When He loosens your tongue with a supplication, know that He wants to give you [something].

متى أطلق لسانك بالدعاء فاعلم أنه يريد أن يعطيك

– Ibn Ataillah Iskanderi1

A Reflection on Ibn Ataillah’s Wisdom

As we traverse a world ensnared by the allure of tangible comforts and transient distractions, many souls find themselves adrift, distanced from the profound act of prayer. The cacophony of modern life, with its relentless demands and superficial pursuits, often silences the sacred whispers of our hearts, drawing us away from the divine communion that lies within our reach.

Our reliance on material means erects barriers to spiritual fulfillment, blinding us to the transformative power of turning to Allah in our moments of need. Yet, it is in these very moments of yearning that the door to the Divine swings wide open, inviting us to engage in a dialogue that transcends the mundane. To forget this invitation is to overlook the essence of our existence—to neglect the profound relationship that awaits us in the stillness of our supplications.

When the whispers of supplication rise from your lips, recognize that they are not mere expressions of longing, nor are they echoes cast futilely into the void. Instead, they are the gentle summons of the Divine—a profound indication that He, who holds the treasures of the heavens and the earth, has already turned toward you in mercy and compassion.

Have you ever pondered whether your hands would rise in prayer had He not already willed to fill them with blessings? Would your heart yearn for His presence if He had not already decreed its solace? This yearning is not an accident; it is a deliberate act of Divine Love, a sign that your soul is attuned to the call of its Creator.

Du’a is not a plea cast into uncertainty; it is an answered call in its very utterance. Every invocation you make carries the weight of Divine acknowledgment, a promise that your words are heard and cherished. In this sacred act of supplication, you engage in a dialogue that transcends mere requests; you enter into a relationship, a communion with the One Who knows your innermost thoughts and desires.

The act of praying is a testament to the interconnectedness of the seeker and the Divine. It reflects a deep understanding that your needs and aspirations have already been woven into the tapestry of existence, designed by a loving Creator Who anticipates your every call. Each prayer is a thread in this intricate fabric, binding you closer to the source of all mercy and grace.

As the Prophet Muhammad [ﷺ] said:

“إن الله تعالى حيٌ كريم، يستحيي إذا رفع الرجل إليهم يديه أن يردهما صفراً خائبتين.”

“Indeed, Allah is modest and generous. He is ashamed that when a servant raises his hands to Him, He would return them empty and disappointed.” [Abu Dawood, Al-Tirmidhi]

Thus, when you find yourself in the moment of supplication, do so with the knowledge that your voice is not lost. It is a beacon, a radiant light that pierces the darkness, beckoning the Divine to respond. In this sacred exchange, trust that you are enveloped in mercy, and that every whisper of your heart has the potential to transform your reality.

As Ibn Ata’ Allah said:

“دعاء العبد سلاحه، وبه يفتح له من أبواب الرحمة.”

“The supplication of the servant is his weapon, and through it, the doors of mercy are opened for him.”

In this understanding, embrace the act of supplication with unwavering faith, knowing that your prayers are not just words—they are the keys to the treasures of Divine grace.

The Divine Invitation to Seek

Allah does not inspire your heart to call upon Him only to turn you away. Rather, the very breath of supplication is a profound indication that the gates of Divine generosity have already been unlocked, inviting you into a realm of endless possibility and grace. It is a Divine invitation, a whisper from the Creator, assuring you that your desires and hopes are not in vain.

He Himself proclaims:

“And your Lord says, ‘Call upon Me; I will respond to you. Indeed, those who disdain My worship will enter Hell [rendered] contemptible.” [Surah Ghafir; 40:60]

This verse encapsulates the essence of Allah’s Promise—that the act of calling upon Him is met with a guarantee of response.

O seeker, understand that your prayer was heard before it ever graced your lips. Your yearning was answered long before it took form in your heart.

This is not a mere coincidence; it is the manifestation of Divine wisdom.

“Thus, when you find yourself in the throes of supplication, remember that your prayers are not lost; they are held close to the heart of the One who knows you better than you know yourself.” [PC: Imad Alassiry (unsplash)]

For it is He who plants the seed of du’a in your soul, nurturing it with His Mercy and Compassion. Just as a gardener tends to the delicate shoots of a new plant, so too does Allah cultivate your supplications, ensuring they receive the nourishment they need to flourish. Each prayer is a testament to the connection between you and the Divine; a sacred dialogue that transcends the limitations of time and space.

In this Divine exchange, your heart’s yearning is a reflection of His Will. He instills in you the desire to seek, to ask, and to knock upon the door of His mercy, knowing that every sincere plea is met with an equally sincere response. This is not a transaction but a relationship—a sacred bond that deepens with every invocation.

Thus, when you find yourself in the throes of supplication, remember that your prayers are not lost; they are held close to the heart of the One who knows you better than you know yourself. In this sacred space of connection, trust that your voice is echoed in the heavens and that every tear shed in earnestness is counted and cherished. For it is He who plants the seed of du’a in your soul, only so that He may water it with His Mercy.

