Introduction

Wherever one finds themselves in life, it’s always been understood, especially for Muslims, that to fulfill our obligations properly, we have to first acknowledge our responsibilities.

A parent has a responsibility in how they speak and behave in front of their child. An employee of a charity has a responsibility in how they present themselves publicly as a representative of a mission. An Imam has a responsibility in the statements he makes before a congregation that sees him as a spiritual guide. A podcast host has a responsibility in how they present ideas to their audience and whether they’re doing so with honesty, clarity, and sincerity.

But these personal responsibilities don’t exist in isolation. They’re shaped and pressured by the larger systems we live within. The choices we make, even the ones that feel private or apolitical, are often molded by the very forces we claim to resist.

The average Muslim-American lives in a bubble of comfort, built by systems that rest on the backs of others, both domestically and overseas. We know this, of course, and so we give to charity, engage in da’wah, support various initiatives to lessen our guilt. But if we’re being truly honest, those things may or may not be enough to offset the moral debt we awaken with every morning as taxpayers funding a machine of subjugation.

And every so often, a moment arrives that demands more than just relief work. A moment that demands moral clarity. A moment that demands a line be drawn. For Muslim-Americans, 2024 was that moment.

The Moment That Demanded More

I recently listened to the MuslimMatters podcast featuring Imam Dawud Walid and Zainab bint Younus. While I appreciated much of the discussion, I walked away disheartened by what felt like a bias dressed up as “objective analysis” regarding the 2024 election.

Let me be clear: I have a deep admiration for Imam Dawud Walid. His writings during the 2010s, when activism often took the place of religion, helped keep me grounded at a time when others seemed swept up by trends and social media validation.

But part of honoring those we respect is offering principled disagreement when it’s needed, especially when the public is involved. And while much of the podcast was beneficial (and I encourage others to listen to it), the portion I took issue with was this:

“I voted for a third-party candidate and encouraged others privately to do the same, not from the minbar.

In retrospect, Trump is far worse now than in his first term. He is doing greater harm to society and to Muslims.

I am stating clearly on this MuslimMatters podcast: I made an error in that calculation.”

To make matters worse, the podcast host responded not by probing or playing devil’s advocate, but by saying: “I appreciate your honesty. I hope others reflect similarly.” As if what was just confessed was the abandonment of heresy in favor of orthodoxy.

While Imam Dawud’s statement was the centerpiece of that exchange, Zainab bint Younus, who served as both interviewer and platform, did more than simply moderate. Her framing shaped the narrative. By praising his reversal and expressing hope that others follow suit, she implicitly cast principled third-party voters as those needing to “see the light.” That kind of moral positioning deserves scrutiny. If the interviewer is going to steer the conversation toward a particular outcome, that influence shouldn’t be cloaked in neutrality; it needs to be owned. And if she truly believes that preserving “representation” or “access” justifies empowering genocidaires, she should say so plainly.

To be fair, podcast hosts are entitled to their leanings, but those leanings should be named explicitly, not cloaked in language that implies objectivity or consensus.

And in that exchange, I saw a familiar problem: a refusal to ask the most important question of all. What would the price have been for not drawing the line? That question was never even posed in the interview, despite the fact that the answer was written across our screens every single day.

What Would That Price Have Looked Like?

Before discussing anything else, let’s recall what the world looked like in 2024.

Starting October 7, 2023, we woke up and went to sleep every day to images, videos, and heartbreak worse than the day before. And throughout those endless months that turned into years, our grief and calls for action were met either with state-sponsored violence or gaslighting.

Hind Rajab was murdered under the Biden-Harris administration. Khalid “Soul of My Soul” Nabhan was murdered under the Biden-Harris administration. Fathers digging their children out of rubble, only to hear their screams fade into silence, happened under the Biden-Harris administration.

The Muslim-American community saw all of this. And after organizing protests, fundraisers, educational sessions, and community campaigns, we turned to political advocacy, specifically because it was an election year. And because everything we’d done up to that point was belittled, dismissed, and ignored, we drew a red line.

And yet here we are in 2026, with everyone offering commentary on the cost of that red line, while almost no one is examining the cost of not drawing it.

Let’s imagine we hadn’t. Let’s say the Muslim community—fractured, tired, traumatized, but still largely compliant—decided to line up behind the Harris-Walz ticket in 2024. Let’s say we ignored the genocidal campaign they bankrolled. Kamala Harris, vice president of the administration that made Muslim blood run like a river, would have been rewarded with a full term. And to be clear, she wasn’t just complicit; she was positioning herself to lead the violence.

John Kirby, who served as White House National Security Communications Advisor from 2022 to 2025, himself said:

“She’s been a full partner in our policies in the Middle East, particularly with our policies towards Israel and the war in Gaza—a full partner, involved in nearly every conversation the president has had with the prime minister.”

And her own words during the campaign season were just as explicit:

“I will always ensure that America has the strongest, most lethal fighting force.”

“I will always stand up for Israel’s right to defend itself.”

“ICE has a purpose. ICE has a role. ICE should exist.”

These statements were intentional declarations of intent, not gaffes or misquotes. She signaled her readiness to continue, and even escalate, the violence. And so, the Muslim-American voter faced a calculation: Should I vote for Harris-Walz and protect my comforts at the expense of my brothers and sisters abroad? Or should I vote third party, not because it’s easy, but because it’s right?

For the first time in decades, many Muslim-Americans chose the latter. They understood the stakes. They understood that being moral isn’t just about what you oppose; it’s about what you’re willing to risk. Because how could we justify endorsing the first livestreamed genocide in history, waged against a people the Prophet ﷺ described in this hadith:

“There shall always be a group of my Ummah clearly upon the truth, subjugating their enemies. Those who oppose them will not vanquish them except for some calamities that shall (occasionally) befall them. And they shall remain upon this until the command of Allah (i.e., Day of Judgment) comes.”

He ﷺ was asked: “And where will they be?”

He ﷺ replied, “In Bayt al-Maqdis, and the neighborhoods around Bayt al-Maqdis.”

That was the choice before us in 2024. And for the first time in decades, many Muslims chose to stand with that enduring group, despite the uncertainty, despite the cost. But that choice brought with it a far more serious question, one that Imam Dawud and Zainab bint Younus raised in passing, but never truly reckoned with.

What Kind of Dīn Would We Be Transmitting?

In the interview, both Imam Dawud and Zainab bint Younus voiced concern about safeguarding the ability to practice and transmit Islam in the West. Imam Dawud said:

“As Muslims living in the West, our priority must be safeguarding our ability to transmit the dīn to future generations and to practice and propagate Islam.”

And I ask sincerely: What kind of dīn would we be transmitting if we voted for genocide? Would our institutions be preserved if we rewarded those who funded the destruction of Bayt al-Maqdis? Would our youth learn moral clarity if we taught them that war crimes are tolerable when committed by diverse cabinets?

Because if our religious practice can only survive through allegiance to mass murderers, it’s not being preserved, it’s being hollowed out. A dīn that adapts to genocide isn’t being transmitted, rather it’s being repurposed as a utility.

And this isn’t abstract theology. It’s the question our children will ask us when they learn what happened. And when, not if, they ask, we won’t just have to answer for our silence, but for the political choices we made in the face of atrocity.

This Was Never About a Quick Win

Critics for the past year have often asked: “What did your third-party vote even accomplish?”

The answer: It was never about quick wins. It was about ending a cycle of political dependency and moral compromise. For 25 years, Muslim-Americans voted based on short-term comfort. That mindset bred a culture of exceptionalism, where we thought we could keep compromising without consequence.

That mindset is what many critics, including Imam Dawud and Zainab, have rightly criticized in other contexts. Yet when it came time to make a sacrifice that actually carried cost, those same critics hesitated. This wasn’t a protest vote to feel righteous. It was a refusal to normalize betrayal. It was a statement: You don’t get to commit genocide and still get our votes.

We’ve been told that we need to be pragmatic, but the fact of the matter is that pragmatism without principle is surrender, not strategy. And had we not taken this stand, many of us would have become what Imam Dawud warned about on the very same podcast: cultural Muslims, who wear religion like an outfit, not a commitment.

And if our community continues down that path, trading integrity for influence, trading sacrifice for comfort, we shouldn’t be surprised when history treats us not as moral leaders, but as cautionary tales.

Historical Memory and Qur’anic Warning

In Surah Al-Ahzab, when 10,000 marched on Madinah to wipe out the Muslims, Allah describes four responses among the people of Madinah:

1. The hypocrites
2. Those who criticized the Muslims instead of the enemy
3. Those who let fear make them flee
4. The believers who stood firm

About the third group, Allah says:

“Another group of them asked the Prophet’s permission to leave, saying, ‘Our homes are vulnerable,’ while in fact they were not vulnerable. They only wished to flee. Had the city been sacked and they were asked to abandon faith, they would have done so with little hesitation.” —Qur’an 33:13–14

That ayah is a warning: compromise has a cost. And a people who grow used to betraying principles eventually forget what principles are. There are Muslims who voted for Harris-Walz in 2024 despite everything, and still ended up with the outcome they feared. To them, I recall the words of Imam Malik:

“The greatest loser is the one who sold his Hereafter for his share of the world. And an even greater loser is one who sold his Hereafter for someone else’s share.”

The Path Forward Requires More Than Regret

To those who say we should have voted for Harris-Walz to lessen the harm: We already tried that strategy. Twice. And all we got was a genocide in return. Since 2004, we’ve voted for the “lesser evil,” and all we got was more degradation, more humiliation, and maybe an occasional Eid tweet from the White House.

No more.

Back in 2017, Imam Dawud tweeted during Trump’s term:

“Wearing American flag hijabs and kufis reeks of pandering. Respectability politics is not the path to liberation for PoC in America, folks. Begging for acceptance earns further disrespect and humiliation. Be yourself, and don’t seek dignity from the status quo.”

I ask Imam Dawud and others: What changed? Why does that principle no longer apply when the flag is held by someone “less evil”?

Let this be the start of something better: A politics rooted in dignity, not dependency. A stance rooted in faith, not fear. A vote rooted in principle, not proximity to power.

Because when we meet Allah, the question won’t be, “Did you safeguard your dīn through compromise?” It’ll be, “Did you stand for it when it mattered most?”

And if safeguarding our dīn means staying silent in the face of genocide, then we’ve already lost it.

