Over 85 Muslim scholars, imams, community leaders, and institutions today released a joint statement expressing their view that the governments of Muslim-majority countries, including Arab Muslim nations located near Palestine, can take “immediate and concrete action” to secure an end to the Israeli occupation’s escalating genocide in Gaza.

Signatories to the statement argue that these Muslim-majority nations have the unique opportunity, legal authority, and moral basis to take various steps, such as:

1. Ending any economic, diplomatic, intelligence, and military relationships with the Israeli government, including the so-called Abraham Accords.

2. Announcing consideration of an embargo on global oil and gas sales that directly or indirectly contribute support to the Israeli government’s genocide.

3. Banning the use of their country’s airspace and the use of any military bases within their country to support the Israeli government in any way.

4. Opening their side of Gaza entry points like the Rafah crossing and facilitating the travel of aid trucks, medics, journalists, demonstrators and others who wish to approach the crossing and demand entry.

5. Organizing a unified diplomatic mission to a Gaza crossing with senior government officials personally leading an aid convoy and refusing to leave until Israel allows unlimited aid to enter freely by land routes.

The full statement reads:

In the name of Allah, the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful. All praise and thanks belong to Allah, the Lord of the Worlds. May peace and prayers be upon Prophet Muhammad, his family, and his companions.

Al-Nu’man ibn Bashir reported that the Messenger of Allah, may peace and blessings be upon him, said, “The parable of the believers in their affection, mercy, and compassion for each other is that of a body. When any limb aches, the whole body reacts with sleeplessness and fever.”

We, the undersigned Islamic scholars, religious leaders, and institutions, write today to share our view that the political leaders of the world’s Muslim-majority nations should take greater, concrete action to stop the ongoing genocide of our brothers and sisters in Gaza.

We wake up every morning to see new images of men, women and children in Gaza whose rib cages protrude through their skin because of starvation, whose heads have been hollowed out because of Israeli snipers, or whose bodies have been charred like charcoal because of a bombing.

We also see the Israeli occupation stealing more swathes of land across Palestine and threatening to expel surviving Palestinians from Gaza. We see mercenaries opening fire on crowds of starving Palestinians seeking food.

We see that, even under increasing international outcry, an insufficient trickle of aid enters Gaza while the death toll from both starvation and Israel’s indiscriminate attacks rises daily.

Despite the efforts of various human rights groups, brave journalists, nations like South Africa, and millions of protestors around the world, the Israeli occupation is now reaching the final stages of its campaign of extermination and expulsion.

The common regional response to Israel’s crimes—a foreign ministry issuing a statement of condemnation that calls on unnamed members of the international community to stop the genocide—has not stopped the genocide. Neither have calls for the deadlocked, ineffective and unrepresentative UN Security Council to take action.

Business as usual in international affairs is simply not working.

We believe that the governments of the Muslim-majority nations of the world should not wait for the “international community” to grow a conscience. This is especially true of Arab Muslim nations surrounding Palestine.

We believe that these governments have the unique opportunity, legal authority, and moral basis to take greater, immediate and concrete action to pressure the Israeli occupation to end this carnage.

Although a genocide should matter to every single human being regardless of their faith, this genocide against a predominantly Muslim population carried out by an openly racist, anti-Muslim government should especially matter to the ummah of Prophet Muhammad . So should the fate of Palestine, including Masjid Al Aqsa.

Although we recognize the geographic, financial and military limitations that some governments in the Arab Muslim world face, it appears to us that these governments have many unused tools at their disposal.

Some of these governments control the most important parts of global oil production. Some of them host military bases used to resupply and support Israel. Others control airspace that is critical to the Israeli government and its ability to rearm. One controls a border crossing with Gaza. These nations have leverage. They just haven’t used it.

We therefore today express our view that the governments of Muslim-majority nations should go beyond harsh statements and diplomatic entreaties. Specifically, we believe that these governments could help end the genocide by:

1. Ending any economic, diplomatic, intelligence, and military relationships with the Israeli government, including the so-called Abraham Accords.
2. Announcing consideration of an embargo on global oil and gas sales that directly or indirectly contribute support to the Israeli government’s genocide.
3. Banning the use of their country’s airspace and the use of any military bases in their country to support the Israeli government in any way.
4. Opening their side of Gaza entry points like the Rafah crossing and facilitating the travel of aid trucks, medics, journalists, demonstrators and others who wish to approach the crossing and demand entry.
5. Organizing a unified diplomatic mission to a Gaza crossing with senior government officials personally leading an aid convoy and refusing to leave until Israel allows unlimited aid to enter freely by land routes.

Over the past two years, people around the world have bravely protested to demand an end to the Israeli occupation’s genocide in Gaza. These protesters—many of them not Muslim, Palestinian or Arab—risked their jobs, reputations, and safety to stand up for our brothers and sisters in Palestine.

Now the governments of the Muslim world have an opportunity to reflect the wishes of their citizens by taking brave, unified action to help our brothers and sisters in Gaza.

We believe that if they take the aforementioned steps and use other appropriate tools at their disposal in an attempt to stop the genocide, the entire Muslim world and people of good faith around the world will rally around them.

We close with a prayer.

May Allah grant the highest rank of Paradise to our brothers and sisters who have been martyred in Gaza, heal those injured, and comfort those who have lost loved ones.

May Allah forgive the ummah for failing to do more to help our brothers and sisters in Gaza.

May Allah guide the political leaders of the Muslim world to take effective action for our brothers and sisters in Gaza and uphold justice for all.

May Allah inspire all of us to strive for justice with sincere intentions, wise decisions, effective strategies and successful outcomes.

May peace and blessings be upon Prophet Muhammad , his family, and his companions.
Ameen.

CURRENT SIGNATORIES
Individuals

• Imam Mohamed Abdel Salam,  Puyallup Islamic Community Center (PICC)
• Dr. Ismahan Abdullahi
• Imam Sedin Agic
• Aftab Alam, President, The March 15th Forum
• Shaykh Ibrahim Ali
• Hafiz Ikhlas Ansari
• Nihad Awad, National Executive Director, Council on American-Islamic Relations
• Sheikh Abdullah Ateeque
• Shoaeb Basha, Executive Director, American Muslim Health Professional
• Dr. Hatem Bazian, President of Northern California Islamic Council
• Noorgul Dada, Chairman, Noor Islamic Cultural Center
• Imam Mohamed Dahir
• Dr. Abdelhafid Djemil
• Imam Seyed Ali Ghazvini
•  Imam Khalid Griggs, Executive Director, ICNA Council for Social Justice
• Dr. Ayman Hammous, Executive Director, Muslim American Society
• Dr. Suleiman Hani
• Dr. Altaf Husain
• Imam Ahmadullah Kamal, IQRA Cultural Center
• Muhi Khwaja, American Muslim Community Foundation
• Yasser Louati, Comité Justice & Libertés (Committee for Justice and Liberties)
• Edward Ahmed Mitchell, Deputy Director, Council on American-Islamic Relations
• Shaykh Suhail Mulla
• Imam Saeed Purcell
• Dr. Yasir Qadhi
• Imam Mohamed Mukhtar Sayid
• Emad Sabbah, President and Co-Founder, Ethaar
• Imam Ali Siddiqui, Former Chairman, Peace with Justice Center, LaVerne, CA
• Chaplain Ahmed Shedeed, President, Islamic Center Of Jersey City
• Dr. Omar Suleiman
• Dr. Hebatullah Taha, President of the Board, CAIR Los Angeles
• Imam Suhaib Webb
• Hena Zuberi, Editor-in-Chief, MuslimMatters

