shrunk to a single evening meal and a shared bed.

In normal circumstances all of this would be depressing, but in Ramadan – when he was hungry, sleep-deprived and running on fumes – it made him angry and bitter.

Then, the fact that he was angry and bitter in Ramadan made him feel hopeless, because this was a sacred month. It was supposed to be a time of sacrifice, healing, and familial togetherness. What was wrong with him? Was he the only one who experienced Ramadan this way?

His father, a stocky Pakistani Punjabi with a beard like a horse’s mane, used to say, “Gaana te rona sabh nu aunda ae.” You’ll sing and you’ll cry. That is human.

Truer words had never been spoken.

2. An Argument

He turned a corner and swerved around a car trying to back out of a parking space. The car honked at him, and he gave it an annoyed flick of his hand. He sped past the dollar store, the pet store, and the drug store. As he approached the pot store – a fancy dispensary that sold art along with marijuana in various forms – a tall young man wearing a turban stepped out of the store and straight into the road.

Hamza jammed his foot onto the brake pedal, skidding to a stop barely a few feet from the man’s legs. Before he even knew what he was doing, he flung open the car door and leaped out, hands balled in fists.

“Hey! I almost ran over you! Are you blind?”

The man, a Sikh with dark brown skin and a long black beard, looked Hamza over slowly. He was thin, and wore a dark blue track suit and white sneakers. A slow smile spread over his face.

“Naw, man. I’m high.”

Hamza’s face twisted in outrage. “What is wrong with you? Do you have a car? Are you driving in this condition?!”

The Sikh shrugged. “What’s wrong with you?” He spoke slowly, like he was half asleep. “You drivin’ like your car’s on fire. Takes two people to have a fight.”

Hamza took a deep breath and let it out. Ramadan, he reminded himself. Remember Allah.

“You know what?” he said. “I’m fasting.”

The Sikh shrugged again. “So what? I’m high.”

“That’s your problem. I’m fasting.”

“And I’m high.”

Hamza gestured to the Sikh’s turban. “You’re Khalsa Sikh, right? Aren’t drugs against your religion?”

The Sikh studied him. “And you’re Muslim, right? You a walking paragon?”

Hamza threw up his hands in exasperation. “Get your act together.”

He returned to his car and drove slowly until he found a parking spot. Shutting off the engine, he sat in the car. His calves were trembling, not with anger but with fear. If he’d been a second slower… He imagined the sound of the impact, the Sikh’s body flying, the blood on his car. “Astaghfirullah,” he said, closing his eyes. “Astaghfirullah.”

3. A Chance Encounter

Three days later, May sent him to a Pakistani restaurant to pick up a few trays of food. They had guests coming over for iftar in a few hours. He was tired. He’d been fasting and working all day long. He was an electrical engineer working for a company that designed lighting systems. There were very few firms in their particular area of specialization. Demand was high, and the work mounted every day. Right now, they were designing a system for a new delivery warehouse, and the pressure to complete it on time was immense. Once his guests left tonight, he would have to return to the office, no matter how exhausted he was.

The pay was good, but he wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

The only bright spot was something his wife had done that day. When Hamza had been about to leave the house to pick up the food, she’d stopped him and caressed his shoulder. “Allah bless you,” she said in Punjabi. “You do so much for us.”

It had nearly made Hamza cry.

Now, entering the restaurant, his eyes passed over the few customers. Normally, this place was full of Muslims chowing down, but it was daytime in Ramadan, so the only diners were a young American couple and a tall young Sikh sitting by himself by the window, eating a plate of sag paneer and a side of samosas. Hamza’s steps slowed as he took in the Sikh’s black turban, jeans, and sneakers. The man wore a Led Zeppelin concert t-shirt, and his black beard nearly touched his chest.

It was him. The very same man Hamza had almost run over.

On impulse, not knowing why he was doing it, Hamza walked up to the man, pulled out a chair, and sat at the small table.

The Sikh looked up, frowning as he chewed. “I know you?”

Hamza looked the man over. His skin was dark, and his nose pronounced, with a slight hook. He wore a steel bracelet on one wrist. His eyes seemed alert – not sleepy, like the other day.

“I guess you’re not on drugs today,” Hamza said in Punjabi.

The man’s frown deepened. “Your Punjabi sounds weird. Are you Sikh?”

“I’m Pakistani Punjabi. I’m Muslim.”

“Oh.” The Sikh nodded in a friendly way. “Cool. So what’s up?”

4. The Conversation

“You don’t remember me at all, do you?”

The Sikh tipped his head to one side, studying Hamza. “Are you on one of the cricket teams? I played against you?”

“I nearly ran you over the other day.”

The Sikh snapped his long fingers. “Gotcha! The angry fasting guy.”

Hamza felt a flush of embarrassment. Those two states of being – angry and fasting – weren’t supposed to go together.

“Yeah, um. Sorry about that. I was driving too fast. I was…” He shrugged. “Stressed out. Upset.”

