A bitter, angry man encounters the object of his resentment at a Ramadan iftar, and is forced into a profound realization.

Familiar Sights

On my way to iftar, driving through the streets of the lower middle class Los Angeles barrio where I’d been raised, my eyes roamed over the familiar sights that I had missed for so long: the low-slung buildings and palm trees, mini-malls and donut shops, taquerias and churches. SubhanAllah, there was the little plaza where I’d learned to skateboard. That spot over there had been the heladería where Mamá used to take me, except it wasn’t an ice cream shop anymore, they’d torn it down and built a gourmet grocery store.

There was the alley behind the community center where a group of Salvadoran toughs had robbed me and beaten me until I couldn’t walk. I fought back, and hurt a few of them, but they put me in the hospital. Except that now the community center was gone, replaced with pastel-colored condos, complete with a white lady in yoga pants walking her poodle. In fact, there were a lot more white people around than there used to be. My barrio was gentrifying.

I hadn’t ever wanted or expected to move back to the States, but my father had just celebrated his 75th birthday, and was no longer steady on his feet. My brothers and sisters were all busy or had moved away and didn’t want to return. I had a thriving career in London, not to mention a wife, but I loved my father, and I couldn’t leave him by himself. So here I was.

My wife Osaka had remained behind. She was a scientist working for a company that developed capture and harvesting solutions to remove microplastics from the environment. Her job was indispensable, and she was not willing to leave at this time. It was okay, we would work something out, inshaAllah. I loved her and she loved me. We’d been through hard times and had always overcome, by the will of Allah. We would figure it out.

Hard Times in London

I left this city fifteen years ago after a disastrous marriage engagement and breakup that had left me feeling like roadkill. Yasmin, the woman I was engaged to, broke up with me the day before the wedding, leaving me scrambling to inform the invitees and vendors, and with costs that could not be refunded. More than that, she left me deeply embarrassed, angry and humiliated.

So I did the only thing I could think of: sublet my apartment, said goodbye to my dad, put most of my personal belongings in his garage, packed a bag and flew across the sea to the UK, a location I picked with no forethought. I was a skilled photographer and was confident I could find work. For the first few years I lived in a dingy basement studio and survived on potatoes, beans and frozen fish fingers, as the Brits called them. I lived near a Sainsbury’s – a posh shop – and sometimes the more expensive food got remaindered, and I would treat myself to a whole guinea fowl for £2.50.

At the same time I agonized over the failure of my relationship with Yasmin. I knew that I had done everything I could. But still I was deeply depressed. In fact I felt like someone had reached inside me with a giant spoon and hollowed me out. I also harbored an intense hatred for Danya Nilson, the quack therapist Yasmin used to see, who I was convinced had turned her against me. I fantasized about what I would say to Nilson if I ever saw her again. How I would scald her with my words, then walk away. Or maybe I would snub her entirely, showing her how little I thought of her.

So I plunged myself into my work. I roamed London, taking candid photos of its inhabitants, exploring my new city through a camera lens. I was given a show in a gallery. I published selected photos in the newspapers and magazines. Eventually I worked my way up through the journalism ranks to become the senior photography editor at the Guardian, one of the best newspapers in the world.

Dodged An Artillery Shell

Along the way I met Osaka, a Japanese convert to Islam who became my wife. She was a tender, loving, kind woman – nothing like the negative-minded creature who’d dumped me – and yes, I was aware that I’d dodged not just a bullet but an artillery shell, and that everything had worked out for the best, alhamdulillah. I was truly grateful to Allah for pulling me out of the quicksand, even when I hadn’t known I was drowning.

Within a handful of years, Yasmin had faded to a sad memory, while I forgot Danya Nilson entirely. Life in London was good. My father came out to visit two or three times a year, and I took him around to the local masjids, Piccadilly Square, and a cruise on the Themes. Two Latinos exploring the most cosmopolitan city in the world. You couldn’t find decent Latin American cuisine in London if your life depended on it. but my father learned to love fish and chips.

There came a point when my father could not travel comfortably anymore, and now he had difficulty walking. So here I was, back in this sprawling city at the western edge of the world.

Converts’ Iftar

I’d been invited to this converts’ iftar at Masjid Al-Mu’mineen, the masjid that my father had co-founded and that I had practically grown up in. I was not actually a convert, as my Colombian father and Mexican mother had already been Muslim for ten years when I was born. But being Latino made me automatically a convert in some people’s eyes, plus I imagined a lot of people here still remembered me. I was excited to see my friends from the past. It would be strange, like meeting a group of friendly ghosts. If they asked me about the past – the breakup and all that – it would be fine, I would dismiss it with a word or two.

I wasn’t worried about running into Yasmin. Her life had gone from frying pan to fire, from what I’d heard. She’d moved away from L.A. and ended up cleaning houses in Alabama, apparently. One rumor said Yasmin had spent time in prison for bank fraud. It didn’t matter to me, I’d made my peace with it.

I parked down the street from the masjid and walked toward it, carrying a tray of apple empanadas. I’d tried to convince my father to come to the iftar, but he had only recently begun relying on a cane to walk, and it embarrassed him, though he would not admit it. Typical Latino machismo.

I saw an African-American woman also walking toward the masjid, carrying three paper shopping bags. She was in her 60s and seemed familiar. As I watched, the handle on one bag tore, and strawberries spilled onto the sidewalk. I hurried to her, greeting her with the salam. Balancing my tray of empanadas on one hand, I picked up the strawberries, then cradled the bag in one arm.

“Amir Domínguez!” the woman exclaimed. “ Is that you?”

“Yes, Auntie Sarah.” She had been one of my mom’s friends when I was a kid.

“As I live and breathe. MashaAllah, mashaAllah. Are you here visiting your dad?”

“I’ve moved back, actually.”

“Allah bless you. Your dad’s a stubborn one, he’ll never admit he needs help.”

I chuckled. “I know it.”

“Is your wife here too? What’s her name again?”

“Osaka. No, not yet. We’re… figuring it out.”

We were almost at the door of the masjid when a woman’s voice called out, “As-salamu alaykum!” I looked over my shoulder – and felt my blood run cold. There was no mistaking that tall, thin form, those sharp Scandinavian features, and the trademark black turban that she wore piled on her head. It was Danya Nilson.