Organizations

• • Ahlulbayt Islamic Center of Columbus
  • American Islamic Cultural Center
  • American Muslim Health Professionals (AMHP)
  • American Muslims for Palestine (AMP)
  • Arizona Muslim Alliance
  • Australian Muslim Advocacy Network (AMAN)
  • Center for Education and Research Nahla
  • Center for Religious Tolerance (Masjid Usman) San Diego
  • Comité Justice & Libertés (Committee for Justice and Liberties)
  • Council of Sacramento Valley Islamic Organizations (COSVIO)
  • Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR)
  • Dar al-Hijrah Islamic Center
  • Ethaar
  • Greenview Madani Center
  • Hamzah Islamic Center
  • Hershey Islamic Center
  • Husaynia Islamic Society of Seattle
  • Islamic Center Of Jersey City
  • ICNA Council for Social Justice
  • Imam Council of Metropolitan St. Louis
  • Islamic Council of Victoria
  • Islamic Association of North America (IANA)
  • Islamic Center of Pennsylvania
  • Islamic Center of Irving
  • Islamic Center of Morgantown
  • Islamic Center of San Diego
  • Islamic Circle of North America (ICNA)
  • Islamic Community Center of Atlanta
  • The Islamic Society of Central Delaware
  • Islamic Society of Chester County
  • Islamic Society of North America (ISNA)
  • Islamophobia Studies Center
  • Islamic Center Masjid Al-Sabereen
  • IQRA Cultural Center
  • Kurdish Community Islamic Center
  • Muslim Alliance in North America (MANA)
  • The March 15th Forum
  • Muslim American Society (MAS)
  • Muslim Community of Nassau County
  • MAS Sacramento Region
  • Muslim Anti-Racism Collaborative (MuslimARC)
  • Muslim Community Of Folsom
  • Muslim Girl
  • Muslim Legal Fund of America (MLFA)
  • Muslim Students Association (MSA National)
  • North American Imams Federation (NAIF)
  • Noor Islamic Cultural Center
  • Prince George’s County Muslim Council
  • Rihla Community Services
  • Sacramento Area League of Associated Muslims (SALAM)
  • Shia Muslim Council of Southern California
  • Tri-City Islamic Center
  • US Council of Muslim Organizations
  • We Love Our Neighbors
  • World Council of Muslims for Interfaith Relations

If you are an Muslim institution, scholar, imam, or organizational leader, and you would like to sign the statement, you can do so here.

The post Over 85 Muslim Scholars, Leaders and Institutions Say Muslim Nations Can Take “Concrete Action” to End Gaza Genocide appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Conservative People’s party in Jumilla votes to stop civic centres and gyms being used for activities ‘alien to our identity’

A local authority in south-east Spain has banned Muslims from using public facilities such as civic centres and gyms to celebrate the religious festivals Eid al-Fitr, which marks the end of Ramadan, and Eid al-Adha.

The ban in Jumilla, in Murcia, is a first in Spain. It was introduced by the conservative People’s party (PP) and passed with the abstention of the far-right Vox party and the opposition of local leftwing parties.

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Ruwaida Amer speaks about how she struggles to write or even walk because of the starvation. Jon Elmer reports on the continued high casualties of Israelis in Gaza. And Ali Abunimah on the distraction of recognizing a Palestinian state.

The Colne Valley Viaduct, Buckinghamshire

Recently Radio 4 broadcast a series about HS2 (in ten fifteen-minute parts, starting here), and how it went from being a mere idea on a bit of paper to being a grand infrastructure project, braving objections from well-heeled landowners and householders in the Chilterns and other green and pleasant parts of the country, with big ideas about linking to the Channel Tunnel line and having two branches to the north-west and the north-east to being cut back to merely a shuttle between London and Birmingham. Towards the end, the programme quoted an unnamed chartered surveyor’s explanation for why building anything costs so much in this country: “because we live on a small, highly populated, property-owning, democratic island”; France has more than a thousand miles of high-speed railway, with much more empty countryside for it to sweep through, while China has nearly 30,000 miles of high-speed rail but has centralised power and fewer protest rights. There’s some truth to this, but the crucial point is that this is a small and densely-populated country; that we are a democracy is presented as almost a bad thing, that it would be so much easier if the government could just move people aside at will.

France is twice the size of the UK; China is many times the size of either. France’s major cities are much more spread out than ours are; none of our major cities, except Newcastle, is more than 200 miles from London. By contrast, the French LGV Est (eastern high-speed line) from Paris to Strasbourg is 250 miles long; the series of lines that links Paris with Marseille is 459 miles long. While high-speed lines are planned for the much closer northern cities such as Rouen, Le Havre and Caen (a similar distance from Paris as Birmingham is from London), these are unlikely to open before 2040 if at all, while the main lines to Lyon, Brussels and the Channel Tunnel have been open since the 1990s. Birmingham should not have been a priority for HS2; the priority cities should have been Manchester, Liverpool and Glasgow, and Glasgow was never even part of the scheme. Likewise, of the cities on the eastern leg, only Leeds and maybe Sheffield should have been in on it; Nottingham, Derby and Leicester are already served by the Midland Mainline and none of those places has a population approaching Liverpool’s or Manchester’s. The priority there should be electrification, not replacing a perfectly good rail link directly to central London with a circuitous one to a western suburban station.

Our biggest problem when it comes to infrastructure is that we have chosen wasteful, grandiose prestige projects over smaller but more beneficial ones. The major demand when it comes to rail in the north of England is better east-west links; it is said that you can tell which trains are going to London because they are newer and in better condition. East-west lines in the north are heavily dependent on unelectrified, two-track lines where through trains share space with local stopping trains. Whole tracts of Britain’s rail system remain unelectrified, resulting in diesel pollution especially around termini such as Marylebone and St Pancras in London; in other areas, partial electrification has meant that special “bi-mode” trains have had to be built, carrying diesel for 100 miles or more for use only on the section of track they left out (such as the lines into Bristol and Bath). Meanwhile, collapsing infrastructure is left unrepaired for cost reasons, even as we press ahead with grandiose projects like HS2. In London, Hammersmith Bridge has been left to rot for years, requiring traffic on a major artery to crawl along unsuitable roads around Kew Bridge; in north Kent, a stretch of the A226 has been closed for the past two years following a landslide, and as of March this year “there has been no funding within our budgets for … the continuing work required to progress the remedial scheme to tender and construction” according to the county council. A rail bridge in Woodford, east London, was also closed for “safety reasons” in July 2023 and only last month did the council resolve to replace the bridge and “fight for funding”, wording which suggests that winning is not guaranteed.

I think the reason we are reluctant to build more infrastructure is that we are somewhat more precious about more modest beauties than they are on the Continent. We are more romantic about the countryside and more protective of it, not least because it is a major destination for recreation and tourism; Italians cannot afford to be so precious about the Alpine scenery and rely on mountain passes to get between cities, or to France and other neighbouring countries. Doubtless more people see that scenery from a train window or from one of those motorway viaducts than on any skiing trip. We are also half the size of France and our productive land is smaller still, and we can only cover so much of it in concrete before we are left with neither natural beauty nor productive farmland. The exorbitant amount of money wasted on the unnecessary HS2, a scar through some of our prime countryside, could have been spent on much needed improvements in the north and on patching up road and rail infrastructure elsewhere; we have ended up building a shuttle service between two close-together cities that only the rich will be able to afford to use, and might not bother with anyway if the old route is cheaper and more convenient.

Image source: 42 Walkers, via Wikimedia. Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution (BY) 4.0 licence.

Lack of unity has weakened Palestinians as they face “darkest moment.”

A monthly digest of key developments in Palestine showcasing powerful images by photojournalists.