“My fault too,” the Sikh said. He gestured to the smaller plate. “Have a samosa. They’re good here. Crispy on the outside, but not heavy.”

Hamza waved a hand. “Thanks, but I’m fasting.”

“Still?” The Sikh was incredulous. “Don’t you ever eat?”

Hamza laughed. “After sunset.”

“You want a drink at least? I’ll get you one. What do you want?”

“Can’t drink either.”

“Whoa. That’s dedication, bro.”

Hamza shook his head slowly. “Except I’m blowing it. It’s supposed to elevate me spiritually, but I’m just irritated and on edge.” He lifted a hand, then let it flop onto the table. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

“What are you on edge for? Can’t be money, I saw that sweet ride of yours.”

“Work. Home life.”

“You’re married?”

Hamza nodded. “Love of my life. Most beautiful woman in the world.”

The Sikh laughed, then punched Hamza in the shoulder as if they were old friends. “Waheguru ji da shukar hai. Thank God for that.”

Hamza smiled. “Yeah. You’re right.”

The Sikh took a bite of the sag paneer. “Sorry about eating in front of you. I’m hungry.”

Hamza laughed. “It’s a restaurant.”

The Sikh chewed. “You own your own home?”

“Getting kind of personal, but yes.”

5. Sikh Wisdom

“Well then.” The Sikh clapped his hands together, then spread them out wide. “What are you stressed about? Banday di khushi chaar cheezaan vich hundi ae: changi biwi, khulla ghar, changa padosi, te changi sawari. That’s Sikh wisdom for you.”

Hamza smiled. “That’s not Sikh wisdom, that’s a hadith.”

“A what?”

“A saying of the Prophet Muhammad. Four things are part of happiness: a righteous spouse, a spacious home, a righteous neighbor, and a comfortable mount.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” the Sikh said. “There’s a lot of Islam in Sikhism. Point is, you’re blessed, brother. The wife, the house, the ride. You have all the goodness of this world. I don’t have none of that. Nothing. Why do you think I get high? Because I’m a failure.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

The Sikh nodded grimly. “Yeah. It is.”

“Maybe you should get off the weed.”

The Sikh gazed at him coolly. “Maybe so. I only started recently, when our product failed.”

“What product?”

“I’m a game designer. Spent three years working for a startup, building a single game. My UI was gorgeous, I’ll tell you that. But the programming had fatal flaws – that was Anika’s responsibility, our co-founder – and we ran out of funding. Three years wasted.”

“That’s rough.”

“But I’ll tell you what. I wouldn’t care about anything else if I just had a good woman.” He grabbed a samosa and held it up in the air. “That’s the golden heart of existence, right there. The love of a sincere woman.” He rotated the samosa one way and another as if it were a shining gold nugget he’d just pulled out of the earth.

“Speaking of women.” Hamza tapped the table twice. “I have to pick up this food and get home.” He stood.

“Hold up,” the Sikh said. “Take my number. Come play cricket with us sometime.”

They exchanged numbers. The man’s name was Jagdeep, but – he said – people called him Jag. After a quick goodbye and a handshake, Hamza retrieved the food May had ordered and headed for home. He was very hungry, and the smell of the food made his mouth water. Yet he felt more relaxed than he had in weeks.

“The golden heart of existence,” Jag had said, with a samosa in his hand. Hamza laughed thinking of it.

6. Homecoming

As he walked into the house, balancing the two large trays, his wife called from the kitchen.

“What took you so long? It’s only a half hour until iftar. Our guests will be here soon.”

He set the trays on the kitchen counter. The kitchen was redolent with the scents of chicken karahi, creamy lentils, and basmati rice. He saw that May had also made an onion salad and spiced roti.

“I ran into someone.”

“A friend?” May pulled two jugs of juice from the fridge – guava and mango – and handed them to him. “Put these on the table.”

Hamza regarded her. May was studying for her master’s in education. After being in class most of the day, she had hurried home to prepare this meal. She was perfectly dressed, and wore her best gold bracelets and earrings. But her eyes were red, and her face was drawn.

Hamza set the juices down on the counter, then pulled May into his arms. He embraced her tightly – more tightly than he had in a long time – then gave her a kiss and released her.

May broke into tears. “Why did you do that? Now my makeup is messed up.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Because you are the golden heart of my existence.”

More tears. She smacked his shoulder. “Stop it, you dummy.” She retreated to the bathroom.

They busied themselves preparing the table. The guests arrived, and when Maghreb time came all broke their fasts. Hamza set prayer rugs down in the living room. Some of the men were older than him, but they insisted that he, as head of the household, lead the prayer.

Later, as they sat around the dining table eating, Hamza’s eyes kept returning to May. Her back was straight, and her face shone. He hadn’t seen her this happy and carefree in a long time. Once, as he watched her, she looked his way. Seeing him watching her, she blushed like a newlywed.

Holding his phone under the table, Hamza texted his boss: “Can’t make it back to work tonight. I need a little break.”

The phone buzzed in his pocket a minute later. Expecting a rebuke from his boss, he saw instead that it was a message from Jag.

