Before the genocide, walking the streets of Gaza was an act of healing. Now, it is a confrontation with pain.

In one of the most touching and instructive moments from the life of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, we are reminded not only of the humanity of the Companions , but also of the vast mercy of Allah ﷻ and the redemptive power of good deeds—especially salah.

ʿAbdullāh ibn Masʿūd narrates: A man came to the Prophet ﷺ and said, “O Messenger of Allah, I engaged with a woman at the farthest end of Madinah, and I did with her everything short of intercourse. Here I am—judge me as you see fit.” ʿUmar said, “Allah concealed it for you; you should have concealed it yourself.” The Prophet ﷺ did not say anything to him. The man then got up and left. The Prophet ﷺ sent a man after him to call him back. When he returned, the Prophet ﷺ recited to him the verse: “Establish prayer at the two ends of the day and in some parts of the night. Indeed, good deeds erase bad deeds. That is a reminder for those who remember.” (Sūrah Hūd, 11:114) A man from the crowd asked, “O Prophet of Allah, is this specifically for him?” The Prophet ﷺ replied, “No, it is for all people generally.” [Muslim]

This beautiful narration is filled with powerful lessons: for the sinner, the seeker, the leader, and every believer striving to maintain their relationship with Allah ﷻ.

The Humanity of the Companions

The Prophet ﷺ described his generation as the best of all generations: “The best of generations is my generation, then the one that follows, then the one that follows…” [Bukhārī] This narration reminds us that even the best of people make mistakes. The Companions of the Prophet ﷺ, despite their elevated rank and status, were human beings just like us. They struggled with their desires, made poor choices, and sometimes fell into sin. What made them extraordinary wasn’t that they were sinless—it was that they were God-conscious and sincere. When they slipped, they didn’t justify or normalize the wrong. They felt the weight of it on their conscience, and they turned to Allah ﷻ with sincere remorse.

The man in this ḥadīth had come dangerously close to committing a major sin—one which Allah explicitly forbade:

“Do not even come near to zinā. It is truly a shameful deed and an evil way.” [Surah Al-‘Isra; 17:32]

And yet, in a moment of moral clarity, his heart overwhelmed by guilt, he came to the Prophet ﷺ, seeking accountability and redemption. “Here I am—judge me as you see fit,” he said. This was not arrogance or recklessness. It was humility and an intense desire to be cleansed.

The Wisdom of ʿUmar and the Mercy of the Prophet ﷺ

ʿUmar offered the man a valuable piece of advice: “Allah concealed it for you; you should have concealed it yourself.” In Islam, we are not encouraged to publicly expose our personal sins. When Allah ﷻ has veiled our mistakes, we honor that by turning to Him privately in repentance. Public confession is not a requirement of tawbah. The act of exposing oneself—unless harm to others is involved—can do more damage than good.

The Prophet ﷺ, in his characteristic gentleness and wisdom, didn’t rebuke the man or make an example out of him. He didn’t shame him in front of the community. In fact, he initially remained silent. His silence wasn’t rejection—it was reflection and wisdom. Perhaps he was waiting for divine instruction, or perhaps he was giving the man space to process his own remorse. But the Prophet ﷺ didn’t leave him in that silence. When the man left, the Prophet ﷺ sent someone to call him back, and then gave him hope in the most beautiful way: by reciting to him the verse from Sūrah Hūd:

“Establish prayer at the two ends of the day and in some parts of the night. Indeed, good deeds erase bad deeds. That is a reminder for those who remember.” [11:114]

Prayer: A Spiritual Cleanser

The verse reminds us of one of the most powerful and hopeful realities in Islam: our good deeds have the power to erase our sins—especially the five daily prayers. The Prophet ﷺ explained this beautifully in another ḥadīth:

“The five daily prayers, and from one Friday prayer to the next, and from one Ramadan to the next, are expiations for whatever occurs between them, so long as major sins are avoided.” [PC: Kheldoun Imad (unsplash)]

“The five daily prayers, and from one Friday prayer to the next, and from one Ramadan to the next, are expiations for whatever occurs between them, so long as major sins are avoided.” [Muslim]

He ﷺ once asked his Companions: “If there were a river at the door of one of you in which he bathed five times a day, would there remain any dirt on him?” They said, “There would not remain any dirt on him.” He replied, “That is the example of the five daily prayers. Through them, Allah wipes away sins.” [Bukhārī & Muslim]

Abū Dharr narrated that during the winter, the Prophet ﷺ held two branches of a tree, and the leaves began to fall. He said: “O Abū Dharr! When a Muslim performs ṣalāh sincerely seeking the Face of Allah, his sins fall from him just as these leaves fall from the tree.” [Ahmad]

Prayer is not just a ritual obligation—it is a form of divine purification. Every time we stand before our Lord in salah, we are offered a chance to start anew, to wipe the slate clean, and to return to Allah with a lighter soul and a purified heart.

A Universal Message of Hope

After the Prophet ﷺ recited the verse to the Companion, someone asked, “Is this (verse) specifically for him?” The Prophet ﷺ responded, “No, it is for all people generally.” That one line opens the doors of hope to every believer until the end of time. This message wasn’t just for the man who nearly fell into zinā—it is for anyone who has faltered, stumbled, or fallen into sin. It is for all of us.