[Content warnings: violence, rape, antisemitism, Islamophobia]

 

In Following the Equator: A Journey Around the World, Mark Twain wrote, “Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; truth isn’t.”

For Arnesa Buljušmić-Kustura, a survivor and scholar of the Bosnian genocide, writing about the aftermath of a well-documented war was—and is—no easy task. She describes Letters from Diaspora: Stories of War and Its Aftermath on its back jacket as “a fictionalized portrayal of immigrants living in Diaspora based on the real stories Bosnian people have shared with her throughout her years of living in the United States.” 

This sentence provides the audience with all they need to know—while the stories are fictionalized, they are not falsified.

Falsification is a modification designed to intentionally misinform readers. Fictionalization is reimagination, specifically to provide others with a fresh perspective.

In fictionalizing, an author may change a name, rephrase a sentence, or alter the structure of a testimony—but the essence of the story is preserved. In Letters from Diaspora, Buljušmić-Kustura has done just that—compile and combine survivors’ stories she’d heard with her ear and transform them into stories with heart.

“Fifty years after the world said ‘Never Again’ to the horrors of the Holocaust, genocide took place on European soil,” says the organization Remembering Srebrenica. Despite years of multicultural and multiethnic coexistence, rising racism and Islamophobia led to neighbors killing neighbors. Serbs and Croats pitted themselves against Bosniaks, who were primarily Muslim. 8,000 believers were senselessly murdered, and their remains are still being dug up to this day.  

“While it has been [30] years since the war and genocide, the Bosnian population remains unhealed and too traumatized to speak publicly of the horrors they lived through,” the author’s note prefaced (Buljušmić-Kustura, 12). This statement echoes again in multiple letters. Rabija, whose first letter serves as an introduction to the silence surrounding the Bosnian genocide as a whole said, “We are afraid and yet we speak very little about the fear that we feel. I often wonder if my Bosnian friends do not speak about our past for fear it will repeat itself again.” (Buljušmić-Kustura, 21-22)

It’s understandable why a survivor may not want to be noticed so publicly and to live their lives recounting horrific incidents to audience after audience. Some may also not want to relive those terrible memories over and over again. Others feel significant pressure to put their identifying information out into the world, where it lives forever on ink and paper. To combat this, assigning a pseudonym to a survivor’s story can be liberating. The anonymity grants dignity; a rawness that might not otherwise be shared with others. Should a reader come across a survivor in real life, the reader would have no idea—and the survivor may prefer that, to continue navigating through their lives free of interrogation, no matter how innocent. Protection is as much of a priority for the dissemination of survivors’ accounts as is publication. By weaving some stories with others and assigning new names to each one, Buljušmić-Kustura directed this masterfully. Indeed, with some of the details given, it takes an expert to handle with care. 

“I saw them burn.” This is just one harrowing part of Jasmina’s letter. “I saw his body on the footsteps of the home I believed would hold our children one day. Is [thirty] years enough time to get over that? How can I get over that?” (Buljušmić-Kustura, 26)

Fictionalization is also helpful in cases of protecting a survivor’s physical safety. Genocide deniers and members of hate groups routinely threaten the safety of survivors, directly and indirectly. Neo-Nazis, for example, once fought to march to assert their First Amendment rights to freedom of expression and protest in Skokie, IL. Skokie, in 1977, was home to hundreds of Holocaust survivors, and those citizens were rightfully opposed to a thirty-minute show by those Neo-Nazis to wear swastikas (Goldberger). The ACLU accepted the case, and after a lengthy legal battle, the neo-Nazis were told to demonstrate in Chicago instead. A few years later, the wider community responded to that demonstration by building the Illinois Holocaust Museum in Skokie.

It’s a similar situation of safety for Bosnian-Americans, especially those who choose to return to their cities of origin. Hana shared in her letter, “[W]hen I returned to my hometown, two of the men that forcibly took my body were in the line next to me. They were free. They were happy even. […] Is that the kind of injustice I must live with? To know that the men that held me captive for a year, that abused me every day for a year, are able to go on and have happy lives?” (Buljušmić-Kustura, 42)

“I saw them burn.” [PC: Tim Mossholder (unsplash)]

A confrontation is a risk for survivors of any tragedy. In multi-layered chaos like prolonged war and becoming an international refugee, many cannot feasibly track their tormentors down. Even if they do, as Selma did, they often see the system fail them:

“I interned at The Hague. I saw the faces of those responsible for the deaths of my loved ones and one by one they gave them sentences that were too lenient, in my opinion. In some cases, they did not even give any sentences. I saw the faces of genocide and yet I could do very little to give them the punishment they deserved.” (Buljušmić-Kustura, 50)

The last reason, flexibility, may seem to center around the writer, but it can still revolve around the survivor. Writers are charged with telling a story. To do so requires not-so-simple decisions of craft. Detailed responses from interviews may have to be cut out due to word counts and page limits. When speaking to multiple survivors, some of the accounts are repeated, for no fault of their own—but unfortunately, audiences often complain of too much similarity between them. There’s a pressure to only highlight the unique parts of every survivor’s story; otherwise, they might not be read.

Buljušmić-Kustura did this masterfully in diversifying each letter, even the ones about loss. Safet mourned how Islamophobia and racism severed the ties between him and his Christian Serb friend (Buljušmić-Kustura, 30-34).

It’s the details like this that give the audience empathy and each account memorability. Sabahudin perhaps said in his interview that his mother, father, brothers, and neighbors were brutally slain. But a certain pain evokes within us when the author poetically ends one part of his testimony with “All of their blood creating one large puddle.” (Buljušmić-Kustura, 58) 

Our stomachs coil. Our eyes water. It’s as if Letters was sent to our personal mailbox, and we’re communicating with a long-lost friend. A human being, like us.

There are tender moments, too. We feel as though Ivana is chatting with us, sharing how she was a Christian at the start of the war and became a Muslim after it ended, despite the vile propaganda around her. (Buljušmić-Kustura, 60-66) Alma predicted that after another exhausting American party, she would return to her own home and think of how weddings were done in Bosnia. “I won’t dance, but I’ll close my eyes and I’ll send my mind back in time to the days I used to dance all night, until my feet bled.” (Buljušmić-Kustura, 72)

So let us uphold a real survivor’s dignity, safety, and story through fictionalizing. In doing so, we put the “art” in articulating—to share a story well-told and well-remembered.

 

Related:

– History of the Bosnia War [Part 1] – Thirty Years After Srebrenica

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

The post The Truth, The Whole Truth, And Nothing But The Truth?: A Case For Fictionalizing Testimonies Of Atrocities appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

It's impossible to concentrate when your stomach is empty.

"Every day there are martyrs and injuries... People are being killed for a parcel of food."

Ministers have accused us of ‘infiltration’ and posing ‘a threat to national cohesion’. They’re old racist tropes given a dangerous new life

Being a Muslim in a country with a long colonial history, which has also had to deal with terrorist attacks carried out in the name of Islam, is an everyday challenge.

In January 2015, for example, I was as profoundly shocked as everyone else in France by the massacre of the Charlie Hebdo journalists in Paris. As the country mourned, I was invited by a major radio station to comment, but was first asked, live on air, to “dissociate” myself from the attackers.