Related:

[Podcast] Should Muslims Ally with Conservatives or Progressives? | Imam Dawud Walid

The post What Would the Price Have Been for Not Drawing the Line? A Response to Imam Dawud Walid and Zainab bint Younus appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

We talk with Alex Mitov about why he quit Dell over Gaza. We also discuss whistleblowers at the Committee to Protect Journalists and wins for Palestine Action.

The mosque in Sydney’s west has received two threatening letters in lead up to Islam’s holiest month

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One of Australia’s largest mosques is facing what it says is the most “alarming situation” since the Cronulla race riots, with security bolstered ahead of Ramadan celebrations beginning on Wednesday.

Lakemba mosque, in Sydney’s west, has received two threatening letters in recent weeks, ahead of the beginning of Islam’s holiest month.

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His novel was praised for giving a voice to the victims of Algeria’s brutal civil war. But one woman has accused Kamel Daoud of having stolen her story – and the ensuing legal battle has become about much more than literary ethics

Every November, leading figures of French literature gather in the upstairs room of an old-fashioned Paris restaurant and decide on the best novel of the year. The ceremony is staid, traditional, down to the restaurant’s menu, full of classic dishes such as vol-au-vents and foie gras on toast. In pictures of the judging ceremony, the judges wear dark suits; each has four glasses of wine at hand.

The winner of the Goncourt, as the prize is called, is likely to enter the pantheon of world literature, joining a lineage of writers that includes Marcel Proust and Simone de Beauvoir. The prize is also a financial boon for authors. As the biggest award in French literature, the Goncourt means a prime spot in storefronts, foreign rights, prestige. By one estimate, winning the Goncourt means nearly €1m of sales in the weeks that follow.

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When we think of the holy month of Ramadan, the first images that often come to mind are its visible acts of devotion: fasting from fajr to maghrib, standing in tarāwīḥ prayers, reciting the Qur’an, giving charity, and gathering with family and friends for ifṭār. These practices are indeed central to Ramadan and carry immense reward.1

Yet beneath these outward actions lies a more quiet, often overlooked dimension of worship—one defined not by what is added to our lives, but by what is intentionally restrained.

Shaykh al-Islām Ibn Taymiyyah explains that “worship (ʿibādah) is a comprehensive term for everything that Allah loves and is pleased with, of outward and inward actions—of the heart, the tongue, and the limbs.”2 Worship, therefore, is not limited to what is done, but also includes what is deliberately avoided for the sake of Allah .

In a world shaped by excess, constant stimulation, and relentless consumption, Ramadan arrives as a divinely ordained pause. It teaches that spiritual refinement does not always emerge from accumulation, but from subtraction: less consumption, less speech, less reactivity, and fewer distractions. When practiced sincerely for the sake of Allah , these acts of restraint themselves become acts of worship. This sacred discipline cultivates self-awareness, sincerity, and moral clarity.

The Purpose of Fasting: Beyond Hunger

Allah clearly states the purpose of fasting in the Noble Qur’an:

“O you who believe, fasting has been prescribed for you as it was prescribed for those before you, so that you may attain taqwā (God-consciousness).”3

Allah also informs us:

“Ramaḍân is the month in which the Quran was revealed as a guide for humanity with clear proofs of guidance and the decisive authority. So whoever is present this month, let them fast. But whoever is ill or on a journey, then ˹let them fast˺ an equal number of days ˹after Ramaḍân˺. Allah intends ease for you, not hardship, so that you may complete the prescribed period and proclaim the greatness of Allah for guiding you, and perhaps you will be grateful.” [Surah Al-Baqarah; 2:185]

“However, hunger itself is not the aim of fasting in Ramadan; rather, it is the means through which taqwā is cultivated.”

The Prophet also counted fasting in Ramadan as one of the five pillars of Islam in the famous Hadith of Jibreel .4

Linguistically, ṣawm means to hold back, refrain, or abstain.5 In Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh), fasting refers to abstaining from food, drink, and marital relations from dawn until sunset, accompanied by a sincere intention.6

However, hunger itself is not the aim of fasting in Ramadan; rather, it is the means through which taqwā is cultivated. By weakening physical desires, fasting strengthens spiritual resolve, allowing a believer to rise above habitual impulses and orient the heart toward Allah . Ramadan thus becomes a unique opportunity to focus on doing good, abstaining from evil, and refining one’s character. 

Among the many wisdoms and benefits of fasting are:

1. Demonstrating sincere submission to the will of Allah , placing His Pleasure above personal desire;

2. Elevating the soul toward greater levels of devotion, asceticism, and spiritual awareness;

3. Cultivating self-restraint and perseverance—essential traits for moral and spiritual development;

4. Awakening empathy for the poor and those who experience hunger regularly;

5. Providing physical benefits, such as eliminating weaker cells in the body, giving rest to the digestive system and promoting weight loss.7

Imam al-Ghazālī also reminds us that fasting is not merely physical abstention. He states that “fasting is not simply leaving food and drink, but abstaining from all sins: the silence of the tongue, the restraint of the limbs, and the calming of the heart.”8

The Inner Secrets of Fasting

Najm al-Dīn Ibn Qudāmah al-Maqdisī explains that a person fasting is placed in one of three categories9:

1. The fast of the common people, which entails abstaining from food, drink, and marital relations;
2. The fast of the righteous, which includes refraining from sins of the eyes, tongue, ears, hands, and limbs;
3. The fast of the elite, in which the heart itself abstains from lowly thoughts and anything that distracts from Allah .

At this highest level, fasting becomes a complete orientation toward Allah , where even the inner life is disciplined. The etiquette of righteous fasting, therefore include lowering the gaze, guarding the tongue from harmful or useless speech, and protecting all limbs from disobedience.

The Prophet Muhammad warned against fasting that lacks moral discipline:

“Whoever does not give up false speech and acting upon it, Allah has no need of him leaving his food and drink.”10

Fasting, then, is not merely physical deprivation—it is ethical training. Abstaining from food is visible, but abstaining from harming others (by speech and action) is what gives fasting its true spiritual substance.

Restraint as an Inner Struggle

Much of Ramadan’s transformative work happens invisibly. It is found in choosing not to argue, not to retaliate, and not to indulge the ego. This inner struggle is among the most enduring forms of spiritual effort.

The Prophet described fasting as a shield:

“Fasting is a shield. When one of you is fasting, let him not engage in obscene speech or ignorant behaviour. If someone insults him or fights him, let him say: ‘I am fasting.’”11

This restraint is not passive; it is active discipline. Each withheld reaction becomes an act of worship. In this way, fasting reflects one’s ʿaqīdah—belief expressed through ethical self-regulation rather than abstract ideals.

True worship is therefore not confined to prayer, fasting, or pilgrimage alone. It is the inward submission of the heart, expressed through restraint of the tongue, the eyes, and the emotions. The fasting person becomes like one in spiritual seclusion, engaged in a private relationship with their Lord even while moving through society.

The Power of Silence

Ramadan heightens awareness of speech—what is said, how it is said, and why it is said. 

Allah reminds us:

“Not a word does one utter except that it is recorded.” [Surah Qaf: 50;18]

Silence thus gains moral weight. Choosing not to gossip, complain, or speak carelessly is not emptiness; it is attentiveness. The Prophet said:

“Whoever believes in Allah and the Last Day, let him speak good or remain silent.”12

Imam al-Ghazālī regarded disciplined silence as a prerequisite for spiritual clarity, warning that excessive speech hardens the heart.13 Ramadan revives this insight, inviting believers to listen more —to others and to themselves. Just as the body abstains from food, the tongue abstains from harm. When controlled, the tongue becomes a gateway to spiritual refinement.

Digital Restraint 

“Fasting of the heart includes abstaining from distractions, vain curiosity, and anything that diverts one from Allah [swt].” [PC: Jon Tyson (unsplash)]

In the modern age, excess often appears in new forms: constant connectivity, information overload, and performative visibility. The Qur’an cautions:

“Do not pursue that of which you have no knowledge. Indeed, the hearing, the sight, and the heart—about all of those one will be questioned.” [Surah Al-‘Isra: 17;36]

Fasting of the heart includes abstaining from distractions, vain curiosity, and anything that diverts one from Allah . Reducing social media use, avoiding doom-scrolling, and guarding what we see and hear are contemporary expressions of fasting’s ethical goals.

Tips for Living Ramadan in Busy Lives

1. Those Working in the Holy Month

For those navigating deadlines and workplace pressures, Ramadan is lived through ethical excellence as much as ritual worship. Beginning the day with sincere intention can transform ordinary work into worship. Avoiding dishonesty, impatience, and gossip fulfils the deeper aims of fasting. Even brief moments of dhikr or quiet dua (supplication) carry enduring spiritual weight.

2. For Mothers

Much of a mother’s Ramadan unfolds in unseen labour—preparing food while fasting, caring for others, and managing disrupted routines. Islamic tradition affirms that khidmah (service to others) performed with patience and sincere intention can be a beloved act of worship. Quiet endurance, gentle speech, and consistent care are spiritually significant.

3. Students

For students balancing fasting with academic pressure, studying with a noble intention, avoiding dishonesty, and exercising patience in fatigue are all acts of worship. Ramadan does not interrupt learning; it refines intention and discipline within it.

Small Deeds, Lasting Impact

The Prophet said:

“Do not belittle any good deed, even meeting your brother with a cheerful face.”14

Simple acts of worship available in all circumstances include:

• Renewing one’s intentions before routine actions;
• Quiet remembrance of Allah ;
• Restraining anger or harmful speech;
• Offering a sincere smile;
• Silent supplication;
• Gratitude in difficulty;
• Acting honestly when unseen;
• Reciting Qur’an and daily adhkār. 

Consistency often outweighs scale. As the Prophet taught:

“The most beloved deeds to Allah are those that are conistent, even if small.”15

What Remains After Ramadan?

When the month ends, routines resume, and life’s pressures return. Yet subtle transformations may endure: a pause before reacting, a preference for silence over harm, and a deeper awareness of one’s intentions.

Allah describes His true servants as:

“Those who walk upon the earth humbly, and when the foolish address them, they respond with peace.” [Surah Al-Furqan: 25;63]

Ramadan trains believers in this gentleness—not through grand gestures, but through quiet discipline. It teaches that absence is not always loss; sometimes, it is mercy.