A Prophetic Promise of Response

The Messenger of Allah [ﷺ] assured the broken-hearted and the weary:

مَا مِنْ مُسْلِمٍ يَدْعُو اللَّهَ بِدَعْوَةٍ لَيْسَ فِيهَا إِثْمٌ، وَلَا قَطِيعَةُ رَحِمٍ، إِلَّا أَعْطَاهُ اللَّهُ بِهَا إِحْدَى ثَلَاثٍ: إِمَّا أَنْ تُعَجَّلَ لَهُ دَعْوَتُهُ، وَإِمَّا أَنْ يَدَّخِرَهَا لَهُ فِي الْآخِرَةِ، وَإِمَّا أَنْ يَصْرِفَ عَنْهُ مِنَ السُّوءِ مِثْلَهَا.

“There is no Muslim who supplicates to Allah with a supplication that contains no sin nor severing of family ties, except that Allah grants him one of three things: either He will quickly answer his supplication, or He will store it for him in the Hereafter, or He will turn away from him an equivalent harm.” [Ahmad, Al-Tirmidhi]

This profound hadith encapsulates the infinite Mercy and Wisdom of Allah , serving as a cornerstone of faith for believers. It reassures us that our prayers are never cast into the abyss of silence; rather, they are met with Divine attention and care. Each sincere supplication, untainted by sin or malice, is enveloped in a promise of response, manifesting in ways that reflect Allah’s intricate Understanding of our deepest needs.

1. Immediate Response: The first possibility reveals the immediacy of Divine Grace. When our hearts cry out, Allah may swiftly fulfill our desires, showcasing His readiness to provide for His Creation. This encourages a profound trust in His willingness to respond, reminding us that our pleas are not mere words; they are heartfelt invitations for His Mercy to descend upon us.
2. Storing in the Hereafter: The second possibility underscores the eternal nature of Divine Justice. If our supplication remains unanswered in this life, it is preserved for us in the Hereafter—a testament to Allah’s Foresight and Compassion. This notion transforms our understanding of time and reward, affirming that our struggles and prayers in this ephemeral world lay the groundwork for everlasting blessings in the next.
3. Diverting Harm: The third promise embodies a profound aspect of Divine Wisdom: Allah may choose to avert an equivalent harm from us. This reflects a deeper understanding that our desires may not always align with our best interests. Through this divine intervention, Allah safeguards us from trials we may not recognize, illustrating His protective Embrace and omniscient Care.

Therefore, when you feel the stirrings of du’a, do not doubt. Do not hesitate. For if He has placed it upon your tongue, He has already inscribed its reply in the fabric of the unseen. Your prayer is a testament to your connection with the Divine, a bridge that draws you closer to His infinite Mercy and Compassion. Each utterance is not merely a request but an act of faith, a declaration of your trust in His Divine Plan.

In this sacred relationship, remember that your voice is heard, your pleas are cherished, and your heart’s yearnings are met with Divine Grace. Embrace the act of supplication with confidence, knowing that Allah’s Response is always perfectly timed and exquisitely tailored to your ultimate good. In doing so, you engage in a cosmic dialogue, a sacred communion that transcends the limitations of our understanding, illuminating the path toward spiritual fulfillment and Divine Intimacy.

Prayer as a Sign of Divine Nearness

O heart that trembles in the night, know this: you would not have knocked had the door not been meant to open.

You would not have wept had the response not been decreed.

For the Messenger of Allah ﷺ has said:

إِنَّ اللَّهَ حَيِيٌّ كَرِيمٌ، يَسْتَحِي إِذَا رَفَعَ الرَّجُلُ إِلَيْهِ يَدَيْهِ أَنْ يَرُدَّهُمَا صِفْرًا خَائِبَتَيْنِ

“Indeed, Allah is modest and generous. He is ashamed that when a servant raises his hands to Him, He would return them empty and disappointed.” [Abu Dawood, Al-Tirmidhi]

So call upon Him with certainty, with the unshakable faith that your voice is heard, your plea is recorded, and your answer is already on its way—perhaps not in the form you expect, but always in the way that is best for you.

The Echo of His Mercy

When Allah , ignites your tongue with the fire of supplication, perceive this not merely as your own initiative, but as a sacred invitation from the Divine to partake in the bounty of His Mercy. Each supplication is akin to a seed, delicately sown in the fertile soil of your heart; some may bloom in this ephemeral world, while others will blossom in the eternal gardens of the Hereafter, yet none are ever lost to the winds of time.

Pray, O seeker, with unwavering conviction, for you are not unheard. Lift your hands in earnest entreaty, for He is too generous to return them empty. Each cry of your heart, each whisper of your soul, resonates in the boundless expanse of the Divine, met with a promise—a promise that transcends our understanding and expectations.

When your heart quivers with longing, recognize this tremor as the gentle summons of the Divine:

 “Come to Me, and I shall bestow upon you more than you ever dared to imagine.”2

Your yearning is not an echo cast into the void; it is a manifestation of the love and mercy that Allah   has intricately woven into the fabric of your existence. In the profound words of Rumi:

“Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn’t matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come.”