Rokhaya Diallo is a Guardian Europe columnist

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Matt Single

Last Wednesday, BBC’s Radio 4 broadcast an episode of their File on 4 Investigates programme which exposed a ‘school’ (not actually a school as such, but a centre for home educators) called Hope (Home Of Positive Energy) Sussex, based outside Hastings, which appeared dedicated to fostering ‘awareness’ of conspiracy theories in the children being taught, and the parents who come in with them, with the clear intention of nudging them in that direction. The programme is titled “We Are Not A Conspiracy School”, but this is clearly what the place is. The ‘community’, which hosts music festivals and talks by among other people Katie Hopkins and Kate Shemirani (a nurse struck off for spreading misinformation about Covid at the height of the pandemic, and who influenced her daughter to refuse treatment for cancer, which she subsequently died from), was founded by Matthew Single and his wife Sadie who were former members of the British National Party who were expelled (and fined) for leaking its membership list in 2008, then disappeared from public view before reappearing as anti-vax theorists. The programme noted that Ofsted had expressed concerns about the institution but had been unable to investigate as it did not have the statutory powers to do so.

There was no doubt that the ideas they were promoting were outlandish, anti-scientific, and rooted in paranoia. The programme noted that the two founders were the Singles, but the website lists two co-founders, both female, named only as Katy-Jo and Sadie, but all three were heard on the programme. One of them told the interviewer that she did not believe in viruses; they also told him that schools only teach one theory about the origin of the universe and life on earth, namely the Big Bang theory (which is untrue, from personal experience). A man was heard telling children to fire ball-bearing guns at a TV, which we were told had the letters ‘BBC’ on it. The ‘community’ is secretive, its headquarters (a former agricultural college) unwelcoming to journalists from the “mainstream media” and has only a sign reading “No Trespass, Strictly By Appointment Only” (though its other entrance is marked with a yellow flag with a smiley face on it, for the benefit of festival attendees); the journalist met them at a recording studio. The founders told the interviewer that they were not brainwashing their children at all, and could not as the children were free to ask questions, and did so, having been taught “critical thinking”. However, it was clear that the community existed so that like-minded people could withdraw from the world and teach their children free from what they call “the bonds of a malevolent State, intent on imposing ever tighter control over us all”.

HOPE are cranks and I would not recommend them to anyone looking for support if they are home educating, but the programme did not find any evidence of children being physically abused, which is at least as important as the issued raised here. It’s important that home education and home-educating parents in general are not judged by the extremists as there are schools you would not send a dog into either, especially at secondary level. I know families that home educate and most did so to remove their children from environments where they were bullied, or faced racism or other prejudice, or because there was a necessity stemming from a medical condition or disability. There are some children the school system simply makes no effort to accommodate, and education departments encourage parents to home educate; there are school leaders who take pride in harsh ‘discipline’, humiliating children over petty uniform infractions, locking toilets to prevent “internal truancy” during lessons regardless of how adequate they are for the numbers of children needing to use them during breaks, or such problems as girls getting periods unexpectedly. Some parents want to protect their children from the depredations of such “leadership teams” or from whatever bad influences other children have been exposed to and nobody should be standing in their way.

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

Previous Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13| Part 14

“(When) wealth is hoarded—its owner neither enjoys it during this life nor receives any recompense for it in the Hereafter.” — Ibn al‑Qayyim, Madarij al‑Salikin (Ten Useless Matters)

Ashlan Gardens

Still sitting in his Porsche, Deek called Marco, who answered with, “How did the Moon Walk Motel work out for you?”

“I got ki-” He’d been about to say, I got kidnapped, until he remembered he must not talk about that.

“You got what?”

“I, uh, got killed by that sagging mattress. Are you free? I want to take you to The Purple Heifer for dinner. My treat.”

“Purple Heifer! Did an uncle die and leave you a fortune? Heck yeah, I’m free.”

“Pick you up in an hour.”

Before the Purple Heifer, Deek had another stop to make. He stuffed $100,000 into a Marco Polo envelope, sealed it, and jotted a note on the envelope:

For a true hero. The least I could do.

He didn’t know exactly where Zaid Karim’s office was, and wasn’t about to drive around the East Belmont ghetto carrying a fortune in cash. Instead, he headed for Zaid’s apartment, which was on Ashlan Avenue near the national guard base. Deek and his family had been there for dinner a few times, and he was confident he could find it.

He ended up wandering around the Ashlan Gardens apartment complex for ten minutes until he found an upstairs apartment with a sticker on the door that said, “Laa ilaha il-Allah” in Arabic.

Coriander and Lime

When Safaa answered the door wearing sweat pants, an embroidered Arab shirt, and a loose orange scarf, Deek was momentarily nonplussed. He always forgot how much she looked like Rania. Safaa was taller than Rania and more slender, but their oval-shaped faces and large dark eyes were nearly identical, as were their rich brown complexions.

Thinking of Rania, he was suddenly hit with a pang of longing. What was she doing at this moment? Did she miss him? Was she lonely?

“Deek!” Safaa shook her head at him, smiling. “Why are you giving my cousin a hard time, huh? You even made Zaid go looking for you.”

The scent of Iraqi cooking emanated from the apartment. Deek could identify the distinct smell of caramelizing onions and garlic, the lemony-floral lift of coriander, and the sour-bitter tang of sun-dried lime. Safaa and Rania’s mothers were sisters, and the two of them had no doubt learned to cook all the same dishes. Deek could probably guess exactly what Safaa was cooking, based on the scent.

In the background, he heard the two girls arguing about what ingredients to put on a banana split.

“If you make it all chocolate,” Anna was saying reasonably, “it’s not a banana split. A banana split is supposed to have vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate.”

“You’re not the banana split police,” Hajar countered.

“Zaid’s not here,” Safaa added. “He and Jalal found that missing girl. They’re taking her home.”

Deek had no idea what Safaa was talking about. Zaid had rescued yet another missing girl? Unbelievable! The guy was a hero from a fairy tale.

“Are you going to adopt that one too?”

Safaa laughed. “No, silly. She’s nineteen!”

“Oh, uhh…” Deek held out the envelope. “This is for Zaid.”

Deek held a fervent hope that neither Zaid nor Safaa would be offended by this payment. Zaid had implied that Deek’s money was dirty money. That was unfair. He’d worked hard for this wealth, and he wanted to do something for the man who had put his life on the line for him. How else could he show his gratitude? He wasn’t a sage who could change a person’s life with a word. He wasn’t physically powerful, nor was he the kind of charismatic friend whose companionship everyone yearned for. But Allah had blessed him with wealth. This was what he had to give.

Safaa accepted the envelope, then read the note. “That’s so sweet! Zaid will love it.” She hefted the envelope, lifting it up and down. “Deek… this feels like cash. Is this money?”

Talking to Safaa was so weird. Even her mannerisms resembled Rania’s. Knowing that his own wife, at such a moment, would find something to chastise him for, and fearing that Safaa might do the same, he decided to beat a quick retreat.

“I have to go,” he blurted. “Thanks for everything!” And he was gone.

The Purple Heifer

Deek picked up Marco in front of the SRO. His friend stood amid the riffraff of the neighborhood, holding a trumpet case and looking as carefree as a bird on the breeze.

At about 5’8”, Marco was shorter than Deek, but aside from that, he could have been an actor or model. Even at the age of forty-five, his golden bronze skin – courtesy of his Puerto Rican heritage – was smooth. His black hair was thick, and naturally fell into waves that caressed his ears. He wore old hi-top sneakers, jeans with holes in the knees, and a clean but faded Miami Heat t-shirt. Deek knew that these worn-out clothes were not a deliberate fashion choice but simply the result of poverty, yet Marco managed to make it all look casually stylish.

Marco stuffed his trumpet case behind the passenger seat and climbed in. His hands roamed over the dashboard as he exclaimed, “Dude! What the heck is going on?”

Deek grinned. “I’ll tell you in a bit. Why did you bring the trumpet case?”

“Purple Heifer has a live piano player. I thought I might join in for a number.”

“They’ll let you do that?”