In choosing not to consume, not to speak, and not to rush, Ramadan reveals its deepest lesson: the soul is often nourished most in moments of stillness, where conscious restraint and deliberate abstention become pathways to closeness with Allah .

***

Bibliography

1. al-Ghazali, Imam, ‘Ihya Ulum ad-Din’ (translated by Fazl-ul-Karim, www.ghazali.com)
2. al-Haj, Dr Hatem, ‘Umdat al-Fiqh Explained: Commentary of Ibn Qudamah’s The Reliable Manual of Fiqh,’ (IIPH, 2019)

***

Related:

– Recognizing Allah’s Mercy For What It Is: Reclaiming Agency Through Ramadan

– How to Make this Ramadan Epic | Shaykh Muhammad Alshareef

1    Abu Huraira reported that the Messenger of Allah (peace be upon him) said: “Every action a son of Adam does shall be multiplied—a good action by ten times its value, up to 700 times. Allah says: With the exception of fasting, which belongs to Me, and I reward it accordingly. For, one abandons his desire and food for My sake” [Sahih al-Bukhari 1904]. This Hadith highlights the special status of fasting in Ramadan and its immense rewards, emphasising that the reward for fasting is beyond measure and known only to Allah.2    Ibn Taymiyyah, al-ʿUbūdiyyah, p. 133    Qur’an 2:1834    Sahih Muslim, Hadith No. 8, Riyad as-Saliheen (introduction, Hadith no. 60)5     www.almaany.com6    Dr al-Haj, Umdat al-Fiqh Explained (the book of fasting, IIPH, 2019) 7    Dr al-Haj, Umdat al-Fiqh Explained (IIPH, 2019), p. 3398    Imam al-Ghazali, ‘Ihya Ulum ad-Din,’ (secrets of fasting, www.ghazali.com) 9     ‘Fasting and I’tikaf: Evidences, Rules and Inner Secrets from Muntaqa, Muqni’ and Mukhtasar Minhaj al-Qasidin’ (Dar al-Arkam, 2023), p 166. 10    Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, Book 78, Hadith 87.11    Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, Book 13, Hadith 21212    Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, Book 78, Hadith 163.13    Imam al-Ghazali, ‘Ihya Ulum ad-Din,’ (Intention, Tongue, and Patience, www.ghazali.com) 14    Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, Introduction, Hadith 12115    Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, Book 81, Hadith 53

The post Ramadan In The Quiet Moments: The Spiritual Power Of What We Don’t Do appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

In 2017, the Pew Research Center performed a survey on Muslim teens—not teens off the street, but teens who attend the masjid—and the results, I sense, don’t seem to have hit us hard enough. Their survey revealed something devastating: 1 in 4 Muslim teens who attend the masjid—not random kids off the street, but our children who show up for Jumu’ah and masjid programs—will eventually leave Islam entirely as adults. Not just pray less. Not just drift away. They will stop identifying as Muslim in any sense. That’s not a statistic. That’s your daughter’s friend. Your son’s teammate. Maybe, your own child.

I am often inspired by the dawah efforts that I see in so many communities across the world, and these efforts are paying admirable dividends as people continue to enter Islam globally, alhamdulillah. But this fact hides an ugly truth, that while we are so engaged in sharing Islam with others, our own children are bleeding and shedding silent tears as they struggle to develop their identity and personal relationship with Islam. And the tragedy? Many of us don’t even know it’s happening. They smile at family gatherings. They fast during Ramadan. They show up to the masjid when you make them.

But in their rooms, late at night, they’re Googling: “Can I still be a good person if I leave Islam?” They’re crying because they feel like frauds—not Muslim enough for the masjid, not “normal” enough for school. They’re exhausted from performing different versions of themselves in every space they occupy. And by the time we notice the crisis, they’ve already mentally checked out.

It seems that we are so focused on nearly everything else, assuming that our kids will just “figure it out” like we did, that we have neglected them in their moments of greatest need.

As we enter the noble month of Ramadan, our world, today in 2026, is suffering immense changes. There are intense pressures on so many fronts, and I know how overwhelming this can seem.

But I would like to propose that we make this Ramadan different. I would like to ask you to turn your attention away from the outside world and all of its distractions, and focus on your children in an attempt to connect with their world and to see their struggles through their eyes.

Even as a first generation American, born and raised here, I can see how different the world is today for our children, and just how destructive and exhausting it can be for them. I call upon you to remember Allah’s words:

يَـٰٓأَيُّهَا ٱلَّذِينَ ءَامَنُوا۟ قُوٓا۟ أَنفُسَكُمْ وَأَهْلِيكُمْ نَارًۭا وَقُودُهَا ٱلنَّاسُ وَٱلْحِجَارَةُ عَلَيْهَا مَلَـٰٓئِكَةٌ غِلَاظٌۭ شِدَادٌۭ لَّا يَعْصُونَ ٱللَّهَ مَآ أَمَرَهُمْ وَيَفْعَلُونَ مَا يُؤْمَرُونَ

O believers! Protect yourselves and your families from a Fire whose fuel is humans and stones, overseen by powerful and severe angels, who never disobey whatever Allah orders—always doing as they are commanded. [Al-Tahrim: 6]

To make this task a little easier, I would like to share with you a series that was created for our tweens and teens, that focuses on their problems and their struggles, offering a solution every night from the Quran. This series, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul,” offers a chance to interact with the Quran from their perspective, showing how it addresses their unique problems. A great deal of time and thought went into making this series as relevant as possible for our young men and women, and the hope that it will be a source of comfort, direction and enlightenment for them, as well as you.

So, I’m asking you to make this Ramadan different. Not by adding more programs, more lectures, more pressure. But by watching this series with your teen. About ten minutes a night. That’s it. Don’t watch it alone and then lecture them about it. Watch it together. Let them hear you processing the same struggles they face. Let them see that you don’t have all the answers either. Because here’s the truth: Your teen doesn’t need another lecture. They need a witness. Someone who sees their pain and doesn’t minimize it.

A Message to the Teen Reading This (Probably Because Your Parents Made You)

I know. You didn’t choose to be here. Someone—probably your mom or dad—sent you this link with a “you should read this ” text. And I get it. You’re tired of being told what to do, how to be Muslim, why you should care.

So, I’m not going to do that.

Instead, I’m going to tell you something that nobody’s probably said to you lately: I see you. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re navigating a world that constantly demands you choose between being Muslim and being yourself—as if those two things can’t coexist. I’m sorry that you never feel authentic anywhere.

I’m sorry that the adults in your life keep saying “just be strong” without teaching you how or understanding what you’re facing.

I’m sorry that Islam sometimes feels like a cage instead of a refuge at this point in your life.

And I’m sorry that when you try to talk about this, people assume you’re “losing your faith” instead of realizing you’re fighting to keep it.

Let me begin by telling you, that though I have never met you, I do sincerely love you and care about you. Although it has been many years since I was where you are, I do feel for you as someone who grew up in this country and had to figure things out mostly alone. My parents loved me a great deal, as I have no doubt that yours do too, but they couldn’t comprehend the pressures I was exposed to or the choices I had to face, since they grew up in a totally different society. In the years since I went through the pressures of teenage life as a Muslim in the west, things have only gotten harder with smartphones, social media and the steady rise in anti-Islamic sentiment. I’m sorry that you have to go through this.

At the risk of exposing myself as the total nerd that I am, allow me to share the timeless words of J.R.R. Tolkien from his novel, The Fellowship of the Ring, when Frodo, crushed by the weight of carrying the One Ring, confesses his frustration to Gandalf. “I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

These words actually echo the teachings of our own beloved Prophet ﷺ when he too spoke of days where it would be so hard to hold onto our faith:

“No, you must call to good and prevent evil until you see greed being obeyed, desires being followed, worldly life being preferred, and everyone being impressed by their own opinion … Truly, ahead of you are days of patience where patience will be like holding a hot coal. The person who does good deeds in that time will have the reward of fifty men who do likewise.” (Sunan al-Tirmidhī)

With that in mind, I would like to invite you to a Ramadan series that was put together just for you. It’s called, “30 Nights with the Quran: Stories for the Seeking Soul,” where each night in Ramadan we are going to take a small peek into how the Quran can help you get through this very challenging time in your life. I don’t want you to just survive, but to thrive, and I hope that this series will hit home with you. It is also a way to reach out to you and let you know that you matter; that you matter very much, and that there are people out there who want to be there to support you. No judgment, no lectures, no pressure.

So, starting on the first night of Ramadan, a new video and written reflection, exclusive to Muslim Matters, will drop every night of Ramadan. Each one tackles a real struggle you’re likely facing—identity, comparison, parent conflicts, being the only Muslim in the room—and shows how the Quran addresses it.

• Watch alone or with friends
• Drop comments/questions—I’ll respond to every one bi ithnillah
• Join the email community for a deeper dive, reflections and resources: [https://30nightswithquran.beehiiv.com/]

This isn’t another lecture series. It’s a 30-day challenge: What if the Quran actually has something to say about your real life?

Only one way to find out.

See you Night 1 insha Allah,

P.S. – You’re not alone

Dr. Ali

The post 30 Nights with the Qur’an: A Ramadan Series for Muslim Teens appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Despite Israeli crackdown, Palestinian stand-ups use comedy as a tool of resistance and decolonial practice.

Imagine a masjid having the funds to uplift a family out of poverty, but bullying them instead. This is exactly what happened at one suburban masjid.

It was in an area full of families who bought homes and put their kids in school in a place where -by definition- they would not come in contact with poor people. Over time, a couple of families (think single mom, multiple kids, barely subsisting below the poverty line) would start attending regularly.

This is the type of situation where strong community leadership, and a strong grounding in the purpose of zakat, would lead people to realize they had more than enough zakat collection to literally take an entire family in their own community out of poverty. They could have bought them a place to live, put their kids through school, created a positive generational impact in the lineage of that family – and still had zakat funds leftover to fund their gym expansion.

Instead, they mistreated them and made them jump through hoops to get funds (which, even then, were not nearly enough). The very funds that are the right of the poor and belong to them.

Zakat is one of the five pillars of our deen, and stories like this show how far we’ve strayed from its purpose.

Historically, there have always been differences of opinion on how funds can be spent (I’m old enough to remember this 2007 article arguing for zakat to be given to dawah organizations creating controversy online).

More recently, the Fiqh Council of North America (FCNA) published a fatwa on the permissibility of donating zakat funds to political campaigns. It was published alongside a dissenting opinion of that fatwa.