This is a clarion call to return, a reminder that regardless of your trials and tribulations, the gates of mercy remain perpetually ajar. Embrace this invitation to commune with the Divine, for every moment spent in supplication is a step toward the realization of your heart’s most profound desires.

In this sacred journey, trust that your prayers are not mere utterances; they are bridges to the Infinite, pathways to tranquility, and channels of divine grace. Allah is awaiting your return—so come, and let your heart speak its truth with unrestrained fervor. In doing so, you shall unveil the treasures that await those who dare to seek.

 

Related:

–From The Chaplain’s Desk: The Power Of Dua

– Before You Seek Answers, Seek Him First: A Muslim Chaplain’s Ramadan Reflection

1    Ibn ʿAtāʾ Allāh al-Iskandarī (d. 709 AH / 1309 CE) was a master of the Shādhilī Sufi path, a jurist of the Mālikī school, and a spiritual heir to Abū al-ʿAbbās al-Mursī. Rooted in Alexandria, he authored the al-Ḥikam al-ʿAṭāʾiyya, a timeless treasury of Sufi wisdom.2    Khalid Hameed Shaida, Amir Khusro: The Nightingale of India – Selected Persian Odes Kindle Edition, CreateSpace, 2012, p. 56

The post Beyond Longing – Dua: A Deliberate Act Of Divine Love appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

The not-for-profit, which has been recording anti-Muslim hate crime for 13 years, now faces an uncertain future

For 13 years, Tell Mama has been the government-funded not-for-profit tasked with recording anti-Muslim hate crime and helping victims get justice.

For its pains, staff faced death threats from the far right, a risk so serious it necessitated an office change at the height of the hate. There have been critics too within Britain’s Muslim community, who, according to the Tell Mama leadership, were intolerant of the organisation’s tolerance.

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My friend Mahmoud was charging his family’s phones at a charging station when an Israeli attack fatally injured him.

Impact of Israeli bomb on Gaza City home throws children onto neighboring roof, tearing 5-year-old girl in half.

Colonel who invented "eight burned babies" hoax committed extensive war crimes in Gaza as part of effort to expel Palestinian population.

Protesters contest ethnic cleansing proponent at numerous events.

A major driver training organisation in the UK, which is part of a major driver recruitment agency, today claimed that the UK’s haulage industry risks falling into the same crisis of recruitment seen during the height of the pandemic five years ago unless it “tackles a looming retirement crisis”, with 55% of today’s professional drivers aged between 50 and 65 and little interest in the occupation from school leavers. John Keelan-Edwards of Driver Hire Training mentioned the lack of overseas drivers that we ‘enjoyed’ during the post-2004 years and also the lack of diversity in the profession. He suggested temporary sign-on bonuses but said that the biggest necessity was persuading school leavers of “the fulfilling and varied careers they could have” as lorry drivers. There is no mention, at least in this little article, of the reason why people do not want to be truck drivers anymore, and are leaving the industry, which is the poor treatment and facilities we are expected to tolerate. Tomasz Orsyński wrote an article in July 2021 detailing twenty reasons for the shortage, which includes some of the points I make here, and nothing has changed.

In the late 2010s and early 2020s, I was doing mostly “class 1”, or articulated/semi truck work. This was for a mixture of mostly air and palletised freight companies and the Royal Mail. In 2021 I let my air freight clearance lapse, because I did not want to work for any of the operators around Heathrow anymore. The work was tedious, often involving sitting for hours at the cargo sheds around the airport. Facilities were extremely poor: the ‘Horseshoe’ had one toilet facility for all the male drivers consisting of one urinal, one actual toilet and two sinks. At bonded warehouses (which store air freight which has already been security cleared), the law states that a visiting driver has a right to use a toilet and should be escorted if need be, but they would sometimes refuse if it wasn’t convenient for them (at one point I was told to defecate in a bush if I was desperate). One of said companies (a subcontractor to several major airlines) sent me on a trip to Manchester, and staff at their depots kept me waiting for hours at more than one of the ports of call resulting in my exceeding my 15-hour working day on two occasions, and then refused to pay me for the full day as it would make the violation too obvious. (They told me I should have rung them at one of the places concerned; they should have known I was doing the Manchester run, and got the freight out quickly as it was time critical.)

