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One man’s desperate search for wife as more than 1,000 hajj pilgrims die in extreme heat

The Guardian World news: Islam - 21 June, 2024 - 17:04

Hoda Nagib and her husband had walked 20km in the baking sun in Saudi Arabia while on Mecca pilgrimage

Hoda Nagib and her husband had walked 20km in the baking sun in Saudi Arabia when she told him that she needed to rest. The couple, who are in their 60s, had just scaled Mount Arafat, along with thousands of other white-robed pilgrims on the hajj pilgrimage to Mecca, Islam’s holiest city, where temperatures as high as 51.8C have been recorded in the shade in recent days.

Nagib’s husband left her to perform a ritual known as the stoning of the devil. When he returned she had disappeared, their neighbour Walaa Roshdy explained.

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What Is Your Role In The Story Of Islam? : On Hajj, Eid, And Surat Ibrahim

Muslim Matters - 21 June, 2024 - 15:10

Eid hasn’t felt like Eid of late. I’ve worn my best clothes, put on my best fragrance, recited my takbīrāt, sent a wave of messages, connected with family and friends – but my heart has been weighed by a continuous sense of overwhelming grief as this scripted play of celebration takes place against a backdrop of genocide. Here, we embrace one another in the joy of celebration; there, they embrace one another to seek any morsel of relief from the anguish of continuous loss at the hands of merciless slaughter. Here, we gather with loved ones over food and drink; there, they gather around trucks that should be transporting the little food they have only to find it to be a Trojan horse carrying their murderers. What is Eid to a bystander of mass murder, a powerless onlooker made to watch the endless massacres of his own brothers?

What is Eid but a reminder of my own uselessness? What is happiness but a burden to a heart heavy with the grief of helplessness?

It is in these moments that the eye wanders over to the embellished covers of a small book tucked away in a corner of the topmost shelf of a bookshelf. When the world stops making sense; when the grief begins to overwhelm; when the irreconcilable contradictions inherent in our very being are no longer avoidable; when we can no longer procrastinate from pondering over the incoherence of our existence; that is when our hearts, then our eyes, then our hands reach out to the Quran. O, light emanating from the uncreated speech of God! Come, illuminate the darkness that creeps ever closer to the edges of our souls.

As I contemplate this mix of joy and grief, my mind has been continuously pondering over the story of Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him), but particularly his duʿā in the surah named after him. How strange that this is where I find myself – mixed with joy and grief – when that is exactly where Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) found himself so many millennia ago. This a story that brings hope to the hopeless, power to the powerless, and purpose to the purposeless. This is the story of Ibrahim, Ismāʿīl, and Hājar 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him).

The Story

There are three principal characters in this story: Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him), Ismāʿīl 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him), and Hājar 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him). Each plays a distinct and important role in the final outcome, each is the main character in the act particular to them, and each confronts a kind of grief that is particular to them in order to fulfill their purpose.

The story itself is a perplexing one, something entirely unintelligible to a secular ethos. Ibrahim and his wife Sarah 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) were childless for decades until he was given the gift of a child in his old age with Hājar 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him). Upon his miraculous fatherhood, Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) was ordered by Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He) to leave his son and his mother in the middle of the desert; the land he himself describes in the Quran as “a valley devoid of vegetation.” While the tafsīr tradition is rife with spurious details about the story, the Quran itself offers very little except for a single passage in Surat Ibrahim 35 – 41. Almost all the details in the story are entirely unnecessary to the moral instruction inherent in it, and many of them cast the kind of aspersions on a prophet and his pious wife that are characteristic of other religions that have little respect for their divinely guided figures and are entirely alien to the reverence for prophets and their righteous followers that is necessitated by Islam. What is known is that Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) fathered Ismāʿīl 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) with Hājar 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) and was commanded to leave them in the valley of Makkah.

According to traditions, as he leaves Hājar 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) in a completely empty desert valley, she calls out to and questions him. He is silent until she asks him, “Has Allah ordered you to do this?” When he responds in the affirmative, she replies to him saying, “Then Allah will not abandon us.”