I want to be clear that I have no intent (or qualification) to critique the ruling from a jurisprudential perspective. If you are interested in that, Imam Suhaib Webb has put together a short video series (Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3) that provides an explanation from a fiqh perspective as to why donating to political campaigns is not a legitimate use of zakat funds.

I do respect and recognize the need for this type of fatwa in the broader context of building a corpus of Islamic rulings in different times and places. No one ruling or piece of research is the finality of that topic. A ruling like this functions as something that other scholars can refer back to for critique or refinement.

I want to look at this ruling beyond the legalistic permissibility and more in context of a lack of leadership in how our community thinks about the institution of zakat.

The core of this discussion centers on the ayah in Surah At-Taubah that lays out the categories of zakat: “Alms are meant only for the poor, the needy, those who administer them, those whose hearts need winning over, to free slaves and help those in debt, for God’s cause, and for travellers in need. This is ordained by God; God is all-knowing and wise.” [Surah At-Taubah: 9;60]

If you are unfamiliar with this ayah, I would recommend reading a quick explanation of it to get a basic grounding.

The core purpose of zakat is not disputed – it is a right of the poor upon the wealthy. Intuitively, we all understand this as the basic premise. And yet, the discussion our community has about zakat very rarely talks about the alleviation of poverty or uplifting the poor.

When I think back to discussions I have been privy to within a board or masjid setting, I would find community leaders talking about donating zakat funds in bulk to an Islamic organization, sending it overseas, or using it for masjid expenses and construction.

They would always hesitate to give to people locally, fearful that they might be taken advantage of. So they created city-wide databases to track how much a person had received so that they did not get too much. I have seen cases where people are exploited – forced to work manual labor jobs around the masjid for less than minimum wage, or cleaning the houses of the wealthy board members, just to get a small pittance of zakat support.

Then we get fatwas telling us we should be expanding who gets zakat – masjid construction projects, Islamic schools, Sunday schools, dawah organizations, and now, apparently, political lobbyists or candidates.

We find ways to strategize how to use zakat for almost everything except actually helping the poor.

The entirety of the zakat discussion that we have seems to talk about everything except the actual purpose of helping those in need. It is a discussion shaped by the perspectives of the wealthy – people who are insulated from the day-to-day realities of food insecurity, lack of housing, systemic poverty, and economic inequality.

This results from the mentality and culture pervasive in our American society. In a land where we are taught we can work hard to achieve anything, we are also implicitly taught that those who are less fortunate are simply not working hard enough, or deserve the situation they are in.

Instead of a love and reverence for the poor, we deride them. We see them as an inconvenience. Instead of empathizing with them, we want to write a check to a relief organization, maybe host a food drive with some good PR, and be done with it so we can go back to strategizing on more important issues like using zakat funds to build a new wing of Sunday school classrooms.

I recently came across an article painting the contrast between two different masjids in my city. The entire article is worth a read as it examines a number of important issues beyond the scope of this post. One quote particularly relevant to our context stood out:

“He argues that nurturing social services programs for the economically disadvantaged, like Masjid Al-Islam does in its South Dallas neighborhood, should be at the “heart” of Muslim community-building in Dallas, rather than consolidating wealth. He pointed out that the same racist forces that decimated Black communities in the United States were now uniting to target EPIC City. Without addressing the most oppressed among them, Muslims cannot consolidate their power. “Black American Muslims and the immigrant Muslims have not fully connected and united. We are not operating as an ummah at our full potential,” added Imam Abdul-Jami.”

This brings us back to the fatwa on using zakat funds for political causes. What purpose does it serve? Who is shaping that purpose? And why?

Had this been a fatwa about using general funds to fund a PAC, or influence politicians, there would be no objection. Why specifically zakat funds?

“The entirety of the zakat discussion that we have seems to talk about everything except the actual purpose of helping those in need.” [PC: Masjid Pogung Dalangang (unsplash)]

Who decides which political candidates can receive these funds?

How much are we going to assess a politician’s overall platform before giving them zakat? Are people supposed to take this fatwa and just pick political campaigns to give some of their zakat funds to?

What if a politician takes money from a Muslim group and then turns around and attacks them anyway?

How much do we need to donate before we can expect a tangible benefit to the community? For reference, the losing candidate in the 2024 Presidential election burned through $1.5 billion of campaign funds.

What if the funds end up in the hands of a politician who advocates for policies that further increase systemic poverty? Politicians who are in favor of eliminating social safety nets like food stamps?

How ironic would it be to dedicate a portion of our zakat money to a politician who ends up passing policies that systematically increase the number of people who need zakat to survive?

Are we only giving to candidates who are perhaps considering becoming Muslim? Or are we hiring people for a specific job?

Are political causes here meant to be quid pro quo? Are we guaranteeing that a politician will vote a certain way on a certain issue if they receive a certain amount of funding? Which votes are important enough to fund with zakat? What impact do they have on our community?

In short, it’s not clear what this fatwa is trying to accomplish, or how it should be implemented. And I understand that some will say the job of a jurist is to only establish the legal boundary. My response to that would be that a jurist issuing such a ruling without taking on the ground reality into account is doing a disservice and undermining the public’s trust in the institution of Islamic scholarship itself.

There is no blueprint showing a successful implementation of political advocacy by Muslims that justifies risking zakat funds. There are countless examples to the contrary – numerous White House Iftars where we fought for a ‘seat at the table’, Muslims ascending to higher ranks within the Biden administration, or Muslim physicians in the Dallas area privately hosting Greg Abbott in their homes to fundraise for him.

What, exactly, is the outcome of investing money into this type of political game? I am not saying it cannot be done, or even that we should not take part. Just do it with regular fundraising channels instead of zakat funds.

Rather, the more likely outcome is that it will pave the way to following the footsteps of politically aligned mega-churches that lose congregants due to their willful neglect of core teachings, such as caring for the poor. This, for me, is the most confusing part of the fatwa, as it quite literally appears to divert funds away from those who need it to survive, and instead line the pockets of corrupt actors who have no interest in Islam.

The Fiqh Council’s fatwa offers this justification:

“If we apply the rules with strict adherence to classical conditions (which, it should be noted, are largely ijtihādī in nature as well), this would weaken the practical functioning or aims of the Sharīʿah for this category, and essentially make this category null and void.”

In other words, if we do not find a way to identify a modern group of “those whose hearts are to be reconciled” (al-mu’allafah qulūbuhum), then we won’t be able to fulfill the injunction to give to people in this category.

The irony of this null and void framing is particularly striking given that the very same Fiqh Council had no problems whatsoever pressuring masjids all across America to adopt calculations for determining Ramadan and Eid, rendering the sunnah of physically sighting the moon and the duas related to it null and void.

When a fatwa like this is given with no context or a plan forward, it makes people lose faith in the leadership of the community. This discussion is compounded by recent revelations that an Islamic organization that raised $7 million for Gaza, diverted over $2 million to an individual for a completely unrelated cause unbeknownst to the donors.

Why is there not a focus to encourage people to utilize this category for other causes, such as food pantries, clinics, and other services in underserved areas?

There seems to be an underlying assumption that we’ve somehow ‘covered’ the primary purpose of zakat, and now we can move to other uses for it. Do any masjids or organizations collecting zakat have data showing how many families they have uplifted out of poverty? How many families in our masjid that were in need of zakat, got help, and now are in a position of being able to give zakat themselves?

Is anyone even paying attention to this – or do we simply not care?

It feels like we are numb to it, or we live lives where we can afford to be insulated from it. Then, when a politician attacks our masjids and organizations, we feel a visceral fear of what might happen to our community and want to do what we can to combat it.

Which is a perfectly fine sentiment. But let’s push ourselves to think more abundantly. Let’s find ways to use zakat more effectively for its primary purpose, and also raise other funds for other efforts.

For individuals in the position of giving zakat, it is imperative to exercise your own agency and take control of where your money is going. Be intentional about exactly what kinds of causes you want to support, and how best to support them. It may mean privately giving to families in need, or stepping back and giving to local organizations where you have more transparency regarding the work being done.

Zakat is not a light duty; it is one of the five major pillars on which our faith is built. Give it its proper and sacred due.

 

Related Reading (in addition to what is linked to in the article above)

• On Giving Zakat for Political Campaigns – Joe Bradford
• Zakat Does Not Belong Here – Ahmed Shaikh
• Zakat Poverty and the Kitchen Sink – Ahmed Shaikh
• Zakāt Is Not a PAC — Revisiting al-Mu’allafah Qulūbuhum in Modern Fiqh – Amr Abu Ayyub
• The Use and Misuse of Zakah funds by Religious Institutions in North America – Dr. Yousef Wahb

 

[This article was first published here, where you can subscribe to receive more of the author’s content.] 

The post Keep Zakat Sacred: A Right Of The Poor, Not A Political Tool appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

The Guardian’s community affairs correspondent, Chris Osuh, reports on the plot by two IS terrorists to massacre Jews in Manchester, and how it was thwarted by an undercover sting

Walid Saadaoui had once worked as a holiday entertainer, organising dance shows and quizzes at a resort in his native Tunisia. After moving to the UK and marrying a British woman, he became a restaurateur and an avid keeper of birds.

All the while, however – as the Guardian’s community affairs correspondent, Chris Osuh, explains – he was hiding a secret: he had pledged allegiance to Islamic State.

Continue reading...

Rupert Lowe

The grooming gangs issue has been all over social media the past few weeks: three weeks ago, a group called Open Justice UK published the transcripts of the 2019 Bradford trial in which nine men, eight Asian and one white, were handed lengthy sentences (all but two received between 16 and 20 years) and promised a three-part podcast in which one of the two victims, Fiona Goddard, gave an interview about her experiences to the feminist campaigner and writer Julie Bindel. That was “next week” three weeks ago and finally appeared on Wednesday (on YouTube and other podcast platforms). In the meantime I went down something of a rabbit hole, looking for podcasts on the issue to listen to as I drove around the south-east delivering flooring products, and stumbled upon a couple of interviews with one Raja Miah, a former adviser to Tony Blair on counter-extremism who was accusing all and sundry in the Labour party especially of complicity with the gangs in a search for votes. This week, in response to some testimony given at the “Rape Gang Inquiry” being chaired by the Reform splinter group MP Rupert Lowe (right), there was an exchange on GB News alleging that British Muslims would rape “working-class white girls” for Eid; a racist Twitter account called “Britain is Broken” shared it with the words “In the UK, evidence is mounting that suggests Muslims spend Eid by inviting their families round to rape little white girls”, subsequently shared by GB News correspondent, Patrick Christys.