“I’m well known in the Fresno jazz scene.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Marco gave him a wry look. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

The Purple Heifer Steakhouse at the corner of Shaw and Cedar had been a Fresno fixture for decades. It was known for its flame-grilled steaks, wild-caught shrimp, crab cakes, lobster tails, exotic burgers, and more. It wasn’t the most expensive restaurant in town, but to guys like Marco and Deek (or the guy Deek had been last week), it might as well be a millionaire’s resort.

Approaching the restaurant, Deek could smell the cooking beef from half a block away. The popular eatery was huge and dimly lit, which was one of the reasons Deek had chosen it. He asked for a corner booth. The piano player, a sixtyish man in a black suit and top hat, was playing a lively yet smooth song that might have been Brazilian jazz. The restaurant was busy, with a lot of conversations happening at once, but the music managed to float above it all, and Deek found himself tapping his foot to the beat. He was excited for what was about to happen, and couldn’t wait to see his friend’s reaction.

A Gift

Once they’d ordered, Deek set a backpack on the table.

“This is for you.”

Marco poked the backpack with a finger. “Books? I have plenty of books in storage. No space in my room.”

“Not books.”

“Better not be a practical joke like one of those expanding snakes, I’m serious.” Feeling the backpack tentatively, he unzipped it and peered inside, then, miffed, gave Deek a lopsided frown. “So it is a joke! What is this, Monopoly money?”

“It’s as real as the Porsche.” Deek lowered his voice to a whisper. “It’s two hundred thousand dollars. It’s yours, as a gift from me for your friendship.”

Marco wobbled in the chair as if he might fall. Deek half rose, reaching for his friend. Why did people keep reacting like this to the sight of money?

Marco gripped the edge of the table with one hand and waved Deek off with the other. “I’m okay,” he said, and the words sounded squeezed. “Where did this come from?”

Briefly, Deek explained what had happened in the last week, though not delineating the full extent of his wealth.

Three Reasons

Marco reached into the backpack and felt around, touching the money. Then he closed the backpack and sat back. Sweat had broken out over his forehead. Finally, he pushed the backpack across the table to Deek, rumpling the tablecloth and nearly knocking over Deek’s water glass.

Marco’s lips were tight. “I can’t accept this.”

“Why not?” Deek’s voice came out louder than he intended, and he lowered it to an intense whisper. “You’re living in an SRO. I want to help you.”

“Three reasons,” Marco spoke slowly but firmly. “One, my friendship is given freely. It requires no payment or gift.”

Deek tried to reply, but Marco held up a hand. “Two, it’s a little insulting, as if you don’t believe that I can create my own better future. Three, make no mistake, there’s a part of me that would be happy to take this cash. But how long would it last? Two or three years? I might buy a car, which brings further expenses, and rent an apartment, buy nice clothes, pay off my student debt, and voila – the money’s gone. Then what? I come to you asking for more? At which point you begin to doubt my sincerity. No, our friendship must be a steady, controlled reaction, not an exothermic burst that blazes with heat, then dies.”

“I would never – “

Again, Marco held up a hand. “Look, Deek. With the money you have now, people are going to swarm around you. They will want to sell you things, borrow from you, make business deals, solicit donations, learn your crypto methods, or pretend to be your friends in order to freeload. You will begin to doubt everyone’s intentions. I won’t be one of those. You will always know I am your true friend, because I will always pay my own way.”

People Help The People

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to squeeze in a song before the food comes.”

As Marco spoke to the piano player, Deek gripped his water glass so tightly that it cracked. He was fed up with people acting like he was the devil trying to corrupt them with a gift of wealth. If Marco were hungry, would he refuse a meal? If he were sick, would he turn away a blood transfusion? Why did people behave so bizarrely when it came to money?

Marco had his trumpet out. The piano player began a slow song, and Marco soon joined in. The song was moderately paced but sad, like a man pleading for forgiveness from a lover he had never meant to harm. At first, the despondency of the song deepened Deek’s bitterness, but Marco’s trumpet rose and fell like a bird riding the currents between land and sea. Deek’s breathing eased, and he sat back in the seat and closed his eyes. The restaurant became hushed as conversations were stilled. When the song was over, applause broke like a crashing wave.

Marco tried to leave, but the audience called for an encore. For the second song, they played a mid-tempo jazzy number, and Marco sang. Deek had heard Marco sing little snatches of tunes before, but never a full-throated number like this. His voice was low and strong, like the running of a river swollen with spring rain. He belted out a song about a man in love with a woman on an October night, and wanting to dance with her beneath the moon.

“I didn’t know you could sing like that,” Deek enthused afterward.

“As I said, there’s a lot you don’t know.”

“I would really love to hear you recite the Quran in Arabic one day. It would be amazing to hear it in your voice.”

Marco nodded. “Could happen. I like a challenge.”

The food came, and they ate, but the atmosphere was subdued. Deek sawed away at his steak and potatoes, and Marco picked at a shrimp platter. Later, Deek could not have said what they talked about, or if the food was tasty. When the check came, Marco tried to pay his share. Deek held the check away from him and returned it to the server with a hundred-dollar bill.

“What was that first song?” Marco asked. “The one that was sad at first, then swept up like a tidal wave.”

“People help the people.”

“That’s ironic.”

Marco gave a slight smile – the first Deek had seen since the money reveal.

Shadow In The Lot

It was dark when they exited the restaurant. The parking lot was half full, and a movement in the corner of the lot caught Deek’s eye. That part of the lot was empty except for a small, battered car parked beside a cinderblock wall. A man ducked into the car and closed the door. From this distance, Deek could not be sure, but the man had looked vaguely like Shujaa, the Yemeni youth who had sold him the Porsche.

“Did you see anyone over there?” he whispered, pointing.

Marco leaned forward, squinting into the shadows. “By that car? No.”

Deek’s eyes bored into the darkness. He could walk over there… but it was very dark. The man could have been anyone. He shook it off. “Let’s go.”

When he dropped Marco off at the SRO, his friend punched him gently in the shoulder and said, “I’m happy for you, brother. I will always be here for you.” Marco dropped two twenty-dollar bills onto the dashboard. “For my dinner.”

Before Deek could protest, his talented and handsome friend shut the car door and walked away quickly. Deek considered chasing after him, but there was no way he could leave this car -and all the cash inside it- unattended in this neighborhood.

In fact, looking around at the neighborhood, Deek felt suddenly nervous. A group of young men, pants riding low on their hips, stood in the recessed doorway of a building across the street. Their attention seemed unnaturally focused on Deek and his Porsche. Only a few steps away from the Porsche, a white woman with the lean body and aged, sore-spotted face of a meth addict took a long swig from a wine bottle, then threw the empty bottle into the street, where it shattered with the finality of the very last broken promise. A man in a filthy tweed coat, his bare chest exposed, probed a trash can, looking for the treasure of a recyclable can.

Two girls in black clothing and boots, their hair shorn on one side only, faces bearing so many piercings they could have opened a jewelry shop, strolled through the chaotic scene with no sign of fear.

Starfish

Quickly, Deek locked the doors, then stuffed the backpack full of money deep under the passenger seat. He was about to put the car in drive and take off when his eyes settled on a thin, blond-haired boy who could not have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old, curled up with a puppy in a recessed doorway. The boy wore old jeans and a gray sweatshirt that was several sizes too large. He was not asleep, but lay looking out at the street. Peering more closely, Deek saw that the boy had a small pocket knife in one hand. His other arm curled protectively around the puppy.

He suddenly felt ashamed. Here he was, walking around with hundreds of thousands of dollars, while there were kids on the street with nothing to eat and no safe place to sleep. But this was the way of the world, wasn’t it? Luxury perched on the back of poverty. And it wasn’t him who had made it like this.