Both Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) and Hājar 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) are certain that Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He) will not abandon them, but each is also animated by a grief that is particular to them.

the story of Ibrahim

Abandoned in the desert [PC: Josh Gordon (unsplash)]

Here is Hājar 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him), a noblewoman given as a servant to Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) and Sarah 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him), who leaves her native Egypt only to be abandoned in a desert with her son at the command of a god she can neither see nor hear. Her absolute certainty in Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He), however, is not decoupled from desperation for her son. This fear is manifested in her famous running between the hills of al-Ṣafā and al-Marwah looking for nourishment until the well of Zam-Zam bursts forth from under the feet of her son.

And here is Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him), who has suffered countless times following the command of his close Friend to proclaim the message of His divine Oneness: thrown to the fire by his own family, exiled by his people, wandering the earth childless and without a home – until he at long last miraculously sires a son at his old age only to be told to abandon that son and his mother in a desert valley. As he leaves his family in such a terrible state, he knows that his Divine Friend is his only vessel for his grief; that the only refuge from Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He) is to Him.

The Duʿā

While the duʿā is long and with significant consequence, I want to focus on two ayahs specifically. In ayah thirty-seven, Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) says the following:

“Our Lord! I have settled some of my offspring in a barren valley, near Your Sacred House, our Lord, so that they may establish prayer. So make the hearts of ˹believing˺ people incline towards them and provide them with fruits, so perhaps they will be thankful.”

There is rhyme and reason behind the commands of Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He) – they are not pointless instructions without wisdom. Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) knows that the wisdom behind His command is to build the Kaʿbah and establish Makkah as a center of worship – that the physical water which flows from beneath the feet of Ismāʿīl 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) will turn to spiritual waters and flood the world in iman. Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) knows that he stands at the head of a story of Islam, and it is that understanding that gives him comfort when he is asked to abandon his family in a lifeless desert. His role is to relinquish; Hājar’s 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) role is to nourish; his son’s role is to establish.

But understanding the wisdom behind a command does not mean a heart is not grieved. He, alayhi al-salām, still has a human heart that beats inside his human chest. And so, before continuing with his duʿā, he turns his grief to Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He):

“Our Lord! You certainly know what we conceal (from grief) and what we reveal. And nothing on earth or in heaven is hidden from Allah.” [Surah Ibrahim: 14;38]

Imam al-Ṭabarī states that the first statement is that of Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him), and that the second statement is Allah’s subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He) response to His Friend. Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him), overcome by the grief of separation from the son he wished so long for only to sacrifice him for a greater purpose, calls out in grief to Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He). And his Lord, his Master, his Divine Friend answers him, telling him that no grief is hidden from Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He).

In this way, Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) is one in a long tradition of prophets turning their grief to Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He). His grandson, Yaʿqūb 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) calls out to Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He)similarly when he says, “I complain of my anguish and sorrow only to Allah, and I know from Allah what you do not know.” [Surah Yusuf: 12;86]. And Allah  subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He) responds to him by returning his Yusuf 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) to him. Yūnus 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) calls out to his Lord and Master, proclaiming, “There is no god ˹worthy of worship˺ except You. Glory be to You! I have certainly done wrong.” [Surah Al-Anbiya: 21;87]. And Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He) responds to his immense grief: “So We answered his prayer and rescued him from anguish. And so do We save the ˹true˺ believers.” [Surah Yusuf: 12;88]

And when the final Messenger of Allah, the Rasūl ṣallallāhu 'alayhi wa sallam (peace and blessings of Allāh be upon him) sits beneath a tree outside Ṭāʿif and calls out to Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He): “O Allah! I complain to you of my weakness, the deficiency of my resources, and my humiliation before people!” And Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He) responded to him by calling him past the seven heavens into his direct presence.

So, too, did Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He) respond to Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him). His response was the establishment of Makkah al-Mukarramah and the birth of the final prophet from the progeny of his sacrificed son. His response was the story of Islam, which includes you and me.

The Sacrifice of Palestinians Will Not Go Unheeded

One of the most powerful motifs in this story is that of mere presence as sacrifice for the sake of Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He). Both Ibrahim 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) and Ismāʿīl 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) sacrifice life as father and son in order to establish Makkah as the epicenter of spirituality on earth. The mere presence of the son is sacrifice. Ismāʿīl 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) sacrifices the comforts of the Levant, a life lived with his father, and the safety of civilization in exchange for establishing and maintaining a sacred sanctuary. His sacrifice establishes his place in the story of Islam.