I did some digging for information on Raja Miah and it turns out that he has an axe to grind: he ran two free schools which failed and was secretly blacklisted from further involvement in education. He makes wild accusations against local Labour MPs and councillors and when inquiries do not support his claims, he calls them a whitewash. On one of the podcasts, he claimed that Axel Rudukabana, the teenager who carried out the triple stabbing in Southport that sparked the 2024 race riots, was an Islamist and the fact that he had ricin, a poison used in past assassinations and which has become associated with terrorism, proves it; in fact, the precursors for ricin, such as castor oil beans and the plant that produces them, are readily available and Rudukabana had a long history of violent behaviour at school, going back to his early teens, was obsessed with violence and was not Muslim at all. He accuses Labour politicians of collusion in postal vote fraud, and rails against what he calls sectarian candidates for parliament, but fails to consider that much postal vote fraud was intended to prevent young people voting for precisely these candidates, and during the Blair years, for candidates such as George Galloway and Salma Yaqoub. This is not a very rational individual. However, he did make one useful observation, which was that the ‘Pakistani’ grooming gangs nearly all traced back to around three villages in the Mirpur area of Azad Kashmir and were basically one big family. This is not a problem endemic in the entire Muslim community; its core is a criminal element in a sub-group of a sub-group. Racists commonly allege that the gang members are of “Pakistani ethnicity”; anyone who knows anything about Pakistan knows that there is no such thing. It is just a category used in British bureaucracy, for statistics, diversity monitoring and so on.

There is a widespread assumption that the Muslim community as a whole is responsible because it sheltered the abusers or failed to turn them in to the police. “There isn’t enough said about how SHAMEFUL the Islamic community in the UK is for shielding their men who r*ped and groomed British girls,” proclaimed the Australian “writer/artist” Alexandra Marshall. Everyone knew, she alleges, from their wives to the neighbours to the mosques and community leaders. This is simply not true: the Muslim community is spread across the country, is very diverse, featuring people whose origins are all over the world, not just in Pakistan or even south Asia but also the Middle East, Africa and Europe itself, including the UK. We do not all know what is going on in towns 150 miles or more away, and even if we are aware of something untoward happening, that does not mean we know exactly what, or who is involved. Not every minority group, whether it’s religious, ethnic or (say) disability-based, is so close-knit that everyone knows each other, as people outside them often assume.

There is, however, plenty of evidence that both police and social services, care home staff and other authorities knew already, turning a blind eye because they regarded the victims as ‘difficult’, “their own worst enemies”, “child prostitutes” and various other victim-blaming descriptions. The police “locker-room culture” in which women are assumed to be asking for it or to be unreliable witnesses, and which protects officers who abuse their partners or colleagues, is well-known; let’s not forget that one of the police forces in Yorkshire preferred to believe a tape with a man’s voice on it than women who said their attacker was local and missed many opportunities to catch the Yorkshire Ripper earlier. Fiona Goddard mentioned that the police arrested her and let one of her abusers get away, and that care home staff knew she was missing for days and shut her out when she came back drunk. The system did not, and does not, allow care staff to physically prevent children from going out even if they are known to be at risk of exploitation or abuse unless the home is a registered secure home, of which there are only 14 in the country (only one, in Peterborough, is just for girls), and there have been accounts on Twitter from people who worked in such places that they had to let the girls go because it would have been illegal to prevent them. Of course, some people who run away are fleeing abusive situations, but there needs to be a way to protect girls from this type of abuse and right now there is none.

As for the accusations of “Eid rape” made on GB News, that little cabal are pretending not to understand why that claim is racist, and indeed dangerous. The reason is that it was phrased, both in the TV clip and in the tweet from a third party, shared by one of the participants, in such a way as to imply that this behaviour is normal for Muslims in the UK — that we get together to rape young white working-class girls, rather than going to the mosque or the open-air prayer in the morning then home for a family meal in the afternoon, which is what we actually do. I’m sure they’ve heard of the blood libel, because the phrase is bandied around whenever war crimes by the Israelis are documented in Gaza; the actual blood libel started when a boy was found murdered in a Jewish quarter in England, and a myth was spun that his blood had been used as a food ingredient on Passover. The crime of one, or maybe a small group, or maybe as in this case a criminal family and their scummy friends and clients, was assumed to be the practice of all. If anyone professes not to understand why this claim was racist, they are either racist themselves, or stupid, or both.

I’m not calling Fiona Goddard or any other victim of the grooming gangs a liar (though some of the racist politicians and hack journalists who have latched onto this story undoubtedly are), but the only people with any blame for this apart from the perpetrators themselves are the politicians, councillors, police officers, social workers and others who allowed this to happen for several decades, leaving a trail of broken lives in numerous towns and cities, not because they were scared of being called racist but because they thought the same of the girls being abused that their abusers did. Lastly, anyone tempted to support Rupert Lowe’s new party imagining that they will usher in misogyny-free new age should read the words of his candidate in the upcoming Gorton and Denton by-election, Nick Buckley MBE:

Many British young women are wh*res but don’t realise they are. The days of morality & decorum are over. They make poor wives & poor mothers. They also contribute to the idea that all women are easy & can be abused.

On the night of a double birthday and a full moon, Darius is drawn deeper into the struggle between the healer he is meant to become and the warrior he cannot stop being.

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Note: This is the last chapter of Far Away until after Ramadan. That’s why this chapter is extra long. In the meantime, look for my Ramadan-themed short story series.

* * *

Cutting Hay

It was late morning. Haaris and I had finished carrying in a huge stack of bundled hay that had been cut from the far field. The bundles were stacked almost as high as my shoulders, bound with twisted straw rope and smelling of dust and summer.

“Bring some bundles to the straw cutter,” Haaris instructed. The cutter stood beside the pile, bolted to a low wooden frame, the long handle worn smooth where hands had gripped it over the years. I had noticed it before, but this was the first time we were using it.

I handed Haaris a bundle, and he shoved it across the flat bed beneath the blade.

“Keep your fingers back,” he said gravely, tapping the slot where the iron would fall. “If you leave them here you will lose them. Baba says a man in the next village lost three.”

“Okay,” I said.

He gave me a suspicious look, as if unsure whether I truly understood.

He pulled the lever down. The blade came through with a heavy, clean chop. A neat spill of short-cut hay dropped into the basket below.

I stared. On my father’s farm, I had cut fodder with a hand blade on a chopping block, bent over until my back burned, hacking again and again while Lady Two waited, her dark eyes patient. In winter, my fingers had gone numb before I had finished enough for a single feeding. The cuts had been uneven, some too long, some too short, and I had always been in a hurry because there was so much else to do.

Here, the hay fell in perfect lengths with every stroke.

“Let me try.”

Haaris stepped aside, pleased to be asked.

I fed the bundle forward the way I had seen him do, lined it up, and brought the lever down. The resistance traveled through the wood into my arms, solid and satisfying.

We continued, Haaris feeding and me chopping. The rhythm came quickly. It felt almost like martial arts practice, the alignment and timing, the clean finish of each stroke.

“This would have saved me so much time on my farm,” I commented.

Haaris grinned. “You see? We are very advanced here.”

I smiled and kept working.

“Not too much at once,” Haaris said. “Or it will jam.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know everything,” he replied cheerfully.

I let that pass.

As we worked, Haaris explained that when it was done, we would soak the cut hay briefly, then mix it with bean mash, to make it easier to eat and more nutritious. I sort of knew this. On my old farm, I’d mixed it with chopped greens for the same reason.

Haaris talked about how the black goat had tried to butt him that morning and how Bao had caught another rat in the granary. “She ate half of it. So gross. It’s not like she needs it. I always feed her beef fat.”

When we were done, I ran my hand once along the smooth wooden frame, almost without thinking.

“Do not put your hand under there,” Haaris said suddenly, pointing at the blade again.

“I won’t,” I told him, smiling.

Animals Wrestling

We’d finished it quickly, and Haaris wanted to take a break from work to play what he called “animals wrestling,” where we each pretended to be an animal – I might be a bear, and he’d be a tiger – and we would wrestle while acting like our animal. We were supposed to growl, bark, or hiss like that animal. I found it silly, but Haaris loved it, so I indulged him every now and then. This morning, I was a chimera, and Haaris was a tiger.

I didn’t even know what a chimera was, but Haaaris explained that it had a deer’s body, a dragon’s head and scales, and cloven hooves. It was a gentle, herbivorous creature that avoided harming any living creature, and would even walk on clouds to avoid crushing grass.

He could not tell me how such a creature was supposed to fight, so when he charged in with teeth bared and hands in claws, I danced away, saying in an airy voice, “I cannot harm you, o human child.”

Haaris found this hilarious. He fell on the ground laughing and holding his stomach. Even I chuckled a bit.

“Well, isn’t this the sweetest little picture?” a rough voice said.

Capable of Violence

I whirled, shocked. There before me stood six people. Four men and two women, their boots and trousers caked with road dust. The men were young, broad-shouldered, their faces hard and unashamed. The gate had been closed, though not locked. These people had opened the gate and walked straight into the farm without permission. And I, utter fool that I was, had been so engrossed in a stupid children’s game that I had not heard them.

They stood loosely spaced, as if by habit rather than plan. The men were broad-shouldered, their movements unhurried, the kind of ease that comes from knowing one is feared more often than challenged. One of them, taller than the rest and perhaps nearing forty, had a thinning hairline and a permanent squint, as if the world annoyed him. Another, younger and lean, chewed on something and watched me with idle curiosity.

The leader stood slightly forward, though no one had announced him as such. He was about twenty-five, compact and alert, with sharp eyes that missed little. His hand rested near the hilt of a short blade tucked into his sash. The others mirrored him without thinking, their weapons cheap but serviceable: cudgels, a rusted spearhead hafted to a pole, knives with worn handles. These were not soldiers, but they were not desperate either.

None looked starved, though all looked… I couldn’t think of a word until I realized that they reminded me of my father when he was drunk. Capable of violence. Not only capable, but unconcerned. Violence to these men was a casual thing, a tool to be employed and then forgotten. They would kill, and it would mean nothing to them.