Fifteen Years Ago

My relationship with Yasmin was going downhill, and I knew it. In the beginning it had been so sweet and beautiful that when it turned sour, I couldn’t let go. I say “relationship,” but we were both practicing Muslims, so this consisted of me going shopping with her occasionally, accompanying her to events at the masjid, taking her and her son to the park, and so on. She told me she loved me, and she made me feel like I was king of the world. Most importantly, she prayed, she spoke the name of Allah often, and her voice was gentle and soothing.

Except when it wasn’t. I knew she was the product of a broken home, and I knew she had issues, but I did not care. Yasmin was smart and beautiful – very desirable – and I was blind. We were engaged to be married, and I was sure that once we were actually married, and I could hold her in my arms and soothe her fears and occasional fits of anger, all would be well. But the moments of sweetness and kindness became fewer and farther in between and were replaced with anger and sarcasm. She began expressing doubts about our future, and about me in particular. She shouted at me sometimes and ignored me at other times.

I noticed a pattern. Yasmin had a mentor, a Swedish immigrant named Danya Nilson, who was well known in the community as a self-proclaimed life coach and therapist. Nilson’s advice came from palm reading and “aura reading,” which involved holding one’s head in her hands and humming. Her therapies, from what Yasmin told me, included intense aromatherapy and sensory deprivation, for which she had an actual metal tank in her home. None of these therapies were cheap.

Yasmin believed in all of this completely. She probably spent a third of her monthly salary on Danya’s therapies. She wanted me to visit Danya with her and to go through the therapies as well. I refused. I didn’t put down Danya or her work. The palm reading was nonsense, but I wasn’t qualified to judge the validity of the other “therapies.” But I made it clear that it was not my cup of tea.

After that, I noticed that every time Yasmin visited Danya, her attitude took a turn for the worse. She invariably came back with odd criticisms of me that she had never expressed before:

“I’m concerned that your mother dying when you were young may have damaged your respect for femininity.”

Or, “You undoubtedly have PTSD from your rough childhood. How will that affect my son?”

Or, “Your patriarchal desire to possess me is concerning. I’m not an object for you to control.”

I couldn’t understand why my intelligent, loving fiance would let herself be brainwashed. I went to a few of the community elders and made inquiries. One, an African-American brother who had co-founded Al-Mu’mineen with my father, told me that Danya Nilson was well known for splitting couples apart. She herself had been married and divorced five times, and was now in a lesbian relationship.

The most damning assessment came from Auntie Sarah: “Danya is a fraud who preys on vulnerable women. She has your fiance under her thumb. Unless you submit to her as well, she will never allow Yasmin to marry you. She will poison her against you.”

I wish I had listened, but I spent another three months trying to fly a plane that had already lost its wings. I’m not proud of it.

I went to see Danya Nilson myself once. I told her that I was dedicated to Yasmin’s happiness, and that I wanted to get my relationship back on track. She asked me to be treated by her, and I said no. At that, Danya shook her head. “You men,” she sneered. “Darling, a woman’s sexual energy is more powerful than anything. It comes from mother earth, and amplifies the power of the earth’s core. The only thing men want is to control it. If you can’t do that, you try to destroy it. Well I won’t let you do that.”

I threw up my hands and walked away.

Two days before the wedding, Yasmin gave me an ultimatum: Be treated by Danya Nilson, or else. I refused, and told her not to worry, that once we were married all would be well. The next day she broke it off, and we never spoke again.

An Old Hate

When Danya Nilson called out her salam to me in front of the masjid, all the old hatred and resentment rushed back like cement into a mold, rooting me in place. All the old negativity and bitterness that I had forgotten, I now tasted in my mouth like acid. This woman had ruined my life, poisoned the woman I loved, and caused me years of heartache.

I stopped walking, paralyzed. What would I do? Would I cut her down verbally, as I had vowed in the past? Would I ignore her? I didn’t know what to do.

I had not wanted this. I had forgotten about this woman. It had not occurred to me that she might still be part of the community, and might even be here at Masjid Al-Mu’mineen. I did not need all this anger and resentment. I didn’t want it back. Yet, I realized now, I must have been carrying it all along, like a man with an unseen blood clot flowing through his veins, and he only finds out when it causes a stroke. I had never truly forgotten or forgiven.

Auntie Sarah took my arm and pulled me forward. “Don’t worry about her,” she said.

“As-salamu alaykum!” Danya called out, louder. Feeling like I had a golf ball in my throat, I did not reply, and I noticed that Sarah did not either. I dragged my feet.

“As-salamu alaykum!” It was a shout this time. Had she recognized me? Did she know I was ignoring her? Or was she simply indignant that some Muslim was ignoring her salam?

Which was something I could not continue to do. I had grown up attending Masjid Al-Mu’mineen Islamic school. I knew my religion, and I knew Allah’s instruction in the Quran, in Surat An-Nisaa:

“And when you are greeted, respond with a better greeting or at least similarly. Surely Allah is a ˹vigilant˺ Reckoner of all things.”

Returning the salam was an obligation. So I turned and replied, “Wa alaykum as-salam.”

I Know You

“Darling,” Nilson said. “Could you help me carry some things inside?”

“Let me set down the stuff I’m carrying,” I replied woodenly, “and I’ll be right back.”

I went into the masjid, which was already crowded, set down my empanadas and Auntie Sarah’s strawberries, and went back out. Standing beside the open trunk of her car, Danya Nilson indicated an ice chest. “Can you carry this?”

Standing this close to her, I saw that she had aged terribly. Yes, fifteen years had passed, and she must be about sixty or, but she seemed older. Her face was deeply lined, and while she had always been slender, now she seemed thin to the point of being frail.

She studied my face, then said, “I know you from somewhere.”

So she didn’t even remember me. I’d spent days and nights nursing my hate for her, and she didn’t know me. I lifted the ice chest, which was heavy, and lugged it inside.

When I set the ice chest down, Nilson touched my shoulder. “You’re Amir Domínguez.”

I simply looked at her. “Did you need anything else?”

She shook her head expressionlessly. “No, darling. Jazak Allah khayr.”

Oranges Like Candy

The seating and dining tables had been set up in the backyard. After fifteen years in London, eating outdoors seemed strange. But this was Los Angeles, where oranges grew like candy, and sunglasses were as important an accessory as shoes.