“You eating now?”

“Yes,” Hamza replied.

“Respect.”

Smiling, Hamza slipped the phone back into his pocket, and reached for another piece of roti.

THE END

* * *

Come back next week for another short story InshaAllah.

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

 

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

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

Related:

Cover Queen: A Ramadan Short Story

Impact of Naseehah in Ramadan: A Short Story

 

The post The Sikh – A Ramadan Short 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.

There is a conversation Muslim parents dread — and usually handle badly.

Their teenager looks at them and says, directly or indirectly: “Islam feels like a burden. Everything fun is haram. Why would I want to live this way?”

Most parents respond with one of two things: a lecture about what is forbidden and why, or an appeal to fear — of Allah’s punishment, of Hellfire, of what will happen if they stray.

Neither works. Not for long. Not for teenagers who have access to everything and are being told that everything is off-limits.

This piece is for the parent who wants to give their teenager something better than fear and prohibition. Something true, something compelling, and something that actually holds up across a lifetime.

First: Take the question seriously

When your teenager says Islam feels like a burden, they are not being dramatic or faithless. They are expressing something real — a genuine tension between the culture they are immersed in and the values they have been raised with.

That tension is not a sign that something has gone wrong. It is a sign that they are paying attention to both worlds. The question is whether Islam gives them a compelling enough answer to the culture’s offer.

If the only answer you have is “because it’s haram” or “because Allah said so” — while true, it is not sufficient for a teenager who is watching their non-Muslim peers apparently thriving and having the time of their lives. They need to understand not just the prohibition but the wisdom. Not just the rule but the reality it protects them from.

The Quran itself invites this kind of engagement. Allah says:

“So share these stories, so perhaps they will reflect.” [7:176]

The invitation to reflection — tafakkur — is built into the way Allah presents His guidance. He doesn’t just command. He explains. He shows. He tells stories that demonstrate the reality of what He is warning against.

Your teenager deserves the same approach.

The story of Bal’am — what the Quran actually says about following desire

In Surat al-A’raf, Allah tells a story that most Muslims have never heard in full — and it is one of the most devastating portraits of what the pursuit of desire actually produces.

Bal’am was a man of extraordinary spiritual gifts. He knew Allah’s Greatest Name. His du’a was accepted. He had been given knowledge and closeness to Allah that most human beings never experience.

And then his people came to him with promises of wealth and pleasure, asking him to use his gifts against the servants of Allah. He knew it was wrong — he said so himself. But they kept pushing. The promises got bigger. And eventually he crossed the line.

Allah took away everything He had given him. And He described what happened next with an image that is profound in its precision:

“His example is that of a dog: if you chase it away, it pants, and if you leave it, it still pants.” [7:176]

The panting dog. Whether you give the desire what it wants or deny it — it pants either way. It is never satisfied. It never rests. It never stops wanting more.

This is not a religious metaphor. It is a description of what neuroscience now confirms about addiction and the pursuit of haram pleasure: the brain’s reward system downregulates in response to repeated stimulation, requiring more intensity, more frequency, more novelty to produce the same effect. The desire that seemed like it would satisfy — never does. And in chasing it, something is lost that cannot easily be recovered.

Bal’am had everything spiritually — and traded it for the pleasures of this world. And Allah recorded what he became.

Share this story with your teenager. Read the ayaat together. Let the Quran make the argument.

The question of slavery — reframing the whole conversation

One of the most powerful reframes available to Muslim parents is one that comes directly from the Islamic tradition — and it completely dismantles the “everything is haram” frame.

During the early Muslim encounter with the Persian Empire, a companion named Rib’ee ibn ‘Aamir was sent to meet Rustum — the great Persian general — in his palace, decorated with every luxury the ancient world could offer. Rib’ee arrived wearing a patched robe, riding an old horse.

Rustum asked him, “what brings you here?”

Rib’ee replied with words that deserve to be written in gold, “Allah sent us to take people from the servitude of others, to the servitude of the True Lord, and from the narrowness of this world to the vastness of the hereafter, and from the tyranny of religions to the justice of Islam.”

The reframe your teenager needs is this: the choice is not between freedom and restriction. The choice is between masters. Every human being serves something — desire, status, social approval, addiction, fear. The question is not whether you will be a slave. It is what you will be a slave to.

Islam does not restrict freedom. It offers the only genuine freedom available — freedom from every lesser master, in exchange for the service of the One whose service is, paradoxically, the most liberating thing a human being can do.

When your teenager understands this — really understands it, not as a slogan but as a description of reality — the “everything is haram” frame dissolves. Because haram is not Allah arbitrarily restricting fun. It is Allah protecting you from masters that will consume you.

What the good life actually looks like — hayatan tayyibah

The single most important thing you can give your teenager on this topic is not a list of prohibitions. It is a vision of what obedience to Allah actually produces.

Allah says:

“Whoever does good, whether male or female, and is a believer — We will surely give them a good life.” [An-Nahl 16:97]

Hayatan tayyibah. A good life. Not just paradise in the hereafter — a good life here, in this world, now.

