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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The assassination of Iran’s long-ruling leader, Ali Khamenei, at the outset of another treacherous Israeli-incited American attack at the end of winter 2026 casts a long shadow. Not only are prospects of resolution incalculably damaged, but Khamenei’s killing marked the end of one of the most paradoxical and polarizing figures in contemporary history, one who had overseen a paradoxical hybrid parliamentary regime in Iran that yet entrenched a clerical-military nexus at whose apex he stood for nearly fifty years.

A Revolutionary Background

Vilified by Iran’s many enemies, certainly his killers, as a “fanatic” or “tyrant”, Khamenei was also seen by large swathes of the world, including but not exclusively Shias, as a “martyr”, not least for the circumstances in which he was treacherously cut down. Still lucid in his eighties, he defied easy categorization: a vastly read intellectual and a youth activist, he was nonetheless quick to resort to bloody repression at the helm of what was essentially a religious-cum-military clique in power; a proponent of internationalist solidarity, he was nonetheless comfortable with adopting narrow Iranian statism when it suited him; a repeated claimant of cross-sectarian solidarity among Muslims, he oversaw policies that repeatedly pushed other Muslims under the bus; a sharp critic of Western imperialism and advocate of Muslim independence, he proved nonetheless willing to join in imperial misadventures even if at arms’ length, yet was cut down by the same misadventures. What is certain is that Khamenei’s killers, the genocidal Israeli ethnostate and its enablers, and the circumstances in which he was slain were worse than the man.

“In the late 1970s, Rouhollah Khomeini was the spearhead of a mass revolt that forced out the monarchy into exile.”

More than anything, Khamenei epitomized the limitations of the revolutionary intellectual as ruler; he was without question a widespread multilingual reader, and engaged over the years with works as varied as those of Malcolm “X” Shabazz, Muhammad Iqbal, Sayed Qutub, Victor Hugo, Jawaharlal Nehru, and Leo Tolstoy. What most of these writers had in common was criticism of the status quo, something that no doubt appealed to a man who had grown up in an Azeri family under a tightly repressive monarchy led by the Pahlavi family. One of Khamenei’s influences was Navab Safavi, an Islamist ideologue who had assassinated the pro-British military prime minister Ali Razmara in 1951. Another prime minister, Hassan Mansour, fell prey to a similarly motivated assassination in 1965. In between, when Khamenei was just a teenager in 1953, the United States and Britain helped the monarchy oust an elected government for blatantly material interests related to Iranian oil.

The Pahlavi regime that lasted until 1979 was not only a monarchy, nor just a Western vassal, nor simply an elitist regime with open and often unconcealed racial disdain for outsiders, but one of the most brutal police states of the day, whose repression comfortably dwarfed that of the regime Khamenei himself would lead. He was repeatedly jailed in his prime years, a period when monarchic repression duelled with underground resistance of various types – Muslim, leftist, liberal, ethnic,  and other. The most recognizable opposition leader was Rouhollah Khomeini, a firebrand preacher under whom Khamenei had studied. In the late 1970s, Khomeini was the spearhead of a mass revolt that forced out the monarchy into exile, where its loyalists have since constituted a nostalgic, myopic, and obnoxious segment of the Iranian diaspora.

Revolution, War, and Consolidation

At home, however, the revolution narrowed to a smaller circle. At first expected to be more of a symbolic ruler alongside a prime ministry and presidency, Khomeini became the increasingly powerful leader of a circle increasingly comprising men of his background: clerics, almost invariably Shia clerics, in what was called Vilayet-e-Faqih, or the State of the Jurists. This was Khomeini’s preferred innovation and underpinned the hybrid nature of the regime: while it held regular elections for the presidency and elected officials wielded significant local control, their decisions were subject to largely clerical review while executive power rested with a clerical “supreme leader”.

Around Khomeini were gathered fellow clerics as well as revolutionary activists and military officers: either officers who had been dissidents under the monarchy or revolutionaries-turned-generals during the 1980s Gulf war with Iraq. Indeed, Khamenei’s principal interest in the revolution’s immediate aftermath seems to have been in forming a military and security network: over the war’s years, this would expand into a vast praetorian corps called Pasdaran, or Islamic Revolutionary Guards. He often visited the battlefield and worked closely with rising military stars such as Mohsen Rezai, Bagher Ghalibaf, and – perhaps best-known outside Iran – Ghassem Soleimani.

Their power increased amid crackdowns on rival revolutionaries as well as American-backed monarchists. Similarly, they were strengthened by the 1980s Gulf War. The fact that Iraq, whose dictator Saddam Hussein had formally taken over just after the Iranian revolution, invaded meant that, like its monarchic predecessor, Khomeini’s regime could rally on nationalist sentiment, if with a more religious tenor than before. Iran largely relied on mass attacks – where thousands of fighters might be slain at a time – to offset the Iraqi technological advantage, and this required motivation of the type that clerical warriors like Khamenei could give. Although Tehran formally disavowed sectarianism – cultivating certain Sunni allies abroad and formally reining in some sectarian rhetoric at home – the narrative could also take on sectarian tones, especially with regard to the Gulf, whose rulers were pro-West as a rule and had largely backed Iraq through well-grounded fears of Iranian subversion.

Paroxysms and Promotions

Even as the war raged, in summer 1981, a series of paroxysms struck Iranian politics. These were largely related to the Mojahedin-e Khalgh, a network led by the Rajavi spouses Massoud and Maryam that competed with Khomeini. Though they had played a major role in the 1979 revolution with a mixture of Muslim and Marxist rhetoric, the Rajavis had been frozen out since, and joined Iraq’s side; the rather cultish and freely murderous nature of their organization made them an easy target against which the regime could rally.

Khamenei himself was badly injured and lost the use of an arm when a Khalgh assassin tried to kill him. Only days earlier, the parliament, led by a frequent ally of Khamenei, Akbar Hashmi-Rafsanjani, had impeached the increasingly weak incumbent of the presidency, Abolhassan Banisadr, who was accused of being soft on Khalgh and fled abroad. After a snap election, Banisadr’s prime minister, Mohammad Rajai, replaced him, only to be assassinated along with his own prime minister, Javad Bahonar, by Khalgh before the summer was out. In these circumstances, Khamenei, still only recently recovered from injury, won the election of autumn 1981 to take over the presidency, with Mir-Hossein Mousavi as prime minister. In contrast to Banisadr, Khamenei was fiercely loyal to Khomeini’s policy, and this was a major step in the entrenchment of their clique.

Ali Khamenei served as Iran’s president from 1981 until 1989 [PC: Getty Images]

Foreign observers of Iranian politics often divide camps into “moderates” and “hardliners”, but this is a major oversimplification that overlooks how political camps actually functioned. Khamenei would adopt conciliatory policies at some junctures and uncompromising ones at others: what he prized was the maintenance of an order that he deemed necessary for the “revolutionary” regime’s survival.

One example came when, in 1982, the Iranians spectacularly expelled the Iraqi army. Fearful of Iranian expansion, Saudi Arabia, which generally supported Iraq, offered reparations and conciliation. In the ensuing debate, it was the “hardliner” Khamenei who favoured taking the Saudi deal in order to focus on consolidation; by contrast, Prime Minister Mousavi and Khomeini’s deputy Hossein Montazeri, often seen as “moderates”, favoured “spreading the revolution” by attacking Iraq. Khomeini agreed; for once, Khamenei was overruled, and Iran proceeded to attack Iraq that summer; though Iranian propaganda frequently described the 1980s Gulf War as an “Imposed War” because of Iraq’s initial attack, in fact, most of the remaining six years would see Iran attacking its hitherto beaten neighbour.