I looked around and saw many people I knew. I sat at a table with a group of brothers, some of whom were excited to see me, and some youth I did not know. We talked about fasting, the cost of real estate, and politics, but I was mostly silent. I was noticing something inside me: I felt lighter.

Part of me was chiding myself: Why had I replied to Danya Nilson’s salam, and why had I helped her? I had planned for years how I would spurn and humiliate her. Or at least tell her off to her face. Let her know how much pain she’d caused me. Yet when I’d had my chance, I had helped her carry an ice chest! What was the matter with me? Why was I such a wimp?

Another part of me, however, felt lighter, and not just a little, but a lot, as if I’d been carrying two heavy boulders on my back for years, and had just set one of them down.

Plates of dates and quartered oranges were set on the tables. I made dua’, praying for my late mother, may Allah have mercy on her, as well as for my father’s health, my marriage, and the suffering brothers and sisters of the Ummah.

The adhan was called, and I helped myself to an orange piece, which was shockingly delicious. SubhanAllah. I ate another, and another, until I had eaten the equivalent of two oranges.

A Disturbing Sight

After salat I got two plates of food, one for me and one to take home to my dad. There was bottled water to drink, but I never drank out of plastic bottles. Microplastics from bottled water were being recognized as a major source of illness. I saw that Danya Nilson’s ice chest contained glass juice bottles. But I didn’t want anything from her.

I sat with the brothers. With the advent of nightfall the air had cooled. I had forgotten this about L.A., how the breeze could sweep in off the ocean at night and chill you like a popsicle. I had on a warm jacket – no self-respecting Londoner would go anywhere without an overcoat – but looking around, I saw something that disturbed me.

Danya Nilson sat at a table in the women’s area, alone. There were five or six tables for sisters, and all of them were nearly full, but Danya was alone. She wore no jacket, and she was visibly shivering with cold.

I felt my mouth go dry. I didn’t understand this. I knew that Nilson had at least five grown children, three of them girls. Where were they? And why was no one sitting with her? A sickly old woman in a gathering of at least thirty women, yet no one attended to her. Maybe people didn’t like her – after all, I myself hated her, right? But what about human decency?

I took my plate, went to Danya’s table and put my coat over her shoulders. Her head swiveled in surprise, and when she saw me her eyes went wide.

I sat down across from her at the table. We ate in silence for a few minutes.

An Awkward Conversation

“I heard you moved to Europe,” she said finally.

“The U.K.”

“Are you married?”

I debated with myself how to answer. I didn’t want to be rude, but I also didn’t want to give her too much information. In the end I simply said, “Yes.”

“Alhamdulillah, that’s good.” She smiled. “I’m glad for you.”

“Brother Amir,” she said after another minute. “Could you be a darling and fetch me one of those organic juice bottles I brought? And one for yourself too.”

I didn’t much care for the word fetch, but I did so. The juice was very good. Uncomfortable with the silence, I asked about her children. She told me frankly that her eldest son had been killed in a shooting. Another son was in prison. One daughter had become a pediatrician and lived in San Francisco. Another daughter had left Islam and become a Wiccan priestess, of all things. The youngest daughter still lived at home and was doing a Masters at UCLA.

We did not talk about Yasmin at all.

Light as Birdsong

Another sister finally appeared and sat beside Nilson and began to chat with her. Feeling tremendously relieved, I left Nilson with my coat and excused myself, taking the plate of food I’d made for my dad, and another plate of desserts I scooped up for both of us.

Sitting in my car, I found my hands shaking. Even my breath was ragged. I felt so light, as light as birdsong, as light as the wind through the trees, as light as moonbeams. I felt as if I would float away. It shocked me.

There was a story I’d heard many years ago, and I remembered it now:

The Man From Paradise

In the blessed days of Madinah, the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ once sat with his companions when he made a striking statement:

“A man from the people of Paradise will now enter.”

All eyes turned to the entrance of the mosque. A man from the Ansar appeared, his beard still wet from ablution, his sandals in his left hand. He looked ordinary, not someone known for exceptional acts of worship. Yet, the Prophet ﷺ had just testified to his place in Paradise.

The following day, at a similar gathering, the Prophet ﷺ made the same declaration:

“A man from the people of Paradise will now enter.”

Once again, it was the same man.

And again, on the third day:

“A man from the people of Paradise will now enter.”

And again, the same man.

Among those who had witnessed this repeated testimony was Abdullah ibn Amr ibn al-As, a companion known for his devotion and pursuit of knowledge. He was intrigued, even restless. What was it about this man that earned him such a lofty station—Paradise, confirmed by the Prophet himself—while others, who fasted and prayed long into the night, were never singled out in such a way? Determined to find out, Abdullah approached the man after the gathering.

“I had a disagreement with my father,” he said, “and I swore not to return home for three nights. Would you allow me to stay with you during that time?”

The man agreed, and Abdullah became his quiet guest.

For three days and nights, Abdullah observed everything. He watched the man pray. He joined him for meals. He stayed awake to see if the man rose in the night for extra prayers, or spent long hours in remembrance. But nothing stood out. The man prayed the obligatory prayers, performed no exceptional fasts, and spoke little. His life was simple, sincere, and seemingly unremarkable.

Finally, Abdullah revealed the real reason for his visit. He told the man about the Prophet’s repeated testimony, and confessed his own curiosity.

“I have seen nothing extraordinary in your deeds,” he admitted. “So what is it? What is the secret that earned you the Prophet’s praise and the promise of Paradise?”

The man thought for a moment. Then he said,

“What you have seen is all there is. But there is one thing I do every night: Before I sleep, I forgive anyone who has wronged me. I cleanse my heart of hatred, envy, and resentment. I do not bear ill will toward any Muslim. I ask Allah to purify my heart before I rest.”

Abdullah ibn Amr smiled. “That,” he said, “is what we (the rest of us) cannot do.”

This is Ramadan

I had known this story for much of my life, but suddenly it hit home in a way it never had. In that moment, sitting there in the car, I understood why this practice of nightly forgiveness had made that man one of the people of Jannah. Hatred and resentment are the enemies of iman. The two are opposites, they cannot both thrive in the same soul.