The scholars explain that hayatan tayyibah includes qana’ah — contentment, the capacity to be genuinely satisfied with what you have. It includes tuma’neenah — peace of heart, the stillness that the panting dog never finds. It includes the ability to enjoy the halal pleasures Allah has permitted without the diminishing returns that come from haram.

Here is something worth telling your teenager directly: the people who live their lives in genuine obedience to Allah — not perfectly, but sincerely — are, on the whole, among the most content human beings you will ever encounter. Not the richest. Not the most exciting lives on paper. But genuinely, durably content in a way that the pursuit of desire simply does not produce.

And the people who chased everything they wanted — and got most of it — are sometimes among the most frightened, most restless, most regretful people at the end of their lives. The panting never stopped. And now there is no time left in their lives.

Hayatan tayyibah is not abstract. It is visible in people. Help your teenager find someone who has it.

Why the ER story matters for parents

In tonight’s video, I shared the story of a young Muslim woman who came into my ER after being beaten and assaulted — the direct consequence of years of choices that began with “Islam felt like a burden.”

Her last words to him were: “I would give everything to go back and do it all over differently.”

This is not a scare tactic. It is a testimony. And it deserves to be heard by every Muslim teenager who is standing at a fork in the road, deciding whether Islam’s guidance is worth following.

The road that looked like freedom led to an ICU far from anyone who loved her. The road that looked like restriction — the one her brother had tried to show her — leads somewhere else entirely.

Your teenager needs to hear that testimony. Not as a threat. As a truth that was purchased at enormous cost.

Practical guidance for parents

Don’t lead with prohibition. Lead with vision. Before you tell your teenager what Islam says no to, tell them what it says yes to. The good life. The contentment. The freedom from lesser masters. The promise of hayatan tayyibah.

Find living examples. Abstract promises are less compelling than visible reality. Who in your community — or in your family’s history — embodies the good life that obedience to Allah produces? Introduce your teenager to that person. Create opportunities for them to spend time together.

Tell your own story honestly. Did you face similar temptations? What did you choose? What did that cost or give you? Teenagers are moved by honesty far more than by authority.

Read Surat al-A’raf 7:175-176 together. Read the story of Bal’am. Read the tafsir. Let the Quran make the argument in its own voice.

Distinguish between haram and culture. Some of what Muslim parents present as Islamic restriction is actually cultural preference. Be honest about the difference. When everything is treated as equally forbidden, teenagers lose the ability to distinguish between the things that genuinely matter and the things that don’t. That loss of discernment is dangerous.

Warning signs that this has moved beyond normal teenage questioning

Normal teenage questioning of religious restrictions is developmentally expected and not cause for alarm. But the following indicate that something more serious may be happening:

• Complete rejection of Islamic identity — not questioning specific rules but rejecting the entire framework.
• Active pursuit of haram in ways that are dangerous — substance use, sexual activity with associated risks, situations involving physical safety.
• Withdrawal from all Muslim community and family connection simultaneously.
• Expressions of hopelessness about their future within Islam — “I could never be a good Muslim anyway.”

If several of these are present, the conversation needed is deeper than a discussion of haram and halal. A trusted scholar, counselor, or Muslim mental health professional should be involved.

Discussion questions for families

For teens:

1. When you think about Islam’s restrictions, what feels hardest? What do you think those restrictions are actually protecting you from?
2. What do you think the story of Bal’am is saying about what desire does to a person over time?
3. Is there someone in your life whose contentment and peace you genuinely admire? What do you think produces that?

For parents:

1. Did you ever feel like Islam was a burden when you were young? What changed?
2. Have you given your teenager a compelling vision of what the good life looks like — or mostly a list of what’s forbidden?
3. Who in your community embodies hayatan tayyibah in a visible way? How can you create opportunities for your teenager to spend time with that person?

For discussion together:

1. What does it mean that we are all slaves — and that the only question is what we serve?
2. Read An-Nahl 16:97 together. What does hayatan tayyibah — the good life — mean to each of you?
3. What would it look like for our family to pursue the good life together?

The bottom line

Your teenager does not need a longer list of prohibitions. They need a compelling vision of what obedience to Allah actually produces — in this life, before the hereafter, in the texture of daily living.

They need to understand that Islam is not a cage. It is a declaration of freedom from every master that would consume them.

And they need to see that freedom in someone’s actual life — including, if possible, yours.

The good life is real. It is visible. It accumulates quietly across a lifetime of sincere obedience.

Help your teenager find it before the road that looked like freedom leads somewhere it cannot come back from.

Continue the Journey

This is Night 19 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Night 20 — I’m Addicted and I Can’t Stop: Dealing with Guilt and Shame

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

Related:

Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People? | Night 18 with the Qur’an

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

The post When Islam Feels Like A Burden | Night 19 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

A strategy built on shock, decapitation and regime collapse may already be unraveling.