We all carry moments we regret—words we shouldn’t have said, actions we shouldn’t have taken, desires we wish we had resisted. But through sincere repentance and consistent acts of worship—especially prayer—we can find our way back to Allah ﷻ.

Final Reflections

This story is more than just a lesson in tawbah. It’s a blueprint for how we should approach sin, how we should deal with others who err, and how we should see our daily prayers—not as a burden, but as a divine mercy. Let us strive to pray with khushūʿ (presence and humility), with meaning and understanding. Let us pray on time, with sincerity, and with hearts that long for Allah’s Pleasure. And let us never forget that in this world of flaws and failure, Allah’s Door remains wide open—so long as we’re willing to knock. “Indeed, good deeds erase bad deeds. That is a reminder for those who remember.” 

To the young hearts reading this—whether you’re in high school, navigating college life, or finding your way in the world as a young adult—this story is especially for you. The man who came to the Prophet ﷺ was overwhelmed by his mistake, but he didn’t let it paralyze him. He took ownership of his slip, felt regret, and turned toward the Prophet ﷺ seeking a way back to Allah ﷻ. And the Prophet ﷺ responded not with harshness, but with hope—with the Quran itself.

In today’s world, temptations are everywhere—online, on campus, in your pocket, and even in your private thoughts. It’s easy to feel ashamed or unworthy when you slip. But here’s what this ḥadīth teaches you:

1. Even the best of people, the Companions of the Prophet ﷺ, made mistakes. Don’t let Shayṭān convince you that one mistake means you’re a hypocrite or beyond hope.
2. A sin doesn’t define you, but your response to it does. Let every fall push you to rise higher. Don’t justify the wrong—repent and reorient your heart.
3. Don’t delay. Even if you’re struggling with guilt or shame, open the door to forgiveness right away. Make wudhu, pray two rakʿahs, and ask Allah ﷻ sincerely for forgiveness.
4. You may feel like, “I’m sinning, so what’s the point of praying?” But that is the trap. Ṣalāh is the very thing that will bring you back. Even if you feel broken or impure—pray. Even if you just sinned—pray. The Prophet ﷺ said, “Good deeds erase bad deeds.”
5. Keep your mistakes between you and Allah . Don’t “vent” online about your wrongdoings. Confession is not a virtue in Islam—repentance is.

 

Related:

– Standing At The Divine Window: A Glimpse Of Eternity In The Serenity Of Salah

– Podcast: Prayer is a Work in Progress | Shaykh Abdullah Ayaaz Mullanee

The post Salah – A Spiritual Cleanser appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

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Introduction: Historical Roots and Ideological Aspirations

I was raised by a revolution that broke through the routine of ordinary life – a movement whose passion served as a steady guide, giving me faith, purpose, and conviction. It defined who I would become, or at least who I would strive to become. Its lessons were etched into the very marrow of my being, leaving indelible footprints across the landscape of my soul.

Islamism emerged as a twentieth-century response to a series of crises: the colonisation of Muslim nations, the military and scientific advances of the West, and the fall of the Caliphate. Its proponents sought to reintegrate Islamic values into public life and state structures, positing Islam as a complete worldview, a framework for governance, economics, and society.

Rooted in the intellectual traditions of figures like Hasan al-Banna (Egypt) and Abul A‘la Maududi (India), Islamism rejected both imperial domination and authoritarianism, offering a moral and political project for the people to reclaim agency through Islam. Islamists envisioned a return to authentic Islamic governance as the path to justice and renewal.

This vision was animated by a desire to transcend imposed national boundaries and reconstitute a sense of collective Islamic belonging. Within this ideological architecture, Palestine assumed a central place as a moral and spiritual imperative. The sanctity of al-Aqsa Mosque made its defence a religious obligation. The occupation of Palestinian land and the establishment of Israel symbolised not just territorial loss, but the violation of an entrusted responsibility.

The occupation resonated across Muslim societies as a continuation of the colonial era. Muslim nations had been recently colonised, and the mechanisms of control in Palestine, military rule, displacement, and settler encroachment, all mirrored the structures of colonial subjugation they had endured. The Palestinian struggle thus became a crystallisation of shared historical trauma. For Islamist movements, it offered both a moral lens and a strategic focal point: a test of authenticity, resilience, and the viability of their political vision.

It is in this context and amid the current devastation in Gaza that the limitations of this narrative are being exposed. If Palestine once symbolised the grounds for Islamic revival, it now reveals the consequences of ideological disconnect, demanding urgent critical reflection.

This article examines the logic of Islamist narratives, their assumptions, political utility, and limitations. These narratives are recurring across the political spectrum, including by non-Islamist figures. 

1. Reliance on Prophetic Parallels 

Islamist rhetoric frequently invokes Prophetic stories as a political blueprint. Stories such as the Battle of Badr, where a small, outnumbered Muslim force triumphed against a vastly superior enemy, or the campaigns of Salah al-Din, are cited as proof that moral conviction and perseverance alone will secure victory. These references are powerful symbols of Divine justice and historical vindication, and they continue to shape public expectations across the Arab world and beyond.