Yet true forgiveness is so hard. We hold onto our grudges like secret treasures. As if letting them go would cost us something. When the reality was the opposite.

I did not imagine that Nilson was now my friend. It wasn’t about that. I had set down something intolerably heavy. I’d been cleansed of a poison that had settled in the tissues of my body like arsenic.

This is what Ramadan is, I thought. I had experienced many Ramadans, some better than others, but never before had I felt what I did at this moment, that by simply talking to an old woman and putting my coat around her shoulders, I was living Ramadan in the realest way, maybe for the first time in my life.

This is what Ramadan is. Not hunger and thirst, not eating suhur and iftar at a certain time, praying at night, and so on. Yes, those things were important, but if I couldn’t purify my soul, then what was I doing? If I couldn’t change, then what was my ibadah for?

I rubbed my face. I imagined that this experience might seem small and silly to someone else. But I felt shaken. I felt I’d had a moment of huda, of profound guidance.

Someone knocked on my window, startling me. It was Nilson.

“Darling,” she said. “You forgot your jacket.”

I rolled down the window and took it, thanking her, and she walked away. I started the car and pulled out with the window open. The cold Pacific breeze whipped my hair, waking me up. The streetlights had come on, and the moon was low and full in the eastern sky.

THE END

 

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:

My Best Ramadan – Four Stories Of Ramadans Past

A Hassan’s Tale Story: No Strings On Me

The post As Light As Birdsong: A Ramadan Story appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Humanitarian aid blocked at Gaza crossings for more than three weeks in longest denial of relief yet.

People find new ways to prepare familiar dishes as Israel uses food as a weapon of war.

Fulvio Martusciello is embroiled in the controversy dubbed Huaweigate.

The entire way to the next shelter, my grandfather repeated, “I want to go back to my home.”

This Ramadan, MuslimMatters is pleased to host the Institute Of Knowledge‘s daily Ramadan series: Ramadan Reflections. Through this series, each day we will spend time connecting with the Qur’an on a deeper, more spiritual, uplifting level.

Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4, Episode 5, Episode 6, Episode 7, Episode 8, Episode 9, Episode 10, Episode 11, Episode 12, Episode 13, Episode 14, Episode 15, Episode 16, Episode 17, Episode 18, Episode 19, Episode 20, Episode 21, Episode 24, Episode 25

Transcript

In this episode, I will be going over some of the verses of Surah Hujarat, surah number 49. It’s a very beautiful and instructive surah, in which Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala lays out key principles for community building. A lot of social interactions are governed by these principles that Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala has given to us in this surah, and of course throughout the entire Quran. And these principles are supposed to serve as the foundation of how we build a community.  

 We, as human beings, are social creatures. We live with other people. We live with our families. We live with neighbors. We live in a community and a society. We have certain rights and responsibilities towards each other. Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala tells us very specifically what a person has to do to ensure that their relationship with the people around them is sound. This particular surah was revealed in Madinah where the Prophet ﷺ and the Sahaba رضي الله تعالى عنهم were talking about the relationship between the people around them, who were building a new community. And this community was to be the model for all communities that were to come until the end of time.  

 Throughout this surah, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala mentions seemingly very small things, which can become very big problems within the functioning of a healthy community. For instance, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala mentions that when a person is presented with a piece of news, then they should verify it. They shouldn’t just take it as is because false information and misinformation can go around very easily and can often lead to devastating circumstances.  

 Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala also instructs the Prophet ﷺ to be someone who resolves conflicts because conflicts cannot be allowed to fester within a community. This is because the believers are ultimately brothers for each other. So when the Prophet ﷺ was presented with a conflict between two parties, the Prophet ﷺ was to be the neutral mediator to ensure that the aggrieved party felt heard, and their concerns were addressed. Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala also mentions that we shouldn’t call each other with names that are degrading and demeaning because it shows a sense of arrogance that a person might have towards someone else. 

 Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala also tells us not to backbite, not to spy on each other, nor to have uncharitable assumptions that are sinful. This is because sinful assumptions oftentimes lead to actions such as backbiting, which is one of the slow-acting poisons of a community. It can dissolve the bonds of trust that take so long to build. And the result is that nobody knows who to trust. In Surah Al-Hujuraat ayah 13, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala mentions the following:  

يَـٰٓأَيُّهَا ٱلنَّاسُ إِنَّا خَلَقْنَـٰكُم مِّن ذَكَرٍۢ وَأُنثَىٰ وَجَعَلْنَـٰكُمْ شُعُوبًۭا وَقَبَآئِلَ لِتَعَارَفُوٓا۟ ۚ إِنَّ أَكْرَمَكُمْ عِندَ ٱللَّهِ أَتْقَىٰكُمْ ۚ إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ عَلِيمٌ خَبِيرٌۭ ١٣ 

“O humanity! Indeed, We created you from a male and a female, and made you into peoples and tribes so that you may ˹get to˺ know one another. Surely the most noble of you in the sight of Allah is the most righteous among you. Allah is truly All-Knowing, All-Aware.” (Quran 49:13) 

 That, oh people, we have created you from a man and a woman; and we have placed you in tribes and groups so that you can recognize within each other the greatness of Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala because you are the creations of Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala. Allah gives us a very simple standard by which He will judge all of creation on the Day of Judgment, which is: إِنَّ أَكْرَمَكُمْ عِنْدَ اللَّهِ أَتْقَاكُمْ (Quran 49:13). Meaning, the most honorable among you are those who are the most conscious of Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala. This is a very instructive lesson for us when we think about community formation and community building. 

We, as human beings, have, of course, divided ourselves based on our languages, ethnicities, races and genders, based on social classes, based on our accolades and achievements, based on our money, based on our personalities, and our socio-economics. We have many ways that we have division. But Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala reminds us that ultimately all of that will be for nothing because this is all temporary. The only thing that will allow you to exceed someone else is if you are closer to Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala. And this very simple principle allows equal footing and equal grounding for every individual. No one is superior to anyone else, other than how much effort they put in their personal relationship with Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala. 

In a world where we are divided in so many different ways, either consciously or subconsciously, having a very simple principle like that doesn’t make a distinction between how long a person has worshipped Allah; how long a person was Muslim; or where a person is in the world, or what their background is, or what their gender might be, or anything that we might use to think of ourselves as better than others. Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala says that all of you will be judged on this one standard. That is the standard all of us should be aspiring towards so that Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala has mercy upon us on the day of judgment.  

May Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala guide, bless and protect us all and give us the ability to build a community that is healthy, functioning, spiritually uplifting, and creates equal opportunity for all of us for us to connect with Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala.  

والله أعلم وبالله التوفيق 

 

The post IOK Ramadan 2025: How to Build a Community | Sh Zaid Khan appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Palestinian prisoner deaths rapidly escalating since 7 October 2023.

Questioning The Modern Condition Through Fasting

In a world fragmented by postmodern uncertainty and angst, where does one find substance and meaning beyond fleeting subjectivity? Even before that, let us start with a recognition that there is indeed a crisis of meaning in the modern world and that its root causes are spiritual. And, as neo-liberal consumer culture commodifies existence, the immediate question that strucks one’s conscience is: has the human self lost its metaphysical grounding? Kierkegaard’s (Danish theologian, philosopher, poet, and social critic) argument further augments this assertion when he says that the most dangerous thing in this world is to “loose oneself.” In the absence of critical consciousness, the Muslim subject finds itself operating in spaces that are not of its own making and under the illusion that it is free.

In his book The Rise and Triumph of the Modern Self, Carl Trueman explores the same question—how modern identity has shifted from a stable, community-rooted self to a fluid, ‘expressive individualism’—a term that Charles Taylor coined—that prioritizes immediate material realities over external truths. He argues how the rise of this modern self-expressive human subjectivity was predicated on fundamental changes in how the self is understood. And, as the end product of this modern project, he asserts, lies the following progression:

“The self must first be psychologized; psychology must then be sexualized; and sex must be politicized.”

Also, in his luminous essay, ‘No Activity Without Truth’, Frithjof Schuon further complicates this question:

“That which is lacking in the present world is a profound knowledge of the nature of things; the fundamental truths are always there, but they do not impose themselves because they cannot impose themselves on those unwilling to listen.”

Those truths, so often derided in the modern world, can be found in tradition—and by this term we mean something very different from the jaundiced senses it has accumulated in the modern mentality (‘the blind observance of inherited customs’, and the like).

Quranic Paradigm

“The Qur’anic paradigm of selfhood is not one of perpetual reinvention based on psychological impulses but of disciplined refinement through divine remembrance” [PC: Masjid Pogung Dalangan (unsplash)]

In contrast to this prelude, we analyze how the Qur’an foregrounds a critical ontological paradigm—one that situates human subjectivity within the orbit of divine sovereignty. The enactment of sacred law and submission to a transcendent metaphysical order constitute a counter-hegemonic force against the neoliberal ethos of neo-liberalism and expressive individualism. Within this framework, fasting is not a mere ascetic discipline but a radical ontological rupture—a recalibration of the self that dismantles the regime of desire and the fictive constructs of modern identity. Against the imperative of self-authorship, fasting inaugurates an antinomian freedom: a negation of corporeal appetites that paradoxically affirms the primacy of divine transcendence. The Qur’anic paradigm of selfhood is not one of perpetual reinvention based on psychological impulses but of disciplined refinement through divine remembrance.

This process of purification aligns with Ibn Arabi’s view of the self as a divine mirror, reflecting God’s attributes through continual self-realization. For Ibn Arabi, the true self is not shaped by psychological impulses or societal constructs but is a direct reflection of the Divine. Fasting, in this context, serves as a means of purifying the heart (tazkiyah) and removing the veils that obscure the Divine Light, aligning the self with its ultimate source. As the Qur’an states:

“Is he who was dead, and We gave him life and set for him a light whereby he walks among people, like him whose similitude is in darkness, whence he cannot emerge?” [Surah Al-An‘am; 6:122]

Thus, fasting emerges as an ascetic technology of the self—one that not only purifies but also functions as a metaphysical conduit to transcendence. Through an ontological attunement to the divine attributes, the self undergoes a process of de-subjectification, severing its entanglement with the epistemic crises of modern skepticism. In this reconfiguration, fasting reorients human interiority toward the eternal luminosity of the Divine, reinstating a metaphysical anchoring that subverts the atomized self of late modernity and reconstitutes subjectivity within the horizon of the sacred.

The Pursuit of Spiritual Purity and the Ideal Model

In one’s journey of faith, the search for spiritual purification and transcendence is a constant endeavor. But have you ever considered an exemplary model that surpasses human limitations? Let us reflect upon a luminous, cosmic paradigm that transcends worldly dimensions and offers guidance through its radiant presence.

This model is none other than the realm of the angels—beings created from pure light, free from sin, devoid of base desires, and unburdened by human needs such as food, drink, or reproduction. They exist in perpetual obedience to the Divine, as Allah states:

“And they say, ‘The Most Merciful has taken a son.” Exalted is He! Rather, they are [but] honored servants.”

“They do not precede Him in speech, and they act only by His command.” [Surah Al-Anbiya’; 21:26-27]

The deeper we delve into the concept of faith in angels, the more we find ourselves immersed in a realm of spiritual beauty that manifests the grandeur of the Creator and instills within our souls a profound sense of belief in the unseen.

The Connection Between Humans and Angels

One may wonder: is it possible to attain such a level of spiritual purity? How can a human being compare to the angels? While angels are unique entities of the unseen realm, and Allah creates what He wills beyond human comprehension, there exists an intrinsic relationship between humankind and the angelic order—one that traces back to the very creation of Adam . When Allah commanded the angels to prostrate before Adam, it was a recognition of the noble essence imbued within the human soul—an essence capable of love and devotion to the Divine. As the Qur’an states:

“When your Lord said to the angels, ‘Indeed, I am creating a human being from clay.”

“So when I have proportioned him and breathed into him of My Spirit, then fall down in prostration to him.”