I did three or four separate stints at the Royal Mail between 2017 and 2023 (I had previously worked for them at Vauxhall, since demolished to make way for the new American embassy and luxury developments at Nine Elms) but that was driving small trucks on local routes, not big trucks on ‘trunk’ routes). On the first of these I got a lecture from the transport manager at Woking for stopping mid-journey to use a toilet, having found the toilets at their Coventry depot inadequate (meaning: few in number, dirty, smelly and crowded). My most recent encounter with them ended after an encounter with a rude “health and safety” jobsworth at their new national hub outside Daventry, who barked at me to put my yellow jacket on when walking ten paces from the door of the building to the door of my truck cab in broad daylight on a 30ºC (or more) summer day. I then had to explain myself to another jobsworth at the local depot in Greenford, west London, and that ended with him telling me not to come in for any more shifts. This local depot had an infestation of rats, one of which I saw in the room where the staff vending machines and water fountain were located; I was informed that said rats had been disturbed by the nearby works on the new high-speed railway. Royal Mail insists on long-sleeved jackets, unlike almost any other logistics company (a lot of construction companies insist on high-visibility trousers as well); these are tolerable at night and in colder weather, but being made of woven plastic are extremely uncomfortable when it is hot, something the organisation has not taken into account at all. The same Daventry depot, despite being newly built, had several toilets out of commission that day (it has fewer toilets than the old National Distribution Centre round the corner), but had time to employ a lackey to drive around in a big car looking for petty “health and safety” breaches to nag people about.

In my experience, the bigger the company, the longer the list of rules and the worse environment it will be to work at. The biggest offenders are the international logistics companies with three letters for names. In the month or so after leaving Royal Mail in 2023, I had a two-week stint at a printworks in west London, which was not perfect by any means (moving pallets stacked high with heavy printed material is hard work) and the cab stank of the previous driver’s food, with crisp dust you could taste in the air (another common problem), but I mostly delivered to and from small printing companies and was required to wear a yellow jacket only once, on the last delivery to a depot of one of those three-letter companies. The jackets have their place, but have spread far beyond that; they are seen (or posed) as an essential guarantee of safety, when in reality they seem to be a substitute for common sense. As truck drivers, we deal with hazards all the time, and most of them are not clad in fluorescent jackets. The way to avoid accidents is for the driver to look where he or she is going and for others not to do stupid things like walk in front of a moving vehicle or behind it when reversing.

As Tomasz Orsyński put it, drivers are treated like thieves; I would say the rules at many sites presume we are thieves, idiots or both. He mentions the practice of expecting drivers to hand in their keys and sit in a waiting room, or even a cage, while being loaded or unloaded; this is often in addition to the truck being physically immobilised to stop it being driven off the bay. When a vehicle is being “live loaded”, i.e. loaded through the back while the trailer is connected to a tractor unit, or it is a single truck, one of these measures is perfectly sensible, but immobilising the truck makes all the others unnecessary. Some depots do not allow the driver to disconnect the truck so as to remain in the vehicle, and others demand we hand over the keys and wait in their waiting room (with no guarantee of how long) even when the truck is not coupled. It appears that somewhere along the line, a group of managers has sat in a room and brainstormed everything that could go wrong, or has ever been known to, and everything they could do to prevent them, then done all of them when only one or two would be sufficient. The measures are imposed from the top down, not in consultation with drivers who typically are not unionised at all. The result is that drivers are told: these are the customers and what the customer wants, the customer gets, and if you don’t like it, tough.

So, you can go round schools telling the kids that truck driving is some sort of enjoyable, varied career where they can get to see the country and meet people, but the truth is that large parts of it have been taken over by a few small companies where the senior management are remote from the workforce; they are impersonal and have a long list of demeaning, often pointless rules. The family firms where the boss started out as a driver in his dad’s firm are mostly long gone. There will be a lot of waiting around, a lot of repetition and a lot of physical work and facilities will be poor. A lot of schoolchildren will be used to that, of course, but might have been looking forward to being treated like an adult, something that is getting rarer and rarer in this industry. If they want to recruit or retain drivers, they will need to look at how they treat the ones they have, because people will not tolerate being treated like dirt indefinitely.

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Israeli blockade sees famine close in and food, water and medicine supplies dry up.

Displacement is bitter. But staying put nearly cost the lives of a family in north Gaza.

Our family home in the so-called Netzarim Corridor was used by Israeli snipers and then destroyed.

Israel's "Morag Corridor" has destroyed the fruitful land of my agrarian childhood.

‘Any strategy based on either phasing out fossil fuels in the short term or limiting consumption is a strategy doomed to fail,’ says former PM

Severin Carrell is the Guardian’s Scotland editor.

Keir Starmer is not expected to campaign in the Hamilton byelection, a critical contest for Scottish Labour which takes place in early June, Anas Sarwar has confirmed.

I wouldn’t expect Keir to be campaigning in the byelection. That’s not to say he won’t, but I’m not expecting Kier to campaign in the byelection.

I’ll be on the stump campaigning for a Labour win. I’m the candidate for first minister next year. I’m the one that wants to remove the SNP from government.

Next year, we’ve got to demonstrate to people that for all Nigel Farage might want to come here with his easy answers and create a bit of a circus, the reality is a vote for Reform only helps the SNP. If you want to get rid of the SNP, only Scottish Labour can beat them.

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Claims that Brussels has been inactive miss the point.

Bridget Rochios says that women in Gaza are unable to receive any prenatal care at all.

Cryptocurrency is Deek’s last chance to succeed in life, and he will not stop, no matter what.