So, too, is the mere unrelenting presence of the Palestinian people a sacrifice to maintain the sanctity of the sanctuary of al-Aqṣā. Under occupation by a regime with designs on the land, on the people, on the aram itself, the valiant sentries born in the land of prophets and saints give their very breath and blood to protect sanctified land, the first qiblah, the site of the isrāʾ and miʿrāj. And for the crime of that mere presence, they are slaughtered mercilessly and treated with utter indignity.

But like Ibrahim, Yaʿqūb, and Yūnus 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) before them – like the Messenger of Allah ṣallallāhu 'alayhi wa sallam (peace and blessings of Allāh be upon him) – they turn their grief, their anguish, their suffering to the One Who sees all, knows all, and has power over all. They know that they are in obedience to His divine Command to protect the sanctuary; and so, like Ismāʿīl 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) before them, they know that the water that wells up below their feet will turn into a flood of Divine Truth that engulfs the world. They know, as Hājar 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) knew before them, that if Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He) has commanded them, then He will not abandon them. The Lord of the aram of al-Aqṣā will not abandon its people, and their sacrifice will become part of the story of Islam.

What Is Our Place in the Story of Islam?

While we take some solace in the knowledge that Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He) will not allow the sacrifice of the people of al-Aqṣā to go in vain, their story must force us to question ourselves. We have blamed the murderous regime that perpetrates their genocide; we have blamed the allies of that regime for facilitating the brutality of slaughter and occupation; we have blamed the collaborators amongst Muslim leaders around the world for failing to act in defense of our brothers. But how often have we blamed ourselves?

the story of Islam

Where is our place in the story of Islam? [Etienne Girardet (unsplash)]

The truth is that we have all collectively failed the people of Palestine, just like we have failed the people of Sudan, Syria, Kashmir, the Uyghurs, the Rohingya – and the list goes on. We did not fail them in 2023, or even 2003. We have failed them for generations, and that failure is only now being manifested in the grossest way possible. We failed them because we have traded cheap comforts for civilizational purposes. We failed them because we abandoned the project of rebuilding Islamic civilization. We failed them because we stopped believing in the story of Islam.

We have forgotten that we are born a people with a divine mission on this earth. Other people can think that they are born on this earth to experience its pleasures and joys and to expire as painlessly as possible, but we are born the heirs of Ibrahim and Ismāʿīl 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) as the best community brought about for humanity:

“You are the best community ever raised for humanity—you encourage good, forbid evil, and believe in Allah. If only the People of the Scripture had believed, it would have been better for them. Among them are believers, but most of them are defiantly disobedient.” [Surah ‘Ali-Imran: 3;110]

Just like Ismāʿīl 'alayhi'l-salām (peace be upon him) before us, we are born with a God-given purpose to establish the sanctuary of Islam in a profane world, to uphold the banner of lā Ilāha illā Allah in a world where all others uphold the banner of their own desires as their gods. This is not done by simply praying and fasting on our own. It is a civilizational project, one which requires the collective effort of an entire ummah to be pointed spear-like at its objective.

Instead, we have traded our civilizational purpose for the capitalist dream: a car, a house, a small family, and vacations in the summer. We build nothing. We create nothing. We aspire to nothing. We are prepared to sacrifice nothing. And, yet, we are surprised when we achieve nothing and are treated like we are nothing.

What is our role in the story of Islam? This story requires characters who will build its economic, artistic, educational, spiritual, intellectual, and political foundations. What part of its foundation are we going to be a part of building? Are we ready to sacrifice what is necessary to revive an entire civilization? Or are we going to simply be those who complain incessantly but do little and sacrifice less? Because, in the end, this story belongs to Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He). And if we refuse to play our part in it, He will simply replace us with those who don’t turn away so easily:

“Here you are – those invited to spend in the cause of Allah – but among you are those who withhold [out of greed]. And whoever withholds only withholds [benefit] from himself; and Allah is the Free of need, while you are the needy. And if you turn away, He will replace you with another people; then they will not be the likes of you.” [Surah Muhammad: 47;38]

 

Related:

Optimism in Times of Adversity: How The Prophet Did It

Think Like Ibrahim | The Essence of Surah Baqarah | Shaykh Akram Nadwi

 

The post What Is Your Role In The Story Of Islam? : On Hajj, Eid, And Surat Ibrahim appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

More than 1,000 hajj pilgrims die amid temperatures approaching 52C in Mecca

The Guardian World news: Islam - 20 June, 2024 - 18:44

Saudi authorities said they sent away unregistered pilgrims but many appear to have taken part without access to cooler spaces

The death toll from this year’s hajj has exceeded 1,000, with more than half of the victims unregistered worshippers who performed the pilgrimage in extreme heat in Saudi Arabia.