Ramadan is the month of the Qur’an, and we should all strive to enrich our relationship with the Book of Allah . With two weeks already behind us, we may be reassessing our Qur’anic goals. Are we behind? If yes, by how many pages? We may readjust these figures accordingly and move on with the new plan. But is that all? 

Sheikh Abdul Razzaq al-Badr حفظه ٱللَّٰهُ once said that our concern while reading the Qur’an should be, ‘When will I be guided by it? When will I benefit from it? When will I be among the people of the Qur’an?’ To allow these concerns to guide us, we need to understand what Allah is telling us to do. In Surah Sad, Allah encourages us to do ‘tadabbur’ on His verses, i.e., to contemplate on them.
“˹This is˺ a blessed Book which We have revealed to you ˹O Prophet˺ so that they may contemplate its verses, and people of reason may be mindful.” [Surah Sad: 38;29]

And, in the pursuit of contemplation, we hope to extract a profound reflection or unlock a subtle new meaning in the verses we are reading. Yet, have we not found ourselves every now and then forcing a reflection out of it? Sometimes it proves to be a success. Sometimes, it leaves little impact on our hearts. If we fall short in extracting Qur’anic “gems”, are we doing something wrong?

These doubts were addressed in a virtual class conducted by Ustadha Abeer Sadary حفظها ٱللَّٰهُ before Ramadan. Titled ‘The Art of Tadabbur’, the class helped us understand how best to reflect upon the Qur’an, the mistakes we often make, and what steps we can take when interacting with His Book. The following are my personal notes from this class.

What is Tadabbur?

Tadabbur means to reflect and contemplate on the Qur’an. It should be the focus of every believer.

As in the verse from Surah Sad, “˹This is˺ a blessed Book which you have revealed to you ˹O Prophet˺ so that they may contemplate its verses, and people of reason may be mindful.” 

Tadabbur isn’t technical; there aren’t strict rules that encompass it, and it is accessible to the layperson. It is different from tafsir because tafsir is a science to extract meaning and is limited to scholars. On the other hand, tadabbur is to think about those meanings. In other words, if the goal of tafsir is to learn the meaning, then the goal of tadabbur is to get guidance from the meaning. 

For example, in Surah Baqarah [2:195], Allah says, “إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ يُحِبُّ ٱلْمُحْسِنِينَ” (“Indeed, Allah loves the doers of good.”) To do tadabbur on this verse would be to think, “If I do acts of righteousness, I may earn the love of Allah . So what can I do today that’ll attain that love?”

Misconceptions Of Tadabbur

With everything in life, we want to make sure you do things right the first time. We don’t want to spend a lifetime working on something only to later discover that there’s a better way to do it. It is the same with tadabbur. There are a few misconceptions around the topic. But if you understand what it is and what it isn’t, then you can get it right the first time around.

 – Misconception #1: To assume that tadabbur is an outcome instead of a process

When reflecting on a verse, you don’t have to have tears or a long reflective post about it. Tadabbur is a process, and thinking does not necessitate a conclusion. It can even be a question or an incomplete thought. Linguistically, tadabbur comes from the wordدﺑر (da-ba-ra), which means the outcome or end result. Ibn Qayyim رحمه الله says that to reflect is to examine the beginning and the end, and then look at it again and again. It is interesting to note that tadabbur is a verbal noun. In Arabic, a noun means something permanent, and a verb means something that happens over and over again. A verbal noun, therefore, is a bit of both. And this is what Ibn Qayyim meant by looking at it again and again.

Our idea of tadabbur is shaped by a lot of what we see on social media: the journals, the coloured pens, the tea, etc. But this isn’t what tadabbur is. The reason why the Qur’an is so effective during Ramadan is because we remove distractions like food and water, and the emptiness is filled with the Qur’an.

Then imagine coloured pens and stickers. This is a hobby: this isn’t what Allah wants. If you do this with your five-year-old daughter, then that’s excellent. But, as an adult who wants goodness and rectification, you cannot take that approach for yourself. It might become a tool of distraction. Anything, even if on the surface is positive, can become a distraction. The Salaf used to complain about people’s excessive focus on good recitation, so much so that they would neglect the action, admonition, and rulings in it. The Prophet said: “There will emerge from the East some people who will recite the Qur’an, but it will not exceed their throats…”

 – Misconception #2: To assume only scholars can do tadabbur

Tadabbur does not have to be an “all or nothing” approach. Some people worry that if they can’t reflect on every single verse, they should not try it at all. No, that should not be the case. Instead, you should remember to focus on quality, even if it’s one verse. At least in the beginning. The Prophet would sometimes recite one verse the whole night.

 – Misconception #3: To assume you have to be free with our time or you have to be sinless

To successfully escape the clutches of shaytaan, you need to know how he works. One of his tricks is convincing you that you’re too sinful to reflect on the Qur’an. He can drive you away from engaging in tadabbur because he knows that guidance lies within the reflection of the Qur’an.

Another trick is convincing you to stipulate conditions before you even get close to the Qur’an. For example: you tell yourself that you have to cook the food and keep the kids busy before getting to the Qur’an. But this is life. You’ll always be busy, and this is what life will be till the end. What you have to do is do it now with the circumstances you’re in.