“Desire for status and prominence is one of the diseases of the heart.” – Al-Ghazali

“It is not the man who has too little, but the man who craves more, that is poor.” – Seneca (Roman Stoic)

Moonshots and Degen Trades

Deek had two computers and three monitors running at once as he checked his cryptocurrency investments, tracking a different trade on each monitor. His office, if you could call it that, was crammed into the walk-in closet of the master bedroom of his home, which made for a isolating and stifling work experience. He had two fans going, which still barely managed to keep him and the two computers from overheating.

He wiped his face with his t-shirt sleeve, and snagged a potato chip out of a family-sized bag. He owned over sixty different cryptocurrencies, most with a total value less than $100, but only actively tracked two or three at a time. Some were moonshots, which were extreme longshot trades that could potentially make him rich, or could decline to zero. A hundred bucks here, two hundred there. Others were long-term positions, meaning he would hold them until this bull run hit its peak, at which point he would convert them to stable coins and hold for the next cycle.

Still others were major short-term trades into which he dropped between one thousand and three thousand dollars. These were meant to be held for less than an hour, or even just fifteen minutes. They were degen trades, for that was what traders like him were called – degenerates. Extreme risk takers. And that was fine with him, he could live with the label.

In fact he loved it, he was proud of it. He went where other traders were afraid to go, took the risks they would not take, and that’s why he would be rich one day when others were crawling in the dust praying for airdrops, like dogs waiting for digital scraps to fall into their mouths.

Not him. He would make his own future, inshaAllah. He always remembered to ask Allah, and trust in Allah, for though Allah had denied him success thus far, he knew he could never achieve it without the will and permission of his Creator.

Prove Them All Wrong

He’d been doing this for five years and he knew full well that no one believed in him. Most people couldn’t tell a crypto from a corncob, but even so, in the beginning, a few people had found what he was doing interesting, and had encouraged him. His wife, for one. His friend Marco. Zaid Karim, that dynamic young private detective who was his wife’s cousin’s husband. And… Well, that was about it.

As for everyone else – the mosque community, his wife’s friends, and his own two sisters – he knew how they spoke about him, what they thought of him. He was a deadbeat husband, staying at home pursuing a fool’s errand while his wife supported the family. His two children had to attend community college because he couldn’t pay for a state university. He was a slob and a wreck, and had let himself go. He was running the family into the ground, and would bankrupt the household in the end. He was almost sixty years old, and had accomplished nothing of note in this life.

All those superior doctors and engineers at the masjid, with their hundred thousand dollar donations to the Islamic center, their Mercedes SUVs and big houses in north Clovis. One brother even came to Jum’ah in a white Lamborghini, which Deek found disgusting considering all the Muslims around the world who were starving and suffering.

These people all looked down on him, they thought he was a nobody. They discounted him. He could attend an event at the center, walk in and out, without anyone talking to him. As if he were invisible. He was a joke to them. But he would show them who Deek Saghir really was, and what he was capable of.

For the last five years he’d poured everything he had into crypto. He ate crypto for breakfast, he sweated it through his pores, he breathed it in at night when he slept. He studied and traded every day, and every day he learned something new.

He could break down for any listener the difference between proof-of-work and proof-of-stake, he could explain DeFi, layer 1’s, layer 2’s, Solana meme coins vs Ethereum meme coins, why XRP was doomed to fail, why Solana would succeed while Cardano and Avalanche would not, which was the best software or hardware wallet, tokenization of real-world assets using NFTs, and even lesser known crypto technologies like ZK rollups and oracles.

In five years he’d made small fortunes three times, and three times had lost them all. The biggest of these fortunes had been two hundred thousand dollars. The first time it happened, the first time he lost it all, as he saw it crashing in real time, he’d been on his knees, begging Allah, sobbing and saying, “Why are you doing this to me, Allah? Why? What have I done?”

Go The Distance

But Zaid Karim, whose wife Safaa was Deek’s wife’s cousin, and who Deek admired tremendously, had told him, “Allah does not hate you, Deek. He wants good for you. He gave you that sharp intellect and steel-trap memory. Life is waves, it’s peaks and troughs. Prove you can persist, show that you can go the distance, and you will succeed, inshaAllah.”

So Deek had dusted himself off, telling himself, “Go the distance… Go the distance.” And the second fortune had come more easily, and the third – the big one – more easily still, though he’d lost them as well. But he had not despaired. He knew now that he could do it, and do it again, and so he would.

Crypto was his life, and if he did not succeed it would be his death, emotionally at least. But he would succeed. He would prove them all wrong! And it would happen soon, he could sense it. He was a hungry dog who can smell food nearby. His day was coming. He only had to keep going.

His wife Rania peeked around the corner. “Dinner’s ready, baby.”

She was a gorgeous Iraqi-American woman, petite and darker skinned than most Iraqis, which Deek found exotic and lovely. Her hair was cut into a pixie bob and dyed red. Deek preferred the natural black color, but she was lovely nonetheless. She’d put on weight in the twenty years they’d been married, but Deek didn’t mind. It made her more of a real woman.