Also defying easy definitions, Iran supported Syria’s regime, which brutally crushed an Islamic revolt but shared Iran’s enemy in Iraq. In the Lebanese war, Iran’s beneficiaries, which eventually became known as Hezbollah, fought against both Syrian and Israeli proxies; yet Iran and Israel also shared an enemy in Iraq, which was by the mid-1980s formally backed by the pro-American Gulf states. Even as they were fighting over Lebanon, Iran and Israel secretly cooperated against Iraq in weapons transfers in which neoconservative officials from the American government were also involved. Thus, the Americans found themselves backing both sides in the Gulf: they openly backed Iraq, and even attacked Iranian ships, but also secretly armed Iran.

The 1980s Gulf War ended with the Iraqi reconquest of the peninsula and a failed Khalgh incursion into Iran, after which the Iranian regime mounted a series of mass crackdowns and executions. This outraged deputy ruler Montazeri, who was quickly replaced with the less squeamish Khamenei just months before Khomeini (1979-89) passed away. Khamenei replaced him, and the regime was reorganized to institutionalize his power; the prime ministry, held by Mousavi, was abolished, and the Iranian “Supreme Leader” could rule for life. This position was loosely akin to that of a constitutional monarch, albeit one that had far more active engagement with its establishment than most contemporary monarchs. Hashmi-Rafsanjani, who now took the still-electable presidency, claimed that Khamenei felt suffocated by the new responsibility, but if this was so, Iran’s new ruler certainly didn’t let such feelings interrupt a decades-long rule.

Rhetoric versus Practice: Mixed Relations with the United States

In his new role as paramount leader, Khamenei adopted a position of dignified aloofness from the rough-and-tumble of day-to-day politics and party bickering, but reserved the privilege to occasionally comment if he felt things were going too far. The Iranian regime, by the 1990s, had adopted a longer-term entrenchment, though the political arena was still primarily contestable by either veterans of the early revolution or by allied clergy and technocrats. This led to something of an unofficial oligarchy, with rotating figures emerging as fixtures in the political elite; the fabulously wealthy Hashmi-Rafsanjani, by no means a bloodcurdling revolutionary, was often a favoured target of criticism.

But Khamenei was still flexible enough to work with politicians whose platforms he disapproved, perhaps in part because they shared his social background. Hassan Rouhani, like Khamenei, a cleric with close military links, chaired the security council for years despite a well-known openness to dealing with the West. In 1997, Mohammad Khatami, an openly pro-Western cleric who urged political change, won the election and, despite frequent grumbling from Khamenei and the generals, lasted two successive terms in the presidency.

The Iranian regime had long complained about “Gharbzadegi” or “Westoxification” – the inclination to be culturally awestruck by Western material advantages – but this did not extend to occasional collaboration. In fact, Khamenei and his generals, who still held the whip hand on foreign policy, were less averse to cooperation with the West than rhetoric suggested. A case in point was the 2001 American invasion of Afghanistan, which Iran enthusiastically supported to oust a Taliban regime that Khamenei had castigated as upstarts.

This was doubly the case when, in 2003, the Americans invaded Iraq. Though the neoconservative-dominated American regime had made no secret of its ambitions to soon attack Iran, the prospect of finally ousting Saddam and tapping into Iraq was one that Khamenei could not resist, especially given Iran’s years-long influence with a large number of Iraqi opposition groups, largely though not exclusively Shia exiles. When one such exile oppositionist, the commander Jamal Jafar (Abu Mahdi), objected to working with the Americans, Khamenei personally overruled him in the interest of ousting the Iraqi Baath regime. It was not until their mutual enemy was defeated and Iraq conquered that the United States and Iran resumed their rivalry, with Iran backing militants against the Americans’ British confederates. Yet even in Iraq, they often competed over the same clientele, including Iraqi Kurdish militias and also Jawad Maliki, who was at first promoted in 2006 by the United States, but backed by both Iranian and American support in consolidating his power.

Resistance and Its Limits

One frequent American accusation, first planted and endlessly rehashed by Israel, was that Iran was on the verge of obtaining nuclear weapons, supposedly to annihilate Jews. This was bloodthirsty fantasism for a number of reasons, not least that Khomeini had always opposed nuclear weapons and Khamenei repeatedly abandoned opportunities to cultivate them, for example, with a Pakistani offer of enrichment. In the period of American-Israeli aggression, this failure to adopt a deterrent looks increasingly naive.

Instead, Iran focused on cultivating a network of mostly militia allies in the region, and largely limited alliances with American rivals like Russia. These were grandly dubbed an “Axis of Resistance”, appropriating an American propaganda term that had placed Iran in an “Axis of Evil”. Like the American term, this term itself was largely misleading; in such countries as Iraq, the “Axis of Resistance” chronically cooperated with the same Americans whose empire it was meant to be resisting. It also frequently belied Iranian rhetoric; while Iran had long distanced itself from sectarianism, it frequently relied on thuggish sectarian confederates in Iraq and Syria.

Nonetheless, the United States and especially Israel remained hostile to Iran. One favourite target was Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the voluble populist who replaced Khatami in the presidency. At first, Khamenei backed Ahmadinejad, notably in a 2009 reelection over the 1980s prime minister, Mousavi. Now an opposition figure calling for reform, Mousavi was put under house arrest and the protests in his favour were crushed. However, Ahmadinejad’s populism frequently clashed with the interests and views of Khamenei’s own establishmentarian clerical and military-security networks, and the pair frequently diverged over the ensuing years.

In 2013, Ahmadinejad was replaced with a more familiar figure: unlike the populist, Rouhani was an establishment man, a soldier-cleric like Khamenei himself; also unlike Ahmadinejad, he was eager to reach an accord with the United States, based on shared interests in Syria and Iraq. In Iraq, Maliki’s regime – backed by both the United States and Iran – faced a revolt quickly dominated by the millenarian Daesh organization; in Syria, an Iran-backed regime faced both Daesh as well as a revolt backed by Turkiye. Iran invaded Syria in 2013, and the United States in 2014. In Iraq, both cooperated against Daesh. Ghassem Soleimani rallied such Iraqi lieutenants as Jamal Jafar to hold their noses and cooperate with the American military against an Iraqi rival, as they had done in 2003. This helped facilitate a short-lived deal between the United States and Iran over nuclear enrichment, over voluble Israeli protests, at Vienna in 2015. Khamenei had given Rouhani a long leash for diplomacy with the United States, but his misgivings about this approach were vindicated when, in 2017, the more aggressive American regime of Donald Trump abruptly scrapped the agreement.

With failed diplomacy toward Washington came destructive wars in Iraq and Syria. The cost of these campaigns was enormous; tens of thousands had been killed, and Iran’s particular intervention in Syria in the service of a vicious and fickle dictatorship would come to naught; the Assad family would indeed betray and abandon the “Axis of Resistance” even before their own ouster in 2024, and the fact that Israel immediately attacked their Turkish-backed foes underlined the hollowness of Iran’s claim that the Assad family would be a bulwark against Israel. As with the original support for the 2001 Afghanistan invasion and 2003 Iraq invasion, diverting so many resources for undisguisedly vicious and unprincipled regimes was a policy that Khamenei would have cause to regret.

Confrontation

“With Daesh out for the count, America and Iran again diverged, and in 2020, Trump had Ghassem Soleimani and Jamal Jafar assassinated in a standoff in Iraq.”