The new deaths reported on Thursday included 58 from Egypt, according to an Arab diplomat who provided a breakdown showing that of 658 Egyptians who died, 630 were unregistered pilgrims.

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The Retraumitization Of A people: Nearly 20 years After Abu Ghraib Made Headlines, Sde Teiman Is Exposed

Muslim Matters - 20 June, 2024 - 17:10

My friends and I joke about our “inner 9/11 voice”. Twenty-three years later it’s still hardwired into our subconscious, fattened with the fear of arbitrary arrests under the Patriot Act – the irony of the acronym was not lost on us, an act named after the very thing we were accused of lacking. It’s a survival mechanism: don’t say that on the phone! Don’t search that up! Make sure you get to the airport 3 hours early; you’re going to be randomly selected.  

It’s not out of nothing the voice lingers. The events and discriminations we faced as Western Muslims are archived in our brains, a chronological snapshot of flashbulb memories. The look on my teacher’s face, the urgency as we were shuttled home. The grim line of my mother’s mouth and the terror in her eyes. George W. Bush’s declaration of Operation ‘Iraqi Freedom’ and the impotent rage in the clenched fists and veins bulging in my father’s forearms.

Are We Not Human Enough?

One memory in particular still haunts me. In 2004, I was 15 years old in grade 10, and learning to live in a post-9/11 Western country as a young Muslim woman in hijab. I had three years of discrimination and Islamophobia under my belt and a litany of horror stories across North America to keep me wary and constantly alert. 

I remember walking into a convenience store one morning and picking up a newspaper. I can still feel the sheer horror and shock that washed over me at the sight of naked men piled atop each other in a sadistic pile of limbs and hoods. It took a couple of minutes for my brain to untangle the image and comprehend I was looking at the contorted bodies of men. Men cowering in front of dogs, men sodomized. I remember looking back and forth between their brown skin and black hair and the starkly contrasting white faces stretched in broad, toothy smiles. I remember one clear thought as I looked into the pixelated eyes of the soldiers: are we not human enough?

Those men could have been my father, uncles, or brothers. Despite being a fairly light-skinned Syrian, their dark skin was strong arms and safety, invoking the troth of blood and kinship. My legs felt numb, my mind went blank, and my ears rang with shock. I went to school that day in a daze. Why weren’t people screaming about this depraved rape and abuse? How were the faces around me smiling and not twisted in fright and repulsion at the sadistic smiles and cocky thumbs-ups? 

That flashbulb memory comes to me often, Abu Ghraib 2004. I believe we lost any remnants of hope and trust when news of Abu Ghraib broke. The tattered shreds of ‘we belong’s and ‘it will get better’s we were clinging to shed silently, leaving us more vulnerable than ever. It was confirmation of the worst kind: the dehumanization of our brown skin and our faith didn’t just make us a perceived threat or a demeaning and time-consuming ‘randomly selected’ at the airport. 

It made us subhuman, not worthy of dignity or decency. It was the humiliation of our men and our honor, screamed silently into a deaf world. Are we not human enough?

Sde Teiman

20 years later, we watched in horror as men and boys were stripped to their underwear and crammed into the open back of a military truck. Brown skin and blindfolds. In the back of our minds, brains programmed by Western powers and their unholy War of Terror, that voice was screaming shrilly: executions or a horrific fate worse than death. 

Isn’t it strange how neural pathways of primal fear, pathways we were taught and worked so hard to break, were reignited like wildfire by that one image? Are we not human enough?