Yet, when such narratives are elevated from spiritual inspiration to political strategy, they become deeply problematic. The Prophet’s life and early Muslim victories are often framed not as historically contingent episodes, but as timeless templates for action. This neglects the radically different conditions of our time: the presence of nation-states, the role of imperial powers, the complexity of multilateral diplomacy, and the decisive weight of military, economic, and institutional power. The issue is not the possibility of miracles, but the expectation of them as part of a political calculus. Strategy, by definition, must operate within the realm of human agency, negotiation, and material conditions. To rely on the occurrence of the extraordinary is to bypass the necessary work of institution-building and long-term planning.

The effect is twofold. First, it creates unrealistic expectations. By invoking Muslim victories in Badr or Khandaq as inevitable historical patterns, these commentators imply that perseverance alone, no matter the reality, will produce similar outcomes. Yet these battles are often referenced at a basic level, overlooking the sophisticated defensive measures, political calculations, and strategic foresight they entailed. Second, this framing romanticises struggle while sidelining the harder, slower work of statecraft, such as institution building, knowledge accumulation, political representation, and the management of investment and funds to create leverage. History becomes a sanctified script, and politics a stage for re-enactment, rather than a domain for negotiation, recalibration, and compromise.

This mythologisation also opens the door to manipulation. Lessons derived from the life of the Prophet , like all moral derivations from scripture, are subject to interpretation. Political analysts often treat their reading as authoritative, deploying it to justify political decisions. Nearly any political stance can be cloaked in religious legitimacy, so long as it is linked to a comparable event. 

The Muslim vote on the re-lection of Trump [PC: The Now Time (unsplash)]

For example, the most recent U.S. presidential election. Faced with the Democratic Party’s complicity in the genocide in Gaza, many Muslim commentators and public figures, drawing from an Islamist moral lexicon, framed voting against the Democrats as an ethical imperative. Casting a vote for a third party or even for Donald Trump was presented by some as a rejection of moral hypocrisy, a stand against genocide, or even an act of faith. The narrative was not framed in terms of political leverage, institutional risk, or strategic calculation, but as a question of virtue.

This framing ignored the known consequences of a Trump presidency, not just for Gaza, but for Palestine activism within the United States. His administration openly targeted civil society organisations, deported student activists, criminalised protest, and dismantled the very channels through which advocacy had previously operated. These intentions were stated publicly well before the election. The argument that punishing the Democrats would “teach a lesson” doesn’t withstand scrutiny: pro-Israel lobbying spans both parties, and the Republican Party is not less Zionist but more openly aggressive in its commitments.

None of this is to dismiss the legitimate anger many Muslims felt toward the Biden administration. Nor is it to suggest that all Muslim voters were driven by the same logic. But the dominant framing in this discourse relied on historical analogy rather than strategic appraisal. The decision itself may have been defensible, but the process by which it was reached was not: there was no serious planning for what would follow a Trump victory, no roadmap for navigating the intensified repression his presidency would likely bring. The result was a politics more invested in righteousness than results.

2. Conflation of Moral Victories with Political Success

Closely tied to the problem of analogy is a second pattern: the tendency to equate moral steadfastness with political achievement. This dynamic emerges most clearly in the aftermath of failure, whether in the face of electoral defeat, repression, or military loss, when Islamist actors reinterpret setbacks as demonstrations of moral legitimacy. The persistence of the movement, or the loyalty of its base, is offered as proof of success, regardless of tangible outcomes.

This orientation transforms virtue into a political currency. It displaces issues of political competence with assertions of sincerity and sacrifice. This can often function as a substitute for policy. Movements are not judged by what they deliver, but by what they endure.

The experience of the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt exemplifies this. Despite widespread mobilisation and its brief ascension to power after the Arab Spring, the Brotherhood failed to consolidate power or articulate a coherent programme for inclusive governance. Its leadership struggled to navigate the post-revolutionary moment. Their removal from power in 2013 was interpreted by many supporters not as a political failure but as a moral vindication, a sacrifice that confirmed the treachery of deep-state forces and foreign powers. 

What followed was not introspection but reaffirmation. Rather than treat the loss of power as a moment for institutional reckoning or strategic recalibration, it was upheld as evidence of the righteousness of their cause. Internal critics such as Abdel Moneim Aboul Fotouh and members of the Wasat Party called for rethinking the Brotherhood’s majoritarianism and its overreliance on moral symbolism. However, they were marginalised, and the dominant current focused on reinforcing a self-image rooted in moral purity and persecution rather than political pragmatism. 

This retreat into a virtue-centric narrative foreclosed the possibility of learning from failure. A more productive response might have involved revaluating their majoritarian approach, forging coalitions across ideological lines, conceding on moral stances, and developing institutions capable of mediating power. Yet such paths required diluting ideological certainty and engaging in a politics of compromise. These were steps many in the leadership were unwilling to take. Consequently, the Brotherhood’s core assumptions, internal structures, and tactical approaches have remained largely unaltered. Despite exile, repression, and regional isolation, the movement has clung to its foundational principles, showing little inclination to interrogate the choices that led to its collapse.