But maybe he could be part of the solution.

He remembered a story he’d heard once about a boy on the beach. Thousands of starfish have washed up onto the beach, where they will die. The boy picks them up one by one and throws them back into the sea, saving their lives. An old man comes along and says, “You can’t save all these thousands. What you’re doing doesn’t matter.” The boy throws another starfish into the sea and says, “It matters to that one.”

People help the people. That was the only way to make sense of this crazy world. He slid his hand into his pocket, intending to take $1,000 out of his wallet to give to the boy. Discreetly, of course.

Ambush

His driver’s side window shattered. He shouted in shock and surprise. Shards of glass rained upon him, and instantly he felt a blinding pain in his left eye. He cried out and put a hand to his eye. With his other eye, he saw a brown arm snake inside the car and unlock the door, and the next thing he knew, he was yanked out of the car.

He fell onto the filthy sidewalk, landing on something wet that crunched beneath him. Leftover soda in a cup, he hoped. He tried to stand and fight in spite of the terrible pain in his eye, but a foot drove into his stomach, forcing the air out of him and making him grunt in pain. He vomited semi-digested steak and potatoes onto the sidewalk. As he was retching, a fist crashed into his cheekbone, then another into his mouth, and another and another, hitting his nose, jaw, ear, and skull. He tasted blood in his mouth, hot and metallic. But apparently that last shot hurt the attacker’s hand, because the man cursed in Arabic.

Deek recognized the voice. It was Shujaa. It had been him after all, back at the restaurant! He should have trusted his gut.

Rage rose inside him like a high tide on a rough sea. “Not again!” he thought. “I will not let this happen again.”

Deek was many things, good and bad, but he was not a coward. The Iraq of his childhood had been a place of hardship and violence. He’d seen bodies in the streets and had witnessed the aftermath of battles and bombings, yet had gone to school, to the store, and played football in the street. The words “surrender” and “give up” did not exist in his vocabulary. His entire personality was based on persistence and determination. When he was kidnapped last week, the only thing that stopped him from fighting back was that his wrists and feet were bound. Otherwise, he would have struggled and fought to the point of death.

As Shujaa pulled back his foot to kick, Deek rolled into the young man’s legs and wrapped them with his arms. Shujaa shouted in surprise and fell. Deek heard a cracking sound as the young man hit the ground, and Shujaa’s body went completely still, half on the sidewalk and half in the street. One arm lay in the dirty gutter, and the knuckles of both hands were bloody.

Come And Try

Pushing off the sidewalk, Deek rose to his knees. Shujaa lay at his feet, unmoving, a small rivulet of blood trickling from the back of his skull. Perhaps he was dead, Deek did not know.

With his good eye, Deek saw that the group of young toughs from across the street had approached. They stood only a few meters away. A twenty-ish and muscular man with a shaved head, dressed in blue basketball wear and a bulky blue coat in spite of the warm weather, stepped forward.

“Y’all put on a show,” the man said. “But we gon’ take that car now.”

Deek held a hand to his agonizing left eye, as if he could isolate and capture the sliver of glass cutting his eye open. His lips were split, and he couldn’t breathe through his nose. His stomach felt like it had been taken out, trampled by a horse, and put back in. His right hip throbbed with pain. Yet not for a moment did he consider stepping aside and letting these gangsters take his car. Casually, he undid the clasp on the knife sheath and drew the long, wicked blade.

Holding the knife down at his right side, but clearly visible, he said, “Come and try then.” He would cut them all down, just like Zaid Karim would do.

Another of the young men, thinner and younger, also dressed in shades of blue and purple, and with braided hair to his shoulders, reached into his coat and drew an automatic pistol. He tilted the weapon sideways and pointed the barrel at Deek’s head. “Ain’t no try. Hasta luego, fool.”
The man was going to kill him. Deek’s eyes widened, and his breathing slowed. How could it end like this? Shot to death over a stupid car?

So be it. La ilaha il-Allah. He raised the knife and took a step forward.

The barrel of the gun flashed, there was a loud bang, and something struck Deek in the face. He stumbled backward yet did not fall. The gangster had shot him. The man had shot him in the face, yet somehow he was still alive.

Trumpet

He had no vision in his left eye, so it caught him completely by surprise when Marco stepped in front of him from the left and swung his trumpet as hard as he could. It struck the side of the gunman’s head with a loud gong, and the gangster fell like a brick, the gun skittering away. The other thugs shouted, but Marco threw the trumpet at them, darted forward to grab the gun, and began firing shots into the air.
The gangsters scattered, comically holding up their pants as they ran.

Marco tucked the gun into his waistband, snatched up the trumpet – which was now dented and bent – and hurried to Deek.

“Get in the car, bro. We have to get out of here. Put your knife away.”

“He shot me.”

Marco gripped Deek’s head and studied the left side of his face. “It’s a graze. Right along your left eyebrow. You’re very lucky.”

Swaying on his feet, Deek peered across the street. Where was the boy? The homeless blond kid? People help the people. He was going to throw a starfish into the sea. It would matter to this one. But the boy was gone, frightened away by the violence of the street. Poor kid.

Once again, the world was telling Deek that his money was no good. But money was what he had to offer, so he and the world would have to come to a compromise. Either that, or they would fight a ten-round heavyweight match, and only one would stay standing at the end. And right now, at this moment, Deek was still standing.

The street was dark and dirty. Someone had lit a tire on fire in an empty lot down the street, maybe to stay warm. Sirens were approaching. The thugs could return at any moment, maybe better armed this time. Shujaa was still bleeding and unconscious on the ground. Deek gestured to him: “Him too. We can’t leave him.”

* * *

[Part 16 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:

Hot Air: An Eid Story [Part 1]

As Light As Birdsong: A Ramadan Story

 

The post Moonshot [Part 15] – People Help The People appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

There’s still a month left of summer, and summer vacation is one of the best times to pick up those books you’ve been meaning to get around to, or to pick up some new titles that you didn’t have time for before! Here’s the latest MM roundup of summer reads for all ages.

Non-Fiction Becoming Baba: Fatherhood, Faith, and Finding Meaning in America by Aymann Ismail

As a millennial Muslim woman, I am very familiar with the memoir-like narratives of my peers, but rarely do I see reflective pieces by Muslim men… so when I received an ARC of this book, I was excited. I want to know more about Muslim men’s experiences with faith & fatherhood & being Muslim in a non-Muslim land.

Alas, I did not find what I was looking for in this book. Perhaps it was my own expectations of what personal growth looks like, especially if faith is involved. Don’t get me wrong – Aymann is not a terrible writer – and I can understand that growing up Muslim in America is a challenging experience that’s different for everyone. I just… expected something different.

Instead, what I got was a very 2000s-esque take (think Taqwacores cut scene of making du’a after smoking weed with some Muslim female friends in college), resentment over religious parents (he does show them appreciation and grace, but I still found his takes frustrating), a lot of rambling about preserving Arab identity…

That’s not to say that the entire book was a write-off. There were certainly thoughtful sections where the author reflected on his parents’ reasons for being as they were, considering his own growth as a father and what that means to him, and the book does end on a mildly redemptive note (for both Aymann and his father). The entire book could have used a lot more critical editing and development, but even with all my critiques, I think it’s a good starting point for Muslim men to have conversations around their roles as Muslim fathers – and for Muslim women like myself to get a glimpse of what that looks like.

Bigger Than Divorce by Makeda Yasenlul

“Bigger Than Divorce” by Makeda Yasenlul is a pretty unique book in the Muslamic genre, being the only book I’ve come across so far that talks about divorce (or rather, living the aftermath of divorce) to a Muslim female audience.