Twenty years later we’re reading the sadistic, sodomized details of Sde Teiman and it is Abu Ghraib all over again. We’re retraumatized, forcibly reminded that despite the passage of time and so-called advances in diversity and equality, our skin and creed continue to make us subhuman. 

Twenty years ago, the photo of a man in a black hood and cape, strung up like a Christmas tree was plastered on front pages setting the tone for what was to come. The headlines were 2004’s idea of a trigger warning: torture, humiliation, sodomy all laid out clear as day. 

Today’s coverage broke softly, with all the force of a warm summer breeze. 

Today Patrick Kingsley of the New York Times writes about Sde Teiman following a rare visit. He buries the lead and prioritizes reporting on his observations, a detailed and tedious description of a farce he must have known was staged for his visit. He then meanders through the story, dropping a progressively more sinister fact every 500 words or so. Like Hansel and Gretel and their trail of breadcrumbs, he surreptitiously treads a fragile path, as though fearing it will crack and break beneath him if he says too much too fast.

It took Kingsley 3317 words before the sodomy of an innocent man using what is described as an electrified metal rod was mentioned. More than three-quarters of the way into his article (87% to be exact; I calculated it) when his readers had probably dwindled to the dedicated few who felt compelled to bear witness. 

Sde Teiman

This undated photo taken in the winter 2023 and provided by Breaking the Silence, a whistleblower group of former Israeli soldiers, shows blindfolded Palestinians captured in the Gaza Strip in a detention facility on the Sde Teiman military base in southern Israel. (Breaking The Silence via AP)

Meanwhile, Julie Frankel for the Associated Press disingenuously refers to Sde Teiman as a “shadowy hospital.” She begins her article by referencing “patients…surgeries…doctors” as though the sole purpose of this place is to treat the wounded, framing this as some act of mercy and kindness on the part of the Israelis. She even goes as far as stating this was the primary purpose of this former military barracks, a complete fabrication. Sde Teiman has field hospitals, and doctors tasked with putting together bodies broken by torture. Its primary purpose, however, is the illegal detention or, more accurately, kidnapping of Palestinian men and youth and their subsequent torture and criminal interrogation. She underhandedly undermines the testimonies of tortured innocent civilians and horrific eyewitness testimonies by writing them off as merely “critics allege.” 

Frankel barely refers to these facts, which are based on whistleblowers, CNN reports, firsthand testimonies, eyewitness statements, and the anonymous confessions of Israeli soldiers and doctors. Instead, she disproportionately favors the Israeli narrative and voice. In fact, she leaves off reporting the Israeli military’s murder of innocent Palestinians until the very end of the article. Her only inclusion of a Palestinian voice comes right after that, burying the extent of torture and the Palestinian perspective underneath the disproportionate Israeli references, justifications, and her whitewashing of these crimes.

Although the structure of Kingsley’s article and the surface-level reporting of Frankel’s irked me the most, I was also disappointed by the decontextualization evident in their articles. Reading this as an account of a ‘detention center’ and the men simply ‘detainees,’ only added insult to injury. The unequivocal truth is holding someone innocent, without charge, legal representation or their family’s knowledge of their whereabouts renders them kidnapped or, at best, hostages. One cannot even use the term “hostage” as Israel wants nothing in return for their release, they merely want to torture, interrogate, and obtain confessions under duress. Adding torture and sexual abuse makes this a torture center reminiscent of Abu Ghraib. Both facts are supported by extensive international humanitarian laws that criminalize torture, secretive arbitrary imprisonment, holding people incommunicado, and inhumane prison conditions. 

Yet none of these caveats and dictates of International Humanitarian law are mentioned in these articles. Kingsley merely alludes to it with a simple “some legal experts say is a contravention of international law” as though this were up for debate and not readily available on the United Nations website and in their reports. 

Neither do they mention how pervasive the torture and illegal imprisonment against innocent Palestinians is across Israel. Both reporters fail to address how systemic these conditions and testimonies are; Israel has a long and sordid past when it comes to the grotesque and inhumane treatment of Palestinians they kidnapped and held. They also go to great lengths to ensure families and lawyers of the kidnapped do not know where they are and have no means of contact with them. Sda Teiman is merely a continuation of this horrific system intent on crippling, torturing and humiliating innocent Palestinians. 