One of the women stood with them openly. She had a scar along her chin, pale and thick, as if it had healed badly. Her gaze was steady, appraising, and without shame. The other woman remained a step behind, her shoulders rounded, her eyes fixed on the ground. When she shifted her weight, she did so as quietly as possible, like someone trying not to be noticed.

The scarred woman glanced at Haaris, then grinned.

“That one’s pretty,” she said, nodding toward him. “Cute. He’d fetch a good price in the night market.”

Haaris froze.

Crane Dances in the River

I felt something cold settle in my chest.

“Run,” I said, without turning my head. “Go to your father. Now.” And I took a step to the side to place myself between the men and Haaris.

Haaris hesitated, just long enough for one of the men to take a step forward.

I moved before I thought.

My body dropped into River Flow as naturally as breathing. My weight sank, and my vision widened. I took them all in at once: the looseness of their grips, the way one man favored his left leg, the impatience flickering in the leader’s eyes. The man stepping toward Haaris was young, perhaps the youngest among them, his confidence not yet tempered by consequence.

“Move, boy,” he said to me, and reached out.

I kicked him in the stomach, sharp and fast, and quite hard.

The breath went out of him in a pained grunt. Before he could recover, I swept his forward foot with my instep. As he pitched toward me, off balance and surprised, I drove my knee upward into his jaw, which cracked audibly. A small bit of flesh flew out of his mouth, and I guessed he’d bitten off the end of his own tongue.

He went down hard and did not rise. Blood poured from his mouth.

“Crane dances in the river,” I said softly, almost dreamily, and I knew that I had a smile on my face, though I did not care.

For a heartbeat, everything stopped.

The other men tensed as one, hands flying to their weapons. A few of them cursed. One said, “What the devil?” The woman with the scar shifted her stance, her eyes bright. The cowed woman gasped softly.

Then Ma Shushu’s voice cut through the air.

“Hold! What is the meaning of this?”

He strode forward, calm but unmistakably furious. Lee Ayi was behind him, her face pale. She had one hand behind her back, as if hiding something. Haaris had vanished into the house.

“We need food,” the leader said. His tone was not a request. “And money. Your boy here has harmed one of my men. You owe restitution for that.”

I considered dashing into the house to retrieve my dao.  One of the thugs was already down, which left three. Of those three, one had a bad knee. As for the woman with the scar, she was clearly capable of violence, but did not appear to be armed. With the dao, I could take them all, I was sure of it. It wouldn’t even be hard.

But no, I could not leave Ma Shushu to face the group alone, even for a moment. Instead, I would dispatch the leader with my bare hands, take his blade, then use it to put down the others. I shifted my weight forward.

Before I could take a step, Ma Shushu whistled.

It was a sharp, piercing sound, nothing like the gentle calls he used with the animals. From the far field, the farmworkers straightened and began to run. Hoes and poles were still in their hands.

The men hesitated. One spat into the dirt.

“Another time,” he muttered.

They backed away, dragging their unconscious companion with them, leaving a trail of spattered blood in the dirt, not even picking him up to carry him with dignity, but dragging him through the dust. They retreated down the road without further words.

A Great Healer

Ma Shushu walked to the gate, and I followed at his side. He glanced sideways at me but said nothing. After verifying that the group was gone, he locked the gate – something that was normally only done at night. Then he turned to me with a troubled gaze.

“I do not approve of violence.”

I chewed on my lip, but I did not look away. “They tried to take Haaris. They said they would sell him in something called a night market.”

He tipped his head back, looking up at the gray sky. “Why didn’t you call for me sooner?”

I shrugged. “It happened very fast.”

“Darius.” Ma Shushu’s voice was low, his body still. My shoulders tensed as I felt the hammer about to drop. He was going to send me away. I had always known this moment would come, must come. Who was I to think I could be cared for, loved, and safe? What kind of fool was I?

“You have the potential to be a great healer,” Ma Shushu said.

I glanced up at him in surprise. “Huh? Me?”

“I’ve seen how you watch when I treat my patients. How your hands move in the air, mimicking my movements. Sometimes you look to the medicine that is needed before I even select it. You could be as good as me or better. This could be your future, your calling. Your means of providing for yourself and your family in this world.”

My mouth hung open. “I…”

“I do not approve of violence. The commission of violence is not compatible with healing.”

I did not know what to say.

Ma Shushu gave an annoyed cluck of his tongue, then began to walk away. He took two steps, then turned back to me. “I caught the last bit as you put that man down. You said something. What was it?”

I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Crane dances in the river,” I whispered.

Ma Shushu’s eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. He gave me a long, even gaze, then turned away again. I watched as he went to the farmworkers, clapping their shoulders and telling them they would receive an extra coin’s pay at the end of the day.

When he was done with that, he called me over and said, “Your aunt Jade is preparing a special meal for tonight. You should go help her. And tell Haaris to finish cutting the hay, then go check the animals in the far field. Make sure the fence along the ditch has not loosened.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and walked away. Only much later did I realize that he never asked how I had done what I did to the thug. He had expressed no surprise at my ability. Only disappointment at the deed.

Ayah!

Halfway back to the house, I encountered Bao hunched in the dust of the path, eating something she had found. “What do you have there, kitty?” I asked. “Another rat?” Bao was absolutely amazing at catching –

I saw what she was eating. It was the thug’s tongue.  A laugh tore out of me, so exuberant and fierce that I tipped my head back and opened my mouth wide. Immediately, however, the laughter died, and my face went flat. This isn’t supposed to be funny, I thought. What’s the matter with me? I rubbed my face vigorously, averted my eyes from Bao and her bloody little meal, and walked on.

I found Haaris sitting on the front step of the house, blowing on a blade of grass with his eyes closed.

“What are you doing?”

“There’s some way to whistle with grass. I saw one of my cousins do it once. Auntie Ming’s son, the fat one. But I don’t know how.”

I passed on the message from his father.

He opened his eyes and gazed at me intensely. “I was watching from the door. I saw what you did.”

“Okay…” I crossed my arms, expecting him to judge me.

“It was incredible!” he shouted, and jumped up. “You went like this! Ayah!” He threw a clumsy kick. “Then like this, chaka! And like this!” He performed a reasonable imitation of my moves, like an actor on the stage. “How did you learn that?”

I shrugged. “From my father. Now go check on the animals like your Baba said. And don’t talk about it anymore, please.”

He walked off, still shouting, “Ayah!”

I went inside.

The kitchen was warm and fragrant. A large pot simmered over the low fire, steam rising in steady curls. Lee Ayi stood at the long wooden table, sleeves rolled back, flour dusting her forearms. Before her lay a mound of dough, smooth and elastic. She was pulling it into long strands, folding it, stretching again, her movements confident and practiced.

“Wash your hands,” she said without looking up.

I did so at the basin, scrubbing carefully.

She handed me a cleaver and gestured toward a basket of scallions and garlic. “Slice these thinly. Not crushed. Even pieces.”

I began cutting. The garlic stung my nose and made my eyes water. The scallions released a sharp, green scent. On the stove, chunks of beef simmered with ginger and dried chilies. The broth had already turned cloudy and rich.

“These are longevity noodles,” she said, pulling another long rope of dough until it thinned under its own weight. “They must remain uncut.”

“What is it for? What’s the occasion?”

“It’s Haaris’s birthday. Fifteenth day of the Tenth Month. He is eleven today.”

“Oh.”

She set the stretched strands aside and turned to a wooden board where sesame seeds had been lightly toasted. “Grind these,” she instructed.

I used the stone mortar, pressing and turning until the seeds released their oil and became a thick, fragrant paste. She mixed it with honey and shaped small cakes that she would fry quickly in oil later.

For a time, we worked in silence.

The Family Dao

“Zihan Ma is mad at me,” I said.

Lee Ayi stopped working and regarded me. “It’s his instinctive reaction to violence. But he will soften up. He knows you saved Haaris.”

“I saw you watching. You had something behind your back.”

She looked at the ground, then up at me. “I had my dao. But do not tell Husband.”

“Your wooden dao?”

“No.” She wiped her hands clean, then walked to the front door, looked outside, and then went to her bedroom. A moment later, she came out with a real dao in a gorgeous wooden sheath. She held it with both hands, not casually, but the way one carries something entrusted. The sheath was deep red, worn darker along the edges where fingers had touched it over the years. A pattern ran along its length in thin gold inlay, not gaudy, but precise. The design was of five animals arranged in a circle: tiger, crane, leopard, snake, and dragon, each flowing into the next so that no single creature dominated the design.

I stared.

“This is the Lee family dao,” she said quietly. “It has been passed down for many generations.”

She knelt and set it carefully across her lap. “After Jun De died, it should have gone to Yong. My father had it prepared for him. But when Yong was sent away, my father could not bear to see it hanging unused.” She paused. “He gave it to me.”

I stared at it longingly, Zihan Ma’s admonitions forgotten.

“May I draw it?”

She nodded. “Be careful. It is very sharp.”

I took it carefully and drew the blade.

The steel slid free with a soft whisper. The metal was slightly curved, bright but not mirror-polished. Fine lines ran along its surface like ripples, the mark of careful forging. Near the base of the blade, etched shallowly but unmistakably, was the Five Animals symbol again, the same circular design as on the sheath.

The handle was unlike any I had held before. It was pale and smooth, dense and cool beneath my fingers.

“Is this bone?”

“Fossilized ivory.”

Inlaid into the handle were thin slivers of mother-of-pearl that caught the light and shimmered softly. The balance was perfect. Not heavy, not light. It rested in my hand as if it had been made for it.

I swallowed.

“The sheath?” I asked.

“Gold inlay over teak.”

An Inherited Disease

I gave the weapon a quick twirl.

Lee Ayi gasped. “Careful!”

I smiled and stood, stepping back to a clear area in the living room. Without warning, I shot the dao out in a long jab, then whipped it back and forth in a fanning motion. I slashed diagonally, then drew it up between my body and my free hand – a very risky thing to do with a live blade. Spinning, I hid the blade behind my back, then used the momentum of the spin to whip it out in a wide arc. I continued, thrusting and slashing, moving my feet in tight steps, mindful of the limitations of the space. After a few minutes, I stopped, approached Lee Ayi and bowed to her, offering the dao with both hands.

She stared at me open-mouthed, then took the dao and sheathed it carefully.