What I really like about this book is how pragmatic it is. This is not about wallowing in angst – and as someone who has spent a significant portion of her life riddled with angst, I can tell you that there are limits to enabling the wallowing.

This pragmatic approach – which acknowledges the hard emotions of divorce, but doesn’t just sit in it – is refreshing because it’s all about moving forward in a healthy way. I appreciated the grounding in spiritual wellbeing, beginning with considering one’s purpose in life as a slave of Allah, and using our relationship with our Creator as the foundation of building the next chapter of our life post-divorce.

For the most part, this book is for folks who have gone through “average” divorces, not for those leaving traumatic or abusive relationships. However, I do think there’s value in this book for most people who have experienced divorce, as the advice and suggestions are applicable to many.

As the first Muslamic book that I’ve read on divorce, I’m glad this book exists (and I don’t hate it or find it trite!). Here’s hoping that we’ll have more great books on the topic in the future inshaAllah!

Fiction Where the Jasmine Blooms by Zeina Sliman [Adult Fiction]

Following two Palestinian cousins, Yasmine – living in Canada – and Reem – living in a refugee camp in Lebanon, this story covers multiple themes (sometimes to its own detriment). From Palestinian grief to an abusive marriage, from missing family members and mysterious letters (and also a K-drama actor Muslim convert), this book never quite figures itself out. (Also, the blurb calls this a “political historical thriller and a Muslim feminist love story.” It is neither.)

The writing is not bad at all, and in fact at times is quite powerful – especially reflections on family, grief, and Palestinian history. The writing style reminds me a lot of Arab/ Muslim novels from the early 2000s, except that it is utterly unapologetically Muslim rather than riddled with internalized Islamophobia. I loved that there was no pandering to the Western/ nonMuslim gaze, and no holding back on critiquing Israel and its imperialist stooges.

This debut novel holds a lot of promise for the author’s future works, and is definitely worth checking out despite my editorial critiques!

Salutation Road by Salma Ibrahim [Adult Fiction]

Sirad is a London-raised Somali girl, and she seizes opportunity to board the secret bus to cross over into a Somalia where her parents had never left, where her father never abandoned her family, and where a different version of herself lives… just as restless as Sirad herself. Even when she returns to London, Sirad never truly seems to know herself or what she’s meant to do. When she has the chance to meet Ubah – her alternate self – again, Sirad must make a decision that will impact her sense of self forever.

Featuring traveling across time and space, this is a unique new novel in the Muslamic sci-fi/ surrealist genre.

Hand Me Down Your Revolution: An Anthology of Stories, Poems, and Memoirs by Muslim Youth [Adult/ YA]

Muslim Youth Musings is a fantastic literary organization for aspiring Muslim writers mashaAllah – and they’ve just published their first anthology!

From the magical realism of Mariam Siddiqui’s “Where the Crimson Roses Bloom” to the amusing “Jamal’s Kufi,” the deeply moving “A Love Letter to Muslim Kids in Public Schools” by Jaweerya Muhammad and Maryam Vakani’s gorgeous prose (I especially loved “Rituals for the Grieving” and “Mother Wound”), there’s a little something for everyone.

Odd Girl Out by Tasneem Abdur-Rashid [YA]

“Odd Girl Out” by Tasneem Abdur-Rashid is a great Muslamic take on quintessential YA: a teenager going through big life changes, dealing with the drama… and in this case, also facing Islamophobia.

Maaryah Rashid’s life is uprooted by her parents’ divorce, in more ways than one. She has to leave behind her glamorous life in Dubai to live in the middle of nowhere, Essex; she’s the only hijabi at her school and the target of a nasty Islamophobic bully… AND her mom is so busy falling apart after the divorce that she doesn’t seem to notice Maaryah’s own grief, loneliness, and struggles.

I love that there are repeated references to salah, hijab as an act of worship, and what being Muslim means in the West. On the flip side, there’s also flirting and physical contact between Maaryah and boys, without it explicitly called out as haram/ wrong.

As with most Muslamic YA that touches on various teenager-y things (boys, parties, various haraamness), I recommend this for 15+ (and for parents to be having discussions with their children about how to navigate all these issues from an Islamically ethical perspective).

Kid Lit Amina Banana and the Formula for Winning by Shifa Saltagi Safadi [Early Chapter Book]

The Amina Banana series is an early chapter book series following Amina, a young Syrian girl who has recently moved to America. She tries to overcome different challenges by coming up with secret formulas – in book one, for friendship, and in book two, for winning the spelling bee.

What I love about these books is how they tackle universal themes: struggling academically, getting along with friends and not-friends at school – with a deep understanding of newcomer-specific challenges… and most importantly, infusing Islam throughout. Du’a is heavily emphasized in this book, and I love how organically the lessons are woven in! The illustrations by Aaliya Jaleel really bring a lovely touch throughout. [Purchase here using the code “MBR” for 15% off!]

Eliyas Explains What Prophet Muhammad Was Like by Zanib Mian [Early Reader]

I don’t think I can ever stop telling people how incredible Zanib Mian’s books are, Allahumma baarik laha – especially the Eliyas Explains series. In this most recent installment, Eliyas learns all about RasulAllah (sallAllahu alayhi wa sallam) from his parents and uncle – and how to apply the Prophet’s character to his own everyday life.

As with every Eliyas Explains book, this one is perfect for kids who have otherwise short attention spans. It’s an easy to read early chapter book, there are different fonts and little illustrations to engage young readers’ attention, and there’s always plenty of funny little bits alongside the Islamic information and wholesome storytelling that makes the story remain engaging. [Purchase here using the code “MBR” for 15% off!]

The City of Jasmine by Nadine Presley [Picture Book]

“The City of Jasmine” by Nadine Presley, illustrated by Heather Brockman Lee, reminded me how much I love stories of others’ homelands.

I’m not from Syria, but Nadine’s gorgeous descriptions of the Umayyad masjid, Qal’at Dimashq, the Barada river, marketplaces and bookstores and kitchens and courtyards, all made me fall in love with the blessed lands of Shaam. Each page is a work of art – the illustrations are beyond stunning, and I flipped back to certain spreads multiple times just to enjoy them better! [Purchase here using the code “MBR” for 15% off!]

The Boldest White by Ibtihaj Muhammad/ SK Ali [Picture Book]

“The Boldest White” by Ibtihaj Muhammad and SK Ali is the third book in this iconic series illustrated by Hatem Aly!

I loved that the story started with and incorporated so much Islamic representation throughout, with a focus on salah. While the core of this story lies in Faizah learning to gain courage through her fencing lessons, it is interwoven with love for Islam, salah, and the Ummah.

While Eid is mentioned, we don’t really know which Eid it is, and I do wish the opportunity had been seized to highlight Eid al-Adha and make it a more meaningful part of the story. In all honesty, I felt like the actual storytelling was a little weaker and somewhat disjointed in this book compared to the others, but it is still beautiful and worth getting to complete the collection. [Purchase here using the code “MBR” for 15% off!]

Related:

From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Palestinian Literature For All Ages

From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Your Go-To Summer Reading List

The post From the MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Summer Reads for All Ages appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

1,200 Palestinian elders have died from Israel’s starvation policy.