3. Romanticised Rhetoric of the Ummah and the Politics of Disappointment

One of the most persistent features of modern Islamist discourse is the invocation of an idealised ummah, a unified global Muslim community bound by shared faith. Yet this imagined unity bears little resemblance to the historical experience of Muslims. The vision of a coherent ummah, as advanced by contemporary Islamists, is not only aspirational, it is also historically inaccurate.

While early Islamic empires such as the Umayyad (661–750) and Abbasid (750–1258) dynasties did foster a sense of shared religious civilisation, this unity was fragile and authority was constantly contested. It was fractured by dynastic rivalries, ethnic hierarchies, and regional interests. For instance, the Abbasid revolution itself was a response to perceived Arab dominance under the Umayyads and drew heavily on non-Arab Persian support. Under Abbasid rule, the Turkish military class eventually overshadowed both Arab aristocrats and Persian administrators, leading to recurring instability at the heart of the empire.

The empire’s fragmentation accelerated with the emergence of regional dynasties: the Fatimids established a rival caliphate in North Africa (909–1171). Similarly, the Umayyads of al-Andalus declared their own caliphate in Cordoba (929). Loyalties were shaped as much by lineage and geography as by doctrine. 

The Ottoman Empire, which governed much of the Arab world from the sixteenth century onward, further complicates the narrative. It was a Turkish-speaking, bureaucratic system based in Istanbul. While Islam provided a shared religious frame, Arabs were governed as provincial subjects. Arab society itself remained deeply localised, structured around tribal, sectarian, and regional affiliations. The Ottomans were also not the sole imperial authority. The Safavid Empire in Persia (1501–1736) and the Mughal Empire in India (1526–1857), which ruled over a vast and culturally diverse population, rivalled the Ottomans in scope and influence. These empires maintained distinct administrative systems, religious traditions, and geopolitical ambitions. The notion of a unified Islamic political identity did not guide governance. It has emerged more forcefully in retrospect, shaped by postcolonial frustration and the aspirations of modern ideological projects.

Despite this complex history, Islamist movements have continued to frame their cause as part of a universal moral and political struggle. This framing often draws on ideological currents well outside the Islamic tradition, namely Enlightenment humanism, with its emphasis on rights and moral universality, as well as from anti-imperialist Marxist traditions that envisioned global revolutionary unity. The integration of these frameworks into Islamist discourse has been rhetorically powerful but strategically unstable. The vision of a global ummah functions less as a policy direction and more as a symbolic register of grievance, solidarity, and aspiration.

This symbolic register often falters in practice. As Gaza faces extermination today, calls for ummah-wide mobilisation fail. In such moments, the ummah becomes a site of disappointment, its imagined unity serving only to magnify the disunity of reality.

Toward a Pragmatic Turn?

“A critical element of this reorientation involves narrative change.” [PC: Vladyslav Kuznietsov (unsplash)]

The language of prophetic analogy, glorification of moral victories, and invocations of a transnational Ummah, while popular, has insulated its Arab and Muslim audiences from the hard truths of power and the reality of political change. Nowhere is this more visible than in Gaza, where the cost of failing rhetoric is measured in lives lost. The way forward demands strategic reorientation. The metrics of success must shift from symbolic defiance to structural transformation.

The primary audience for these solutions are Muslim political actors. These include organised groups, individual religious and political leaders, intellectuals, activists, artists, and creatives both in the Muslim world and in Western diaspora. These actors are strategically positioned to drive cultural and political change.

Narrative Change 

A critical element of this reorientation involves narrative change. Islamic unity must be reframed, not as something to be abandoned, but as a concept reimagined beyond the outdated Marxist-influenced model advocating for a single unified state or struggle. Instead, Islamic unity should be grounded in shared religious beliefs, cultural identities, and most importantly, mutual geopolitical interests. Moreover, incorporating inclusive frameworks alongside Islamic principles can enrich political discourse and broaden its appeal. Clearly distinguishing moral imperatives from strategic and tactical decisions, without compromising ethical foundations, is vital for a coherent and impactful narrative.

Another crucial narrative shift involves diversifying political tactics by analysing and strategically targeting the structures underpinning state policies that undermine Muslim interests. Take the example of Gaza again: state policies in the neoliberal world order are heavily influenced by private corporate interests, notably arms manufacturers and defence companies, which significantly drive international support for Israel. Muslim political strategies should directly challenge these economic interests at multiple levels. Grassroots activism should target factories and disrupt supply chains through direct action. Simultaneously, robust lobbying efforts should be mobilised at the state level to counterbalance the political influence of arms manufacturers. Recognising and actively opposing these economic and corporate drivers of policy must become an essential narrative and strategic shift within Muslim political discourse.

Lastly, realism must anchor this evolving political narrative. Goals should be firmly grounded in the existing political realities and practical possibilities within current frameworks. Some objectives may appear less aspirational or morally satisfying, but political discourse must move beyond articulating what merely feels good or morally righteous. For instance, the liberation of Palestine as an overarching political objective, while morally compelling, is not realistically attainable in the short term. Many acknowledge that liberation is not within reach without a shift in the global balance of power. Therefore, the immediate stated goals must prioritise building robust political infrastructure and institutional capacities. Articulating such incremental objectives is often challenging because it lacks the emotional resonance and moral clarity of broader liberation rhetoric.