With Daesh out for the count, America and Iran again diverged, and in 2020, Trump had Ghassem Soleimani and Jamal Jafar assassinated in a standoff in Iraq. An outraged Khamenei’s threats were not matched by repeatedly faltering Iranian reciprocations. Similarly, there was no meaningful Iranian response when, in 2023, the Palestinian Hamas in Gaza, to which Iran was only loosely attached, broke out of a decades-long siege and seized hostages in a bloody raid before a genocidal Israeli assault over the region. Though Israel insisted on treating Hamas as an Iranian proxy, Tehran took care to avoid meaningful confrontation. This continued right until the summer of 2025, when a reinstalled Trump helped Israel attack Iran, in the process wiping out a wide swathe of leaders with whom Khamenei had worked for decades.

Nor were external attacks the only front. Over the 2020s, Iran was beset by internal protests, which contained both organic elements but also, as in the most recent case, disruptive elements clearly linked to Israel. As in the past, Iran resorted to violent repression, whose scale was instantly, shamelessly, and absurdly exaggerated by its enemies. Their most ludicrous yet frequently mulled claimant to replace the clerical regime was the posturing, utterly incompetent heir to the Pahlavi name, Reza Shah, who had grown up in an American exile, was leery of resettling in Iran, and had no credentials for the job beyond his surname and a particularly shameless courtship with Israel.

Given these multivariable threats and a clear track record of the United States and Israel breaking their agreements, it seems incredible that Iran once more resorted to the negotiating table. Clearly, Khamenei’s long-articulated suspicions of the American-Israeli axis had no veto on the matter. It came as no surprise when, at the end of February 2026, with negotiations still underway, another American-Israeli barrage hurtled into Iran. On their occasion, they got Khamenei; perhaps resigned to a revolutionary end, the elderly Iranian leader was reportedly sitting with an infant granddaughter when both were killed.

Khamenei is the latest, but most powerful, of a line of leaders to have been assassinated by the United States and Israel – among others, Yemeni, Palestinian, and Lebanese leaders. But owing in part to his longevity at the helm of an at least independent, if not always, anti-imperial regime; in part to his position as the seniormost Shia politician in the world; and in part to the dishonourable methods of the genocidal enemy that had killed him, Khamenei’s death has already provoked more international outcry than most. The tragedy is not, as his killers’ propaganda has it, that he ran a supposedly millennarian regime bent on regional conquest. The tragedy is that his revolutionary-philosophical background, decades in near-unchallenged power, and proven ability to retain his position, did not equip him to adequately confront his country’s open enemies. He recognized them far better than many other rulers in the region, but his policies, from abjuring nuclear armament to the cultivation of divisive vassals in the Fertile Crescent, did little by way of that recognition and ensured that the revolutionary republic to which he dedicated his career is in as parlous a state at his demise as it has ever been.

[Disclaimer: this article reflects the views of the author, and not necessarily those of MuslimMatters; a non-profit organization that welcomes editorials with diverse political perspectives.]

 

Related:

– Iranian Leader Khamenei Slain As War Brings Mayhem To The Gulf

– Genocidal Israel Escalates With Assault On Iran

The post Revolutionary Philosopher And Potentate: The Life And Polarizing Legacy Of Ali Khamenei 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 is Depressed

There is a conversation happening in Muslim homes across the East and West right now that is costing lives.

It goes something like this: A teen is struggling. Not just spiritually dry, not just going through a rough patch — genuinely struggling. Withdrawn. Sleeping too much or not at all. Unable to feel enjoyment in anything. Sometimes expressing hopelessness. Sometimes thinking about not being here anymore.

And the response from the community, from extended family, sometimes from parents themselves, is some version of: “They just need more iman. More prayer. More Quran. A stronger connection to Allah.”

This response is not evil. It comes from a real belief that spiritual health and mental health are intertwined — which is partially true. It comes from love, from wanting to help, from a tradition that does teach that the heart is the center of wellbeing.

But in the case of clinical depression, this response can be catastrophic. It delays treatment. It adds shame to suffering. It can make a struggling teen feel that their illness is a moral failure. This only deepens the illness and can sometimes lead them to just give up on everything; sometimes even life.

This piece is for the parent who wants to do better.

First: Understand what depression actually is

Depression is not sadness. Sadness is a normal human emotion that comes and goes in response to circumstances. Depression is a medical condition involving measurable neurological changes — dysregulation of serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine, structural changes in the hippocampus, altered prefrontal cortex function — that persist regardless of circumstances and significantly impair a person’s ability to function.

A teen with clinical depression is not choosing to feel bad. They are not failing to try hard enough. Their brain is malfunctioning in a specific, documented, treatable way.

The criteria we use in medicine to diagnose a major depressive episode include five or more of the following, present for at least two weeks:

• depressed mood most of the day;
• diminished interest or pleasure in almost all activities;
• significant change in weight or appetite;
• insomnia or hypersomnia (sleeping too much);
• moving too fast or too slow;
• fatigue or loss of energy;
• feelings of worthlessness or excessive guilt;
• difficulty concentrating or making decisions;
• recurrent thoughts of death or suicide.

This is not a spiritual condition. It is a medical one, and it requires medical attention.

Why are we hearing more about mental illness these days?

While mental illness has existed throughout all of human history, it does statistically appear to have increased in a dramatic way over the past few decades. While a detailed exploration for the reasons behind this are beyond the scope of this article, I would like to reflect briefly on one of these reasons: stress.

One of the recurring themes of this series has been an attempt to help parents understand just how stressful the lives of their kids are today. While this stress is possibly worse in the west, it is quickly becoming a global crisis with the spread and penetration of social media and internet.

Your kids are going through intense pressure trying to fit in to a culture and system that is almost entirely the opposite of Islam. This is not only a problem Muslim kids face, but increasingly a problem being voiced by kids of other faiths too. We live in a godless society that prioritizes following your whims and pleasures, and it can quite literally break the psyche of your child.

What the Prophet ﷺ taught about illness and treatment

The Islamic tradition is not anti-medicine. It is explicitly pro-medicine.

The Prophet ﷺ said: “Make use of medical treatment, for Allah has not made a disease without appointing a cure for it.” (Abu Dawud — sahih)

He also said: “There is no disease that Allah has created, except that He also has created its cure.” (Bukhari)

These are not metaphorical statements about spiritual remedies. They are instructions to seek treatment. The Prophet ﷺ himself used and recommended physical remedies for physical illness, enough that there is a science called “at-Tibb an-Nabawi” (The Medicine of the Prophet). The principle extends naturally to mental illness, which is, at its root, a physical illness of the brain.

A Muslim parent who prevents their depressed child from accessing mental health treatment — on the grounds that therapy is un-Islamic or that the child just needs more prayer — is acting against the Sunnah. This is a hard thing to say, but it is true, and families need to hear it.

I do understand where this resistance comes from to an extent. Western, or secular, psychiatry has been associated with atheism and has often demonstrated a negative view of religion and religious ideas. And so it does make sense that a Muslim would not want a Muslim loved one to go to such a person for fear that they would turn them away from Islam in their vulnerable condition.

But, subhan Allah, our community is filled with Muslim psychiatrists and therapists. Many of these people are among the most compassionate, kind and devout people I have met, alhamdulillah.

They have an impressive record of helping Muslims struggling with mental illness, and have an equally impressive record of helping them without the need for medication. As a doctor who treats mental illness as part of my own family practice, I try very hard, with all my patients, to limit the use of medication unless it is absolutely necessary and the benefits outweigh the risks.

Prophet Ayyub and the theology of suffering

The story of Ayyub ﷺ is the Quran’s most extended treatment of prolonged suffering. And it teaches something that directly contradicts the “depression equals weak faith” narrative.

Ayyub ﷺ was a prophet — among the most righteous of human beings. And he suffered. For a very long time. With illness, loss, and social isolation that any clinician today would recognize as a major risk factor for severe depression.