“So the angels all prostrated together.” [Surah Sad 38:71-73]

Fasting: A Divine Invitation to Spiritual Elevation

“Through fasting, the soul ascends, joining the celestial ranks of the luminous angelic beings.” [PC: Abdullah Arif (unsplash)]

Have you recognized how deeply Allah loves you? He has granted you an opportunity to taste this state of spiritual purity, not as an abstract concept, but as a lived experience. This opportunity unfolds over an entire month—wherein you abstain from food, drink, and desires from dawn until sunset, liberating yourself from the constraints of the body. This profound meaning is reflected in the divine hadith:

“Every act of the son of Adam is for him, except for fasting—it is for Me, and I alone shall reward it. He abandons his food, drink, and desires for My sake.” [Sahih al-Bukhari & Muslim]

Through fasting, the soul ascends, joining the celestial ranks of the luminous angelic beings. However, a fundamental distinction remains: while angels are created in a state of inherent obedience, you consciously choose this spiritual discipline through struggle and devotion. This conscious elevation is a manifestation of divine honor, as Allah declares:

“And We have certainly honored the children of Adam, and carried them on land and sea, and provided them with good things, and preferred them over much of what We have created, with clear preference.” [Surah Al-Isra’ 17:70]

Thus, fasting is not merely an act of abstinence but a transformative ascent, elevating the human condition beyond its earthly limitations.

 The Parallels Between Angelic Existence and Fasting

Angels are entirely devoted to Allah , detached from worldly distractions, and engaged in ceaseless worship. They do not deviate from divine command, as the Qur’an describes:

“O you who have believed, protect yourselves and your families from a Fire whose fuel is people and stones, over which are [appointed] angels, harsh and severe; they do not disobey Allah in what He commands them but do what they are commanded. [Surah Al-Tahrim; 66:6]

In a similar manner, fasting begins with the renunciation of food, drink, and desires, but it extends far beyond these physical abstentions. Over the course of a month, the believer undergoes an internal transformation, distancing themselves from sinful inclinations and training the soul in swift obedience to divine commands. The discipline of fasting cultivates a state of heightened spiritual awareness, where the soul detaches itself from all distractions except for the remembrance of Allah .

This process mirrors the angelic state, for they are not merely free from physical sustenance but from all forms of disobedience and negligence. Thus, fasting is a passage from the visible realm (ʿĀlam al-Shahāda) to the unseen world (ʿĀlam al-Ghayb), bridging the gap between what is known and what lies beyond perception. It allows the believer to witness its external manifestations while simultaneously embarking on a metaphysical journey into the unseen, achieving a radical transformation in their spiritual consciousness.

Fasting as a Response to the Crisis of Modern Subjectivity

In an age where modern subjectivity is fractured by hyper-individualism and material excess, fasting emerges as a radical act of resistance—a return to a higher order that transcends the crisis of hyper-sensory immediacy. The human self, lost in the abyss of consumerism and nihilism, finds renewal in the discipline of fasting, reclaiming a sense of purpose beyond fleeting desires.

For Ibn Arabi, the self is in perpetual unveiling, a mirror reflecting divine attributes, yet veiled by the distractions of the lower world. Fasting, then, is not merely abstinence but an ontological purification, a stripping away of illusion to reveal the self’s primordial connection to the Divine. By mirroring the angelic order, fasting reminds us that true freedom is not in indulgence but in surrender, for as Ibn Arabi states, “When the soul is purified, it perceives with the light of God.” It is in this conscious transcendence that the believer reorients existence, bridging the seen and unseen, rekindling faith.

Let me conclude with some beautiful lines from Rumi to which I have returned many times on my own faltering journey:

“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.”

 

Related:

– Why We Fast: The Theological Danger Of Awkward Apologetics

– The Ramadan Of The Early Muslims I Sh Suleiman Hani

The post Fasting As An Entry Into A Transcendent Cosmic Realm appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

After disaster struck, all three faiths are worshiping under the same roof, forming a microcosm of peaceful coexistence

Entering a sacred space like the First United Methodist church in Pasadena can stir emotions. Curious visitors often wander through the church doors, attracted by its gothic exterior, and instinctively start to whisper.

The space on Colorado Boulevard – a busy thoroughfare that doubles as part of the Rose Parade route every New Year’s Day – has always felt holy, said the Rev Amy Aitken, the pastor. Now she wants it to feel like a safe space for two other religious groups that are sharing the facilities for worship: the Islamic Center of Southern California and the Pasadena Jewish Temple and Center.

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This Ramadan, MuslimMatters is pleased to host the Institute Of Knowledge‘s daily Ramadan series: Ramadan Reflections. Through this series, each day we will spend time connecting with the Qur’an on a deeper, more spiritual, uplifting level.

Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4, Episode 5, Episode 6, Episode 7, Episode 8, Episode 9, Episode 10, Episode 11, Episode 12, Episode 13, Episode 14, Episode 15, Episode 16, Episode 17, Episode 18, Episode 19, Episode 20, Episode 21, Episode 24

Transcript

In this episode, I wanted to reflect on a verse from Surah Ash-Shura, verse number 27, where Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala presents us with a hypothetical scenario and the consequences of that hypothetical scenario, had He allowed it to happen. Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala says:  

۞ وَلَوْ بَسَطَ ٱللَّهُ ٱلرِّزْقَ لِعِبَادِهِۦ لَبَغَوْا۟ فِى ٱلْأَرْضِ وَلَـٰكِن يُنَزِّلُ بِقَدَرٍۢ مَّا يَشَآءُ ۚ إِنَّهُۥ بِعِبَادِهِۦ خَبِيرٌۢ بَصِيرٌۭ ٢٧ 

Had Allah given abundant provisions to ˹all˺ His servants, they would have certainly transgressed throughout the land. But He sends down whatever He wills in perfect measure. He is truly All-Aware, All-Seeing of His servants. (Quran 42:27) 

 Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala says that had Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala given in abundance to all of His servants, then they would have transgressed on the earth. But Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala sends down or gives in proportion to what He wills. And indeed, Allah is all-aware and all-seeing of His servants. This particular verse reminds us of the outcomes of our du’as. We believe Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala is all-seeing, all-hearing, and all-knowing of our du’as. Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala accepts all of our du’as, hears all of our du’as, and knows what we will ask for before we even think of asking for it. Yet, when a person makes du’a, they obviously do not see the outcome of their du’a as they wished for it, all the time.  