 – Misconception #4: To assume you can only recite the Qur’an if it’s accompanied with tadabbur

This is wrong as it’s an absolutist mentality. The salaf had a multi-dimensional relationship with the Qur’an: they used to recite for shifa, they used to recite in excess, recite to receive answers to questions, etc.

With enough practice, you should be able to recite and reflect simultaneously. It shouldn’t be one at the expense of another. For Ramadan, pick a surah and study it beforehand. Understand what it means, so much so that you don’t rely on your notes and can briefly describe what it means.

Requisites Of The Qur’an

Tadabbur has certain requisites that will help you enhance your relationship with the Qur’an. One of them is to acknowledge the Qur’an’s greatness.

“Indeed, We will cast upon you a heavy word.” [Surah Al-Muzzammil: 73;5]

Allah calls the Qur’an a “heavy word”. The Qur’an physically weighed the Prophet down. There are many incidents that indicate this, one of which was when the Prophet was atop a camel. When wahy (revelation) came to him, it is narrated that the camel buckled under him. On another occasion, the companion Zaid bin Thabit was sitting next to the Prophet with his thigh under that of the Prophet’s . When wahy came down, it was so heavy on the Prophet that the companion felt like his leg would break. It is also reported that the Prophet would sweat profusely when he received wahy, even when it was freezing cold.

All these examples help us understand how tremendous this Book is. If people approach it like a reading or journaling club pick, their connection to it will be limited. If they approach it with coldness like they would a newspaper, their hearts won’t be filled with joy, and their reflections will be deficient.

Another requisite is to have an aim with the Qur’an. You need to have a desperation for it, a desperation for its guidance. If a person walks without a destination in mind, he or she won’t reach anywhere specific. It’s the same with the Qur’an: if you open it without an objective, you won’t get to your destination. But if you approach it with iman and seeking iman, you’ll ultimately get iman. The one who seeks a cure will find a cure, the one who seeks rectification will find rectification, the one who seeks guidance will find guidance. And the ones whose aim with the Qur’an is to increase in knowledge, they will attain it. Come as a blank slate and let the Qur’an shape your perceptions and beliefs.

Practical Tips for Tadabbur

What are some practical tips to do tadabbur? 

• A non-negotiable tip is to have knowledge of tafsir. It needn’t be an in-depth, scholarly level sort of knowledge. 
• Start with a surah you’ve memorised, or you’re familiar with, if the whole Qur’an seems daunting. It’s a slow process, but it’s possible if you’re diligent and you build enough stamina. The companionship you build with the Qur’an is like any other relationship in general: it isn’t built in a day but in years of investing and hours of time spent on it.
• You must come with a focused mind. A scholar once said that if you wish to benefit from the Qur’an, then you must gather your heart when listening and reciting from it. Imam an-Nawawi quotes Hasan al-Basri رحمهم الله when he said that the people before them (i.e., the sahabas) saw the Qur’an as letters and forms of communication from their Rabb. They’d reflect on them at night and strive to act upon them during the day. This is how love is. 
• Sheikh Abdur Rahman As-Sa’di رحمه الله was once asked about how one can reflect on the Qur’an. He said, “You continue to read and read and read until Allah opens your heart.”

May Allah allow us to enhance our relationship with the Quran with every passing day – starting this Ramadan inshaAllah.

 

[Ustadha Abeer Sadary حفظها ٱللَّٰهُ conducts both onsite and online classes on various Islamic sciences, including tafsir, hadith, tazkiyah, and tawhid, exclusively for women. Her website can be found here.]

Related:

Cast Aside Evil Thoughts In This ‘Month Of The Quran’

The Albatross and the Quran: A Short Story

The post The Art of Tadabbur: Enriching Our Relationship With The Quran 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.

When Your Teen Experiences Loss

There is a specific kind of silence that falls over Muslim families after a catastrophic loss.

The body is barely in the ground. The relatives are reciting Quran in the corner. And somewhere in that house is a teenager who is not crying, not praying, not participating in the rituals of grief.

They are alone with something they don’t know what to do with.

Not necessarily rejecting Allah. Not necessarily losing their faith. Just — overwhelmed by pain so large it has no container. And no one has told them where to take it.

This piece is for the parent who wants to give their teenager that direction.

First: Understand what your teen is actually experiencing

Grief in adolescence is neurologically and developmentally different from grief in adults.

The adolescent brain — specifically the prefrontal cortex, responsible for emotional regulation and long-term perspective — is still developing. This means that when a teenager experiences catastrophic loss, the emotional intensity is higher, the capacity to self-regulate is lower, and the ability to hold contradictory truths simultaneously is genuinely harder than it will be in adulthood.

This is not weakness. It is neurodevelopment.

Additionally, adolescence is already the period in which young people are constructing their own framework for understanding the world. A major loss during this period doesn’t just cause grief — it can disrupt the entire framework a teenager has been building. When a teen says “I don’t understand how Allah could let this happen,” they are often not making a theological argument. They are expressing that the world no longer makes sense. They need help finding a direction — toward Allah, not away from Him — and to be walked in that direction.