Allah does not describe this as punishment for weak faith. He describes Ayyub as sabbar — deeply patient — and awwab — constantly returning to Allah. [38:44]

The Quran does not say Ayyub suffered because he lacked iman. It says he suffered because he was being tested. And it says Allah responded to his cry — not after he performed perfectly, not after he stopped feeling pain, but when he brought his raw suffering directly: “Hardship has touched me.” [21:83]

If a prophet of Allah could suffer in ways that resemble clinical depression — if Allah tested him that way, called him righteous through it, and answered his cry from within it — then the framework that equates suffering with spiritual failure has no Islamic foundation.

Your teen’s depression is not evidence of their moral failure. It may be, in ways we cannot fully see, a test. What matters is that they get the support needed to get through it.

The critical distinction: spiritual struggle vs. clinical depression

These two conditions overlap and interact — but they are not the same, and equating them causes harm.

Spiritual struggle typically presents as: feeling distant from Allah, loss of motivation for ibadah, questioning faith, feeling like prayer is hollow. It often responds to: increased dhikr, scholarly guidance, community connection, addressing specific sins or patterns, and simply time and patience. The person still experiences pleasure in other areas of life. Their basic functioning is largely intact.

Clinical depression typically presents as: pervasive low mood lasting weeks, inability to feel pleasure in anything — not just ibadah — changes in sleep, appetite, and energy, cognitive impairment, and in serious cases, thoughts of death or self-harm. While spiritual practices can help, it does not reliably respond to increased religious practice alone. It requires professional evaluation and often clinical treatment.

The important nuance: spiritual neglect can worsen depression. A teen who is also cut off from Allah, from community, from prayer, has fewer internal resources and less hope. Spiritual health is not irrelevant to mental health. But it is not the cause of clinical depression, and prayer alone is not a sufficient treatment for it.

The wisest approach holds both: address the spiritual dimension and ensure the teen receives appropriate clinical care.

Warning signs that require immediate professional attention

Parents should treat the following as urgent:

Any expression of suicidal ideation — including passive expressions like “I wish I wasn’t here,” “everyone would be better off without me,” or “I don’t see the point of going on.” Take these seriously every time. Do not wait to see if they pass.

Self-harm — including cutting, burning, or other methods of inflicting physical pain. This requires professional evaluation immediately.

Psychotic symptoms — hearing voices, seeing things others don’t see, severely disorganized thinking. This requires emergency psychiatric evaluation.

Significant functional decline — unable to attend school, eat regularly, maintain basic hygiene — for more than a few weeks.

If any of these are present, the first call is to a medical professional, not an imam. Both may eventually be needed — but medical safety comes first.

What to say — and what not to say

Don’t say:

• “You just need more iman.” This is theologically unsupported and clinically harmful.
• “Real Muslims don’t get depressed.” This is factually false and deeply shaming.
• “You’re making this up / being dramatic.” This invalidates real suffering and destroys trust.
• “What do you have to be depressed about? Your life is fine.” Depression is not caused by bad circumstances. It is a brain condition.
• “We don’t need a therapist — we have the Quran.” This is a false choice, as it’s not one or the other, and it may cost your child their life.

Do say:

• “I can see you’re really struggling. I’m not going anywhere.”
• “This is not your fault, and it doesn’t mean anything is wrong with your faith.”
• “I want to make sure you get the right help. Let’s figure this out together.”
• “You know the Prophet ﷺ said to seek treatment for every illness. That includes this.”
• “Ayyub ﷺ suffered for a very long time and was still called righteous by Allah. Suffering is not a sign that Allah has turned away from you.”

How to find Muslim-informed mental health support

Not every therapist is equipped to work with Muslim teens. Cultural and religious competence matters. Look for:

Khalil Center (khalilcenter.com) — one of the most established Muslim mental health organizations in North America. Integrates Islamic spiritual care with evidence-based clinical practice. Telehealth available.

Noor Human Consulting — Muslim therapists and counselors with an explicit Islamic framework.

Your child’s school counselor or pediatrician — as a first point of contact and referral. A good referral to a culturally sensitive therapist is better than no help at all.

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — if your teen is in crisis, call or text 988. This is a 24/7 resource.

When speaking with a therapist, it is entirely appropriate to ask: “Do you have experience working with Muslim patients?” and “Are you comfortable with my child’s faith being part of our conversations?”

A word about medication

Some parents resist the idea of psychiatric medication on religious grounds, believing it alters the mind Allah created. This concern deserves a serious response.

The brain is an organ. When the brain’s chemistry is disrupted by illness, restoring that chemistry through medication is not tampering with Allah’s creation — it is treating illness, exactly as the Prophet ﷺ instructed. Insulin for a diabetic, antibiotics for an infection, antidepressants for a brain condition that is causing suffering and impairing function — these are all in the same category.

The decision about medication should be made in consultation with a qualified psychiatrist or physician, weighing the severity of the condition, the specific risks and benefits, and the patient’s overall situation. It is a medical decision, not a theological one.

And, as stated above, medicine is not needed in all cases, and is not necessarily needed for life when started.

Discussion questions for families

For teens:

1. Have you ever felt like you couldn’t talk about struggling emotionally because of what it might mean about your faith?
2. What would make it easier to tell a family member when you’re really struggling?
3. What do you think the story of Prophet Ayyub teaches us about suffering?

For parents:

1. What is your honest reaction when you hear “my child might be depressed”? Where does that reaction come from?
2. Have you ever struggled with depression or anxiety yourself? Did you seek help?
3. How can you make your home a place where mental health struggles can be named without shame?

For discussion together:

1. What does the Prophet’s ﷺ instruction to seek treatment for every illness mean for mental health?
2. How can someone hold both — seeking clinical help and maintaining their connection to Allah?

What is the difference between having weak faith and having an illness?

The bottom line

Your teen’s depression is not a sign that you failed as a Muslim parent. It is not a sign that they have failed as a Muslim. It is an illness that requires treatment — clinical, spiritual, and relational.

Ayyub ﷺ suffered. Allah answered. And the answer came not by telling him his faith was weak, but by responding to his honest cry.

Be the person in your teen’s life who makes it safe to cry out.

Continue the Journey

This is Night 17 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Night 18 — When Bad Things Happen to Good People (and: Is it okay to be angry at Allah?)

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

Related:

I Can’t Feel Anything in Prayer – Understanding Spiritual Dryness | Night 16 with the Qur’an

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

The post Is Depression a Lack of Faith? A Guide for Muslim Parents | Night 17 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Some people enter Ramadan with excitement, surrounded by community, family, and familiar rituals. Others enter it carrying fractures — the kind life leaves behind when responsibilities are heavy, relationships are strained, or the heart has been quietly breaking for far too long.

For many believers, Ramadan does not enter a life that is whole. It arrives into exhaustion. Into loneliness. Into grief that has been waiting for a place to land. Into a heart that has been whispering, “Ya Allah, I don’t know how much more I can hold.”

And yet… Allah chooses this month as a mercy.

In the Qur’an, He tells us:

“Allah intends for you ease, and He does not intend for you hardship.” [Surah Al-Baqarah; 2:185]

This verse is not simply about fasting — it is about the nature of Ramadan itself. Ramadan is ease wrapped in discipline. Healing wrapped in worship. A divine pause in the middle of a life that often feels relentless.

Because Ramadan does not ask you to be whole before you enter it. It asks you to show up — even if you are limping.

Ramadan Heals in Ways People Cannot

There are wounds people don’t see. There are burdens you carry quietly because you don’t want to be a source of worry. There are disappointments you’ve swallowed so many times that you’ve forgotten what it feels like to breathe without tension.

Ramadan meets you there.