And of course Deek himself had put on weight too. Quite a lot of it, actually, to the point where it was embarrassing to take his shirt off. He felt uncomfortable in his own body. His torso felt heavy and unwieldy, and his knees rickety. He could barely tie his own shoes. He felt like a stranger in his body. He no longer exercised, or painted, or even read books. He rarely prayed. All he did anymore was obsess over crypto. He used to play racquetball but hadn’t done it in years. And he ate too much junk food, sitting here in front of the monitors.

Lonely

“I made roasted chicken,” Rania added. “With gorgonzola potatoes and green beans. Your favorite.”

Deek’s mouth began watering, but… “I can’t,” he said regretfully. He glanced from the computer screen to his wife’s face, then back at the screen. “I’m waiting on a token that’s about to bond. I have $2.5K riding on it, I literally can’t take my eyes off it.”

Rania remained looking at him, only her head in the closet. “Baby…”

Deek gritted his teeth, steeling himself for the inevitable criticism disguised as loving advice: You’ve taken this crypto thing as far as it can go, I’m the only one bringing in money, we’re behind on the bills, the kids never see you, you’re not taking care of yourself, why don’t you register as a substitute teacher, you could try graphic design, or even apply for a state job. It’s time to live in the real world – and on and on.

But Rania didn’t say any of those things. She only said, “I’m lonely.”

Deek felt like he’d been stabbed in the chest. He wanted to cry for shame for letting his wife down, not only tonight but for the last twenty years. But he could not abandon this trade, it was critical.

“What about the kids?” he asked.

“Amira is studying at her friend’s house, and Sanaya is working a late shift at the store.”

It embarrassed Deek that Sanaya, who was 19 and a sophomore at city college, had to work full time to have enough money to pay for her own expenses, like car insurance, gas, clothing and even textbooks. He loved his two girls like the trees loved the sun. But he had never been financially successful, even before he started trading crypto. When the girls had been young they had wanted to go to Disneyland and Great America, but he hadn’t had the money to take them. One year they’d wanted to go to ISNA to see their Islamic studies teacher speak. Another year they’d wanted to take ice skating classes. And so on. And every time the answer had been no, he couldn’t afford it.

Now they rarely asked for anything anymore. In fact they hardly spoke to him at all.

“I’m sorry honey,” he said. “I have to watch this trade.”

Rania sighed, and it was a heavy sound, like an anchor tumbling down into the deepest ocean trench in the world. She left to eat alone.

Rug Pull

Deek turned back to the monitor just in time to see that the biggest trade he’d been monitoring, a $2,500 purchase of a meme coin called Hippo Fairy Dust, had just been rug pulled. The chart showed a steady green climb to about $75K market cap, then a vertical red plunge to nothing. The owner of the token, or one of the primary investors, had pulled the liquidity, panicking the remaining buyers and causing an instantaneous crash.

Instantly Deek hit the sell button, hoping to salvage whatever he could. A notice came up: SLIPPAGE EXCEEDED. Dammit! The trade had failed because the price was falling too fast. He increased the slippage to 25%, ignoring the warning that popped up, and hit SELL again. The trade went through… He received $90 He’d just lost $2,410, which was over 50% of his entire crypto net worth.

His hands balled into fists as he suppressed a scream. It wasn’t fair. He’d checked this token for any vulnerability. No one owned more than 3.5% of the token, and a portion of the liquidity was locked. It was supposed to be rug-proof. But he knew full well that experienced scammers could find ways around these things.

He pushed his chair back from the computer and ran into the wall behind him. His heart felt like a jagged chunk of dry ice. If someone struck him with a hammer his body would shatter and fall into pieces. He felt a pressure in his chest, and thought he might be having a heart attack. The pressure and pain increased, rising toward his throat, and he realized it was an acid attack.

He rushed to the bathroom, making sure to close the door so Rania wouldn’t hear, and vomited half-digested potato chips into the sink. The pressure in his chest abated but did not disappear, so he stuck two fingers down his throat and vomited again, then again once more. At that, the pain was gone.

Patience Is At The First Blow

He returned to his computer station and sat. There was a part of him that wanted to curse and demand answers from Allah, but a bigger part of him knew that there was still a chance for success, and for that he needed Allah. He had to stay on Allah’s good side.

Imam Saleh had said something during a khutbah that had always stuck with him. He’d said, “Patience is at the first blow. That first moment when you’re hit with terrible and even devastating news, that is the moment of the test. That is the moment when you say, ‘Qaddar Allahu ma-sha’ fa’al. This is Allah’s decree and He does what He wills.’ Or, ‘Laa hawla wa laa quwwata illa billah. There is no striving and no strength except in Allah.’”

So that was what Deek did. He dropped his head into his hands and ran his fingers through his curly hair, and said, “Qaddar Allahu ma-sha’ fa’al. Laa hawla wa laa quwwata illa billah. Alhamdulillah for everything.”