Half-Truth Coverage

Now, I am well aware of leaked internal memos ‘guiding’ journalists on the correct terminology for referring to Palestine, where to start history, and Palestinians displacement and current genocide. However, while that may explain some literary choices, it does not absolve reporters of this half-truth coverage. As journalists and ones tasked with the monumental responsibility of exposing war crimes in the foul and degenerate torture center of Sde Teiman, there is an ethical and moral obligation to apply the best practices of investigative journalism. 

For instance, as is expected in investigative journalism, reporting should counter the statements and claims of Israeli officials, rather than quoting them verbatim. For instance, when the Israeli military denies systematic abuse and claims it may have been invented under pressure from Hamas, it would be relevant to include some of the relevant statistics, such as how many children and innocent women are illegally imprisoned, the extent of sexual abuse and humiliation, the methods of torture, and the Israeli military court’s failure to prosecute any of the soldiers involved. 

Reporting should also humanize these men. Who are they? What family was waiting for them, believing them dead? What stories of horror, fear, and humiliation do they carry, scars on their bodies and minds? Kingsley references the men’s feelings twice, once regarding how long the imprisonment felt and once how a hot metal rod inserted in his rectum felt, and Frankel, not at all. I believe these men, being the complex human beings they are, felt much more than that. 

I stress these points intentionally. Sde Teiman has shown us the world has not learned from the heinous crimes of Guantanamo Bay or Abu Ghraib. In 2003, George W. Bush looked dead at the camera and said: “the people you liberate will witness the honorable and decent spirit of the American military.” Today Israel is no different, claiming to have the most moral army in the world. 

If Bush taught us anything, it’s that even though talk is cheap, it exacts a heavy price from those it demonizes. 

In 2004, when I was 15, I choked on the bile in my throat as proud, strong men were humiliated, tortured, and broken in both body and spirit. 

It’s 2024, and Sde Teiman shows we haven’t learned to care that underneath brown skin, bones break and flesh splits just the same as white skin. Nor have we learned that minds that worship Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He) recoil in horror and humiliation at sexual abuse just the same as minds that worship any other God. 

Perhaps the humanization of these men will grant people the ability to see that. 

Perhaps this will help end this cruelty and prevent the next shameful Abu Ghraib or Sde Teiman. 

Perhaps then, my 11-year-old Palestinian son won’t be putting pen to paper in twenty years, choking back the bile in his throat at the dehumanization and demonization of his skin.  

 

Related:

Podcast: Lost & Found At Guantanamo Bay With Mansoor Adayfi

Uyghurs In East Turkestan Face Forced Starvation

 

 

The post The Retraumitization Of A people: Nearly 20 years After Abu Ghraib Made Headlines, Sde Teiman Is Exposed appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Day 257 roundtable: Gaza's deepening agony

Electronic Intifada - 19 June, 2024 - 21:21

Hope persists despite worsening days in Gaza, with Abubaker Abed (01:47); Nora Barrows-Friedman delivers the latest news highlights (30:20); The duty to document Israel’s genocidal crimes, with Aseel Mousa (53:10); Jon Elmer reports on resistance in Rafah, ambush in Netzarim corridor and Hizballah’s escalation on Lebanon front (01:21:44); Group discussion (02:22:19).

Search for missing pilgrims continues after hajj heat deaths

The Guardian World news: Islam - 19 June, 2024 - 15:26

Relatives seek news of missing loved ones after hundreds reported dead as temperatures hit 51.8C in Saudi Arabia

Friends and family of missing hajj pilgrims have been searching hospitals and pleading online for news, fearing the worst after hundreds died during the annual rites in Saudi Arabia.

Arab diplomats on Tuesday told Agence France-Presse at least 550 pilgrims had died this year, the majority due to heat-related illnesses after temperatures reached 51.8C (125F) in Mecca, Islam’s holiest city.

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The Things He Would Say, Part 1

Muslim Matters - 19 June, 2024 - 00:36

This is part 1 of a two-part short story.

Pakistan Versus Germany

Pakistan versus Jordan football match

The kids were finally asleep, and Murid settled onto the lumpy cushions of their old sofa to watch the Pakistan versus Germany match. These moments of peace, these small pleasures, helped him stay sane.