When you wake up for suhoor half-asleep and weary, Allah sees it. When you drag your tired body to pray, even with a heart that feels numb, Allah counts it. When you whisper du‘ā’ with a voice that trembles, the angels lift it.

Ramadan is not a month of perfection — it is a month of return.

The Qur’an as a Medicine for the Fractured Heart

Allah calls the Qur’an:

“O mankind, there has to come to you instruction from your Lord and healing for what is in the breasts and guidance and mercy for the believers.” [Surah Yunus; 10:57]

Not a healing for the body. Not a healing for circumstances. A healing for the heart — the place where disappointment, fear, and longing live.

This is why Ramadan feels different. It is the month where the Qur’an descends again into the cracks of your life, filling them with light you didn’t know you still had access to. This happens not magically, but through action: reciting the Quran in salat and out of it, learning it, and putting it into practice.

The Du‘ā’ of the Broken but Believing

There is a du‘ā’ that belongs to those who feel overwhelmed, stretched thin, or quietly hurting:

“And [mention] Zechariah, when he called to his Lord, ‘My Lord, do not leave me childless, while you are the best of inheritors.” [Surah Al-Anbiya; 21:89]

It is the du‘ā’ of a prophet who felt isolated. It is the du‘ā’ of someone who had lost almost everything. It is the du‘ā’ of someone who still believed Allah would answer.

This Ramadan, let it be your du‘ā’ too.

Ramadan Arrives to Remind You: You Are Not Forsaken

Life may have broken things inside you — but Ramadan comes to gather the pieces.

It comes to soften what has hardened. To soothe what has been aching. To remind you that Allah has never stopped watching over you, even in the moments you felt most alone.

So if you enter this month tired, hurting, or uncertain, know this:

Ramadan is not asking you to be strong. Ramadan is asking you to be sincere.

Let this be the month where you let Allah heal what life has worn down. Let this be the month where you learn to breathe again. Let this be the month where you discover that even broken hearts can glow in the presence of God.

And may you leave Ramadan with a heart that feels held, softened, and gently restored — not because life became easier, but because Allah drew you closer.

Related:

Ramadan As A Sanctuary For The Lonely Heart

I Can’t Feel Anything in Prayer – Understanding Spiritual Dryness | Night 16 with the Qur’an

 

The post When Ramadan Arrives To Heal What Life Has Broken 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.

The Confession You’re Not Hearing

Your teen is praying five times a day. Or trying to. Going through the motions.

But if you asked them how they actually feel during salah, here’s what they might say—if they felt safe enough to be honest:

“Nothing. I don’t feel anything. I might as well be reciting math tables.”

Most parents never hear this because most teens learn early that admitting spiritual emptiness is dangerous. It gets met with:

• Lectures about weak iman
• Increased religious requirements
• Disappointment
• Fear that they’re becoming “one of those kids”

So, they perform. They show up to the masjid when you go. They look like they’re praying at home.

But inside? Silence.

This piece is for the parent who wants to understand what’s actually happening—and how to respond in a way that strengthens faith rather than destroying it.

First: Understand What Spiritual Dryness Actually Is

Spiritual dryness is the experience of performing religious acts—prayer, dhikr, Quran recitation—while feeling no emotional or spiritual connection.

It’s not apathy. A teen experiencing spiritual dryness still cares. They’re often distressed that they don’t feel anything.

It’s not hypocrisy. A hypocrite practices outwardly while believing nothing inwardly. A spiritually dry Muslim practices while desperately wanting to feel something.

It’s the gap between action and feeling. And it’s one of the most common—and least discussed—experiences in Muslim spiritual life.

What the Prophet ﷺ Actually Said About This

Most Muslim parents don’t know that the Prophet ﷺ explicitly addressed spiritual highs and lows as normal human experience.

Handhalah, one of the scribes of revelation, came to the Prophet ﷺ distressed. He said:

“O Messenger of Allah, when we are with you, you remind us of the Fire and Paradise until it’s as if we can see them. But when we leave you and return to our families and our work, we forget much of that.”

Handhalah thought this made him a hypocrite. That his spiritual high in the Prophet’s ﷺ presence and his spiritual low at home meant that something was wrong with his faith.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

“By the One in Whose hand is my soul, if you were to continue in that state in which you are when you’re with me and in remembrance of Allah, the angels would shake hands with you in your streets. But O Handhalah, there is a time for this and a time for that.” (Muslim)

“There is a time for this and a time for that.”

The Prophet ﷺ is saying: Spiritual peaks and valleys are part of being human. If you were spiritually elevated 24/7, you’d be an angel, not a human. And Allah created you human.

The presence of spiritual dryness doesn’t mean your teen’s faith is weak. It means they’re human.

Why Spiritual Dryness Happens

There are multiple causes, and they’re rarely purely spiritual:

1. Developmental: Adolescence is when abstract thinking develops. Teens start analyzing their internal states in ways they never did as children. A child prays and doesn’t question whether they “felt” anything. A teen becomes hyperaware of the absence of feeling—and that awareness itself can create anxiety.
2. Neurological: Peak spiritual experiences—moments of intense connection, tears in prayer, overwhelming gratitude—involve dopamine release and prefrontal cortex activation. But the brain can’t sustain that indefinitely. It returns to baseline. That’s not spiritual failure; it’s neurobiology.
3. Routine: When prayer becomes pure routine—same surahs, same adhkar, same places, for years—the brain processes it on autopilot. The lack of novelty means lack of attention.
4. Exhaustion: Physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion directly impacts spiritual experience. A teen who’s sleep-deprived, academically overwhelmed, and socially stressed will struggle to experience khushu’ in prayer.
5. Trauma or Depression: Sometimes spiritual dryness is secondary to mental health struggles. A depressed teen experiences anhedonia—inability to feel pleasure or connection in anything, including prayer.
6. Spiritual Growth: Classical Islamic scholars describe spiritual dryness as a normal stage on the path toward Allah. Imam al-Ghazali writes that dry seasons are when sincerity is tested. Anyone can worship when it feels good. The real question is: Will you worship when it feels like nothing?

What NOT to Say

Don’t say:

• “You just need to pray with more focus.” (This makes it their fault for not trying hard enough.)
• “Maybe you’re not in a state of wudu properly.” (This creates obsessive checking and religious OCD.)
• “You must have committed a sin that’s blocking you.” (This creates shame and fear.)
• “Other kids don’t have this problem.” (This isolates them and adds guilt.)

Why these responses fail: They all imply that spiritual dryness is a personal failure rather than a normal human experience that even the Companions went through.

What TO Say

Do say:

• “That must be really hard. Tell me more about what that feels like.” (Opens conversation without judgment.)
• “I’ve felt that way too.” (Normalizes the experience.)
• “The fact that you’re still praying even though it feels empty shows real commitment.” (Reframes it as strength, not weakness.)
• “There are times when worship feels easy and times when it’s hard. Both are part of faith.” (Gives Islamic framework.)
• “What do you think might help?” (Invites them into problem-solving rather than lecturing.)

Practical Support: What Parents Can Do

1. Check the basics first

Before assuming it’s a deep spiritual crisis, check:

• Are they sleeping enough? (Chronic sleep deprivation kills spiritual experience.)
• Are they overwhelmed academically or socially? (Stress blocks presence.)
• Are they eating properly? (Nutrition impacts mood and energy, which impacts prayer.)
• Are they spending hours on screens before praying? (Overstimulation makes stillness feel unbearable.)

2. Help them break the routine

Suggest small changes:

• Learn a new surah
• Learn different adhkar the Prophet ﷺ used in prayer
• Go to a different masjid for one prayer
• Make sure you don’t have your phone near you (vibrations or dings ruin focus)

Small disruptions break autopilot.