He lifted his head and for a long time sat like a lizard watching for an insect to eat. His eyes moved blankly from one monitor to the next, his mind empty. Something would come to him. Some idea would bubble up out of his brain like a subterranean creature rising to the surface. He reached into the potato chip bag and popped a few chips into his mouth. There was no thought of giving up. That concept did not exist in his world. Crypto was his last gasp, his life’s moonshot.

A Mistake or A Scam?

A thought occurred. He had not checked his SolFlare wallet lately. His primary wallet was Phantom, but he’d also created a few others, not wanting to keep all his funds in one place. He’d downloaded and tried the SolFlare wallet for the first time recently, but found it unwieldy, and had stopped using it. Nevertheless there was some money in it, including a few moonshots he’d put money into a few weeks ago.

Unlike the Phantom wallet, which he used on his computer as a Chrome extension, the SolFlare wallet was on his phone. He dug the phone out of his pocket, and used his thumbprint to open the wallet.

The total dollar value balance of the wallet showed at the top.

$1,769,251.02

One point seven million dollars.

Deek stared, uncomprehending. He gaped at the number with wide eyes, then glanced around the closet at the hanging clothes and white stucco ceiling, as if confirming that he was awake and not dreaming. He looked back at the wallet. His chest felt heavy, and he realized that he had stopped breathing. He took a deep breath, and let it out. His lower lip began to tremble and his eyes grew wet.

Was it possible that this was a mistake? Or a joke? Or a scam? Yes, it must be a scam, that was the answer. He’d seen scams like this before.

Nearly the entire $1.7 million was due to a meme token called New York Zilla. He’d purchased $300 worth of it two weeks ago on a crypto launchpad called Pump fun. The token had just launched, and he’d been one of the first buyers. Because of this, his $300 had gotten him a full 10% of the supply. Now, according to SolFlare, the token had risen to a total market cap of over $17 million.

He must try to sell the token. That would be the proof, one way or another. But how much should he sell? If he tried to sell it all, it would crash the price of the token and he would receive considerably less than the listed value.

He would sell 10% of his holdings, which would be only 1% of the total supply. Not enough to start a panic. He laughed softly at his own foolishness. This was a scam. The token would turn out to be frozen, or there would be no liquidity, so he would be unable to sell. Something incredible like this could not happen to him. Good things did not gravitate to him. He was a failure and would always be so. This was definitely a scam.

With a mouth as dry as Mojave desert dust, licking his cracked lips, he set up a trade of 10% of his holdings, and hit the sell button.

Part 2 will be published next week inshaAllah

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

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

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

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As Light As Birdsong: A Ramadan Story

 

The post Moonshot: A Short Story [Part 1] appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

We speak with We Are Not Numbers editor Ahmed Alnaouq, discuss Pope Francis’ support for Palestine, censorship at 60 Minutes, resumed resistance operations in Gaza and more.

Man held in Italy over killing of worshipper in French mosque amid growing concerns over Islamophobia

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French Muslim leaders have said more must be done to counter anti-Muslim hatred in France after a man was arrested on suspicion of stabbing a young worshipper to death inside a mosque in a southern village.

Olivier A, 21, a French national born in Lyon, surrendered to police in Italy on Sunday after three days on the run, French prosecutors announced on Monday morning.

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Groups such as Muslim Votes Matter and The Muslim Vote are hoping to gain support from those who feel left out of the major parties and disenchanted by the status quo

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When I first arrived in Melbourne four years ago, my introduction to the country’s political landscape came in an unexpected form – posters.

They bore the image of a fellow Afghan from the Cameleers’ era, accompanied by the curious label: Aussie. I spent weeks pondering its significance and discovered much later that this striking image was the work of Australian artist Peter Drew, who sought to challenge the exclusivity of national identity and acknowledge the often overlooked histories shaped by the White Australia policy.

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Shadi Khan Saif is a Melbourne-based journalist and former Pakistan and Afghanistan news correspondent

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Inshah Malik, blinded at age 14 by a pellet gun fired by an Indian soldier at a Kashmiri freedom demonstration in Srinagar

Since the terrorist attack on Indian tourists in Kashmir this week, in which two of the attackers were reported to be Pakistanis (which according to the Hindu nationalist/fascist government in India implicates the whole state of Pakistan), Zionists — Jewish and not, and in this case not — have sought to draw connections between India and Israel and Pakistan and the Palestinians, on count of both of the latter being Muslim (mostly in the case of Pakistan, more than half in the case of the Palestinians). I came across this profoundly ignorant tweet the other day, by someone who has spent the time since October 2023 gleefully repeating every bit of pro-Israel propaganda she can get her hands on while also cheering on Donald Trump’s repressions against anti-genocide protesters in the US:

India was formed in 1947, with Muslims going to Pakistan. They’ve been dealing with terrorism ever since. 

Israel was formed in 1948, with Muslims going to Palestine. They’ve been dealing with terrorism ever since.  