Next week would be Junaid’s fourteenth birthday. Murid always found himself depressed on his son’s birthday, as it prompted comparisons to the boy’s peers, and reminders of all the things the child would never do, at any age.

The teams were running out onto the field. Pakistan was fielding a strong team this year, but Murid was not hopeful.

Football. That was something his son Junaid would never do. Oh, sure, he could kick a ball randomly, but an organized match? He would never experience the joy of dribbling the ball past an opponent and driving it into the goal.

Junaid was severely autistic. The boy had never spoken and would never speak. He did like to sing – a sort of formless moaning and humming without melody or beat – but language was not within his capability. Drawing interested in him as well, but they were scribbles. He could not dress himself, though he could take his socks off and liked to do so often, as he didn’t seem to enjoy the sensation of material on his feet. It was a bit maddening at times, especially when Murid would be trying to get the boy dressed to go to his special school, and every time he turned around Junaid would pull his socks off.

Junaid could not make a sandwich or get himself a glass of milk from the fridge, though he could hold a spoon or fork and feed himself at mealtimes. He could not recite the Quran or repeat a dhikr. He could not properly do a salat, though at times he liked to mimic his father’s movements of ruku’ or sujood in his own playful way, just as a toddler might do.

The Call to Hajj

Murid desperately wanted to go to Hajj. He was nearing forty years old and had never been able to afford the trip. Now, with the costs associated with Junaid’s healthcare, it seemed impossible. But lately Junaid had been feeling like he was in a deep hole, looking up at a shrinking circle of light.

The cost of living was rising like a hot air balloon. Murid was a land surveyor for the California transportation agency. It was a decent job, but San Diego was an expensive city, and Murid’s salary was not keeping up with spiraling inflation. Every month he found himself poring over the bills, asking himself what costs he could cut. The worry was a pressure in his head that kept growing.

At times, he was overcome by an intense desire to have someone hug him and say, “It’s alright, you’re on a good path, you’ll be okay, and so will your kids.” The feeling was so strong that Murid would pause, even walking down the hallway at work, and once in the middle of a casual after work football match, and wait for the sensation to pass.

He wasn’t a fool; he knew that going to Hajj would not magically solve his problems. But to be at Hajj, on the plain of Arafah, beneath the broiling sun, in ihram, and to plead his case to Allah in that place – it felt momentous. It would change him, though he could not say how.

Always a Child

Murid was not ashamed of his son. He loved him with all his heart. Junaid was happy, for the most part. He liked to hug his father and sit in his lap. He enjoyed watching cartoons, stacking random things on the floor – tomato sauce cans, or toilet paper rolls – and loved it when his younger sister Mina read to him, even if he could not understand the words.

But yes, at times Murid was sad for him. At this age the boy should be preparing to enter adulthood. Any other boy would now be ready to step out of the back row at the masjid, and up to the front row with the men. But Junaid, no matter how his body grew, would always be a child. He would never drive a car, go to university, or marry and have children of his own.

Tomorrow was Jumu’ah, and after work Murid would take the kids to their grandparent’s home for a party. His father would hound him with the usual useless and unkind comments – “You need to stop coddling the boy so he can grow up properly. Take him out of that special school and put him in a normal school. He needs tough love.”

On the TV, Pakistan were pressing Germany, pushing toward the goal, passing the ball flawlessly. Murid exclaimed, “Yes!” and reached for the bag of potato chips on the coffee table.

It’s Too Much

His wife – or ex-wife, since he had filed a divorce in absentia – had enjoyed football as well. He often wondered where she was. In fact “wondered” was an understatement. He imagined feverishly, raged, castigated wordlessly, made dua’, and played and replayed scenarios in his mind.

She had left when Mina was three years old. Mina had not yet spoken a word at that time, and the doctors thought that she too might be autistic. One day Murid had awakened to find his wife vanished, with only a note: “It’s too much, I can’t handle it. I need to find myself. I am sorry.”

She’d never returned, and no one knew where she had gone, not even her parents, or so they claimed.

Murid wondered, had the woman changed her name and become a waitress in some greasy spoon in the middle of nowhere? Had she fallen into degeneracy, giving up Islam, becoming addicted to meth and earning her living as a stripper in a roughneck roadhouse just past the county line? Had she married a rich man, and was now basking in the sun on the deck of a villa on the Adriatic Sea? Or had she gone randomly traveling and been murdered by some flyover state serial killer with the bones of fifty women buried in a cow field?