 So how are we supposed to believe or expect from Allah when it comes to the acceptance of our du’as? Well, we have one of three outcomes. Number one, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala gives you exactly what you had wished for, what you had asked for. It might be soon. It might be later, but you get exactly what you asked for. And if you think about it, this is going to be perhaps the smallest category of outcomes simply because if Allah had granted every person exactly what they wish for, even though He has the power to do so, then this world would be in chaos. So, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala does not give us always exactly what we ask for. This leads to the second outcome of all of our du’a’s.  

 The second outcome of all of our du’a’s is that Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala, instead of giving us exactly what we ask for, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala gives us something else in return. It might be something that we never expected. It might be something that we never considered. It might be something that we never thought about and we never thought it would be better for us. But, Allah, in His wisdom and knowledge and mercy, knows that it is better for us. So instead of what we ask for, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala gives us something better. And we believe in this. In lieu of our du’as being given in any other form, Allah could also remove a trial or a difficulty from our life. We don’t know what challenges may be placed in our lives and what challenges may have been removed because of our du’as. We might not have known about that challenge, or we might not have asked Allah to remove that challenge from our life. Yet, in lieu of granting us exactly what we wished or giving us something else in return, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala, in His wisdom and mercy, removes a harmful difficulty from our life.  

 Outcome number three is where a person’s du’a is kept in reserve in the hereafter. Meaning, they are able to ask Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala for anything that they wish in the hereafter and Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala will grant their du’a in the hereafter. And Allah reminds us through this ayah why it is exactly like this that everything that we ask for is not granted to us in this world, even though it is very difficult to accept at times. Because we, in our finite perspective, think we know what is best for us and we ask Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala for a particular outcome; we work towards a particular goal; and ultimately, we see that all our efforts have been for nothing. Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala has not granted it to us exactly what we wanted. 

 And a person can feel very despondent. A person might feel that their du’a was not accepted. That’s why they weren’t granted this particular blessing, which they truly wanted. But Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala says that if He had given everything that his servants had asked for, if the world was literally open to us and the treasures of the world were accessible to every person, then which one of us would turn to Allah in a time when there was no du’a in the hereafter? When there was no need to? Which one of us would turn to Allah when we seemingly had everything that we needed at our feet? Would you and I turn to Allah Subhanahu Wa Ta’ala if we didn’t have anything to ask for? 

 Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala’s wisdom in holding back some of the things is for our own benefit. It’s for our own good because Allah knows that perhaps, if He were to grant us this blessing, it would take us further away from Allah. It might cause a difficulty that we would be unable to overcome. We don’t know. But, we trust in the judgment of Allah. We trust in the knowledge of Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala. And we trust in the fact that Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala has absolutely given us something better in return. Or that we will absolutely get that outcome. Either in this world or in the next.  

 May Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala guide, bless and protect us all, accept all of our du’as, give us the best outcomes of all of those du’as, and give us the ability to accept the outcomes of all the du’as, whether we know it or not. May Allah guide, bless and protect us all.  

The post IOK Ramadan 2025: Why Not? | Sh Zaid Khan appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

“Those who have believed and whose hearts are assured by the remembrance of Allah. Unquestionably, by the remembrance of Allah hearts are assured.” [Surah Ar-Ra’d: 13;28]

 

 

My piercing gaze of blood-burst boiling eyes

Has rent the seven curtains of the sky;

My burning chest is fanned by anguished sighs,

But lips are sealed from ever asking why;

   For one who’s spent a life in racing grief,

   Your name is where he’s fled to seek relief

 

Your name’s the rain that gentle drips on earth –

That gasps like desert traveler gripped by thirst;

Like the desperate pleas of a mother giving birth,

When child comes, will turn to sudden mirth!

   Your name’s the flame that pulses in the cold,

   The only place to place the weight I hold

 

O, friend who’s walked with me on every road!

Friend when I’ve been forced from all abodes!

Friend who’s held me when the grief that snowed

Has melted into gushing tears that flowed!

   You’re this journey’s only constant friend –

   You’re the beginning, you’re the only end

 

Your name is heard in whispers of the breeze,

In songs of larks, in buzz of busy bees,

In conversations between the rustling leaves

That dance upon the gentle sway of trees;

   Your name is heard on hearts in steady beat –

   That accept their loss but won’t accept defeat

 

Your name’s proclaimed like thunderous battle cry,

Or secret love that’s whispered in a sigh;

It sweetens grief like sugar mixed with chai,

Gives life its color like a vibrant dye!

   Your name is life that flourishes in spring

   As winter melts with all the warmth it brings

 

Your name is echoes heard in silent halls;

Your name is drops that rage as waterfalls;

Your name is mortar turning bricks to walls;

Your name is storm-struck mountain standing tall;

   Your name is balm upon my cracking lips,

   The taste of home that comes in frequent sips

 

Come, hold me as my mind’s in trembling shake,

Grasp me in this world in constant quake;

Come, be my cool as I’m burning at the stake,

Or gather shards of heart in constant break;

   Come press your hand against this restless chest

   And bring my bursting heart to long-awaited rest

 

Related:

– Looking To Allah To Save Me: A Ramadan Poem

– The Definition of Fasting – A Ramadan Poem

The post When Calm Descends As Dhikr Ends – A Ramadan Poem appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

“The war didn’t kill us, but this dust might.”

Wafa Aludaini trained English speakers to defend the Palestinian cause.

Post-Eaton fire, congregants who want a quick rebuild are met with a question: how long are they allowed to grieve?

Before the Masjid Al-Taqwa, a mosque in Altadena, was reduced to rubble in the Eaton fire in January, it was a space that belonged to all its worshippers. When the urge for prayer stirred the soul during off-hours, a faithful follower could borrow the key and have the place to pray.

Now without a mosque during Ramadan, members are worshipping in diaspora. The weekly communal prayer services are temporarily held in a park community room. After hours at a Muslim elementary school, members break their fast together. It’s a fragmented spiritual existence.

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This Ramadan, MuslimMatters is pleased to host the Institute Of Knowledge‘s daily Ramadan series: Ramadan Reflections. Through this series, each day we will spend time connecting with the Qur’an on a deeper, more spiritual, uplifting level.

Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4, Episode 5, Episode 6, Episode 7, Episode 8, Episode 9, Episode 10, Episode 11, Episode 12, Episode 13, Episode 14, Episode 15, Episode 16, Episode 17, Episode 18, Episode 19, Episode 20, Episode 21, Episode 24

Transcript

All thanks and praise are due to Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala, and may His peace and blessings be upon His last and final Messenger ﷺ, his family, his companions, and those who follow Him until the end of times.   