3. Teach the meaning

Most teens have been reciting Surah al-Fatihah since childhood. They can say it in their sleep—which is the problem.

Sit with them and go through a tafsir of Fatihah. Explain what each phrase means. What they’re asking for. Who they’re addressing.

Know what they’re saying in the prayer is the biggest game-changer for most people.

4. Normalize the spiritual journey

Share stories of scholars who went through dry seasons. Share your own experience if you’ve been through this.

The message: Spiritual dryness is a normal stage of faith development, not a sign of failure.

5. Separate mental health from spiritual state

If spiritual dryness is accompanied by:

• Loss of interest in activities they used to enjoy
• Changes in sleep or appetite
• Withdrawal from friends and family
• Hopelessness or thoughts of self-harm

This may be depression, which requires professional help—not just more prayer.

(We’ll address this more fully in tomorrow’s discussion, insha Allah.)

Warning: When “Pray More” Makes It Worse

Some parents respond to spiritual dryness by increasing religious requirements: more prayer, more Quran, more Islamic lectures.

This can backfire catastrophically.

If a teen is already feeling disconnected from prayer, forcing more of it can create:

• Religious trauma (prayer becomes associated with pressure and shame)
• Rebellion (they associate Islam with parental control)
• OCD-style scrupulosity (obsessive checking of wudu, prayer movements, etc.)

The Prophet ﷺ warned against this:

“Make things easy and do not make them difficult. Give glad tidings and do not repel people.” (Bukhari)

If your teen is struggling spiritually, less with sincerity is better than more with resentment.

The Metric That Actually Matters

Your teen thinks the prayer where they cried was more valuable than the prayer where they felt nothing.

But that’s not how Allah measures.

Allah measures: Did they show up? Did they stand before Me even when they didn’t feel Me?

The Prophet ﷺ said: “The most beloved deed to Allah is the most consistent, even if it is small.” (Bukhari, Muslim)

Consistency while feeling nothing > intensity that fades.

The prayer your teen does when they feel spiritually dead is building their character in ways the emotionally elevated prayer never could.

Discussion Questions for Families

For Teens:

1. Have you ever felt spiritually disconnected during prayer? What did that feel like?
2. Do you feel like you can talk about spiritual dryness, or does it feel shameful?
3. What helps you feel more present in prayer?

For Parents:

1. Have you experienced spiritual dryness in your own life? Did you have support?
2. How do you respond when your teen seems disengaged from prayer?
3. Are you measuring their faith by external performance or internal consistency?

For Discussion Together:

1. What does the hadith about Handhalah teach us about spiritual highs and lows?
2. How can our family create space to talk about when worship feels hard?
3. What small changes might help make prayer feel less routine?

The Bottom Line

When your teen says “I don’t feel anything when I pray,” they’re not rejecting Islam.

They’re experiencing something the Companions and great Muslims across history experienced. Something every believer goes through.

Your job isn’t to fix it immediately. Your job is to help them keep showing up—even when showing up feels pointless.

Because the teen who learns to worship when they feel nothing is learning sincerity in its deepest form.

Continue the Journey

This is Night 16 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow: Night 17 – Is Depression Due to a Lack of Faith?

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

Related:

When You Have Doubts About Allah | Night 15 with the Qur’an

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

The post I Can’t Feel Anything in Prayer – Understanding Spiritual Dryness | Night 16 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

The following transcript has been generated using AI, and may contain some errors that we have missed.

Every Sin Has a Cure

The Illness & the Cure Series — Shaykh Ammar Alshukry

As-salāmu ʿalaykum wa raḥmatullāhi wa barakātuh.

I’m Ammar Alshukry, and I’m excited to be doing this series, in shāʾ Allāh taʿālā, in partnership with MuslimMatters, based on the incredible book by Ibn al-Qayyim: Ad-Dāʾ wa ad-Dawāʾ (The Illness and the Cure).

This is a book that scholars have long encouraged young people to read. They said that it is from the good fortune of a young person to benefit from it. Al-ḥamdu lillāh, I previously taught it as an AlMaghrib seminar called The Venom and the Serum, and I’m happy to reformat it for the MuslimMatters audience. What we’ll be doing is presenting summaries of some of the major chapters of the book.

The Question That Began the Book

The book begins with a question posed to Ibn al-Qayyim. I’ll paraphrase it:

What do the scholars of the religion say about a man who has been afflicted by a sin that he cannot leave, and he fears it will ruin his worldly life and his Hereafter? He has tried to repel it by every means, but it only grows stronger. What is the path to removing it? What is the means of escape? May Allāh have mercy on whoever helps an afflicted person.

You can see that the questioner asks with humility, includes duʿāʾ for the scholar, and references the ḥadīth:

“Allāh aids the servant so long as the servant aids his brother.”

This teaches us an etiquette of seeking knowledge: be gentle, respectful, and sincere when asking.

Ibn al-Qayyim responded not with a short answer — but with an entire book. That shows the depth of care scholars had for those seeking guidance.

The Core Issue: Struggling With Desire

From the wording of the question, Ibn al-Qayyim understood that the person was struggling with lust (shahwah). Some scholars even inferred he may have been referring to same-sex desire.

This is why scholars say the book is especially valuable for young people — because desires often accompany youth.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

“Allāh is amazed at a young person who has no ṣabwah (inclination toward desires).”

Passion and desire are natural, but they must be guided.

Chapter One: Inspiring Hope

Ibn al-Qayyim begins with hope.

He reminds us that every illness has a cure, including spiritual illnesses.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

“For every disease, Allāh has created a cure.”
“O servants of Allāh, seek treatment.”

Spiritual diseases deserve even more attention than physical ones.

The First Cure: The Qurʾān

Allāh says in Sūrat Yūnus:

“O mankind, there has come to you an admonition from your Lord, and a healing (shifāʾ) for what is in the hearts.”

The Qurʾān is described as shifāʾ — a source of healing.

The Second Cure: Duʿāʾ (Supplication)

Duʿāʾ is one of the most effective means of securing good and repelling harm.

But people often ask:
“I’ve made duʿāʾ — why hasn’t it been answered?”

Ibn al-Qayyim explains two main reasons:

1. Weakness in the Duʿāʾ Itself

The issue may be a lack of certainty (yaqīn) or focus.

He compares duʿāʾ to a sword:
A sword is only as effective as the person wielding it. If someone is unskilled, the problem is not the sword — but the user.

2. Impediments Blocking Acceptance

The Prophet ﷺ described a traveler raising his hands in duʿāʾ, yet:

• His food was ḥarām
• His drink was ḥarām
• His nourishment was ḥarām

So how could his duʿāʾ be accepted?

Spiritual nourishment matters.

Abū Dharr رضي الله عنه said:

“The amount of duʿāʾ needed alongside righteousness is like the amount of salt needed for food.”

When a person is upright, even a small duʿāʾ can be powerful.

Duʿāʾ and Qadr (Divine Decree)

A common confusion is:

“If everything is written, why make duʿāʾ?”

Ibn al-Qayyim explains that Allāh wrote both the outcome and the means.

• If success is written for you, striving is also written.
• If strength is written, training is written.
• If relief is written, duʿāʾ is written.

We constantly try to repel one destiny with another — ignorance with education, poverty with effort. Duʿāʾ is simply another means.

The correct understanding is that duʿāʾ itself is part of qadr and can change outcomes by Allāh’s permission.

“Duʿāʾ Is Action”

Shaykh Muḥammad al-Sharīf رحمه الله once said that the key to his success was duʿāʾ.

When asked, “What comes after duʿāʾ — action?” he replied:

“Duʿāʾ is action.”

Think about the things you want.
In the past seven days, how often have you sincerely asked Allāh for them?