Potato Chips

“Baba, you know you’re not supposed to eat chips.”

Startled, Murid glanced up at Mina standing on the staircase. A skinny ten year old, she wore pajamas with kittens on them, and her curly hair was flat on one side.

“The salt,” Mina continued, “isn’t good for your blood pressure. The doctor told you so.”

Murid shrugged guiltily. “I read about a study that casts doubt on the link between potato chips and hypertension.”

Mina rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Who funded the study, the national association of potato farmers? Are you trying to say that a bag of chips is the same as a bowl of steamed broccoli, or a nice salad?”

“No, but it sure tastes better.”

“Baba… We need you to be healthy. You know that.”

Murid felt a flash of irritation accompanied by a wave of guilt that nearly knocked him off the sofa. He understood exactly what Mina was saying: Junaid needs you to be healthy. Mina was reminding him that there was no one else in this world who could care for Junaid. That she, Mina, would do it herself but she was too young. That if anything happened to Murid it would devastate the lives of the two people in the world he loved most. He felt ashamed that Mina should have to worry about such things, but what could he do?

Anyone In Mind?

“Fiiine,” he said, clipping the chips bag closed and tossing it onto the coffee table. “No more chips. But we don’t have anything else to eat. I’ll go shopping tomorrow.”

“My friend, you need a wife.”

Murid knew he should be stern with his daughter for addressing him so informally, but instead he turned his face away so she would not see his smile.

“That’s a bit misogynist, isn’t it? Implying that shopping is a woman’s job. Anyway, do you have anyone in mind?”

“Not Juliana.”

Ah, Murid thought. That’s another thing worrying her. “I know, honey bear. She’s just Junaid’s part-time caretaker. And she’s not Muslim. I don’t think about her that way.”

“Okay… Well if you’re waiting for Mom to come back, better not hold your breath.”

Murid frowned. “That’s a low blow. I don’t appreciate that.”

“Sorry. But you can’t stay stuck in the past.”

Murid sighed. Mina was a little too perceptive sometimes. When you combined that with a lack of a filter – the kid just said whatever she thought – it was like living with an Austrian drill instructor / therapist.

“Why are you awake anyway?”

“The TV woke me up.”

Murid promised to turn the volume down, and Mina went back to bed.

The Irony

This was the irony, that Mina had turned out to be a brilliant child. When she finally began to speak it was in full sentences. She was reading her father’s newspaper while other children her age still struggled with Dr. Seuss. She memorized the Quran rapidly and easily, carried out hobby-kit science projects for fun, and taught herself to play the violin. If only her mother had been patient enough.

On the other hand, any mother who would abandon her children was not someone who should be in their lives anyway.

Certainly being the father of such a gifted child was a source of great joy, and a relief as well. It went a long way toward tempering Murid’s sadness over Junaid. That was not to say that he did not love and cherish Junaid. He loved both children equally, no matter what. Nevertheless, Mina made the burden easier to bear. At the very least, Murid knew that one day, when he was gone, Junaid would have someone to watch over him. That was a tremendous comfort.

Watching TV at nightHe fell asleep during the match. He woke in the middle of the night to the sound of breaking glass outside, and someone screaming. That was not unusual in this neighborhood. He had often wished he could move the family to a safer, cleaner area, but this clapboard rat’s nest was all he could afford.

The match was over. An infomercial for a cat-safe fan droned on the TV. Wiping the drool from his chin, he looked up the results of the game on his phone. Pakistan had won 2 to 1. Happy that his team won, but annoyed that he missed it, he stumbled up the stairs and went to bed.

Just before falling asleep he made a dua:

O Allah, allow me to go to Hajj. Open a way for me to visit Your sacred house, Ya Rahman, Ya Raheem. Guide me, show me the way forward. Protect my children, no matter what. O Allah protect my daughter and my son. Whatever you wish to do to me, O Allah, do it; but keep Mina and Junaid safe.

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.

Related:

No, My Son | A Short Story

A Hassan’s Tale Story: No Strings On Me

 

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