What the Quran actually shows us about grief

The story of Prophet Yaqub ﷺ is the Quran’s most extended, most humanly raw portrait of grief. And it corrects several common misunderstandings about what Islamic grief is supposed to look like.

Yaqub lost his beloved son Yusuf — or believed he had. And then years later his second son, Binyamin, was also taken. The Quran records that his eyes turned white from weeping. That he wept until he lost his sight. That his sons told him he was going to destroy himself with grief.

And Yaqub said:

“I only pour out my suffering and my grief to Allah, and I know from Allah what you do not know.” [Yusuf 12:86]

The classical scholars — Ibn Kathir, al-Tabari, al-Qurtubi — are unanimous in their understanding of this statement. Yaqub is not expressing anger at Allah or at His decree. He is directing his grief to Allah, in the manner of a servant who seeks relief and mercy from the Lord he trusts completely. He didn’t go to anyone else with that pain. He brought it before Allah alone.

And alongside his grief he held something deeper: I know from Allah what you do not know. Not certainty about the outcome. Just trust — rooted in his knowledge of who Allah is, and anchored by the hope of Yusuf’s dream — that everything happening had a purpose enveloped in mercy, even what he could not yet see.

Two things in Yaqub’s response deserve careful attention for parents:

First — he did not suppress his grief or perform acceptance he did not feel. He acknowledged the pain fully. He named it. He brought it to Allah raw and unfiltered.

Second — he did not take that pain anywhere else. Illa Allah — to Allah, alone. Not to bitterness. Not to resentment. Not away from the One who could actually carry it.

This is the model you want to give your teenager. Not: pretend it doesn’t hurt. But: bring everything you’re carrying — honestly, fully — to Allah.

Why bad things happen: the answer that actually satisfies

Abstract theological explanations of suffering rarely land with grieving teenagers. But narrative does. And the Quran gives us one of the most powerful narratives ever told about divine wisdom — one that Muslims encounter every Friday in Surat al-Kahf.

The story of Musa and Khidr.

Musa ﷺ — one of the mightiest messengers of Allah, armed with complete knowledge of divine law and justice — traveled with Khidr ﷺ, a prophet acting on direct divine instruction. And he witnessed three things he could not remain silent about:

A poor family’s boat — their livelihood — was deliberately damaged. Khidr ﷺ put a hole in it just as they reached the other shore.

A child was killed. Playing innocently. Without apparent reason.

A wall in a town that had refused them hospitality was rebuilt for free.

Musa’s objections were entirely reasonable from where he stood. Two apparent wrongs and one senseless act of generosity toward people who deserved only condemnation. He applied his full knowledge of right and wrong — yet, he was wrong.

Then Khidr explained what Musa could not see:

The damaged boat protected it from a king who was seizing every seaworthy vessel by force. That poor family lost a few days of work — but kept their livelihood. Some reports even say Khidr overpaid the rent to help cover the repairs.

The child who died was headed toward a life of oppression toward his own parents and to society at large. He was taken in mercy — for them and for him. His parents were given another child. And that boy, now with Ibrahim ﷺ in Jannah, plays with other children, waiting until the Day of Judgment where he will be allowed to intercede for his parents, so that all of them enter together.

The wall protected the inheritance of two orphaned boys whose righteous father had hidden his life savings beneath it. Had it collapsed, their inheritance would have been taken illegitimately. It stood long enough for those boys to grow up and claim what was theirs.

Three apparent wrongs. Three profound mercies — invisible from inside the story, fully visible only from where Allah stands.

This is the answer to “why do bad things happen to good people” that satisfies — not because it removes the pain, but because it gives the pain a context. We are Musa, inside the story, seeing only what we can see. Allah sees the whole picture.

Allah says in Surat al-A’raf:

“My mercy encompasses everything.” [7:156]

And the Prophet ﷺ taught us to say: “All good is in Your Hands, and evil is never attributed to You.”

Evil in Islam is like darkness — the absence of light. All that flows from Allah is good, even when we cannot see the goodness from inside our pain. Yusuf was removed from a life of bullying and poverty into a grand purpose: the salvation of a civilization, the repentance of his brothers, and the reunion that restored his father’s sight. Yaqub could not see any of that from inside his grief. But it was already in motion.

Your teenager cannot see the end of their story from inside their pain. But Allah can. That is what I know from Allah what you do not know means — not special information, but trust in a mercy that encompasses everything.

When you share the Musa and Khidr story with your grieving teenager, you are giving them a Quranic framework for understanding why their limited vantage point is not the whole picture. Read Surat al-Kahf together. Let the words of Allah do the work.

The most important question: where does the pain go?

When a teenager is in the grip of grief, the pain has to go somewhere. The question is where.

It can go toward Allah — in du’a, in tears poured out in salah, in honest supplication, in the act of returning to Him even when returning is hard. This is the direction of Yaqub. This is what protects and eventually heals the heart.