Many people claim to make duʿāʾ, but often it is distracted and unfocused. The Prophet ﷺ said that Allāh does not respond to a heedless heart (qalb ghāfil).

Etiquettes of Powerful Duʿāʾ

Ibn al-Qayyim lists several keys:

• A present and attentive heart

• The last third of the night

• Between the adhān and iqāmah

• After obligatory prayers

He summarizes the etiquette poetically:

• Still your heart before the King of kings
• Begin with praise and ṣalawāt upon the Prophet ﷺ
• Face the qiblah with humility
• Seek forgiveness before asking
• Raise your hands
• Ask persistently — do not despair at delay
• Combine hope and fear
• Give charity before making duʿāʾ when possible
• Invoke Allāh by His beautiful Names

A duʿāʾ made with these elements is rarely rejected.

In shāʾ Allāh taʿālā, in the next session we will discuss the belittling of sins — how even small sins can accumulate and harm the heart.

Jazākum Allāhu khayran for joining us on this journey.

Related:

[Podcast] Vulnerable Sinners vs Arrogant Saints | Sh. Abdullah Ayaz Mullanee

The post Every Sin Has a Cure | The Venom and the Serum Series appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

I’ve been here before, standing at these gates, shaking a little—another Ramadan lies just past this doorway—but it’s never quite the same I or the same here.

Some things are the same, like the trepidation, always the trepidation—the feeling that I’m not ready. But is it not the Giver who decides on the timing of the gift and not the recipient?

I did not always see the gift, could not always put into words what it meant to me, but year after year, there was something to gain, something to learn.

As a child, I barrelled through its gates headfirst, shrieking with laughter at my big brother’s suhoor antics: tumbling out of bed minutes before fajr, bleary-eyed, glasses askew; glugging down a full pitcher of water as five younger siblings cheered him on; inhaling whatever food remained on the table; turning, with cheeks bulging, to whichever clock showed an extra minute. There were no decorations or coloured lights in my Toronto home those days, but Ramadan glowed brightly with family, good food, and a shared challenge.

As a teen, I entered its gates more mindfully, resolving to read a juz a day, along with the English translation. Despite my short-lived enthusiasm—when I fell a few days behind, I threw my hands up in defeat—it was the beginning of a journey. I let go of the timeline and puttered along anyway, taking charge of learning the message I’d only experienced secondhand. I filled the margins with pencilled-in notes, curly brackets, and underlines; my eyes and heart were opened wide; I often thought, How have I never read this before?

In my twenties, I saw Ramadan as a mirror that showed me where I was and where I needed to go. After iftar, I’d rush to get ready as family negotiations began on which mosque to visit that night, my father threatening to stay home if my siblings and I were late: If we’re going to miss ishaa, we’re not going! I found a space, those nights, when the words of God fell directly on my heart, and the world around me fell away.

There was space, too—an opening—for supplication, a direct line to request all that I wanted. The most fervent duaa, to be sure, was for a righteous spouse; Abee seemed the most difficult human on earth when it came to marriage.

Then, just like that, Ramadan came upon me as a new wife in a new land. Egypt was my parents’ homeland, Alexandria the destination of many past summers, but its energy and colour were lost on my homesick self—until Ramadan arrived with the comfort of constancy and the promise of a new beginning. Every street corner was bursting with its presence, from the gigantic metallic lanterns and strung-up lights to the recitation that filled the night and the callers who woke the sleeping for suhoor.

Another Ramadan taught me hard lessons on moderation, intuition, and respecting my body’s limits. My second child was two months old, my first a toddler; the summer fasting days were long and hot. But I tried to fast, ignoring all the ways my body was saying, This is too hard. I pushed myself, barely functioning, until my baby screamed all night because my milk had run dry. I learned that Ramadan was meant to be a mercy, not a punishment, and that exemptions were gifts from the One who knew we would need them.

As my babies grew, I learned to let go of my pre-motherhood expectations of Ramadan. I lived and breathed the knowledge that Ramadan looked different for each person, in each circumstance.

For me, it meant snatching exhausted rak’ahs while my baby wriggled on my prayer mat and, later, while my girls played pretend nearby. It meant, when I returned to Canada with my husband and girls and was working fulltime, that my living room became my masjid after I put the girls to bed. I learned that worship has many faces, some quieter and less visible than others.

Fast forward a few Ramadans, and I was back in Alexandria, where once again, lanterns and lights decorated every entrance; where recitation filled the night, voices crisscrossing on the breeze; where rows of worshippers stood under the night sky while stray cats scurried between the rows. And where, more often than not, I still pray in my own room—fighting fatigue and heavy eyes—while my daughters, now grown, each recite in separate rooms.

And I can’t help but remember the verse, And He gave you from all you asked of Him. And if you should count the blessings of Allah, you could not enumerate them. Indeed, mankind is most unjust and ungrateful.

So rejoice, my dear soul, at the gift that was not requested but desperately needed, at the blessing of another Ramadan and another breath, at meals and moments of calm, at hearts broken and bruised, yet finding healing in His words and in His promise.

Related:

– My Best Ramadan – Four Stories Of Ramadans Past

– Ramadan With A Newborn: Life Seasons, Ibaadah, And Intentionality

The post The Many Faces Of Ramadan 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.

It’s one of the most frightening sentences a Muslim parent can hear.

Sometimes it comes directly: “I don’t know if I believe in Allah anymore.” Sometimes it comes sideways: “I don’t see the point of praying.” Or “How do we know any of this is actually true?”

And in that moment, most parents do one of two things. They panic and clamp down — increasing religious requirements, restricting freedoms, escalating surveillance of their child’s practice. Or they shut down — changing the subject, deflecting, hoping it passes.

Both responses, though understandable, are likely to make things worse.

This piece is for the parent who wants to do something different.

First: Understand what your teen is actually going through

Adolescence is, developmentally, the period in which human beings begin to distinguish what they personally believe from what they were raised to believe. This is not a Western pathology or a sign of cultural contamination. It is how Allah created human cognition to mature.

The psychologist James Fowler spent decades studying faith development across religious traditions. His research found that a period of questioning inherited belief — what he called “individuative-reflective” faith — is a normal and often necessary stage of spiritual development. Teens who never go through this stage often have what he described as “borrowed” faith: practice without ownership, compliance without conviction.

The Islamic tradition itself is not threatened by intellectual inquiry. The Quran commands reflection — tafakkur and tadabbur — dozens of times. Ibrahim ﷺ, whom Allah called Khalilullah, His intimate friend, asked Allah directly: “Show me how You give life to the dead… so that my heart may be reassured.” [Al-Baqarah 2:260] He was not rebuked. He was answered.

When your teen asks hard questions, they are not failing as Muslims. They may be on the edge of owning their faith for the first time.

The difference between doubt and rejection

Classical Islamic scholarship distinguishes between two fundamentally different internal states that can look identical from the outside.

The first is talab — seeking. The heart that says “I’m not sure, but I want to know” is a heart oriented toward truth. Ibn al-Qayyim, in Madarij al-Salikin, describes intellectual and spiritual bewilderment (hayra) as one of the recognized stations on the path of the sincere wayfarer. This kind of doubt is a sign of engagement, not departure.

The second is i’raad — turning away. This is when the heart has decided it doesn’t want an answer. It is not inquiring; it is retreating.

Most Muslim teens who express doubt are in the first category. The tragedy is that when parents respond to all doubt as if it were rejection, they can push a seeking child toward actual departure.

Your job is to keep the door of inquiry open — not slam it shut with fear.

Warning signs that this has moved beyond normal doubt

Not every expression of religious doubt is the same. While seeking doubt is healthy and developmentally normal, there are signs that a teen may need more support:

Sudden and complete withdrawal from religious practice after years of engagement, particularly when combined with other behavioral changes.