Capacity Building

The narrative shift will only matter if accompanied by successful capacity building. Tactics such as forming strategic voting blocs, expanding media influence, establishing policy-focused think tanks, and investing in academia and scholarship are important action points. Continuous skill and career development for emerging leaders will strengthen overall capabilities. Further, creating leverage within state systems should be cultivated by supporting political organisations capable of influencing policy decisions, particularly in geopolitically influential regions, such as the US and the UK. Concrete investments in political and civic infrastructure will translate grassroots activism and protests into tangible policy outcomes. For example, UKIP’s ability to influence UK foreign policy by targeting key voter concerns demonstrates the significant impact achievable through strategic political organisation and targeted electoral pressure. Lastly, sustained support for independent academic institutions and knowledge production initiatives will support the development of creative solutions.

The Muslim community is known for its generosity, but the direction of community investment needs review. While sending aid addresses immediate humanitarian needs, it does not create lasting political solutions. Moreover, these needs could be more effectively met by wealthy Muslim-majority states, such as the Gulf countries. Internally, community investments often focus on mosque building and development; although this is undoubtedly important, capacity building in political and civic infrastructure should be considered of equal if not higher importance to achieve long-term strategic goals.

Conclusion

Reflecting on the limitations and consequences of Islamist rhetoric, particularly amid the ongoing genocide and devastation in Gaza, it is clear that spiritual and religious discourse offers comfort and a sense of moral clarity to many. However, reliance on spiritual rhetoric as the sole or primary strategy for political engagement risks perpetuating illusions and unrealistic expectations. It inadvertently sidelines pragmatic considerations of institutional strength, strategic alliances, and material realities.

The critical challenge, therefore, is not in deepening religious conviction but rather in translating these beliefs into effective political strategies that build resilient institutions. The proposed solutions presented here are not exhaustive, definitive, or necessarily correct; they are simply suggestions intended to guide the conversation towards more realistic strategies. Islamist narratives often rely heavily on the comforts of idealised visions without providing sufficient practical guidance. The imperative is not to discard ethical commitments but to marry them with an astute understanding of political leverage, economic influences, and institutional capacities. The viability of any politically engaged Islamic discourse hinges on this transformation: from symbolic defiance to substantive, structural engagement. It is the myths that must be shed, not the ethics.

 

Related:

– Politics In Islam: On Muslims Partaking In Political Engagement In Non-Muslim Countries

– Rising To The Moment: What Muslim American Activists Of Today Can Learn From Successful Community Movements During The Bosnian Genocide

 

The post Beyond Badr: Transforming Muslim Political Vision appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

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Previous Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

 

“We must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive. He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love. … Forgiveness is not an occasional act; it is a permanent attitude.”
– Martin Luther King Jr., from “Strength to Love,” 1963

“Have you considered: if your water were to become sunken [into the earth], then who could bring you flowing water?” – Quran, Surat Al-Mulk

Porsche 911

The masjid parking lot was almost empty, but at the west end, four young brothers in their twenties were shooting hoops around the freestanding basket on the edge of the lot. Their cars were parked nearby, and Deek paused to admire a gorgeous black Porsche 911. It was a classic model, with raised headlight housings, tinted windows, chrome rims, a large rear spoiler, and dual exhaust pipes. It was a work of art.

Why should he continue calling Ubers like a tourist? And he certainly wasn’t about to walk home or take the bus. Plus, he had to go to the bathroom, and he knew himself; if he ignored it much longer it would become urgent. This had happened more often as he grew older and gained weight. He’d had some close calls, where he wasn’t sure he’d make it to a bathroom in time. And there’d been one time when he didn’t make it in time. It was a shameful experience that he didn’t care to remember.

He looked back at the masjid, thinking he could use the facilities there, but it looked like everyone was gone. Zuhair’s car was just leaving the lot. The building was probably locked.

He waved to the basketball players. “Hey! Whose Porsche is this?”

They sauntered over. A short, dark-skinned youth with a massive mop of curls – probably Yemeni, Deek thought – spoke up.

“Is mine. I’m Shujaa. Thass my car. Why?” His voice was squeaky, as if he was still going through puberty, and he had a strong Arabic accent.

“How old are you?”

“Eh? What’s with the questions, uncle?”

“I want to buy the car.”

Negotiation

The boy laughed, and his friends followed suit. “You know what that is there? Thass a classic 1990 Carrera 911. Dual carburetors, Turbo wide body kit, four-wheel disc brakes, dual exhaust, Sunpro Super tachometer, three-spoke steering, hood pins, toggle switches, roll bar, Turbo-branded wheels… I built this baby myself. It could goes over two hundred miles an hour.”

As the boy described the car, Deek noted that his accent virtually disappeared, and his voice even deepened, as if his voice box was an extension of the car’s powerful motor.

“How much do you want for it?”

“Are you is serious?”

“Serious as a car crash. But how old are you? I need to know you’re a legal adult so you can make a deal.”