Or it can go away from Allah — into numbness, into withdrawal from prayer and community, into bitterness that gradually hardens the heart and creates distance from the only real source of relief.

The issue is never the existence of pain. Allah created human emotions and knows what is in the heart. The issue is direction.

Your role as a parent is not to rush your teenager to acceptance or to deliver a theology lecture in the middle of their grief. It is to help them find the direction — toward Allah, not away — and to walk with them in that direction. To say, with your presence and your words: bring it to Him. All of it. He can hold it.

What sabr actually means

There is a misunderstanding of sabr that causes real harm when applied to grieving teenagers.

Sabr is not the performance of calm. It is not emotional suppression. The Prophet ﷺ said: “Patience is at the first strike of calamity.” (Bukhari) The scholars explain carefully: what is being praised is the response at the moment of loss — turning toward Allah rather than away, not saying what displeases Allah. It does not mean to feel nothing.

The Prophet ﷺ himself wept at the death of his son Ibrahim. He said: “The eye weeps and the heart grieves, and we say only what pleases our Lord.” (Bukhari) Tears are not failure. Grief is not un-Islamic.

Yaqub wept for years. The Quran records it without criticism and calls him patient and righteous in the same story.

When you communicate to your teenager that their tears or their questions are un-Islamic, you are not teaching them sabr. You are teaching them that their real internal state is shameful and must be hidden — from you, and from Allah. That is the opposite of Yaqub’s model.

Real sabr guards the tongue and the heart’s orientation. It has room for tears. It looks like a father weeping until he loses his sight, still saying — I know from Allah what you do not know.

Warning signs that grief requires professional support

Normal grief — even prolonged, intense grief — does not require clinical intervention. But the following indicate that professional support is needed:

• Any expression of suicidal ideation — direct or indirect. Take this seriously without exception and without delay.
• Prolonged functional impairment — inability to attend school, eat, sleep, or maintain basic self-care for more than a few weeks.
• Complete social withdrawal — isolation from all friends and family simultaneously.
• Self-harm of any kind.
• Substance use to manage the pain.

If several of these are present, seek professional support — ideally from a Muslim mental health provider who understands both clinical practice and Islamic framework. Khalil Center (khalilcenter.com) is a strong starting point. If your teen is in crisis, call or text 988.

What to say — and what not to say

Don’t say:

• “Stop crying — this is Allah’s will.” This conflates acceptance of qadar with suppression of grief. They are not the same.
• “You need to be strong for the family.” This instructs them to perform for others rather than grieve honestly before Allah.
• “Everything happens for a reason.” True in Islamic understanding, but experienced as dismissive in acute grief.
• “They’re in a better place.” Insha Allah, true — but not what a teenager in fresh grief needs in the first moments.
• “You shouldn’t question Allah.” Honest confusion brought to Allah is not the problem. Help them bring the questions to Him — don’t shut them down.

Do say:

• “This is devastating. I’m so sorry.”
• “You don’t have to have it figured out right now.”
• “It’s okay to cry. The Prophet ﷺ cried too.”
• “Yaqub ﷺ wept until he lost his sight. Allah still called him patient and righteous.”
• “Bring it to Allah — all of it. You don’t have to clean it up first.”
• “No one else can carry this with you the way He can. Bring it to Him.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Take whatever time you need.”

Discussion questions for families

For teens:

1. When something painful happens, where does the feeling go? What is your instinct?
2. What does the Musa and Khidr story teach you about what you can and cannot see from inside your own situation?
3. Is there something you’re carrying right now that you haven’t brought to Allah yet?

For parents:

1. How did your family handle grief when you were growing up? What did that teach you about expressing pain?
2. Have you ever suppressed your own grief to appear strong? What did that cost you?
3. How can you make your home a place where your teenager can grieve honestly — and be directed toward Allah in that grief?

For discussion together:

1. What does ashku bathhi wa huzni ila Allah — I pour out my suffering and my grief to Allah — mean to you personally?
2. Read the Musa and Khidr story together from Surat al-Kahf. Which of the three examples speaks most to you, and why?
3. Is there a loss our family has experienced that we haven’t fully brought to Allah together?

The bottom line

Your teenager’s grief is not a threat to their faith. It is an opportunity — perhaps the most significant one they will have in their young life — to discover that Allah is large enough to hold everything they are carrying.

Your job is not to rush them to acceptance or to correct their theology in the middle of their pain. Your job is to point them in the right direction — toward Allah, not away from Him. To say, with your words and your presence: bring it to Him. All of it. He can hold it.

Yaqub couldn’t see what Allah could see. He poured out his grief before Allah in the darkness. And then Yusuf walked through the door.

Help your teenager find their way to that same door.

Continue the Journey

This is Night 18 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Night 19 — When Islam Feels Like a Burden: Why does it feel like everything cool is haram?

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

Related:

Is Depression a Lack of Faith? A Guide for Muslim Parents | Night 17 with the Qur’an

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

The post Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People? | Night 18 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.