We read about purification the Holy Qur’an:

 

“And they ask you about menstruation. Say, “It is harm, so keep away from wives during menstruation. And do not approach them until they are pure. And when they have purified themselves, then come to them from where Allah has ordained for you. Indeed, Allah loves those who are constantly repentant and loves those who purify themselves.“ [Surah Al-Baqarah;2:222]

Given that the context of the verse is about women’s menstruation, the first thing included in the idea of purification, or taharah, is purification of the body from physical and ritual impurities. Scholars further include in it all the other types of purification, the consummate summary of which has been given to us by Ibn Qudamah, who wrote:

‘Know that purification has four levels: Firstly, to purify the body from ritual impurities, physical impurities, and excretions. Secondly, to purify the limbs from sins and disobedience. Thirdly, to purify the heart from its odious traits and deplorable vices. Fourthly, to purify the innermost being from all else save Allah , exalted is He; this being the ultimate goal.’1

The verse tells us a fundamental principle, which is that Allah loves — and that in itself is a profound thing — those who frequently turn to Him in sincere contrition and repentance, and those who actively purify themselves and who are purified. Thus, after purifying one’s basic beliefs concerning Allah and the meaning of life and the purpose of existence, by declaring the two shahadahs, the whole process of reshaping ourselves starts. And where does it begin, practically in our tradition? It begins with the fiqh rules regarding the purity of water, and then to use this water to cleanse and purify our limbs according to the shari‘ah. Then, at least outwardly, we are in a purified state to bow and pray. That is where it all begins. This is where the reshaping truly starts: with outward purification.

Is that all there is to purification, just the issues of fiqh al-taharah; of bodily hygiene? Absolutely not! For as we saw in Ibn Qudamah’s schematic, there’s much more to it. For beyond this level of taharah, there is restraining the limbs from what is unlawful (haram). This involves keeping our tongue, eyes, and ears pure by averting our hearing or gaze, or caging our tongue, from what Allah has forbidden; doing so seeking His good pleasure or rida.

The third degree moves us from the outward to the inward: the diseases and impurities of the heart. It is where we roll up our sleeves to spiritual combat the pride, vanity, hypocrisy, and/or insincerity within us, for instance. But so much of the time, the heart gets so rusted that we become desensitised to the heart’s vices. Unlike physical impurities, whose presence can be seen or smelt, this inner filth can’t be sensed by a person. We often require someone with a purer soul to point out to us that we are giving off a bad spiritual odour. Otherwise, we are usually none the wiser. It is this obligatory, inner purification of the heart that begins to make all the difference.

As for the fourth degree, which, for the likes of us, is almost unimaginable, it is keeping the heart focused on Allah and mindful of His Presence in our lives. Any distraction at this profound degree is a veil, almost like a sin, and hence a kind of impurity. Religion is about awakening to Allah . It is about vigilance and remembrance of Allah . Heedlessness is an impurity that must be cleansed. This is the fourth degree: to empty the heart of whatever distracts it from Allah .

A cardinal trait in our spiritual wayfaring, or suluk, says Ibn al-Qayyim, is that of reigning in our desires; our tendency to step out of the light and into the shadows. He said:

‘The wayfaring of one seeking Allah and the Afterlife will not be sound except with restraints: Restraining one’s heart to seek and want only Him, training it to turn away from all but Him. Restraining the tongue from whatever will not be of benefit to it, training it to constantly remember Allah and all that increases it in faith and knowledge of Him. And restraining the limbs from sins and doubtful acts, training them to fulfil the obligations and recommendations. He must not part with such restraints till He meets his Lord.’2

With that being so, the journey to Allah practically begins from the outside in. It is with the fiqh rules of outward, bodily, and ritual purification (taharah), along with a few other day-to-day shari‘ah duties, that true inward, spiritual purification (tazkiyah) is activated and gradually realised.

***

[This article was first published here]

 

Related:

– IOK Ramadan: The Importance of Spiritual Purification | Keys To The Divine Compass [Ep30]

– Practical Tips for Purification of the Heart

 

1    Ahmad b. Qudamah, Mukhtasar Minhaj al-Qasidin (Beirut: al-Maktab al-Islami, 2000), 30.2    Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyyah, al-Fawa’id (Makkah: Dar ‘Alam al-Fawa’id, 2009), 74.

The post Purification Of The Self: A Journey That Begins From The Outside-In appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

[Dedication: For every woman who stood at the threshold of a sacred space and wondered if she was truly welcome. For the unheard, the unseen, the unwavering.]

They built it with marble and calligraphy, arched domes echoing the names of God. But somewhere between the minbar and the boardroom, the sacred was traded for the familiar.

The masjid, once a refuge for the broken, now feels like a lounge for the well-connected. Decisions made behind closed doors, while the women outside whisper their needs into the wind.

They say it’s about tradition. But tradition never silenced Maryam when she cried out in labor beneath the palm. It never turned away Khadijah’s wisdom, or Ali’s courage to speak truth to power.

No—this is not tradition. This is dunya dressed in thawbs and titles, where family ties outweigh community cries, and silence is the currency of comfort.

I wrote to them. Not to accuse, but to ask: Is there room for me here? They answered with nothing. And that nothing said everything.

Still, I believe in the masjid. Not the building, but the promise. The one etched in every sajdah, in every tear that falls unseen.

So I will keep knocking. Not because I need their permission— but because I refuse to let them turn God’s house into a gated estate.

They speak of unity from the pulpit, but practice division in the shadows. Their circles are tight, their ears closed to unfamiliar names, their hearts armored in comfort.

I’ve seen the way they greet their own— smiles wide, hands extended, as if Jannah were passed through bloodlines. And I’ve seen the way they glance past others, like we are footnotes in a story they’ve already written.

But I am not a footnote. I am the daughter of Hajar, the sister of Sumayyah, the echo of every woman who stood when the world told her to sit.

You may not answer my email. You may not open your doors. But I will not unwrite my truth to make you more comfortable.

Because the masjid does not belong to you. It belongs to the One who hears the whispers of the unseen, who counts every tear that falls when no one else is watching.

So I will keep walking— not toward your approval, but toward the light that never needed your permission to shine.

They say sabr, but only to the silenced. They say adab, but only to the unheard. They weaponize patience like a leash, hoping we’ll stay quiet, grateful just to be near the door. But I was not made to shrink for the comfort of men who confuse control with leadership.

They build platforms, but only for those who echo their comfort. They host panels on justice, while ignoring the injustice in their own prayer halls. They speak of the Prophet ﷺ, but forget how he stood for the orphan, the widow, the stranger— not just the familiar faces in the front row.

And still, they wonder why the hearts of women grow quiet, why the youth slip out the back door, why the call to prayer no longer feels like a call home.

And Still, I Believe

Because faith was never theirs to gatekeep. It lives in the breath of the unseen, in the footsteps of the overlooked, in the hands of those who build even when no one thanks them.

I will not wait for their invitation. I will write my own welcome, etch it in the sky with every prayer, and walk boldly into the sacred as if I belong— because I always did.

 

Related:

– Podcast: Revisiting Women-Only Tarawih | Ustadha Umm Sara

– Friday Sermon: Including Women in the Masjid

The post When The Masjid Mirrors The Marketplace: An Ode To Inclusion In Faith appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

The face of independent schools is changing, led by more affordable Christian, Islamic and Anglican schools

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When the Australian Christian College (ACC) in north-west Sydney began receiving a surge of enrolments after the pandemic lockdowns, its principal, Brendan Corr, was not surprised.

ACC is located in Marsden Park, a major growth corridor of Sydney identified by the state government as an area where a failure to factor in the pace and scale of development has left families without access to local public schools.

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The world is allowing Israel to starve Palestinians.

Palestinian residents of Sinjil protecting their land have been beaten with clubs and murdered by Israeli settlers.

We hear from Donya Abu Sitta in Gaza, Ali Abunimah on AOC’s Iron Dome vote, Jon Elmer on signs Israel wants to end its genocidal war, and more.