“Do not tell me,” she said, “that Yong was mad enough to make you practice with a live blade.”

“I’m sure he would have, if he’d owned one. No, I was mad enough to do it myself.” I lifted my left pant leg and showed her the long, raised scar across my thigh. “Not without a few accidents, though.”

She shook her head. “We’re all insane. It’s like an inherited disease.”

“Who?”

“Us.” She pointed back and forth between herself and me. “The Lee family.” She blew out a heavy breath. “Let’s get back to work.” She put away the dao, and we worked in silence after that.

Birthdays

As evening approached, the table was set. The noodles were cooked carefully and lifted whole into bowls, long and unbroken. The beef was tender, the broth deep and hot. The sesame cakes were golden and sticky with honey.

We prayed Maghreb as a family, then sat to eat. Zihan Ma said a dua for the family, and a special dua for Haaris, asking Allah to protect him, grant him health and wisdom, and to always keep him on the path of Islam.

The food was wonderful, and I ate quietly, thinking about all that had happened that day.

“When’s your birthday, Darius?” Haaris asked.

The question caught me off guard.

“In late summer,” I said. “When the cicadas are loud.”

“What day?”

“I don’t know the day.”

“How come you don’t know? And how old are you now?”

“I’m fourteen.”

Haaris gave a puzzled frown. “That’s all?”

“But if it’s in late summer,” Lee Ayi said, “then it has already passed. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“My mother used to give me an extra portion of food on my birthday. After she passed, my father never marked it. I didn’t think it mattered. I did not know you would celebrate such things.”

Looking around the table, I saw that Haaris looked confused, Zihan Ma appeared regretful, and Lee Ayi had tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to ruin the evening.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Zihan Ma said. He came to me and put an arm around my shoulders. “Next year, we will celebrate your birthday on the 15th day of the 8th month. But this year, today is your birthday.” He raised his hands and made a dua: “O Allah, I ask you by all your names, and by your mercy, to protect this boy Darius. Purify his heart with water and snow. Make him a great healer, and put barakah in his hands.”

He stood. “We have gifts.”

Haaris received a thick winter coat lined with cotton, and a wool cap dyed a dark green. He turned the coat over in his hands, beaming.

“For when the north wind comes,” Lee Ayi said.

Then Zihan Ma handed me two things: the round white Muslim cap that he always wore for salat, and a long wooden sabha made of sandalwood with three sections of 33 beads each. These were both his own, I knew. I had seen him using the sabha to count the praises of Allah.

I didn’t care that he had not planned these gifts in advance. The fact that he gave me something of his own touched me, and I smiled widely and genuinely, and thanked him.

Outside Looking In

Even as all this transpired, however, I felt like an actor. No, not an actor exactly. My happiness was real, but I was disconnected from it, as if I were actually standing outside the house in the cold, peering in through a gap in the shutters.

I saw the smile on my own face as if it belonged to someone else. I heard my own voice answering Haaris’s jokes. Watching from outside like a beggar, I saw myself take a bite of a honeyed sesame cake.

I saw Zihan Ma, wanting me to be something I was not. My eyes moved to Haaris, watching me with a strange mixture of admiration, awe, and pity. And I saw Lee Ayi – another stranger in her own home. Another Lee. She was not in the house. She was out here, with me, in the cold, looking through the window at a shadow of herself.

That night, when the house had grown quiet and the lamps were extinguished, I lay awake.

Moonlight spilled through the window, pale and full. The fifteenth of the month was always a full moon, I knew that much at least.

I rose carefully and drew my own dao in its sheath from beneath my mattress. Strapping it to my back, I stepped outside.

Silver Fields

The fields were silver. The air had turned frigid. I walked to the far field and planted my feet in the hard earth, then swiveled them lightly, feeling the texture of the earth. Reaching up to my shoulder, I drew the dao.

At first, I moved slowly, feeling the balance of the blade. Then the faces of the six intruders returned to me. The scar along the woman’s chin. The young man’s jaw snapping beneath my knee.

They would come again. If not them, then others. “In the end, no one will protect you but you. No one will save you but you.” That was my father’s voice.

“Allah is the Protector of the believers. He brings them out of darkness into light.” That was Zihan Ma’s.

I moved faster. The blade cut the air in clean arcs. My steps sharpened. I struck as if someone stood before me. “Violence only begets more violence,” Zihan Ma would say.

I moved even faster. I drove myself until my arms trembled and my lungs burned. When at last I stopped, the tip of the dao rested against the soil, and I bent forward, breathing hard beneath the full moon.

The household was asleep and silent as I slipped back into my bed.

A Figure in the Dark

This became my routine every night. Do my work, help Zihan Ma with his medical practice, take my classes, study, pray, then – when everyone was asleep – come out here to the far field and train, breathing vapor into the frosty night. Live dao in my hand, I moved like a chimera – not the peace-loving chimera Haaris had told me about, but a Lee family chimera, which must be a creature made up of all the strongest, fiercest, most deadly parts of the five animals.

I moved until my legs trembled and my sides ached. I pushed myself even harder than I had when I was alone, after my father left. After perfecting the old moves, I innovated new ones. My endurance and strength grew. New calluses formed on my hands. Within a month, my shoes were tattered and nearly falling off, though I repaired them as well as I could with Lee Ayi’s sewing needles.

One night, returning to the house after my secret practice session, I saw a figure coming up the path in the dark. The moon was down to a thin metallic crescent, and gloom covered the farm. Yet I could see that the figure walked unsteadily, as if wounded or weak.

I watched the figure, and as it drew closer, my heart seemed to stop in my chest. I did not believe in ghosts, but I did believe in the jinn, for the Quran spoke of them. Silently, without breath, I said, “La ilaha ill-Allah.” My hands twitched from the strength of my pulse as I stood as still as a grave marker in the silent, dark night.

* * *

Come back after Ramadan for Part 10 – Reunion

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:

As Light As Birdsong: A Ramadan Story

Kill The Courier – Hiding In Plain Sight

The post Far Away [Part 9] – Crane Dances In The River appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Ramadan is closer than ever, and it’s time to order ALL THE RAMADAN BOOKS for your little ones! After all, what better way to get the kidlets into the Ramadan hype than with Ramadan bedtime stories every night? (And of course – get those Eid books in, too!)

P.S. Don’t forget to use the code “MBR” for 15% off all products ordered from Crescent Moon Bookstore!

Toddler Books

Momo and Bronty’s First Book About Allah by Zanib Mian

Even before you start with Ramadan stories, our little ones need to understand the very foundation of our belief – beginning with our love for Allah. With straightforward text, the book describes who Allah is to toddlers. Laila Ramadhani’s adorable illustrations that will keep little ones hooked and connect to the simple words.

Radiant Ramadan by Marzieh Abbas

“Radiant Ramadan” is the third book in Marzieh Abbas and Anoosha Syed’s super cute board books series (Friday Fun and Excited for Eid).

The simple rhyming words and the adorable illustrations remain a winning formula, and will undoubtedly be a beloved Ramadan toddler read.

“Just Right” Ramadan by Jenny Molendyk Divlevi

The Zareen family eagerly awaits Ramadan every year… but will they be able to find the right balance this Ramadan between fasting, worship, hosting guests, and managing their daily tasks?
This relatable story is sure to capture the hearts of families everywhere with its humor and vibrant illustrations.

My Ramadan by Rabia Karzan

My Ramadan is a lift-the-flaps board book that introduces young readers to the joyous traditions of Ramadan. The book explores various aspects of this holy month, such as iftar, suhoor, and the Qur’an. It emphasizes the global unity of Muslims as they commence Ramadan with the sighting of the crescent moon.

Alya and the Eid Moon by Aysha Lakhani

Little Alya wants to find the Eid moon, but she keeps finding things like crescent-shaped dinner rolls and her uncle’s shiny bald head instead!

This silly board book should be read out with much exaggeration to induce many giggles from the little ones, and will likely become a fun favourite.

Excited for Eid by Marzieh Abbas

Written by the same author as “Radiant Ramadan,” this delightful board book shares its charm and so much Muslim joy! Join a sweet celebration of Eid in this irresistible board book highlighting the traditions of the end of Ramadan.

Picture Books

A Ramadan Night by Nadine Presley

The call for prayer hugs tight the sky of Damascus on the first night of Ramadan. As steps flutter to fill spaces in mosques, Sami sets out on a nighttime walk with Baba to answer his what does a Ramadan night feel like?

I love love LOVE that this entire book is about the true essence of Ramadan, and not some generic crescent moon or first fast or cultural iftar story. The illustrations and the text alike are steeped in Islam, making it the perfect book to read to get kids excited for Ramadan.

Zahra’s Blessing: A Ramadan Story by Shirin Shamsi

As Ramadan arrives, young Zahra has a special du’a in her heart. Zahra’s mother gently teaches her about Ramadan blessings and the importance of selfless generosity, and by the end, she discovers that the answer to her du’a is more amazing than she could have ever imagined! Richly lit up with Manal Mirza’s vibrant illustrations, this story is truly special.

Ramadan for Everyone by Aya Khalil

Ramadan is here! And this year, Habeeba is finally going to fast all day, every day, and pray all the special Ramadan prayers at night at the masjid, just like her older sister, Sumaya. The holy month is filled with decorations, beading, crafts, delicious recipes, religious ceremonies—so much activity that it’s hard for Habeeba to stay awake during prayer services or to resist Baba’s gooey, cheese-filled kunafa drenched in sweet syrup when she gets home from school. Habeeba is discouraged. How else can she be observant like Sumaya?

Ramadan Rain by Jamilah Thompkins-Bigelow

Haneen’s Momma says that during Ramadan raindrops bring blessings and answer prayers. As they travel through the streets on a slow bus ride, rain drips down the window, and Haneen prays for new shoes and bright dresses–gifts she really, really wants to receive for Eid.

When they arrive at the masjid, Haneen makes Eid cards with the twins, Safa and Marwa, helps give out dates and water and spread tarps for dinner, and whispers duas–and, as she does, she begins to wish for something different. Something she wants more than anything. After all, the most precious gifts are not shoes and dresses, but the kindness of friends and the magic of faith. And, of course, the love of your Momma.

Ramadan On Rahma Road by Razeena Omar Gutta

“Ramadan on Rahma Road: A Recipe Storybook” introduces us to Rahma Road, where Muslims of many diverse backgrounds get together to observe Ramadan together. +10 points for this book explicitly mentioning recitation of Qur’an and fasting with hope for reward from Allah!