“I’m twenny, okay? Don’t worry about it. I’m a businessman. I own five smoke shops in this town. I sell you this car for two hundred fifty g’s.”

“Do you have a crypto wallet?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Be reasonable. I’ll give you two Bitcoins.”

“Two and a half.”

“Deal.” It was probably more than the car was worth, but Deek didn’t care. It was only money.

The boy, Shujaa, was excited but suspicious, afraid that Deek would cheat him. Eventually, they settled on an impromptu escrow arrangement by which Deek would set up the transfer, with everything done but hitting SEND. He would hand the phone to one of Shujaa’s friends. Shujaa would sign the pink slip over to Deek, then the friend would hit the SEND button.

This Was Power

Five minutes later, it was done. The boy pulled his belongings out of the trunk, piled them in the parking lot, and then handed Deek the key.

Deek climbed into the car and sat, luxuriating. The interior was amazing. Wide leather seats that were cool to the touch, spotless and in mint condition. Black dashboard with old-fashioned circular gauges. The car was well cared for. It smelled of leather, furniture polish, and also faintly of za’tar. He started the car and listened to its confident, tiger-like purr.

“Wait!” Shujaa said. “I feel like I shouldna done this. My Baba bought this car for me.”

Deek winked at him. “You’ll be okay. Hold onto the Bitcoin, it will make you rich.” He floored the accelerator and peeled out of the parking lot, narrowly missing the boys, who jumped out of the way. He tipped his head back and laughed as he hit the open road. He hadn’t succeeded in getting that jerk Ajeeb fired, but it was okay. Screw him. Zuhair was right, his offer had been petty. He was rich now. Time to put those silly grudges behind him. Time to put a lot of things behind him.

This was power now, finally. This was what money was for. You saw a car you wanted, you bought it on the spot, boom! Didn’t matter how much it cost. He’d forgotten about the sensation he’d had of tentacles rising from a dark sea inside him, trying to pull him down into selfishness and miserliness.

Instead, pushing the gas pedal down, feeling the car leap beneath him like a racehorse, he imagined himself a superhero with electricity running in his veins. Was this what it was like to be rich? The world lay at his feet, ripe and ready. He was a conqueror at the frontier of a new continent, and the only limit was his imagination.

An Urgent Need

As he sped through the streets on the way home, the feeling of needing to go to the bathroom became intensely urgent. He jiggled his knees and pressed his feet into the car floor. At a stoplight on Blackstone, he shouted at the light to turn green. He was only two miles from home, but he wasn’t going to make it. He turned the radio on, then, as loud rap music came blasting out, turned it off.

Without warning, he jerked the wheel and peeled into the tiny parking lot of the 7-11 at Blackstone and Bullard. Cars honked at him, and someone shouted. He walked quickly but stiff-legged into the store.

The bored young Indian man behind the counter was eating a pizza slice with one hand and holding his phone with the other as he jabbered away in his native language.

“Bathroom?” Deek asked.

The clerk shook his head. “Out of order.”

Deek didn’t believe that for a second. It was something they said to keep the riffraff out of their own private bathroom. He took out his wallet and put a five-dollar bill on the counter.

“Bathroom,” he said again.

The clerk scowled and shouted, waving Deek away with the pizza slice. “Out of order, out of order!”

Deek cursed, snatched the five-dollar bill, and lurched outside. The store’s dumpster was hidden inside a fenced enclosure. Deek thought maybe he could slip in there, squat, and do his business. But the enclosure was barely larger than the smelly and stained dumpster, and with his protruding belly, he couldn’t get in. He hurried back to the car, wiping his hands on his pants, and burned rubber tearing out of the parking lot, nearly hitting a fat lady smoking a vape and swigging a bottle of beer.

He was halfway home when he crapped his pants. The car filled with a terrible stink. Deek rolled down the windows and continued home with a wooden expression, his teeth clenched in shame. He prayed that no one was home, so he’d be spared the mortification of Rania or his daughters seeing him like this.

If Your Water Were to Become Sunken

This wasn’t fair. He was a multimillionaire, almost a 10% billionaire, yet he was not spared from the brutal exigencies of his aging and unhealthy body. What good was money when a simple bodily function could plunge him into a state of abject humiliation? This wasn’t how it was supposed to be!

A memory came to him of a day in his boyhood. His family had recently arrived from Iraq as refugees, and were quite poor. They were sitting at the bus stop on a hot summer day, shading their eyes against the glare, waiting for a bus to take them to the grocery store. An expensive sports car passed by and Deek pointed to it excitedly, saying in Arabic, “Look Baba, look how beautiful. This country has everything.”

In reply, his father had recited the last ayah of Surat Al-Mulk: “Have you considered: if your water were to become sunken [into the earth], then who could bring you flowing water?”

“All of this is an illusion,” his father said. “What power or wealth will they have if Allah takes away their sunlight, water, or air? Remember, Deek, we did not come here for fancy cars. We came for our freedom to worship Allah and practice our deen, and to work hard and provide for our family.”

Deek wondered now if this shame was a reminder from Allah that He, Subhanahu wa Ta’ala, could take away everything that mattered in an instant.