Isolation from the Muslim community and peers simultaneously — suggesting the doubt may be entangled with depression, social rejection, or identity crisis.

Expressions of shame or self-loathing around religious identity — phrases like “I’m a bad Muslim anyway” or “It doesn’t matter” — which can indicate that the doubt is less intellectual and more emotional.

Engagement with online communities explicitly designed to deconstruct Islamic belief, particularly those that combine religious critique with personal grievance or hostility.

Declining mental health markers — changes in sleep, appetite, social engagement — alongside the expressed doubt.

If several of these are present simultaneously, the doubt may be secondary to something else that needs direct attention. In that case, a trusted scholar, counselor, or if necessary a mental health professional familiar with Muslim teens, should be involved.

What to say — and what not to say

This is where most parents need the most practical help.

Don’t say:

• “How can you say that after everything we’ve given you?” — This makes their spiritual struggle about your feelings.
• “You just need to pray more.” — This trivializes genuine intellectual struggle and can feel dismissive.
• “Other kids don’t ask these things.” — This isolates them and adds shame.
• “Don’t say that in front of your siblings.” — This signals that their doubt is shameful and must be hidden.

Do say:

• “Tell me more about what’s bothering you.” — Opens the door.
• “I’ve had questions like that too.” — Normalizes the struggle without dismissing it.
• “Which part feels hardest to believe right now?” — Gets specific, shows you’re listening.
• “I don’t have a perfect answer, but let’s find someone who might.” — Models intellectual honesty and commitment.
• “Your asking doesn’t scare/worry me.” — Perhaps the most important thing you can say.

What your teen actually needs from you

Research on religious resilience in Muslim youth consistently points to one variable above most others: the quality of the parent-child relationship. Not the number of Islamic classes attended, not the strictness of religious rules at home — the relationship.

A teen who feels emotionally safe with you will come to you when they’re doubting. A teen who fears your reaction will manage their doubt alone, often in digital spaces with no Islamic grounding and no love for them as a person.

Your teen needs to know that your love for them is not contingent on their certainty. That you are a safe person to be confused in front of. That doubt — brought to you and brought to Allah — is a conversation you can have together.

This doesn’t mean accepting whatever conclusions they reach. It means that you remain the trusted adult in their life through the process.

The resource conversation

One of the most helpful things you can do is connect your teen to scholars and teachers who have themselves wrestled with serious questions and come out with deep, grounded faith.

Not every imam or Sunday school teacher has this capacity. Some respond to doubt with alarm, which can further isolate a questioning teen. Look for educators who combine scholarly grounding with pastoral honesty — who can say “that’s a good question, and here’s how classical scholars engaged with it” rather than “Muslims don’t ask that.”

Classical works like Ibn al-Qayyim’s Madarij al-Salikin and Ibn Rajab’s Jami’ al-‘Ulum wal-Hikam contain rich discussions of the internal spiritual life, including intellectual struggle. Contemporary writers like Jamal Zarabozo, Hamza Yusuf, Ubaydullah Evans, and others have written and spoken accessibly about faith and doubt for Western Muslim audiences.

A closing word for the parent who is themselves struggling

Sometimes when your teen expresses doubt, it touches something in you. Maybe your own faith has felt shaky in recent years. Maybe you’ve had the same questions and never resolved them.

If that’s you — you’re not alone either. And pretending otherwise doesn’t protect your child; it just models that these questions can’t be spoken.

Your teen doesn’t need a parent who has never doubted. They need a parent who takes the questions seriously and keeps moving toward Allah anyway.

That’s tawakkul. That’s Ibrahim asking the question and then watching the birds come back to life.

Discussion questions for families

1. Did you ever have doubts about your faith growing up? Did you have someone you could talk to?
2. How can you make it easier for your teen to come to you with hard spiritual questions?
3. Are there questions about Islam you’ve avoided thinking about? Why?
4. How can you connect your teen with scholars or teachers who are equipped to engage with intellectual questions?

Continue the Journey

This is Night 15 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Night 16 – “When Prayer Feels Empty”

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

Related:

Week 2 Recap: Has Your Teen’s Approach to Relationships Changed? | Night 14 with the Qur’an

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

The post When You Have Doubts About Allah | Night 15 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Is Ramadan really a time to simply withdraw from the world? When we are fasting while witnessing genocides in across the Muslim world, are we really meant to turn to private worship and ignore what’s happening?

Zainab bint Younus speaks to Dr. Farah El-Sharif about what grappling with the concept of resistance in light of Islamic ethics, navigating scholarly advice to avoid politics, and the fears that many have about the consequences of engaging in resistance. This episode highlights the importance of Islam as more than just a private religious practice, and the revolutionary potential of Islamic theology in changing the world – during Ramadan, and beyond.

[This episode was recorded on February 24 and does not reflect or account for up-to-date political changes.]

Dr. Farah El-Sharif is a writer, educator and scholar in Islamic intellectual history. She received her PhD from Harvard University where she specialised in West African Islamic intellectual history. She studied with scholars in Egypt, Morocco, Senegal, Jordan and the US. You can find her writings on Substack, “Sermons at Court.”

Related:

[Podcast] The Faith of Muslim Political Prisoners | Dr. Walaa Quisay & Dr. Asim Qureshi

[Podcast] Muslims, Muslim-ness, and Islam in Politics | Celsabil Hadj-Cherif

The post [Podcast] Ramadan Is Not For Your Private Spirituality | Dr Farah El-Sharif 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.

For Parents:

Insha Allah, you’ve now watched (or your teen has watched) six nights of content about relationships and boundaries.

But here’s the question: Is anything actually changing?

Here’s how to tell:

Signs of Growth:

• They’re asking questions about their friendships
• They’re thinking about who influences them
• They’re setting boundaries (even small ones)
• They mention the concepts from the series unprompted
• They’re more discerning about who they spend time with

What’s NOT a sign of growth:

• Perfect relationships overnight
• No more struggles
• Constant enthusiasm about the series

Transformation is slow. But it compounds.

For Teens:

You might be thinking: “I watched six videos. But, I don’t feel any different.”

Good. That’s actually healthy.

But, if you think you’ve “mastered” relationships in one week, you’re lying to yourself.

So, ask yourself:

• Did even ONE night make you think differently?
• Did you have ONE conversation you wouldn’t have had before?
• Did you make ONE small choice differently because of what you learned?

That’s enough. That’s how change works.

Discussion Questions:

1. For teens: Which night from Week 2 challenged you most? Why?
2. For parents: What did you learn about your teen’s relational struggles that you didn’t know before?

Together: How can we support each other as we move into Week 3 (Doubt, Faith & Mental Health)?

Continue the Journey:

Week 3 starts tomorrow insha Allah: Doubt, Faith & Mental Health.

Bi ithnillah, we will explore the following topics:

– Night 15: When You Doubt Allah

– Night 16: When Prayer Feels Empty

– Night 17: Is Depression a Lack of Faith?

– Night 18: When Bad Things Happen to Good People

– Night 19: When Islam Feels Like a Burden

– Night 20: Dealing with Guilt and Shame

– Night 21: Week 3 Recap

Continue the Journey

This is Night 14 of Dr. Ali’s 30-part Ramadan series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul.”

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Night 15 – “I have doubts about Allah. Does that mean I’m going to Hell?”

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

Related:

When It’s Hard to Forgive: What Parents Need to Know About Islamic Forgiveness | Night 13 with the Qur’an

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

The post Week 2 Recap: Has Your Teen’s Approach to Relationships Changed? | Night 14 with the Qur’an appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.