 In this episode, I wanted to reflect on two verses from Surah Az-Zumar, verses 36 and 37 where Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala reminds us that He alone is sufficient for the believers and that the help of Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala is sufficient for us to overcome any difficulty, to prevent anything from happening to us and from being destroyed. Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala reminds us, in verse number 36,  

أَلَيْسَ ٱللَّهُ بِكَافٍ عَبْدَهُۥ ۖ وَيُخَوِّفُونَكَ بِٱلَّذِينَ مِن دُونِهِۦ ۚ وَمَن يُضْلِلِ ٱللَّهُ فَمَا لَهُۥ مِنْ هَادٍۢ ٣٦ 

Is Allah not sufficient for His servant? Yet they threaten you with other ˹powerless˺ gods besides Him! Whoever Allah leaves to stray will be left with no guide. (Quran 39:36) 

Meaning, is Allah not sufficient for His servant? And the disbelievers make you fear, or they threaten you with the power of that which they worship other than Allah. And in our context, it might not necessarily be idols, but the people who have power and influence make us fear with their power and influence. That they have the capacity to destroy us, to harm us at will and there’s nothing we can do about it. 

But Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala reminds us, is Allah not sufficient for his servant? Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala reminds us that Allah is sufficient for us even though they make us fear. True power is Allah’s and true protection lies only with Allah. And whomever Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala has let go to be a stray (وَمَن يُضْلِلِ ٱللَّهُ فَمَا), then there is no one that can bring them back (فَمَا لَهُۥ مِنْ هَادٍۢ). There is no one that can guide them. 

Elsewhere in the Quran, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala says that if a person is going astray, it is with the knowledge of Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala because nothing escapes the knowledge of Allah. But this is implied as Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala allows a person to make their own choices because of their arrogance, stubbornness and disbelief in Him. Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala ultimately lets them go to face the consequences. And whoever is on that path, then there is no one that can bring them back to the right path (فَمَا لَهُۥ مِنْ هَادٍۢ) because the only One that can guide is Allah. 

In verse 37, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala says that Whomever He guides, there is no one that can lead them astray. 

وَمَن يَهْدِ ٱللَّهُ فَمَا لَهُۥ مِن مُّضِلٍّ ۗ أَلَيْسَ ٱللَّهُ بِعَزِيزٍۢ ذِى ٱنتِقَامٍۢ ٣٧ 

And whoever Allah guides, none can lead astray. Is Allah not Almighty, capable of punishment? (Quran 39:37) 

 Because Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala is the focal point that we have to focus on, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala has put us on this path and He is the one that keeps us on this path. Then His guides one. If Allah does not will it, then that can take us off this path. And Allah reminds us, as a way of comforting us, is Allah not the one who is mighty (أَلَيْسَ اللَّهُ بِعَزِيزٍ ذِنْدِقًا)? Is Allah not the one who is capable of taking revenge? Is He not the One capable of exacting punishment from the disbelievers and oppressors on the Day of Judgment? 

 Within the last year, we have seen so many atrocities. Hundreds of pictures and videos are coming out of Gaza. We have seen poverty and displacement in Sudan. We have seen constant bombing in Yemen. And we have seen atrocities happening throughout the Muslim world in the last two decades.  

At times, it feels like we are very helpless. It feels like we don’t have any capacity to defend ourselves, influence or control, and that we are simply at the mercy of Allah Almighty. We are at the mercy of people who are willing to harm us for any reason whatsoever. We are at the mercy of those who have no faith. We are at the mercy of those who have no compassion. We are at the mercy of those who are helped by others, who also have no compassion. Our lives, as believers, and as people who think differently, are devalued. And our personhood is dehumanized to the point where, when we have thousands and hundreds of thousands of losses and there is no one that blinks an eye. Or if the people do blink an eye, those that are in capacity, power, and control, do nothing to change the course. It is disheartening at times. And it is very natural to feel disheartened because as human beings, Allah has given us that capacity to feel a multitude of emotions. Yet, our over-the-top, overpowering emotion should always be hope. 

 Is Allah not sufficient for His servant? (أَلَيْسَ ٱللَّهُ بِكَافٍ عَبْدَهُۥ ۖ)? Just like how the Prophet صلى الله عليه وسلم and the Sahaba رضي الله تعالى عنهم had firm faith on Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala and how in the battle of Badr, which happened during the month of Ramadan, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala allowed a small group of believers who were not well-equipped nor fully armed, to face an army who was willing to do them harm, who were fully equipped and intent on wiping out the believers. 

Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala granted the believers victory (أَلَيْسَ ٱللَّهُ بِكَافٍ عَبْدَهُۥ ۖ). It is a reminder for you and I that Allah is sufficient for us. There is no one that we need if we have the help of Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala. In order to receive the help of Allah, we have to constantly turn back to Allah.  

 May Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala guide us and protect us, give us knowledge that benefits us, give us the ability to always turn back to Him, to always ask for His help, and to always be convinced of the fact that Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala is sufficient for us and we have no need for anyone else. May Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala bless us all.  

 

The post IOK Ramadan 2025: Allah is Sufficient | Sh Zaid Khan appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

The cherished tradition reminds us to pause and reflect on our words and actions, and cultivates a profound sense of empathy

With its month-long array of beautiful rituals and meditations, Ramadan offers an enriching pause from the demands of daily life, allowing people to cultivate compassion and prioritise truthfulness in both small and significant ways.

As a Muslim observing the challenging yet cherished daytime discipline of refraining from food and water, the experience within a multicultural landscape is particularly fascinating. In a society often fixated on material pursuits and instant gratification, fasting provides a sense of contentment that cannot be found in worldly possessions.

Fasting has been prescribed for you, as it was prescribed for those before you, so that you may learn self-restraint.

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

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Craig Mokhiber on Israel’s accelerating genocide, Eli Clifton on Trump mega-donor Miriam Adelson aiding free-speech crackdown, Abubaker Abed from Gaza and more.

Remembering a beloved uncle who loved plants and children.

Dozens killed, many missing and near total-destruction in Gaza’s border city.

Accepting government orders is a losing strategy.