Shame

Rania would probably still be at work, and Amira, who was in 11th grade, would be at school. But Sanaya, whose college class schedule was irregular, might well be home. She didn’t have a car, so she either took the bus or rode her bicycle to school and work.

He let himself into the house and waddled quickly toward the bathroom in the master bedroom.

“Hi Baba!” Sanaya called from the kitchen. “Eww, what is that smell?”

Deek’s face grew hot with shame. He continued toward the bathroom. “It’s the car I bought,” he called over his shoulder. “The old owner had body odor. I’ll get it cleaned.”

“You bought a car? How? And why would you buy a smelly one?”

Deek shut the bathroom door and spent the next half hour cleaning himself and washing his clothing. He opened the bathroom window, sprayed the room with lemon air freshener, and lit one of Rania’s vanilla-scented candles. The bathroom would smell like a bakery, or so he hoped.

As he cleaned up, he found himself reciting the poem Dr. Zuhair had recited:

Forgiveness is among the traits of the noble,
And pardon is the mark of the great.
The truly gallant is he who forgives
Even when he has the power to retaliate.

It was a lovely little stanza, especially in Arabic. But who was Deek supposed to forgive? Rania, for being short-tempered with him? Fine, he forgave her, whatever. But Ajeeb? No way. The man had mocked him in public. It was an offense against his pride and honor. Deek would rather push the man’s head into a toilet and drown him than forgive him.

Zuhair was an interesting dude, widely admired in the community. Deek, who had not dealt with the man much, had always assumed it was because Zuhair had money. But now he realized it was more than that. Zuhair radiated a quiet, confident charisma. He’d stood there casually plucking and eating an orange as he turned down a million and a half dollar donation. On top of that, he was intelligent, and even though he was in his sixties, was built like a wrestler. Some people had it all, it seemed. The lucky ones. The chosen ones.

The Greatest Blessing

Deek was not one of those. He’d always struggled to earn money, lose weight, make friends, and be respected in the community. Nothing had ever come easily. The greatest blessing he had was his family. Rania, Sanaya, Amira. These were his treasures. How Rania had put up with him and loved him all these years, he did not know.

And now there was this. Money. Vast riches. It was incredible. He felt vindicated, as if Allah had anointed his forehead with olive oil and made him a king. As if he’d been walking in darkness for decades and Allah had suddenly plucked him out and brought him into shimmering light. And the best part was that it had happened through his own hard work and persistence. Years of studying, experimenting, losing money and trying again, working late into the night, never giving up.

When he emerged, cleaned and changed, Sanaya was nowhere in the house. He went outside and found her admiring the Porsche.

“It actually doesn’t smell all that bad,” Sanaya said. “Just needs a good detailing, inside and out. It’s a beautiful car. But I don’t get how you paid for it. Aren’t we, like, practically broke?”

Sanaya was a tall girl, taller than either of her parents, with mahogany skin, a prominent nose, and long black hair that she kept beneath a hijab when outside, like now. She wore thick glasses – a personal preference, as she didn’t like the feel of contact lenses. She always smelled of coffee, and Deek suspected that a disproportionate amount of her study time was spent at the university coffee shop. But she was an excellent student and should have attended a state university or UC, except that the family could not afford it, so she went to community college. She never even complained about it.

That was all over now. Sanaya could attend any university of her choosing, even an Ivy League school. And she didn’t have to work that night job at the convenience store anymore. Deek was suddenly choked with emotion, thinking about what a sweet girl his daughter was, and how patient she had always been. Amira too. They were both angels.

Work Husband

“Alhamdulillah,” he began to say, “I made some -”

“Mom’s home!’

Rania’s chocolate brown mini-SUV pulled into the driveway and parked behind the Porsche. She liked to park in the garage, and the Porsche was blocking the way. She wouldn’t be happy about that. But Deek had been in too much of a hurry when he’d arrived home to care about such things.

Rania emerged from the SUV with a cautious smile. There were circles beneath her eyes, and her shoulders sagged. Deek felt a pang of concern for her, and for an instant thought of going to her and embracing her. But her tone was tight and cold when she said, “What’s this? Do we have visitors?”

“Baba bought a car!”

“He did what?” Her smile was stiff now, as if she were wearing a mask.

“We really need to sit down and talk,” Deek said.

“That’s why I came home early. We need to talk about boundaries. Coming to my work like that was unacceptable. But is it true you bought this car?”

“Yes.”

Rania’s eyes went to the car, then to Deek. “I don’t even know what to say. It was one thing when you were nothing but a burden. A drain on our finances. But now you’re actively trying to sabotage this family. Your daughter -” Rania flung out a hand toward Sanaya – “goes to community college because that’s all we can afford! And here you are, an anchor around my neck -”

“Mom!’ Sanaya exclaimed.

“Are you having an affair?” These words came to Deek’s lips unbidden. He would never have suspected such a thing, but Rania had been so unkind and impatient with him lately, and the idea just popped into his head.

“I… What? No, of course not.”

Deek’s breath caught. “You don’t seem certain.”

“No, no, no. I mean, there’s a man at work, a doctor. He’s a friend, we talk. We eat lunch together. The other nurses call him my work husband.” Rania laughed nervously. “So silly.”