Each spread features a glimpse of a family’s iftar prep, and a recipe for the meal that comes from the diverse backgrounds: roti bom for Malaysians (yay!!), koshary for Egyptians, and even South African rep with bunny chow!

The recipes look great, there is explicit Islamic rep, and this is honestly a great way to do the Ramadan-and-food angle. There’s also some good backmatter that talks about what Ramadan actually is!

Upside-Down Iftar by Maysa Odeh

Malak can’t wait to help her grandmother make iftar for their family. But when they decide to make makloubeh, everyone has a favorite ingredient to add, and Malak isn’t sure how they’ll fit it all in! This iftar is sure to be one to remember!

Packed with warm, vibrant illustrations and the beautiful chaos of a bustling kitchen, Upside Down Iftar is a heartwarming celebration of family, food, and culture.

Ibraheem’s Perfect Eid by Farhana Islam

Ibraheem loves Eid because Eid means presents! What’s not to love? But when Eid arrives, and the day brings trips to the mosque, fantastic food, family, games and fun but NO PRESENTS Ibraheem begins to worry! Has something gone terribly wrong?

“Ibraheem’s Perfect Eid” by Farhana Islam is actually super cute… AND incorporated actual Islam rather than brushing Eid off as a cultural holiday.

While the story itself is focused on Ibraheem worried about whether he got presents or not, it also incorporates references to the Sunan of Eid, shows Eid salah (and Ibraheem actually listening to the khutbah!), and niqabi rep in the illustrations which ALWAYS makes me happy.

A Golden Eid by Hiba Noor Khan

Hafsa and her family have spotted a crescent moon in the sky and ended their long Ramadan fast. Now they are getting ready to spend Eid with their loved ones? Decorating the house, donning fancy clothes, and preparing lots of delicious food, including halwa, Hafsa’s favorite sweet treat. But when her father begins giving the food away to all the neighbors, Hafsa is worried that there won’t be anything left for her!

 

 

 

Related:

From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Ramadan Reads 2024

The MM Edit: Ramadan Reads 2022

 

The post From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Ramadan Reads For 1447 AH appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Palestinian child died of kidney failure waiting for medical evacuation.

Long-term trust depends on demonstrating that state power can be corrected as well as asserted

On Monday, footage from Sydney’s CBD showed a group of men being dragged and shoved by police while praying. However, the men did not react with rage but with discipline. They continued their prayers even as officers approached. There were no fists raised, no retaliation, and no chaos; instead, there was the quiet continuity of a ritual that once begun could not be abandoned.

For observant Muslims, the moment of prostration – forehead to ground – is symbolically considered the closest proximity to God. It’s a posture of complete vulnerability with the body lowered, ego surrendered, and the world shut out. The ritual prayer is considered to be the foundation of Islam. This made the footage profoundly confronting for many Muslim Australians. Interrupting someone at their most defenceless position isn’t just moving a body; it’s intruding upon an intimate act of surrender.

Continue reading...

Founder hails “monumental victory,” while “terrorist” status remains in effect for now.

Preparing simple, repetitive meals is the key to 30 days of fasting

Ramadan arrives this year in February, in the heart of winter. Short days, cold evenings and the pressure of everyday work mean that preparation is no longer about producing abundance, but about reducing effort while maintaining care. For many households balancing jobs, children and long commutes, the question is not what to cook, but how to make the month manageable.

The most effective approach to Ramadan cooking is not variety but repetition. A small set of meals that are easy to digest, quick to prepare and gentle on the body can carry a household through 30 days of fasting with far less stress than daily reinvention. The aim is to do the thinking once, not every day.

Continue reading...

Born during the genocide, writer’s daughter lost her sight and ability to move in an Israeli bombing.

A film in Jeddah stirs a bitter flashback for the author, leaving him sobbing quietly in the cinema.

Email shows CEO proposed “lighter lift” statement in place of annual ranking, after surge in Palestinian journalist killings.

On a quiet school morning, a mother stands frozen at her front window, watching the street. Her child’s backpack rests by the door. The bus is coming. But so is fear.

Across the country, Black, Brown, Indigenous, immigrant, and Muslim parents are waking up each day with the same question: Is it safe to send my child outside today?

Immigration raids, masked enforcement officers, public arrests, and aggressive policing have turned ordinary routines like school drop-offs, grocery trips, and morning commutes into moments of terror. Parenting in this climate is no longer just about guidance and discipline. It is about survival, protection, and moral courage.

For Muslims and families of color, this moment is not new. It is history repeating itself, and our nervous systems know it.

When History Enters the Living Room: What Families Are Feeling

For Black and Brown communities, regardless of faith, today’s fear is deeply familiar. Masked raids, public arrests, and militarized enforcement mirror older systems of racial terror, slave patrols, the KKK, lynchings, and state-sanctioned violence. The uniforms have changed. The trauma has not.

One father described the moment his child whispered, “Are they going to take you too?” Another parent shared that her elementary-aged daughter began packing her favorite toy in her backpack just in case she never made it home.

Our nervous systems respond before our minds can catch up. Hearts race. Muscles tense. Breathing becomes shallow. This is trauma physiology, the body recognizing danger long before logic arrives.

Children should be in school learning, not hiding in fear from masked men who resemble symbols of racial terror. Yet families are afraid to leave their homes, to go grocery shopping, or to send their children to the bus stop. That constant fear reshapes daily life, fractures trust, destabilizes families, and erodes dignity.

Even if policies change tomorrow, the psychological imprint remains.

When children witness this, their sense of safety, justice, and belonging is fundamentally shaken.

Collective Trauma and the Cost of Dehumanization

“Children should be in school learning, not hiding in fear from masked men who resemble symbols of racial terror.” [PC: Tamirlan Maratov (unsplash)]

These policies expose how systems rooted in colonialism, racism, and surveillance continue to operate by othering and dehumanizing entire communities.

For generations, violence has been normalized towards Muslim and non-Muslim Black and Brown bodies. It has been expected, dismissed, and minimized. But when fear enters white communities, something shifts. Suddenly, the threat becomes real, urgent, and visible.

One parent said, “For the first time, my white neighbors looked afraid, and I realized they were just beginning to feel what we have carried for centuries.”

Healing requires reckoning with how violence is stored in our bodies, normalized in our culture, and selectively grieved.

The Qur’an reminds us that division weakens and unity protects:

“And hold firmly to the rope of Allah all together and do not become divided.” [Surah ‘Ali-Imran: 3;103]

When communities fracture, they become easier to control. Collective care and collective strategy are how we survive agendas rooted in dehumanization.

Grief, Fear, and Finding God in the Middle of the Storm

What families are experiencing is collective grief layered with shock, numbness, anger, helplessness, and profound loss of safety.

One mother shared, “Every siren feels personal. Every knock at the door makes my chest tighten.

In Islam, spiritual grounding is not passive. It is psychologically protective and proactive.

When human power becomes abusive and unpredictable, reconnecting to Allah restores emotional stability, dignity, and hope.

We begin by anchoring our families in Allah’s Names that heal fear and rage:

• Al-‘Adl (The Utterly Just): So injustice never feels permanent.

• Al-Ḥakam (The Ultimate Judge): When courts and systems fail.

• Al-Mu’min (The Giver of Safety): When the world feels dangerous.

• Al-Jabbār (The Restorer of the Broken): When hearts are shattered.

• Al-Qahhār (The Overpowering): When oppression feels unstoppable.

• Ar-Raḥmān & Ar-Raḥīm (The Most Merciful): When grief overwhelms.

While we have so many emotions and feelings about what we are witnessing and feeling, the Prophet reminded us of the power these emotions have:

“Beware the supplication of the oppressed, for it is answered.” [Bukhari]

The Qur’an also helps us give meaning to our challenges that we are witnessing by reminding us:

“Do people think once they say, ‘We believe,’ that they will be left without being tested?” [Surah Al”Ankabut: 29;2]

This spiritual grounding transforms fear and despair into moral courage and purpose.

Parenting in Crisis: How Do We Talk to Our Children?

Children are absorbing everything: conversations, headlines, social media clips, whispered worries. Silence does not protect them. Connection does.

One father described sitting on his son’s bed, trying to explain why people were being taken away. His son listened quietly, then asked, “But Allah sees, right?”

That question holds everything.

Trauma-informed parenting means:

• Starting with emotional connection

• Asking what children already know

• Gently correcting misinformation

• Letting children ask their hardest questions

• Naming emotions: fear, anger, sadness, confusion

• Teaching body awareness: “Where do you feel that fear?”

• Practicing grounding through dua, prayer, breathing, movement, and routine

• Offering constant reassurance of love and presence

Emotionally safe children are not shielded from reality. They are anchored in relationship, faith, and belonging.

Community as Medicine: Why Healing Must Be Collective

The Prophet warned:

“Stick to the community, for the wolf eats only the stray sheep.” [Tirmidhi]

In moments of fear, community becomes medicine. In mosques, community centers, and living rooms, families are gathering, sharing food, childcare, prayers, legal resources, and emotional support. Children play while parents exchange updates. Elders remind everyone: We have survived worse.

Community regulates nervous systems, restores dignity, and prevents despair.

The Prophet taught us:

“Whoever among you sees injustice, let them change it with their hand, their voice, or at the very least, their heart.” [Muslim]

Collective action — mutual aid, coalition-building, advocacy, and peaceful organizing — transforms fear into resistance.

From Fear to Moral Courage: A Call to Parents

This moment calls parents to raise children not only in safety but in dignity, justice, and courage.

Standing against injustice becomes an act of worship. Advocacy becomes healing. Solidarity becomes faith in action.

Silence is not neutrality. Silence allows harm to grow.

Our children are watching. They are learning how to respond when the world becomes unjust.

Trauma-informed, spiritually grounded parenting offers children more than survival. It offers purpose. It teaches them that they belong, that they matter, and that they are never alone.

Through faith, community, and courageous action, families of color do more than endure. They resist, heal, and rise.

May they learn that fear can become courage. That grief can become service. And that faith can become resistance.

 

Related:

– [Podcast] Parenting with Purpose | Eman Ahmed

– Audio Article: Raising Resilient Muslim Kids

The post Parenting Through Times Of Fear, Injustice, And Resistance: A Trauma-Informed, Faith-Centered Guide appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.