It’s so interesting to me that I’ve never heard anyone ask if India has a right to exist.

On this evidence, Brianna Wu seems to know nothing about the history of India and Pakistan, why Pakistan was formed and why there has been conflict between the two states intermittently since they were formed (as part of Britain’s withdrawal from its empire) which has ramped up in the past ten years or so. The conflict originated because the Hindu maharaja of Kashmir sided with India while its majority Muslim population sought to join Pakistan. Pakistan ended up with what are known as the “northern areas” as well as a small part of the Kashmir valley known as Azad (Free) Kashmir; India ended up with most of the valley, the majority Hindu Jammu area (the province is called Jammu and Kashmir) and Ladakh which is majority Tibetan Buddhist. However, this left a large population of Muslim Kashmiris marooned in India under an often oppressive occupation.

India has not “had to deal with terrorism ever since”. It does not have to maintain control over Kashmir; that is their choice. Whatever terrorism has taken place is not aimed at Indian Hindus for just being Indians or Hindus but at ending India’s occupation of Kashmir. It is also dwarfed by India’s violence against ordinary Kashmiris as well as that of the fascistic movement which rules a number of states in India and from which the prime minister, Narendra Modi, comes. To give a recent example from Kashmir itself, Indian troops have fired pellet guns at not only peaceful demonstrators but also ordinary people going about their business and even at people just looking out of their home windows, resulting in people losing their sight including some children. Over the years, Muslims in much of India, the north-west in particular but intermittently in other states (e.g. Karnataka in the south-west), have been subjected to a reign of terror which has included orchestrated pogroms with state collusion, lynchings of innocent Muslims (often on the pretext that they were in possession of beef), rapes, destruction of homes, mosques and businesses either by mob burnings or by legal and bureaucratic means, and deprivation of citizenship for Muslims living in border areas. This has all been amply reported in the international media over many years; the destruction of the mosque at Ayodhya in 1992 by an organised Hindu mob made front-page news here in the UK. Ten years later came the Gujarat pogrom, in which there is clear evidence of state collusion.

There is another crucial difference between India and Israel, which is that the supremacist movement that dominates India is not based on a recent history of oppression or trauma. There is no Hindu equivalent of the Holocaust (not that the Palestinians are to blame for that; the country principally responsible is now on Israel’s side). Much like the Serbian nationalists in Europe, it exploits grievances from centuries and dynasties long past to foment hostility to their peaceful neighbours to further their eventual aim of a ‘pure’ Hindu nation. In more recent history, Hindus and Muslims (and Indians of other religions, such as Christians and Buddhists) were oppressed together by the British colonials: the exploitation of India’s resources to fuel the British industrial revolution (at the expense of India’s own industries), the punitive taxation, the regular famines (such as the one in eastern India in the 1940s which killed between 800,000 and 3.8 million) which have not reoccurred since independence. Muslims have in nothing like living memory oppressed Hindus in India, yet Hindu chauvinists find ways to whip up their flock to hate their Muslim neighbours.

Wu’s tweet also utterly overlooks the complexities of Partition. Muslims did not all just go to Pakistan; there are more Muslims in India than in Pakistan. The majority of those who relocated were in the Hindi-speaking north of the country, and in Punjab and Bengal (the majority of Muslims here relocated to what is now Bangladesh, as did a large body of Muslims from Bihar, to the west of Bengal). Until the rise of the BJP and the associated fascist movement, many Indian Muslims considered their position to be superior to that of Pakistanis as India had remained a democracy, Muslim sensitivities were respected in law and customs that were different from those of Hindus remained legal, and the country was in some ways more prosperous than Pakistan (although there are more extremes of wealth and poverty than in Pakistan). Outside of Kashmir, there was no reason for there to be any terrorist campaign. It was Hindu fanatics who started one.

Brianna Wu is the same age as I am; she is old enough to have read of some of the major developments in the world’s biggest democracy in mainstream newspapers, radio and TV channels. She is choosing to gloss over the closest thing nowadays to a KKK-style regime of terror against a minority community, one that employs lynchings and mob violence on a regular basis while the authorities sit and watch, by portraying the victims as the terrorists. This is, of course, the history of her party, the US Democratic Party which ruled much of the United States (including her home state of Mississippi) on a similar basis, with African Americans disenfranchised and subject to mob violence, legally mandated segregation and public lynchings for several decades from the 1890s to the 1950s. (Wu is white; her husband is of Chinese background.) She has stated recently (after previously denying it) that she is considering another run for office, having been defeated in a primary in Massachusetts in 2018. If this is the future of American liberalism, a wilfully ignorant bigot who cheers on a criminal administration as they round up legal immigrants for lawful protest, denies an obvious genocide and pretends not to notice the state terror that threatens to lead to it in another country, one with a billion population where a ‘small’, less sophisticated genocide could claim more lives than the Holocaust, there really is no hope for her already benighted country.

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An Israeli attack on a charity kitchen west of Khan Younis on 7 April killed 7 people waiting for a meal, including 3 children.