“I don’t want to hear this!” Sanaya covered her ears with her hands and walked quickly into the house.

“I guess I don’t either,” Deek said wearily. “I will remove the anchor from around your neck.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Overreacting

Deek walked into the garage, found two empty suitcases, took them into the master bedroom, locked the door, and began to pack. He didn’t pack carefully, but tossed items into one suitcase haphazardly. A handful of underwear, a pair of pants, and his pathetic little rock collection that he kept in a shoebox. Vanilla-scented smoke drifted from the bathroom, from the still-burning candle.

Rania began to knock, saying, “You’re overreacting. Let me in and let’s talk.”

Into the other suitcase he placed his computers, packing only the towers, keyboards and mice, and not bothering with the monitors. The whole job took only fifteen minutes.

When he opened the door, suitcases in hand, Rania said, “What the hell are you doing? I thought you wanted to talk?”

Deek thought he should be angry. If he was leaving his wife, didn’t it make sense to be angry? But he was only tired.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for two days,” he said. “You smacked me in the chest and put your hand on my mouth to shut me up, then you shouted at me in front of your co-workers. And now you say that I’m an anchor around your neck. You’ve changed. You were never like this with me before. It’s how I guessed about your work lover, or whatever you call him. I suppose that’s why you didn’t want me showing up at your work.”

He began to walk toward the front door, pulling the rolling suitcases behind him.

“I changed because you changed!” Rania yelled. “You used to work, you used to be a responsible man who paid the bills and cared for his family. Now you’ve become a sloth that sits in front of a computer all day, losing money. I want my husband back, the man I married.”

Deek opened the front door. “Seems like you’re on your way to finding someone else.”

“That’s nothing. He’s a married man. He flirts with me, it makes me feel good. That’s all!”

Rania followed him out into the driveway. “If you leave,” she said in a threatening tone, “the house is mine. Forget about getting anything at all.”

Deek looked at her sadly. “You jumped to that awfully quickly. That’s fine, you can have the house and everything else.” He could only fit one of the suitcases in the Porsche’s little trunk.

What About This Car?

“And what about this car?” Rania kicked one of the tires. “What insanity is this?” She was getting angrier by the moment, and Deek feared she might get a fireplace poker and start smashing the car’s windows.

He sighed heavily. “I’ve been trying to tell you. I’ve had some good trades. I made money.”

“Then where is it? You spent it on a car when we have all these bills?”

“Check your bank account.” He went around to the passenger’s side and put the other suitcase in the seat. He realized at that moment that the car still smelled bad. He opened the suitcase, and the clothing he’d stuffed into it spilled out. He snatched up a t-shirt and leaned over to wipe the driver’s side seat, hoping Rania could not smell it. Then he put a towel on the seat. He closed the door and turned to find Rania standing right in front of him, holding up her phone.

“One hundred three thousand, five hundred ninety-two dollars? What on earth? There’s over a hundred thousand dollars in the account. Where did this come from?”

Deek shook his head. “You really don’t listen at all, do you?”

She stared. “Oh. The crypto? Your good trade that you were talking about?”

“Yes.”

“And you bought the car with that?”

“Yes.”

“How much did the car cost?”

“Two and a half Bitcoin.” Seeing her blank look, he translated. “About a hundred and twenty-five thousand.”

Rania clutched her throat as if she were choking. “A hundred and twenty-five thousand? Are you utterly mad? Don’t you think you should have discussed it with me first?”

“I tried, remember?”

Millions

“How much did you make on your trade?”

“It wasn’t one trade. It was a series of good trades over the last two days.”

“How much?”

Deek regarded her. Part of him counseled silence. What had Zuhair said? It’s clever to be discreet with your assets. If he and Rania were splitting up, it was not in his interest to tell her how much he’d earned. On the other hand, he wanted his vindication. He hungered for it. He wanted to see the look in her eyes when she realized just how badly she’d misjudged him. In the end, he only said, “Millions.”

Rania took a step back. “Millions?” She looked aghast. “For real?”

Deek nodded. Rania suddenly swayed on her feet. Deek leaped forward and grabbed her, then eased her down to the ground. She sat on the driveway with legs splayed and her face in her hands, breathing heavily as Deek kneeled beside her.

***

[Part 5 will be published next week 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:

Death in a Valley Town, Part 1 – Moving Day

The Deal : Part #1 The Run

 

The post Moonshot: A Short Story [Part 4] – If Your Water Were To Become Sunken appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Spiritual practices can induce a sense of being part of something that is bigger than oneself

• Making sense of it is a column about spirituality and how it can be used to navigate everyday life

When I was a kid, my sister’s favourite biblical passage was from the gospel according to Luke. “Suffer little children to come unto me,” Jesus told his disciples, “for of such is the Kingdom of God.”

My sister had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and she understood Jesus to be saying that children like her, who felt pain, would inherit paradise. Her favourite saints were the youthful martyrs – Angela of Fatima, Bernadette of Lourdes, Thérèse of Lisieux, the Little Flower. Every week my parish gathered to pray for my sister and the priest offered up her suffering, everyone’s suffering, all the suffering of the world, to God.

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